Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Rhulk's skin was resilient against most radiation, as it was adapted to survive the gamma rays of the sapphiric sun. And so he was confused when The Witness handed him a small jar of oily substance in one of the few ways it does so: by making it appear in his hands. He looked up at it with a question on his lips, but then the entity lightly stroked its own face which was dewey with remnants of the lotion. 

–-It is specially made for our skin. May you aid us?–-

Before he could question it, pointed robes shifted as the fluid metal itself disintegrated. He watched a sea of alloys part to reveal white shores upon its torso; such unseen depths only known to him in dreams.

It turned around to display more of the same pale complexion - nearly blinding white in the sun, though with faintly moving markings - and the ever parting blades revealed a shimmering black suit on its hips for simple modesty. 

–-You must rub it in… deep… lucent radiation is relentless, and we will not be deconstructed.–-

The rest of the geometry withered away to reveal slender legs which slowly bent as it kneeled in front of him, back still bared. A hand traced the alternate side of its torso as it turned its head just enough to draw his gaze back up to it.

+

     Rhulk thinks for a moment that he can't feel his hands. His head must be detached as well. That would explain what was happening. But he sees them, covered in UV-blocking ointment, palms abroad on his Witness' shoulders, and his knees on either side of covered hips. 

     He tries so very desperately to not dwell on the sound of the ointment between his fingers and the pale skin beneath him; the sensation of something fluid on such an untouchable surface; how his Witness almost leans upwards into his touch. He is most gentle on its neck, uncertain where skin begins and ends with the sublimation trail upon its head. The moving patterns are faint there - almost imperceptible in the stark light above them - but grow larger and darker down its spine. The patterns anticipate him as he works his way down slowly with circling motions, his gentle admiration in conflict with his need to get this over with before it notices his want. 

He swallows his increasing arousal and asks, hoping to dissuade suspicion, but because he is curious, 

"My Witness, I do not mean to…pry, but…if you are so vulnerable here, should you not wear…proper armor?" 

 His hands are slowly working down the lower half now, but he reaches one over to scoop up more ointment. 

–-Starlight is the purest, simplest form of energy; our enemy simulates it.–-

It is almost a nonanswer. He supposes understanding the physical properties of his Witness is impossible, presumptuous, even, as its being is an ever-changing shape. 

Rhulk is running smaller circles on its skin with his thumbs, getting ever closer to the small of its back and wondering where it would want him to go next. This was torture, but why did it need to end so quickly? He almost jumps as it shifts its body forward beneath him. 

His own swimsuit, a black, delightfully small thing that covered his sensitive areas with a modest flap on the front, was not going to be much use for the rest of their excursion; the inside was already becoming wet with his fluids.

–-Our legs…–-

“O-Of course.” He scoots back and contemplates where to begin; an unceremonious lather on its thighs down to the first joint takes the lead. His Witness bends its knee, asking him to go lower, and he has to hold back an embarrassing sound as it comes into contact with his inner thighs. (‘Yes, Witness’, he distantly hears himself respond). Blessedly, the task of lathering its lower legs puts some distance between them.

–-The sides…–-

He scoops more ointment with a flick of his wrist as he makes his way back up the leg. It sighs, relaxed, as it lifts each leg one at a time for him; he holds the first up with one hand and allows it to rest on his chest as he reaches under and around…then again for the other, placing it gingerly back onto the towel beneath them as he completes it. He banishes thoughts of running his fingers underneath the cloth that clings to its pelvis too, until it grabs his hands and places them right above its hips and raises itself up. It did not rise very high, but the movement was enough to flood his mind with raw hunger.

–-Our chest, dear devotee…–-

He slides his hands up its body with new reverence; surely it has to know. Has to be testing him. He thinks he must surely be failing when it raises itself just a bit higher and brushes his hardness, still concealed in his suit, but practically uncensored for any purpose. It was all he could do to not lower himself and chase relief on his Witness; he was not an animal, he would show it the depths of his- his thoughts ended as it lightly moaned underneath him. Its body shifted again as he rubbed the lotion on its chest, and it was evident that his Witness was more affected by his touch than it wanted him to know.

He was breathing outrageously loud, air heaving through his respiratory divots. If it wanted this, he would please it as long as he could. It did not comment on his breathlessness, but only leaned into his embrace as he held its torso up in one arm while reaching for more lotion for its lower front. Reveling in the slick sounds produced from so much of the lotion on one area, he leaned in closer above it;…

"My Witness," he growled with a low tone that surprised even him with its hunger, but it especially affected his Witness, whose body shuddered and sighed.

 “Best not take any chances with the enemy's… energy ," he says, and he slowly slides his hands under the sides of its cloth, connecting his work on its torso and thigh. Its back arches to raise its hips closer to him as he pays special attention to the skin on its hip bones. He cannot not stifle his own groans of pleasure as the end of his cock brushes its backside again, fully extended and nearly free as it pushes against his suit. 

Rhulk imagined that could keep his hands here as he pleased it, the final and optimal representative of his kind; only he could-

Enough . 

He froze as he emerged from his mental haze, his slick hands still underneath its modest waist cloth and, he realized, gripping its hips as he had envisioned. Something caught in his chest as he considered the possibility that he had been treating his Witness as in his mind's eye. But before he could retreat in shame, its hands covered his own and pushed them down such that he was sliding its black cloth down. 

It turned around and he slid them up to cup its bare waist. 

–-Look at you, so undone just to help us…your Witness…do not fret,–- it said as it cupped his crotch and rubbed his desire through his suit. He could not stop himself from leaning into that touch and fervently thrusting into its firm hand, more so when it ignored his modesty altogether and reached inside to wrap its fingers around his erection, coaxing it free of its confines.

–-Keep touching our chest…–- it directed as it curled a hand over his member, taking the fluids that had gathered at his base gland and rubbing them up and down the length.

Rhulk obeyed, running circles over its decorated, delicate chest. It pushed him down, then, still holding his member as it climbed onto his body and aligned its hips with his. 

–-Massage us,–- the Witness commanded, and he obliged with circular motions of his fingers.

Rhulk's grip on its torso threatened to tighten as it slid its wetness against his cock, biting itself in pleasure as it ran over his delicate ridges. He tried to thrust with his Witness, running his hands lower to guide its hips, but it held one up to its heart and put one of its own on his sternum. 

–- Please, do not stop- —

It cut off with a gasp as he ran his fingers over delicate ridges on the treated skin, trying to keep its slow rhythm despite burning to flip them both over and take. But then it slowed its rocking to a stop, designating one unwavering hand to hold his fully-hardened member while the others were assigned to propping itself up before it slowly sank down on him. 

Rhulk released a gasp as it enveloped him, its heat proportionate to his own, but still constricting in the most pleasurable of ways. Its own erection was peeking out from the inky folds, aroused from their grinding moments before. 

A weak roll of their hips against each other coaxed a soft, echoing moan from those white lips, invigorating Rhulk to thrust with it. 

The sand was cool under the shade of the pyramid, a refuge from the burning star and a relief against his charged skin.

[Take us… Rhulk …] he arched as high as he could to meet the height of its desires as it rolled its hips against his -

( Rhulk).. 

Rhulk!.. 

He gasped as his entire body jumped awake. Nothing but a dream; the heat in this tepid atmosphere must have lulled him to sleep. 

“Rhulk.”

Fear curdled the dwindling passion in his core as he heard familiar tones behind him; an anxiety mixed with some form of relief as he heard the emanations of its dark armor slowly fluttering against itself as well. 

“Your charges have disappeared in your…slumber.”

 He could feel its gaze shift over his body with that pause and was thankful he had fallen asleep with a towel over his lap; more still that he had not pulled it away to finish himself off in his sleep. The Deep only knew what Nezarec or the Witch could be getting up to unchecked; however, he could not rise in the presence of his savior in this state. 

“It seems they have.” He sat up a bit straighter. 

“Will you not retrieve them? It is time to move on.”

 He tensed, perfectly still as it rested a hand on his shoulder with its words, trying not to let the images from before flood his mind again.

"I - of course, I am sure they have not wandered far." Its effulgent hand was fire upon him, hotter than the star that baked this shore, but still, he was motionless. 

 All was in vain as the hand trailed along his shoulder to his throat, tracing familiar circles on its way.

“My-”

He jumped up quickly, grasping the towel to himself, arousal be damned-

But then his Witness vanished as quickly as it had appeared behind him. 

His soft underspines twitched in dismay as he wrapped the towel tightly around his hips and stomped off to collect his charges.

Chapter Text

“Have a good swim?” Savathun chided as he approached the shore. He had not the will to retort and only scowled as he retrieved a submerged Nezarec out of the sand in a swift telekinetic gesture of his arm. 

As commanded by his Witness, the disciples were sent on their way through resonant portals. Finally alone, Rhulk returns to the edge of his floating ship, where its shadow touches the blinding sand. 

He decides to take care of….his transgression in the presence of a warm atmosphere and roaring waves, where dark things may not pry.   

Save for one , his mind chimes in, though he tries to banish the thought. He unwraps the towel and sets it on the sand, this time a bit out of the shadow.

His sex glistens in the star's golden light, which beats down on his skin. It will not hurt him, but its warmth is an alien feeling after eons in deep space and arid tombs. He begins slowly – as there's a tenderness to his member after such vivid stimulus and its expeditious removal – but it is fully extended again in no time at all. He strokes himself with a steady, but quick pace. The sooner he is done, the sooner he can forget…this…offense. 

It is hard not to reconsider the hand that grasped him as he wraps one around himself. 

“Rhulk,”

Still grasping himself, He gasps aloud in surprise at the proximity of its voice. It's soft spoken, even as it demands his attention, the usual timbre confusing in its depth and distance. He stops his motions, using his grip to cover his exposed member, though he sees little point in trying to hide now.

“My Witness,” - he winces at invoking its title in his condition, not daring to turn his head - “I did not intend to-”

[[We regret so swiftly leaving you to your…own methods…]] The pluralistic words permeate his mind, confusing him as he feels encased by them despite a distant echo, and with no physical sensation. The slightest turn reveals his Witness is much closer than he ever could have thought. His back stiffens in the building expectation; a potentiality sparring in his mind. Though his head reels between discerning reality and desire, the sparkling sand under his feet is suddenly so very clear. 

[[Perhaps we can rectify this?]] 

It is directly behind him now, so close that he feels a change in the air. He tenses more than he ever thought possible, desperate to seek out his end, but unable to move. 

“I….” he cannot fathom what it means by this, but anything, absolutely anything - he swallows, unsure of how his voice will carry. “Yes…”

<Release yourself.> Its command is more…singular, more focused, but still an effect of his mind. 

“What?” 

<Do you not trust us? Let go…> 

A cloaked hand hovers over his own. In his reluctance, he notes the pulse of wavering scales upon the sleeve. It is an alluring rhythm; even more so is the way it moves with his hand as he loosens his grip and hovers over himself at equal distance. He briefly wonders if it would mirror his own if he waved his arm in the air, as if feeling atmosphere or water. 

<Good…>

It is not like his Witness to invoke praise, let alone for such a menial task, but he accepts the strangeness occurring in its own right as he notes his extended member twitch. 

It must notice too, for the hand above his lowers slightly, falling to the side instead of upon his own. 

A flash of hands upon him stirs in his mind -- but metallic shuffling behind him pulls him from the vision in time to hear another command. 

“Now stroke your under spines…”

Vision re-focusing, he obeys and begins from the bottom, running against their weave. A shiver runs through him as it twitches in his palm. 

<Mm...>

It was also not like his Witness to be idle, in either words or deeds. Speech was done with purpose. He flinches as a cold finger runs up the wrist he uses, stopping midway to his elbow. 

<Continue,> and he does, not realizing he had stilled. 

<What if we took you, Rhulk? Every inch of you…submerged in our divine form.>

His hand tightens; he cannot help as images and sensations from before come flooding back.

“Release…” 

The word is almost breathless, as if caught in surprise. It lifts the fingers on his arm, hovering low past the vein at the top of his hand, brushing knuckles in goodbye. 

<Your will would shatter…so we will do this instead.>

He inhaled sharply as a cool hand wrapped around him. It wasted no time or effort rubbing circles on his tip with a thumb and massaging the textured underside with delicate ministrations. Though he wished to lean back fully into its embrace, cold metal changed the very air between them, causing pause; so he resisted the uncertain comfort and remained poised. 

He flinches as images flash in his mind; moments of it leaning over him, where he is fully flat on the towel, lifting his hips to <salvation…>

The thoughts, the words were not his, but his were the same. 

“I-I want…”

“Yes?” And how gentle the question is, carried across the warm air between them. 

“I want to please you…” the dream he awoke from earlier was still fresh: visions and sensations of it rising and falling on him clung to his skull like after images. He wished to hold those hips -- if they were above him -- and to guide them together. 

“Can you….finish for us?” the softness in its voice taunted the shoulder it fell on, prompting a shiver. 

He very nearly had, twice over. 

“Would that please you, my Witness?”

A soft hum - it could not be a moan - on his skin is too much as it massages his tip after another gentle squeeze. His hand flies forward to hold its own upon him, pushing its palm and fingers flush and firm between it and his hand. He leans over just so, and soft skin greets the side of his face as his Witness follows his curvature.

[[There you are.]]

His hips jerk forward, his underspines bereft in delicious friction as they extend against its palm. He gasps in shock, for even in the light of a sun, his Witness’ full embrace is cold, so much colder than the warm wet heat of -

He then realizes his Witness was right; he could not contain his will and thrust ever more eagerly into its sex, losing focus  from the task before him as images of its flushed form undulating above him flickered in his mind.

His brain stops for a moment to process its gentle grip on his relaxing sex; his splayed legs, the comfort - cold as they may be - of several arms wrapped around him. One of its hands, gloved, still cradles his spent member. 

That much of it had been real, at least.

What if it was all real? He stays the flow of artificial memories with a blush.

<Mm>. It's thoughtful as it inspects the fingers that held him. Contentedness belied by regret infiltrates its demeanor, felt in the core surrounding him. 

“We did not intend to afflict you in this way…” The disciple shivers as the timbre of its voices runs through him; cold metal and hands hovering over him in a cascading wave towards stillness. 

“Afflict me?” The digits rubbing his hips and arms stilled as he attempted to turn, but he decided against it at the notion of their comfort leaving so soon. 

<The shape of you…was too beautiful to not turn in our mind's eye for a moment.>

(It is yours that cannot be contained). He stays his lips from voicing the thought. He stifles his confusion at this principle; of being desired, and so strongly. 

<We have our own way of…seeing truth…of enacting it…this truth bleeds. The projection you experienced was…overflow.>

A new hand cradles his chin from behind, prompting rest upon it. When he blinks, he sees the echo of the dream; its previously inferred nude form clinging to him in warm starlight, kissing his face. 

He is far from being cold, but it warms him nonetheless.

“O.. Overflow?...”

<There are many of us…all wanting the same thing… >

“Finality.” 

<Finality…>

It is thoughtful, as if he was incorrect. The word feels loose, unfinished when spoken in their current state. It is a jarring dichotomy - the place they would much rather be, and the place they are. 

He has a small urge in his heart to make them the same. 

“And I am…a distraction?”

<You are…sated.>

“Are you?” 

It strokes him in slow, deliberate silence; distracted within itself. The dream-flash returns with the movement of an arm across his breast that changes into a flushed face nuzzling his neck in its very last moments. 

<Mm…>

This time he did turn part-ways, and did so to sounds of crackling glass as semi-present limbs made way for his transgression. 

It was...the same. Armored in its metallic dress as always, though it was somewhat splayed out to hold him. It opened its eyes blearily, their respite and cover taken away once he had turned his head. 

“No.”

“Oh,” he says, turning his torso back and readjusting his suit. He hopes the small flush in his core is perceived as a remnant from minutes before, but his initial surprise is overtaken by an inkling of thrill.

Its grasp on his body tightens. The face resting on his nape is soft, but the tension surrounding him begs one to wonder if it is contorted; a contrast to the relaxed and enthusiastic faces in the other realm.

He closes his eyes and feeds the dream a sweet thought of pushing its form onto warm sand - shaded as it might be, still warmed from the thick and encompassing atmosphere - and it relents enough for him to turn with an exertion of strength. 

Its eyes are open in wide surprise he has rarely seen; almost challenging. In reality, it is not lowered onto the sand as he expected, more feared - but tilted only slightly aback. 

If it truly wanted to kiss him, surely it would have done so in their solid plane, and not so fervently in a dream. Instead he strokes a divine cheek and investigates the clad form before him in lieu of challenging its expression; for he might have to face himself in its eyes. 

He runs his hand down the serrations, in between two folds of the strange robe. It stiffens, grasping his wrist, but does not push him away. He lets the errant hand guide his own lower, into the middle of its dress and against the cold rods which part like dense underbrush; firm yet yielding. 

<Here...>

He splayes his fingers deeper into the layers, pushing the metal chimes aside even as the outer layers make way for him. Its form becomes impossibly stiff, all grips tightening on him and holding him in place. He risks a glance upward, and averts his gaze down when he sees eyes closed in bliss that could catch him at any moment; a moment not for him to take. 

Though it’s difficult for him to discern what his hand encounters in the depths of the metallic dress, he does not show concern; maintaining a steady and cautious strength in his digits as they splay and curl, searching for purchase. One moment he may feel something slender, and he moves to grasp it; the next, it is gone, and he feels as if he is dipping his hand into cold, thick ether with unknown shapes of odd sharpness testing his resolve as they brush his knuckles. 

His Witness does not seem annoyed by this apparent struggle; if anything, it is perfectly still in anticipation. 

He finds the lithe form again as it runs across the tops of his fingers and grabs it. An odd memory resurfaces from the smooth but muscular sensation; invoking a precision he used to hunt eels in the murky dawn. 

Nostalgia fades as the star’s light becomes blinding, despite it being behind him. The being in his arms groans and gasps - he nearly jumps at the sound - but he maintains the firm grip. Even as it shudders and sighs under his hand, the dream projection is calm and lies atop him, nestling. It's a disorienting sensation as he feels his corpus being entombed by the real version of his Witness - though it is loosening in something akin to aggravation. 

He rubs the unseen form gently with his thumb, trying to find something reminiscent of its earlier actions on him. He barely notices the being beneath him relax with a faint quiver. It's surprisingly pliant, giving way to whatever force he uses, and he believes his grip is a gentle one. He surmises its strength will return with stimulation, and searches for the end as much as he will dare without losing it again - easy to do with how slick it is - gently squeezing as he goes. 

“Nng-” it is the softest, most stifled exhalation; it bucks slightly and brings its mouth closer to his head, as indicated by a stronger reverberation in the air between them. 

Holding it with a gentle rhythm, he uses his free hand to help reposition his knees before wrapping his arm around its waist to help hold it close. 

He bares his throat to tie the dream where it cradles his Witness’ face to their reality: it takes a languid kiss, a taste of his pulse, and he tries a firmer squeeze inside the cloak. 

It hums against the artery, filling his vascular core with pride. The errant hands relinquish their imprisoning grips to stroke his back, guiding him closer still, and making each small jolt of what must be its hips rock them both forward. 

A thought lays between his perception, thick and heavy, of him pushing it down, mouths connected.

He does not know if it is his. 

<Faster–>

The command fills his whole core with urgency, but it is the whisper of a name beside his head in the dream that spurs his hand. It breaks away from his throat with hasty gasps, something he thought unnecessary of itself, but there had been many welcome surprises today. He finds some flatter, wetter portion - if it was like his own sex, perhaps an underside to the tendril - and pushes onto it with rubbing motions. 

It cries out, he knows this. But it is hard to discern in the chaos of its hands and convulsing waist as it thrusts into his touch. The rest of him remains still, even as he loses the form inside the pocket with a sudden muscular pull. 

 The sun of the dream was warmer. Where it kissed him across the mouth in the light of the waning star, he only heard a collective shuddering sigh as it clung to him in the shade of his pyramid, his hand still buried in the metallic shingles, and its true face buried in his neck. 

Rhulk felt oddly afraid, not of somehow transgressing against it in his acts, but of being trusted to something vulnerable. 

He was Ruin, after all. 

The distant sensations of the dream are lifted as a warm blanket - a comfort gone far too soon - but he cannot lament its loss while attached to the truer moment. 

<<We are sated.>> The metallic rod-like structures push his hand out of themselves in shimmering motion. He leans back as it gathers itself, deep eyes fluttering as it rises in one slow, fluid movement; its back straightening to its typical poise.

As the Witness straightens to its typical height, he wonders how much within the visions is accurate, or merely a projection of his own desires and designs melding with its own; how smooth it truly was, if it would appear with the same marble skin in this moment - 

< You are released .> Large eyes looking down at him penetrate his distant gaze, which he realized he had been holding up at it for far too long. The words were more like a command, or even argument, than any statement, and kept him from exploring this realm of thought further. 

The fluid on his fingers is his only reassurance of the real: cool and smooth, as lotion.