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ED fights you every step of getting him tied up, of course--you wouldn’t expect anything less from him --but he’s already lost and you both know it. He loves this, he tells you so when he’s the one who gets to you first, when he’s got you pinned and panting and taking your punishment for losing (by inches, in sweat, in slurry, in moans). Loves how much it burns, being reminded he can take whatever you can give, loves the pitch fire it sets in him when you do this to each other. You get him tied up with his hands pulled up above his head and his knees pulled up and apart and he snarls at you when you step back and grin at him.
“You and your stupid fucking brain powers!” He hisses at you, struggling against the ropes and your psionics --even when you let go with your powers, he can’t move more than a few inches. “You would be nothin’ without those you smug piece of mud-spawn trash , I’m gonna --” and then he loses the train of that thought in a gasp, because you lean in and bite down and suck hard at the inside of one of his thighs. He loves a little sting with his pleasure, you’ve learned; you bite and suck until his skin is bruising lavender and then move on to a spot on the other side, patiently leaving a trail of bruises up the soft insides of his thighs towards his nook. By the time you reach the crease of his hip he’s panting, fins flicking and bulge fully unsheathed, and you spare a second to catch the tip of his bulge between your lips and hum around it, just to make him whimper, before you pull away and sit up to watch him.
“You got desperate pretty fast, huh?” You tease, and Eridan’s face goes even darker purple.
“Maybe,” he pants, incensed, “...maybe if --y’ didn’t fuck off to g-god knows where for weeks at ah --ahhaaaa...I”
“You’re blaming me for you being a needy, easy little fuck?” you shake your head and your psionics twist his bulge around itself, tug on it gently, squeeze and rub at it until he can’t answer beyond a broken, shivery whine. “...you’re a big boy, ED, you can take care of yourself when I’m not around. Watch.”
You take hold of his bulge again, stroking slowly up and down it from root to tip, and he squeaks as two of your fingers slip into his nook as well, pushing and stretching, spreading him open.
“Put on a good show for me, ED,” you purr, and Eridan whimpers in furious, resentful ecstasy as you let his bulge go and it squirms down the crease of his thigh. You don’t even have to do anything; he can’t move a muscle to stop it as it slides, practically frictionless, into his own nook. “That’s right...” you send sparks skating over his fluttering gills and his back arches, he lets out a high, breathless whine. “...there you go, look at that. How is it in there?” You give it a few seconds, just to get used to it --and then reach down and slip a finger gently but relentlessly in alongside his bulge. He sobs. Tease with just the tip of another --he thrashes. “...tight?”
“ --fucking kill you!” Eridan wails, “ --come on, come on, It’s not --ahhahhh, oh god...” His bulge lashes inside him and he rolls his hips with nothing to push against, whining high and needy in the back of his throat --petty, prideful little size queen you’ve scored here, and there’s nothing you like better than rubbing his face in it. The noise he makes when you slide in that second finger alongside the first is pure poetry. “Oh, oh --“
You could make him come like this, just watching him humiliate himself, fucking himself like some kind of shameless animal in heat until he can’t stand it anymore, until he comes without ever feeling your bulge. But it has been a long time, and if you’re going to take him to shaking pieces you’re going to do it in style.
You reach into the bag you brought with you and dig around until you find your most recent purchase, never stopping the slow movement of your fingers around his bulge, stretching his nook in slow, steady strokes that make him whimper. It’s all in black and silver (expensive as fuck, but that’s okay because you bought it on his credit), efficient and sleek and vicious-looking. It looks more like a torture device than a concupiscent toy.
...which is good. Because that’s what you intend to use it for.
The thought sends a pleasant hot shiver right through you to your bulge and you take a second to watch him and rock on your throbbing nook, tormenting yourself with your own emptiness and imagining everything you could do to him when he’s like this. He’s making tiny, jerky motions now, twisting his hips more on instinct than because it helps, searching for some kind of friction, and you wait until the moment his movements start to get shaky, his whimpers get high and tight...and then hook your fingers around his bulge and pull.
The noise he makes when you tug his bulge out of him is amazing. He thrashes, pinned where he is, and you hold his hips flat and still and slowly, carefully wind his bulge around the toy, hilt to tip. He squirms at the touches, trying to raise his head to look down --you wrap your psionics around his horns and flatten him down again.
“The fuck --you think you’re doing --” And then you twist it around, press the head of his bulge back to his twitching nook and he catches his breath, back arching up in a perfect, shivering curve. “ --oh fuck, oh fuck --!”
“Is that a ‘no’?” God, he’s fucking dripping, there’s violet everywhere and you almost lose control for a second, just grab his hips and plow him into the mattress until he screams. But you have a plan, a program, and instead you flick open the fly of your pants and grin at him as you stroke your own bulge, teasing yourself through the fabric of your underwear.
“Come on --”
“Come on what, ED?” You nudge the head a little further in and he shrieks and thrashes, trying to push down onto it, clenching hungrily around thin air. God, he’s so beautiful when he’s desperate.
“Just --get it in there, stop fucking teasing!”
“Ask nicely.”
“Oh fuck you!” He spits, and then you pull the toy away again and he whimpers. “ --no, no no no, fuck, I --p-please, please, come on --”
Good enough for you. You pin his hips down again, spread his legs as far as they’ll go just to watch his thighs tremble, just to see the bruises you’ve left on them, and ever-so-slowly start to slide the toy --and his bulge --back into his nook. His moans rise in pitch with every inch until he’s keening in desperation, his claws tear the fabric under him and he would be thrashing if you weren’t holding him perfectly still, forcing him to take it agonizingly slowly, stretching him out around the unforgiving width of the toy and his pinned, twitching bulge.
By the time you’re done he’s sobbing in frustration, stretched as wide as he’ll go and writhing in helpless pleasure. You take a moment to sit back again and admire your handiwork and he thrashes, trying shamelessly to fuck himself but trapped in place by the extra size of the fuck-toy. You run your finger around the tight-stretched rim of his nook and he whimpers and shakes.
“You look good, ED.“
He tries to answer, but you take a hold of the end of the toy with your psionics and give it a shallow thrust, in and out --he wails your name like a curse and thrashes impotently for more and it’s gorgeous. You pick his hips up a little, just so you can see the few free inches of his bulge thrashing and twisting outside his nook, trying to lash.
He makes even prettier noises when you starting moving; your psionics can handle the toy just fine, going in and out nice and slowly while the fingertips of one of your hands keep teasing the stretched rim of his nook and stroking, tugging, squeezing at the root of his bulge. You keep your other hand moving light and slow over your own bulge, dragging it out, letting your own desperation build and redouble as you watch him. A minute, and his eyes have rolled back in his head. Three minutes, and he’s shaking, babbling, begging. You watch him hungrily for a few seconds, letting him writhe, and then twist your power, trying to find the spot deep in his nook that’ll make him --
You know when you’ve found it because he spasms like he’s been electrocuted and wails at the top of his lungs. You grin, dizzy on the power rush, and rub the toy and the head of his bulge back and forth and back against that spot, watching him sweat and strain and thrash, listening to him sob and wail.
And then you go still. He shrieks and starts to lunge up at you and you pin him flat, leaving him there with the pressure just barely grinding on that sensitive spot, and grin at him until he can form words again. It’s not easy. Every time a muscle shifts inside him the angle changes slightly --the toy gives him the tiniest tease of pressure.
“You,” he pants, and then shudders at another tantalizing spark of ecstasy. “You --fucking --” He makes a wordless sound that’s pure, beautiful desperation. You walk your fingers up his chest and absently tweak and stroke his fins until he’s undone again.
“So did you know,” you ask, talking slow, moving slow, and he whines and then whines again, louder, as the sensitive tip of his bulge rubs against the wall of his nook. “...did you know there are some toys that are made just for us lowblood scum to use?” You wait a few seconds, and he groans. You grin at him. “Me neither. But it turns out if you’ve got the right kind of psionics...” and you lay a finger on the tip of the toy, pushing it just a little, just to watch his eyes widen as he realizes what you’re about to do.
“Ahh-hh!” he starts, half a sound of protest, half a moan of longing, and you take the decision out of his hands by running your psionics down your finger and into the toy until, ever-so-slowly, it hums into life.
You start it so slow, as low as you can set it. ED keens and babbles things you can’t make sense of, yes and sol and don’t stop don’t you dare stopand please, please, fucking move --! and you grin and intensify the vibration, slow and constant, never quite enough all at once to tip him over the edge, until he’s wrecked and shaking, his voice just a continuous stream of high, breathless moans, his whole body wracked with spasms of pleasure. He’s quaking all over, balanced exquisitely close to the edge, so close he can’t move, can’t even breathe.
And then, one last time, you stop.
“Pitch for you,” you remind him, and then you send a great surge of power into the vibrator and grind it hard into him and he comes in his own nook with a scream like you’re fucking killing him.
You fuck him through it, merciless, until you hear his whines go tight and unhappy at the edges. You quit, not pulling his bulge out of him, but sitting back to look him over, glorying in the way he’s come so entirely undone for you. Your bulge winds around your fingers and you shudder and squeeze and don’t let yourself come yet, you can take it longer than this, oh god, so fucking good --
--you trail the claws of one foot up the tender, bruised inside of his thigh, and he whimpers, still trembling with aftershocks as you stroke your bulge and purr.
“Not bad,” you tell him, a satisfied half-laugh, and he closes his eyes and shudders all over. “If I’d known you liked your own bulge that much, I’d have tried --ah --! T-tried stuffing you full of it before now.”
“Fuck you...“
“Not my job,” you remind him, and your smile never falls as you slide your toe down to his twitching, dripping nook, resting it on the end of the vibrator. “...yours right now. Remember?” You push a little bit, just to watch him arch and writhe. “Remember?”
“Yes!” He gasps, and thrashes against your control, keening from almost-pain and white-hot pleasure. “Yes, y-yes I got it, yes --”
“Better fuck yourself for me every day I’m away,” you hiss, and it’s a struggle to keep your breath steady, rocking the pad of your foot against his stuffed nook, making him whine in surrender. “...better get some photo evidence from you every day, ED, or I’ll have to remind you like this every time I get home --”
“You’re gonna scream next time, Captor,” he rasps, and then his head slams back as you growl and give him a sharp jolt of pressure, his voice cracks. “ --I’m gonna --next --time I --god, god, FUCK I fucking hate you, you petty deviant muckswilling piece of shit you asshole I hate you --!”And you can’t help it, you squeeze your bulge and moan and come all over your own lap in a panting mess.
You both lie there silent for a little while, just breathing. You’ve still got your foot on the inside of his thigh; his nook leaks violet against the sole of your foot, slick and twitching every time his bulge shifts inside of him.
“...you win, okay,” he says, finally, and you knew that already, of course you’ve won, but hearing him say it makes you want to laugh like an idiot and then tear him apart. He’s shaking and limp and vulnerable and you want more. “Untie me already.”
“Mm.” You sprawl, luxurious, considering it. “...not yet. I wanna get another good look first.” He sputters and you grin lazily at him and psionically tug on the ropes holding him, rolling him over on his front with his face pressed down and his ass in the air. He’s pure violet with indignation, cursing up a storm, but his voice is all muffled by the sheets and the way his ass trembles when he struggles is enough to make your bulge twitch again, even with your slurry still cooling on your thighs.
“I wonder how much more you could fit,” you muse, and he goes rigid as you rub the taut skin around his nook with one thumb, watching it flutter helplessly.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare --you got your look, now untie me!”
You give him a good, long look, up and down.
And then you shift the toy just a fraction of an inch inside him and grin with all your teeth.
“Not so fast, darling,” you tell him, vicious and mockingly sweet, and he bucks up against you in overwrought pleasure as his bulge starts to revive, a fresh trickle of violet down his stained thighs. “...I’m not done with you yet. We’ve got all day.“