Work Text:
Vrodah Honeytaker licked the blade of its rapier clean with its dainty prehensile tongue. It was a hooved daemon of lurid magenta whose voluptuous body moved across the corpse-strewn ground of this dark world with the grace of a bird in flight, its two fat asymmetrical rows of tits and big, jiggling ass rippling with every deadly step and thrust, its long violet hair streaming out from between its spiral horns.
The battlefield stretched out beyond them, rocky and barren but for the thick mulch of the dead laid across it, fulfillment of one bout of rage and the seed of many others. It was quiet now, but the roar would rise again as the living came to die avenging their fallen comrades.
Adomeud the Severing Axe had fought with Vrodah for countless aeons, sometimes even on the same side. Allyship with the prancing, preening peacock of a swordsman was useful, when it was necessary. It could swing a weapon. The blood flowed well. But its eccentricities wore on Adomeud's rageful nerves.
For example, it was not advancing now to the next clutch of their quarry, the impudent mortals who dared to defy the power of Chaos. It was not going anywhere. It was whining that it was bored.
"How." Adomeud stared at its rival with blank, annoyed incomprehension. "Literally how. We've been fighting for weeks. We crush the mortal armies under our hooves." It gave a stomp to drive its point home, bursting the head of one of the bodies on the ground. "We wade in a lake of gore up to our thighs. How are you bored?"
"Because it's been weeks!" Vrodah returned. "Weeks and weeks of the same thing."
"Yeah. Violence. That fancy violence." It gestured to the elaborate confection its rival was pleased to call a sword, and the delicate posture with which it held it. "You like it."
Vrodah now flourished its sword as it flourished its plump tail, waving it through the air to demonstrate its displeasure. "I don't like fencing and nothing but fencing on and on, world without end, until my brains leak out my ears! It dulls the palate. I need variety."
Adomeud frowned, its great heavy brows drawing together on its leathery red forehead. "You could try a mace?" it suggested.
"I don't want a mace!" Vrodah snapped. "I want a gown of polychrome silks and a ball at which to dance in it. Or a heroic dose of uppers and a speeder race through a minefield. Or a tentacle massage from beasts with jagged beaks. You know?"
The incomprehension rose to fury. "No," Adomeud said. "I don't know. No one knows, because you're talking grox shit."
Vrodah continued its rant undeterred. "Or fuck! God of Joy, I could go for some fuck right now."
Adomeud had had about enough of this, and swung its big, meaty fist at Vrodah's prattling mouth.
That mouth opened, fast as desire, to suck the fist down its gaping throat into the strange wet velvet of its insides and pierce the rugged arm with its needle-sharp teeth.
Adomeud snarled. It shook its arm to get the other daemon off it. It only succeeded in lifting Vrodah up off the ground and swinging it, making its hair and plump tits wave like a flag.
"Come on," it growled, shaking harder. "Let go."
Vrodah made a gesture with its claw that meant 'no can do,' and only swallowed harder, advancing up the arm and drawing Adomeud's hand further into its smooth, warm depths before biting down.
The Khornate daemon grunted as its arm was severed and disappeared down the hungry gullet. It summoned more rage to form into flesh to take its place. It was not permanently maimed, but it was pissed. "You done?" it asked, flexing its new hand.
"Not even close," Vrodah said. Its yellow eyes focused in on Adomeud's cock, a suitably martial thimble-sized nub that made for a small target and didn't interfere with the straining of its mighty thighs in battle. "You got somethin' for me, and I wanna see what you do with it."
Adomeud scrunched up its broad, bovine face in confusion. "You want to see me piss?"
"Yeah!" Vrodah enthused, and fixed its gaze on the Adomeud's crotch like it was taking evidence.
A long moment stretched between them, in which Adomeud weighed the merits of simply chopping the obnoxious coxcomb apart and continuing on with the battle alone. It thought of the enemy champions, and the waves and waves of bodies they put between themselves and an honest axeman who wanted to slay them. The waves parted more readily for two. "Fine," it grumbled. "If piss will get you back in the fight, then fine. You can have piss."
It took another moment to remember the process. Adomeud did not piss often. It often punched, and swung axes. It often sprang forward on meaty haunches so that it might punch and swing axes further forward. It bellowed wordless warcries along with demands for blood and skulls. Sometimes it bit, and when there was blood to drink, it swallowed. These movements, the emotions that fueled them, and the parts of its hulking body involved in them were familiar to it through constant daily use. Piss was less common. Khorne did not breed daemons of piss.
It was something above the legs, it remembered that much. Some muscle like those that turned in the torso to bring an axe to bear. But not quite the same motion. It twisted in place, groping around its range of functions to find the right one. Eventually, some little-used memory unlocked. A pressure released, and hot fluid began to trickle and then to stream out from its tiny cock onto the gore-streaked ground, fragrant and red.
Vrodah raised an eyebrow when it saw the stream of blood. "You should get that looked at," it suggested.
"Well, you're looking at it, aren't you?" said Adomeud.
Vrodah nodded. It was looking intently. "Maybe you should get it touched." It knelt down below the stream and offered up its tits for the purpose, two rows of three, totaling the sacred six. Adomeud thought that eight would be better, or better still, to dispense with them entirely and use the mass for more murderous appendages. But Vrodah did not consult Adomeud's preference, in this or in any other things, so six it was. Three round and feminine, and another three smoother and more masculine, but all of them plump, and all of them growing plumper with excitement. Vrodah dropped its sword to press them together and splash them with the hot blood.
It moaned in appreciation, tipping its head back as it bounced and jiggled them in the thick, sticky liquid. Adomeud could admit that the absurd tits looked better covered in blood. Everything did, really. Now it had the hang of it, it pissed with more vigor, to cover as much of the obnoxious duelist's chest as it could.
"Yeah, touching it was the right call," Vrodah said, rubbing the thick blood between dainty, voluptuary fingers and fondling its own fat tits. "Now you ought to get it tasted. C'mere."
As quick as a wish, it was on its hooved feet and stuffing its blood-covered tits in Adomeud's face. They were soft. It would never get used to a daemon's body being soft; they gave under pressure like fleshy pillows. But the blood was hot and good, and Adomeud opened for it, sucking it into its mouth with eager rapacity. It cared not whence the blood flowed, nor what fanciful frippery of a body part it splattered on. It was there, and that was enough. For the first time, Adomeud started to enjoy this bizarre exchange. If it weren't actively slaying enemies right now, at least it had a good mouthful of blood. It dropped its axe now to grab Vrodah and pull it closer, forcing it into position for its thirsting tongue. The daemon of Slaanesh made no protest, but writhed and wrapped its thighs around its waist, as thick and jiggly as the impossible tits in its mouth.
"Fuck me," Vrodah demanded, choosing to embody those parts of the universe that were a pussy, and those concepts of a pussy that had teeth. The join of its legs became wet and soft and bitey on Adomeud's skin, taking chunks of flesh in its path as it sought the little target of its cock.
Its body regrew the stolen pieces. It was made of feeling, and at the moment it felt its wholeness as much as it felt the assault, but god of Blood, those teeth were sharp. Adomeud found itself thrusting forward to meet the enemy.
The enemy grinned with a flash of wide ivory and slipped out of Adomeud's arms to drop to all fours on the charred, cratered ground and turn its body, tail raised, jamming its soft mounds of ass against its crotch. "Yeah, fuck me like that," it growled, slipping a hand between its legs to finger itself and guide the cocklet in its toothy maw.
It stirred up a feeling inside Adomeud, strong and new and strange. "Is this... anger?" it asked as it pushed itself forward, drawn to the sharp teeth and soft pussy walls by something it couldn't understand.
"Yeah!" Vrodah said. "Aren't you angry that your cock isn't in my pussy right now? Don't you want to do something about it?" It rocked its big, wide hips, and Adomeud thrust forward into it.
It did feel like anger, and defeating the impediment of distance did feel like satisfaction, like defeating the tissue that held a neck to a head, or the armor that covered a body that should be paste. Pussy was as wet and tight as the inside of Vrodah's guts. Adomeud wondered if the other daemon were velvet all the way through, just velvet, and slick wetness, and teeth.
Vrodah whipped out its fleshy pink tail behind it to grab Adomeud and pull it closer. "Now that it's in there," it asked, "doesn't it piss you off that it's not sliding in again?"
Then it clicked. "Oh," it said. "It's punching!" When it hadn't punched someone, it was angry that it hadn't. And when it punched someone once, it wasn't satisfied leaving its fist right where it was. It had to draw it back and slam it in again.
"Sure!" Vrodah said, bucking its hips up and spreading wide to welcome the blows. "Sure, if that's what works for you. Punch me in the cunt with your dick!"
Now it knew what it was doing, Adomeud punched it hard. Felt the slide of slick flesh walls and the scrape of teeth around it and slammed in heedless, pounding into all in its path.
It felt the clench of flesh around its bloody cock, and the bite of needle teeth. They felt like Vrodah's rapier, thirsting and implacable. It fuck-punched into the bite, raging at every little jab and scrape.
Then a big, fat ass slammed into it, and it was on its back. A flash of pink leg and tail over its face, and Vrodah was on top of it, facing it, gripping its broad shoulders with its claws.
"Now I'm gonna punch you," it informed it, grabbing its cock in its fingers and holding it in place. Its clit was bigger than Adomeud's cock, swollen with lust, and it slammed into it like a hammer, forcing its tip inside the tiny hole.
Adomeud cried out in rage, and Vrodah met its toothy maw with its own, biting its lip, roaring into its roar. "You bite me," Vrodah instructed, drawing back its unholy flexible hips to pound forward again, forcing the cockhole open wider. "I punch you in the cock with my clit, and you open up your hole and bite me with it, and suck me down like blood. Got it?"
"This is—" Adomeud grunted with pain and fury that was not completely distinct from arousal, "—a pretty abstract idea of fighting, Six-Tits."
"Roll with it," Six-Tits said, thrusting in again, its clit splitting Adomeud's cock open like a wedge.
It opened for it as was demanded. It opened wide and thirsty to suck the clit in like the blood of battle, lifted up its hips in rage at the blows that rained down upon it, bit off a mouthful of blood-stained tit, spat out the flesh, and drank the blood that poured forth from the wound. It drank the painful, too-big clit deep in its cockhole. Soft, like everything about the infuriating daemon on top of it, but also forceful, and intrusive. The kind of appendage that made it want to tighten down and strangle it. Adomeud was angrier that it had ever been in its timeless life, and the anger coiled tighter until it snapped inside it like a spring. Rage pulsed like a flood through its body. Blood flowed out the stretched and cracked hole of its dick.
"You really only got the one fluid, huh?" Vrodah asked.
"It's the only one I need," Adomeud returned. Its cock was splitting open now with the rough pounding, as more and more of the supple pink clit was forced inside.
Vrodah moved faster now, harder, jerking its great soft body forward like the waves of a frantic ocean. It gripped Adomeud harder, piercing its skin with its claws. "Just like that," it said, its voice growing high and needy. "Just like that. Call me by a kinship term!"
"Brother, you're crazy!" Adomeud spat.
"That works!" Vrodah spasmed inside it and gushed fluid over its thighs that smelled like poppy resin and sparkled like pure diamond dust. It burned where it met the open wound, and the burn turned to something Adomeud had no word for, that was not very much like rage.
Vrodah heaved a great, shuddering breath that made its flesh jiggle, swiped up a handful of their mingled fluids, and shoved the hand deep in its own mouth to suck them off. "Mm. Good punching," it said. "And good drinking, too. I can see why your god keeps you around."
"Yours keeps you around because it's a crazy pervert," Adomeud said, "and it likes this kind of thing."
Vrodah gave no counter to this statement. It bounced to its hooves with a spring in its step, swifter and more agile than before. Bolstered by its meal of fleshly pleasure, it took up its blade and swished it through the air, making a few practice thrusts.
Adomeud watched it from its place on the ground, annoyed as ever at the lightning-fast changes in its mercurial rival. "It's going to be five minutes before you want some other weird thing," it said.
"Yeah!" Vrodah said, with a bright, bloodstained smile. "Now you're getting it! Now come on. I can stab more mortals than you can chop, and if you think I'm wrong, you'd better prove it!"
And it pranced off toward the battle, toward the roar of rage that was slowly rising up from the quiet, leaving Adomeud to drag itself up from the ground.