characters: Buffaloman (& Akuma Shogun)
author's notes: MOM HOLY FUCK
Buffaloman was rock hard. That wasn’t a new sensation. The new power he gained after each successful training session often ended up with him masturbating gleefully in the darkness thanks to the sheer thrill of the day’s events. What was new was how it had happened this time.
Honestly, it had started like any normal day. Get up, have a spot of breakfast while attempting to ignore the banter of his fellow devil choujin, and then meet up with Lord Shogun in their training area. The God had managed to secure a couple of dumb weak choujin, lured with the promise of fighting a powerful opponent. With each one brought out, Buffaloman became more violent, spearing the men on his horns and adding their power to his own, savouring the new scars on his body. And Shogun would watch intently with each new victory Buffaloman gained.
Finally, the last one of the day came out. The opponent was slightly bigger than the average choujin that he usually faced, but Buffaloman was cocky. He had been enjoying the kills so far, and this new one would be no different. But the man had been a stubborn one, especially when he realised that he had been brought solely for the purpose of being killed. That he was nothing more than fodder for Buffaloman’s power. That choujin didn’t want to die. And Buffaloman had become sloppy as the fight winded down.
He remembered letting out a scream as he fell back, blood spilling from the gash on his chest. He had been forced to use all of his collected power against this opponent and his devil’s mark had flared brightly against as it was activated on his chest. The choujin, in some futile attempt at saving his life, had believed the symbol to be a weakness and had slashed at it. As Buffaloman fell back against the ring ropes, the man had leapt at him again, but before Buffaloman could even react, a blade had slid neatly through his chest, stopping the man in his tracks. The man’s blood spilled over onto Buffaloman’s own body as he started up, realising that Shogun had stepped into the ring. First came the rage that tore through him as he realised the loss of the choujin not by his own hands, meant that his power wouldn’t be increased. And second the humiliation at needing to be saved by his master.
Buffaloman tore himself out of the memory, snarling. The humiliation should’ve been enough to quell his erection, and yet.. his tongue slid out of his mouth, gingerly touching against the blood on his face. His eyes drifted shut, remembering Shogun’s hand on his shoulder, as his arm blade dripped with blood. The same blood he now tasted on his tongue. The metallic bitter taste stang and yet still Buffaloman could feel his hand drifting down to his crotch, "You should get washed up Buffaloman."
Leaning against the bed’s head board, his hand slipped into his pants, taking a hold of his cock. Red and silver clashed together in his thoughts, and his breath quickened. A silver helmet, a low chuckle, “I could have taken him.” Buffaloman’s own indignant yell as he pulled himself up. Shogun’s hand remaining on his shoulder even as blood dripped down over his chest. The closeness of their bodies and the sharp intake of breath Buffaloman had taken as pain and slight tingling sensation filled him. Gazing down at the helmet of his leader, at the man who was slightly shorter at him but could kill him in a moment’s notice.
Breathing through his nose, Buffaloman let out a low moan as his pace quickened. Fear was clouding his mind, heightening his state of arousal to almost dangerous levels. He wanted to fuck something or just get fucked himself. These were such dangerous feelings he was having. He released his throbbing dick so he could shakily slide his pants down just enough to release himself from his constraints. Yellow eyes glowing softly, he gazed down at himself, now fully erect and dripping. It was pulsing beneath his fingers in a very familiar way, and yet suddenly the ridges and veins felt foreign to him. What was he doing?
Dangerous thoughts were entering his mind. Shogun beneath him, Shogun on top of him, both of them drenched in blood as they made out on top of a pile of bodies. Was Shogun even able to make out? Memories and sensation of Shogun’s touch on his skin filled his head, cold steel touching his too warm body. His pace quickened substantially, the smell of blood becoming all too stronger, filling his senses. Buffaloman slumped down further into his bed, pressing his burning face against the pillow. He couldn’t believe how turned on he was. Even the softness of his bed seemed to burn against his heated body.
His mind desperately reeled for excuses for why he was sitting in his bunker, jacking off to the mere thought of the Devil Choujin leader. It was what Shogun represented, his power, his position. And couldn’t possibly be Shogun himself. A futile excuse really. The pleasure was far too intense for just a regular session and he was slowly losing himself in it, forgetting that he was even in his private room. In his mind’s eye he was back in the sparring room, Shogun’s iron clad hands running all over his body, rubbing still warm blood over him. Needy whimpers were threatening to escape him, and Buffaloman’s teeth unconsciously sank into his own lip to muffle them, drawing his own blood yet again as he started to tremble.
Ghostly fingers drifted over his body, from his shoulders, to his neck and continuing downwards to his chest, stomach, hips. Buffaloman’s skin was on fire as the imaginary fingers danced over his body. The thick intoxicating smell of blood was overpowering him, driving his senses wild. His eyes drifted shut, saliva trickling out of the corner of his mouth as he felt himself approach the point of no return, “Lord Shogun..” The quiet moan finally escaped his lips, and Buffaloman slid his thumb over the tip smearing pre-cum, almost delirious with pleasure. His bunker was creaking underneath him as he pumped his hips harder into his hands. His pants had nestled just below his hips and it was making it uncomfortable to thrust, but Buffaloman was beyond the point of caring. He felt so good, he was so close..!
Feverished thoughts were entering Buffaloman’s mind as he tipped on the edge of ecstasy, Dark tanned hands caressing his heated body at the most sensitive point. A mask of gold watching him and downright smirking as Buffaloman lost his mind to pleasure. Terror filled every essence of his being, but his hand actually stroked faster, desperately fisting over and over again on his throbbing shaft, pleasure coiling inside him and reaching a crescendo. He had to stop, wanted to, couldn’t. Shogun would kill him if he knew the thoughts that were going through his mind right now.
But it was too late, Buffaloman’s toes were curling; his mouth opening as desperate keens were wrung from his throat over and over again. Gold lips hovering against his own. And the sound, the memory of his name tumbling from them. "Buffaloman." His eyes squeezed shut as he surrendered. "My Lord!!"
It was a relief and an agony all at once. Sinking his teeth down onto his pillow, Buffaloman finally reached the peak of bliss, sweet relinquishing pleasure drowning his thoughts and his fear as he came, releasing spurts of hot white against his bed cover. His hips bucked uselessly into his hands, wetness dripping down his fingers, as the orgasm tore through his exhausted numb body.
Fatigue set in quickly but despite it, Buffaloman attempted to sit up, struggling due to his awkward position. He knew logically that Shogun couldn’t read minds, and yet he still expected the God to come charging into his room any minute, arm blades aiming directly for his heart. He felt.. wrong. Obscene. Depraved. Ecstatic. Looking at the still cooling mess over his clothes and bed, Buffaloman groaned, and still panting heavily, raised his clean hand to cover his eyes. As if simply ignoring the scene meant it hadn’t happened at all, If there had been a line, Buffaloman had surely crossed it.
Glancing back up at the still locked door, Buffaloman knew he was losing himself in denial, frustration and desperation and did the only thing he could think of. He punched himself square in the face. He grit his teeth as the pain stung his jaw, but the hit was enough to drag him back to his senses. No time like the present then, and despite the numbness he was feeling, Buffaloman removed his pants and climbed to his feet, rolling the soiled bed covers into a ball along with his pants and making his way to his small in room shower. So what if he had jacked off to his boss who so happened to be an omnipotent deity and kicked his ass everytime they sparred.
Buffaloman turned the taps onto full blast, the water washing away the night’s evidence. Right, he could handle this. This.. one off of whatever the hell had happened today. He’d sleep it off, get up tomorrow and it’d be all back to normal. He’d show up for training and.. and.. Buffaloman’s gut twisted in pleasure and he felt his knees go weak, leaning against the shower wall.
No, he could handle this. He would handle this. Because the contrary was something he couldn’t bear thinking about.