Slake Saga: Forging Bonds

More stuff with Slake! At this point in Damian's Tournament, Zyxxs and I got really into the idea of making our characters pals, so we RP'd the fuck out of them together. Hence this entire blog post of what basically amount to RP logs. I don't think there's even much sex in this one. It's mostly just character interaction. But it's still good! Well, if you're me and Zyxxs.

. . . I didn't sell that very well, but go ahead and pretend I did.

Anyway, the scene opens here in the wake of Conquer's defeat (and, unknown to our heroes, capture) and just what that means to his angsty, angry, steadily getting drunk-off-his-ass, son . . .

Slake belongs to me, Screwjob belongs to Zyxxs, all other character mentioned or cameo'd belong to their respective owners. :]

('On a Short Leash', by Maryn, colored by myself)

 The Night Before

(co-written with Zyxxs)

The interior of the gay leather bar was dark, musty, and full of cigarette smoke -- it was everything that Screwjob loved. He had dressed in his "Sunday best"...namely, decked himself out in his favorite leather outfit -- shiny black leather pants, black leather vest donned over his bare chest, heavy boots, and his favorite biker's cap perched on his head, nestled neatly between his horns. The troll gulped down his first shot of a hard ale, his other arm wrapped around his partner's shoulders -- the blue oni was seated next to him at the bar.

"Isn't this great, partner?" Screwjob was beaming from ear. "We're winners! Winners, winners, chicken dinners!" The troll rambled in a singsong tone. It was the night after their first tournament victory, and he was in the mood to celebrate.

"Yeah . . . it's great," said Slake sourly. The oni was nursing a bottle of spirits, not even bothering with a cup as he slugged the drink back. He was in a shit mood, despite their team winning. Had been in a shit mood over a week, really . . . ever since watching the re-run of that fight, seeing his all-powerful father actually lose . . . though not in any way satisfactory to Slake. The whole thing made him grind his teeth and gave him the urge to punch things. And hanging out at a place like this wasn't going to lift his spirits any.

For his part, the oni had been obliged to shed his pants before entering this hole--some kind of tavern that Screwjob had been to before, where everyone dressed in the tanned hide of cattle. It was obviously sexual, which had made the big blue fighter roll his eyes when he'd discovered the kind of place his partner chose to take him to 'celebrate'. Regardless, the place had a strict dress code and so, in addition to his fundoshi, Slake also wore a leather collar around his thick neck with a leash attached to it which Screwjob had 'just happened' to bring along. Slake wasn't sure, but he suspected his partner was having some fun at his expense.

He slammed the bottle down--his third--and turned to glare at the troll. "Don't see what you're so happy about. That win was nothing . . . Even if the other side was far stronger, anyone could beat 'em if they know ahead of time they just gotta knock 'em off those wood pillars . . . It was meaningless."

Screwjob turned his head and stared at Slake for a moment, blinking. The troll had obviously been expecting the oni to be slightly happier with their victory in the first round. "You oni have a strange, strange way of celebrating, Blue." The troll waited for the bartender to pour another shot of ale for him, which he downed in a second. "We had some pretty tough competition there -- we definitely earned our win. And come on, after that one night you got trash talked..." The troll just sighed and decided to stop there, not wanting to press the issue and irritate the oni more. They were gonna have fun tonight, dammit!

Just then, a mean-looking dwarf passed behind Screwjob and Slake, with a brute of an orc in tow -- the greenskin was on a collar and leash, very similar similar to the one Slake was wearing, and the rest of the orc's outfit left very little to the imagination.

The dwarf stopped, and the green beast behind him halted in turn. The short, stocky bearded man then eyed the pair at the bar up and down -- first Screwjob, and then Slake.

"Nice pup ye got there, troll!" The dwarf grunted in a thick Scottish accent.

Screwjob just smiled. "Thanks! Same to you, dwarf!"

The troll tugged firmly on Slake's leash, hoping the oni would go along with the act -- he had explained to Slake beforehand that they needed to keep up appearances and blend in with the crowd.

"Quite an exotic one. Stupid here and I gotta get going for now, but we'll have to talk more later -- I'd love to hear all about how you acquired such a fine-looking beast!" The dwarf took a long drag on a cigar he was holding in his free hand, nodded to the pair, and with a tug on his own "pup's" leash, he and his green brute of a slave were off to tend to their own business.

"See?" Screwjob turned his attention back to Slake. "The guys here are liking you already!"

He was met with glaring yellow eyes. "What. The. Fuck. did that dwarf just call me?" Slake grabbed Screwjob by the sides of his leather vest and pulled him up so they were chest to chest, the fierce oni glaring down at his partner. After the week he'd been having, he was NOT in the mood for this shit.

Screwjob let out a low, grunting gasp as Slake gripped his vest and pulled him in.

"Hey! Easy on the leathers, Slake!" It was all too apparent that the oni was irritated. Screwjob had to defuse this quickly. "Calm down. I don't expect you to understand the culture of the leather world, but could you please dig down deep for me and be a little more understanding? In his own way, he just dealt you a great compliment!"

Maybe Screwjob did want to show off a little to the crowd...but the troll struggled to remember why he thought that trying to pose Slake as his own puppy slave without the oni knowing was a good idea.

"A compliment?!" Slake snorted and turned back to his beer.

"Yeah, right. I may not know much about this kinda shit, but I ain't stupid," he said caustically. Another glug, and he was wiping the foam from his scruffy chin. " . . . He think I'm yer bitch, don't he."

The fuckin' idea . . . Him, an Oni prince, thought to be submissive plaything of a mere troll mercenary. How the mighty had fallen. But rather than react in prideful anger, such thoughts on this night only made Slake think on his father again . . . which caused him in turn to knock back another round. When it looked like Screwjob wasn't drinking his own glass anymore, Slake took that one too.

In truth, the oni had never imbibed alcohol in any large quantity. They didn't have the stuff where he came from . . . mostly just gorged themselves on the blood of their enemies. And so Slake wasn't even fully aware how overdrinking could affect him.

Screwjob just blew out a huge sigh. "Look, I'm sorry if I got a little overzealous about our night. But by all the gods, Slake, you're being a huge stick in the mud."

The troll grumbled, just swirling his next shot around in its tiny glass. The night was certainly not going as he had hoped. "What's eating you, man?" Screwjob finally relented. He knew that Slake was a very private person, but enough was enough. "Come on. Something's bothering you. Something's been bothering you. Why don't you just come clean?"

"Come clean? With who? You?" Slake snorted to himself . . . then paused, and took a good look at the big ugly troll, his eyes slightly bleary. For all his faults--and he had many--Screwjob had never turned against him. Other than a few little tussles, that was, and who could blame him for that, they were both big guys who liked to roughhouse. But no, as he thought about it, the troll had never expressed disgust at him, had never judged. In fact . . . they basically got along. And ever since his exile, Screwjob was the one person Slake had spent any significant amount of time with.

He was practically a friend.

The oni shuddered at that, and shook his head again, more at himself than at Screwjob. "Why don't you just mind your own fucking business, troll. I came out here 'cuz you insisted, but I ain't about to start spoutin' 'bout my *feelings* like that damn . . . Magic Pony Show."

He hiccupped.

Screwjob just grunted, crossing his beefy arms, giving Slake a serious look. As exasperated as he was, the troll needed a cigar.

"Slake, I'm really getting tired of your bullshit," Screwjob grumped as he lit his stogie and started puffing on it. "I'm your partner in all this; I deserve to know what's wrong. If you leave something to eat away at you, it's gonna affect our performance -- we'll lose and you won't get what you're after."

The troll sighed between a huge puff, patting the oni on his shoulder. "Besides, believe it or not, I do care about you."

"'What I'm after'? Pah! I've already LOST that 'cause of this DAMN Tournament!" Slake exploded, suddenly slapping Screwjob's arm away. Though he could tell the troll's offer was genuine, Slake just wasn't in the mood to talk about this.

"Whatever. You wouldn't even understand," he said, nursing another drink. While Slake resembled a massive brute of hairy and muscular man, the truth was that in oni years, he was still only a few centuries off from being a teenager still. He usually hid it well, but the shock of seeing his father appear before him again and then vanish just as quickly, coupled with the gallon of ale he'd downed was making it show through. "No one would."

Getting up from the bar, Slake started to unsteadily stalk towards the exit . . . forgetting that Screwjob still held his collar's leash.

Screwjob found himself growing more and more irritated at the oni's emo, passive-aggressive attitude, the troll grinding his teeth together audibly as Slake suddenly got up and started to walk away.

"No, pup!" Screwjob held fast to the end of Slake's leash, giving the leash a hard tug the moment it snapped taut. "Come back here!" The troll was speaking calmly but firmly, as if he was talking to an actual misbehaving animal.

Screwjob figured that Slake would be more than pissed off that the troll was now treating the oni the way he was dressed (or undressed), but Screwjob needed to take control of the situation. He didn't want Slake walking out on him -- Screwjob would get to the bottom of the blue one's troubles one way or another.

"Urk!" Slake let out as the leather band suddenly tightened around his neck, getting jerked back by it. He almost lost his balance, but reclaimed his feet as he whirled around to glare at his partner.

"What. The. Fuck did YOU just call me?!" he said, also calm, but in his case dangerously so. He'd been planning to walk off the booze and hike back to their trailer, but there was no way he was gonna leave the leather bar now. Not until he gave Screwjob a much-needed ass kicking.

He took one step towards the troll, fists clenched--but for some reason the floor kept tilting. Made it hard to walk on it. Before Slake knew it he was already stumbling, tripping over his own two feet and sending him headlong right into Screwjob's face.

"Whoa--whoah--MMPH!" his arms flailed unsteadily as he realized what his lips were pressed against. Oh, now this was just embarrassing.

Screwjob smirked as he watched Slake lose his equilibrium and was sent tumbling in his direction -- the situation couldn't have made a better turn. The troll literally met the oni with open arms.

As he felt their lips press together, Screwjob, still holding his cigar, clutched between two fingers, wrapped a large hand around the back of Slake's head. He then sent several pulses of sexual energy coursing into Slake's body, Screwjob's tongue slithering into the oni's mouth.

"MMMH! Mmmngh . . . " The rough kiss took Slake by surprise, something his partner was quick to take advantage of. Though he at first tried to halt and reverse his momentum, the troll was quick to grab the back of his head and keep him in place. At the same time . . . Slake found himself actually ENJOYING the experience. Kissing wasn't something an oni was wired for--romance being virtually unknown among his kind, who were more concerned with physical dominance and winning control through force--but before the drunken Slake was aware of what he was doing he had opened his mouth up, letting Screwjob's tongue in and . . . moaning against it. And all as he practically melted in the troll's strong arms.

All he wanted was for the troll to use him as he liked and give him the most mind-blowing sex he’d ever had. That is . . . until realization hit him over what Screwjob was really doing.

"You . . . son of a bitch!" Slake hissed, separating their mouths with a look of repugnance. It was that troll's damn sex magic again. It'd momentarily confused him, made him react when he otherwise wouldn't, increasing the alcohol's effects even more than before . . . and given him quite the throbbing arousal while he was at it. Slake shoved Screwjob back, making his heavy barstool slide back a good foot while he fell back into his own stool, hiding his boner which was peeking over the edge of his fundoshi so none of the other patrons would see. "I’ve fuckin' WARNED you not to try that shit on me again."

Screwjob looked into Slake's deadly-serious eyes as the oni pulled away from him. The troll could tell that Slake had managed to resist the magic -- Screwjob inwardly cursed himself for not pouring it on a little harder. He figured that he could grab Slake and try again, but ultimately decided not to pursue.

Screwjob just sighed audibly, flicking his cigar ashes into a nearby ashtray. "Well, it was worth a shot," the troll mumbled, having to adjust himself lewdly in his tight leather pants. After a few awkward moments, the troll spoke up again, "I'm not gonna stop pressing the issue, Blue. If we're to have a good working relationship, you gotta tell me what's wrong."

"Hmph! We're back to that? You really are a nosy bastard," Slake said harshly, adjusting himself, too. Ever since he'd first met the troll in the Tournament showers, Screwjob had enjoyed pushing his boundaries. Towel-snapping his ass with a shit-eating grin. Copping a feel with any easy opportunity that presented itself. Slake was annoyed at the many attempts, but had realized over time that it was just Screwjob's way, and in his own fashion was even paying him a compliment. Didn't mean he ever had to like it, though.

But he did settle down this time with a snort, lowering his hackles . . . if only for the moment. "You really want to know?" he asked as he regarded his partner, blinking as for a second it looked like there were two of him. He planted his elbow solidly on the bar and leered smugly across the polished surface. "Arm-wrestle me."

Screwjob raised an eyebrow and just stared at the oni for a moment, curious as to whether or not Slake was actually serious about this. Screwjob hoped so, as it would be a sign that he was finally breaking through.

"OK then, Blue," Screwjob took one long drag off his cigar, and then rested it on top of the ashtray.

The big troll then followed suit, placing his elbow on the bar and clasping hands with Slake.

The oni peered into Screwjob's eyes, making sure he was serious about this. Good, looked like he was. Slake's fingers stretched out for a moment, then gripped around the troll's, hard. A test of strength. This was what he'd been wanting. What that damn fight on the pillars hadn't given him . . . Some people were addicted to drugs. Some to food, or games, or sex. Slake was addicted to measuring himself up against others.

"All right. On three . . . " Slake said, planting himself firmly, transferring power into his beefy right arm. Screwjob's hand is warm, he found himself noticing. Clammy, but warm. He shook his head, then focused totally on the contest. "One . . . Two . . . "

"THREE!"

The troll knew what he was up against...an oni's strength was certainly something to not be trifled with.

Although Screwjob's magic specialties were sex and healing, it wasn't all he could do...as he was about to show Slake. Channeling, magical energy suddenly surged into his arm, lending the limb's already great might with even more, supernatural strength. Screwjob then began to strain against Slake...and felt the oni fight back powerfully.

Muscles puffed, fat veins popping as the two men struggled mightily against each other. Even with the magic leverage that Screwjob was using, Slake was proving to be more than a match for the troll. Screwjob, however, was determined to not lose this one and pumped more magic into his arm. His entire body started to glisten with sweat, and he felt himself absolutely cooking from his own body heat within his leathers, and still he would not relent...

Pushing and grunting...straining and cursing...cracking and...

Cracking?

"HEY!" A burly, mustached human bartender suddenly bellowed at the two men, "Watch the bar, assholes!"

Both men were startled out of their concentration, dropping arms. Panting loudly, they both looked down simultaneously to see that their epic arm wrestling struggle had split a rather large crack in the bar's countertop.

"Well..." Screwjob wheezed, struggling to catch his breath, his arm feeling like jelly as the artificial strength within his muscles started to dissipate. In a way he was glad that the match had ended in a stalemate...it was like two brick walls pushing together -- they'd have probably been locked in combat all night long.

"I did what you asked," Screwjob continued after a moment. As absurd as it was going to sound, he was determined to not drop the issue. "Now tell me what's biting your butt already!"

"Fucking dammit!" Slake snarled as he saw the damage they'd caused. Fucking weak-ass mortal plane with their pathetic constructions that were always breaking under his brawn . . .

"Fine, fine," Slake relented as Screwjob pressed the issue. "You did give it yer all . . . though no way in hell would it have been enough without that interference." He glared at the bartender--who for his part wasn't perturbed at all by the demon, and merely responded with his own evil eye.

"May as well just come out with it then," he said, almost like he was talking to himself now, instead of Screwjob. He peered sideways at the troll who was still panting from the exertion, while Slake was barely winded. "Remember that Tournament match I tried to watch last week? The one you . . . " He scratched a cheek, face coloring a darker blue. " . . . interrupted?"

"Try not to get us thrown out, Blue. I do have a good reputation around here and would very much like to keep it that way," Screwjob nodded an apology to the bartender before continuing, "And yeah, how can I forget? Are you still mad about that shit? I've apologized a million times -- I had a rough night, got stood up, and I wanted to get my mind off the tourney for a bit. Maybe I was being a bit of an asshole, but there was no reason for you to try to kill me for the remote."

Screwjob picked his cigar back up and took another drag, pondering for a moment before asking, "What was so damn important about that particular match anyway?"

"A 'bit' of an asshole?! I couldn't sit all the next day because of the damn spanking you gave me! Not to mention what else you did to my ass!" Slake hissed in a loud whisper, glowering and shifting uneasily on his stool as he recalled the feeling of Screwjob's horny cock pushing it's way into his hole. It was annoying how the troll had gotten the drop on him that day . . . but at the same time it was almost expected in the Oni lands Slake hailed from. There, a good fuck could be the reward for even the simplest of brawls, and the loser had no choice but to pay up with his rump. Still, Slake had vowed one day soon to get real even with the merc.

"But no, I'm not still fucking mad about that. At least, not right now. No, that match was . . . special." Slake's eyes took on a faraway look as he knocked back another gulp. "One of the fighters in it . . . I knew him. Another oni, like me." At Screwjob's expression urging him to go on, Slake finally pursed his lips and spat. " . . . My father."

"Well, you had it coming..." Screwjob mumbled as he cast his eyes downward, drawing circles on the countertop. Granted, he did feel ashamed about losing control like he did, but he wasn't about to admit it. Slake really knew how to push his buttons sometimes...

"Wait, WHAT!?" Screwjob snapped back to attention, staring at the oni. "The big red oni was your dad!?" The troll huffed. "Why didn't you tell me!?"

Screwjob felt himself getting angry. Slake's father participating...well, participated, anyway...in the tournament was kind of a big deal, and Screwjob couldn't help but feel slighted that Slake had kept that fact a secret from him -- that the blue oni didn't trust him enough with such information.

The troll forced himself to calm down, though. He didn't want to blow up into another argument with Slake -- Screwjob knew how vital it was to maintain a good working relationship between them. Furthermore, the troll supposed he should have figured it out for himself -- what were the chances of two incredibly rare oni (for this realm anyway) entering the tournament, and not have anything to do with one another?

"Because it was none of your business, that's why!" Slake shot back. "It's nobody's business but mine. And besides . . . !" His angry face softened somewhat, and he looked more glum than anything as he looked down at his beer. " . . . I'm tellin' you now, ain't I?"

It was funny. He'd gotten so used to keeping his own peace, making his own life. Even while under his father's thumb, the prince of his realm, he hadn't been close with many . . . Trust the wrong person, and you could find yourself betrayed, sold out to or ambushed by your enemies . . . But for some reason, he felt like he could trust Screwjob. At least somewhat.

"It's funny," Screwjob continued after giving himself a moment to settle himself, "I almost asked your dad to be my partner."

The big oni chewed his lip as he waited for Screwjob to calm down. An unusual expression for him. On anyone else it might've looked cute, but on Slake it just looked strange. That is, until Screwjob revealed his first choice of partner. "You . . . what?" Slake asked, his frown turning at once into a huge grin. He leaned back in his stool, , tipping onto it's back legs and laughing his head off at the thought. "Oh hell! That's rich!" he said, almost out of breath. He smirked and poked the troll right in the center of his leather harness. "My old man would've had you for lunch."

Screwjob was a little taken aback at Slake's sudden laughter and mockery at the troll's confession, but Screwjob let it roll off his shoulders -- mostly because Slake was probably right.

"It's exactly why I decided not to approach him," Screwjob gently grabbed Slake's wrist as the oni poked his chest, calmly pushing the blue hand away. "To be honest, I sensed some really bad vibes coming off your dad; it got me on edge. There was just something I really didn't like about him."

Screwjob wasn't aiming to toss a barb back at Slake by insulting the oni's father -- the troll was speaking with the utmost honesty. Conquer may have looked like the ideal partner at first glace, but the more Screwjob had watched Conquer from afar, observing his mannerisms and interactions, the louder the alarm bells in the troll's head sounded.

"If it means anything, I asked you next because you appeared to be almost as strong as your father. Plus you didn't make me at all uneasy," Screwjob grinned -- it was another genuine statement, remembering how he had felt comfortable enough with Slake to flick his bare butt with a wet towel.

Slake nodded at Screwjob's caution. "You made the right choice, bud. My father is--well, let's just say he's not as easy-going as I am." Slake remembered well the first time he and Screwjob had tried seriously training together. Halfway through he'd ended up tossing the joking troll over his knee for a good dose of discipline. If Screwjob had been partnered with Conquer however . . . that little spanking would've been just the start of the 'training' he might've put Screwjob through. Hell, he might even have put the Captivas Curse on Screwjob just to get some peace and quiet around him. Not that Slake didn't contemplate tying the troll up and gagging him himself on a frequent basis.

The oni grimaced as he realized thinking about Screwjob tied up at the mercy of his father--or his muscled bare ass squirming and clenching under Conquer's hand--was giving him a boner. Dammit, not again. Ever since meeting his father in that park he'd been having all sorts of weird feelings. He bristled and crossed his legs before going on.

"Where I come from, he rules. He's the king of demons. Trust me on this. The darkness in him is something you DON'T want to mess with," Slake advised. "He'll chew you up 'til yer nothing, then spit you back out just a lump. I've seen him do it to others. Hell, he almost did it to me . . . And HEY!" He operated on a delayed reaction. "What do you mean I appeared ALMOST as strong as him!!"

"King of the Demons, eh? Yep, I definitely know bad news when I see it," Screwjob nodded, taking another puff, expending his cigar, the remnants of which he ground into the ashtray. "The 'live dangerously' side of me does have to wonder, though," He thought aloud, "What it would have been like to partner with him, exactly. I mean...the cruel ruler of an entire oni realm...in a way, it would've been...cool...to fight alongside him. I love me some bad boys, after all!" Screwjob gave a toothy grin. "Guess I'll just have to settle for the prince instead."

Screwjob then threw up his hands defensively as Slake snapped at him, "Whoa there, Blue. Sorry to insult you, but you yourself just admitted, in a roundabout way, that you're not as strong as your father." Screwjob then reached over and gently brushed the side of the oni's face.

"Not as strong? I'm JUST as strong. Fuck! I'm stronger! He's just been *lucky* to best me the times we've fought so far!" Slake said with gritted teeth, not noticing Screwjob's hand on his face . . . not feeling it. He was too lost in his own world of old hatred. "But just you wait! Next time we battle, he's going down! And I'm gonna make him pay for all the things he's done to me!"

"Well, regardless, you've outlasted him in this tournament. He bombed out in his first match while you're still very much in it. I mean, from what you’re telling me of his douchebaggery, I'm a little...confused...as to why you're unhappy about that."

" . . . that's the reason I've been pissed as hell," Slake acknowledged. "He's already out. Which means I WON'T be fighting him. 'Least not officially, in this damn tourney. And even worse, I can't even find him now to rub that loss in his face. It's like . . . he vanished off the face of this world." He glared into space, imagining what it would feel like to finally get his hands on his father. There was an audible *crunch*, and Slake looked down in surprise to see shards of glass bottle in his closed fist. Another thing he hadn't noticed.

"You ever want somethin' so bad, that you dedicate your whole being to acquiring it, ignore everything else . . . only for it to be snatched outta yer grasp at every turn?" Slake asked Screwjob, showing him the cuts on his palm from the glass bottle. "That's me and Conquer."

Screwjob looked away for a moment as Slake mentioned it... where did the losers of the tournament go anyway? In particular, Screwjob had hoped to see Kingman and Argo, his and Slake's opponents in the first round, again...if only to see how they were holding up. But he hadn't seen nary hide nor hair of the two after their match.

However, the thought was quickly forgotten as Slake began to pour his heart out. In a way, Screwjob felt victorious that he had finally broken the ice with the oni...but for the most part, the troll's heartstrings were being tugged ferociously. All at once, he understood where Slake was coming from.

"Aww, hell, Blue," Screwjob shuffled his barstool even closer to the oni...so close that they were now touching -- the troll draping a comforting arm around him. "I had no idea. I really do appreciate you coming out and trusting me like this, though. It's good to talk about your feelings -- lest they eat you up inside."

Screwjob took a moment to rub the oni's back. "You wanna just get out of here then? I promise I won't press you for more information...but if you ever need to talk, I'm always around."

"Pah! Feelin's. Whatever . . . All I feel . . . is rage 'an anger," Slake mumbled, slurring out his words. Who would have thought the big bad oni would turn out to be a sad drunk. "Only thing anyone's gonna eat, dammit . . . is my fist . . . "

He turned, eyes bleary, and noticed Screwjob's big arm around him, feeling warm, the troll pressing against his side. He blinked. "You know, you ain't so bad," he confided.

"When we first met . . . just wanted to kick your ass all the time. Now though . . . well, I still wanna kick your ass all tha' time . . . But . . . you ain't so bad. Kinda . . . comfy, too." Slake surprised them both by leaning his head back, tucking it under Screwjob's chin and against his solid chest. His breath reeked of booze. Not surprising, considering he'd been drinking non-stop pretty much all night, not being experienced enough to moderate himself. And now the effects appeared to be kicking in all at once.

From beneath Screwjob's chin, the troll could hear Slake start to loudly snore.

Screwjob really had to strain to understand what Slake was saying, the oni was so drunk...but he managed to decipher most of it and smiled warmly, thrilled that the oni was continuing to open up to him and show some warmth.

Predicting what was about to happen, the troll wrapped his big, muscled arms around Slake as the oni finally passed out.

"You're quite the lightweight, Blue," Screwjob cooed as he hugged the passed out oni to his strong chest, running his fingers through Slake's ebony hair. "Adorable."

The troll relished the moment for a while before he finally got to his feet. Things were a bit awkward...what with Screwjob's arm still not fully recovered from the arm wrestling match, plus Slake was not exactly a feather...but the troll finally managed to get the oni up on his feet, slinging Slake’s arm around his shoulder so they could both stumble on home.

"He gonna be okay?" The bartender asked.

"Yeah," Screwjob answered, not looking away from Slake's adorable snoozing face. "My puppy had a long night. I'm taking him home."

Screwjob hoped the dwarf master with his hulking orc pet wouldn't be too miffed at the oni and the troll not meeting back up with them as they'd planned, but Slake needed a warm bed -- and truth be told, Screwjob half-felt like joining him in it . . .

('Two For the Price of One', by Maryn, featuring her demon DeFrAg having his evil way with us. Not an illustration for a story, but since this whole post is about Slake and Screwjob it felt right to include it x3)

The Morning After

(co-written with Zyxxs)

The light was ruthlessly stabbing pitchforks through his eyelids.

The oni groaned in utter pain and misery as he groggily came around. Oh hell. What the fuck had happened to him? This felt worse than half a dozen of the finest tortures his old man had cooked up for him back in the day. Where was he?

Slowly, memories and imprints flowed back into his fractured skull. He'd gone out drinking the night before . . . with Screwjob . . . Everything past that was a blur. In slow, torturous, millimeter increments, he forced his eyes open. He blinked, rapidly. His mouth felt like cotton. Could he have been run over by a train last night?

At length, he recognized his own bed, the sheets unmade around his body. He felt something wrapped around his neck--the only clothing it looked like he had on--and memory filtered in of a leather collar. “Damn Screwjob,” he muttered and groaned, turning over . . .

He hadn't realized before the big warm spot on his back. Or the hairy arm draped over his side. But he realized it now, as he came face to face with an ugly, happily drooling face.

There was a troll in his bed. A really big . . . naked . . . troll.

"WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK!!!" the oni's roar shattered the morning peace. And his own skull too, since he immediately hissed and held his head.


* * * * *


Screwjob didn't know where he was, nor did he care.  He was fixated upon Slake. The oni was kneeling, doubled over.  He was sobbing hard and cursing.  Screwjob didn't understand why -- the troll felt like he should go over to Slake and comfort him, asking him what was the matter...but for some reason he couldn't compel himself into action.  He could do nothing but stare at the distraught oni, his heart racing a million miles an hour, feeling so utterly terrible for Slake.

It was just then that Screwjob caught a glimpse of a figure slowly walking away from Slake -- tall and muscled, skin as red as the fires of hell, fading more and more into the darkness beyond as he moved.

"H...Hey!"  Screwjob feebly yelped after the figure, "Come back. Slake needs to see you! Hey asshole...HEY!"

"WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK!!!"


* * * * *


Screwjob was startled awake, and in the split second that he thought he was still in his dream yelling at the big red man, he had continued his sentence, "HEY, ASSHOLE!"

“WHAT did you call me!!?” his partner screamed.

In the next moment, Screwjob's senses came back to him.  Suddenly he felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in his face as he stared into the murderous eyes of Slake...and then the troll's face grew red-hot with embarrassment as he pieced together what exactly happened.

After a few very awkward moments, Screwjob wrang the fabric of the bed's comforter and stammered, "Umm...good morning, Blue...?"

"G--good mornin'? That's all you've got to say?" Slake raged, though wincing at each word. It was like a war between the misery he felt from his hangover and the anger he felt at Screwjob for whatever he'd done were warring in his head. In the end, anger won out. "What the fuck're you doing in my bed?!" he demanded.

Even as he asked the question, his jumbled mind was busy trying to come up it's own answer. Them both naked and nestled up together, it didn't take a genius to jump to certain conclusions. "I didn't--?" he started, then his brows furrowed. "YOU didn't--!?" then he groaned as his headache intensified at that moment. "WE didn't--?!" His short tusks glinted and he brought his angry face right up close to Screwjob's morning breath. "What the fuck're you doing in my bed!!" he repeated.

Every ireful and distrustful word was like needles to Screwjob's heart.  He winced, and then quickly turned away from Slake, positioning himself so that he was now sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned to the oni.

"We didn't do anything, Slake, don't you worry,"  Screwjob spoke calmly, though his voice became more somber with every word, "You got drunk and passed out, so I took you home.  I figured you'd be more comfortable in the buff...and...I thought you could use some company.” How could he say it? Slake had been so torn up the night before. Screwjob had wanted the oni to spend just one night feeling like he wasn’t alone. But from the way Slake was acting now, he’d been so drunk that he didn’t even remember last night anymore. “Really sorry if I offended you in any way."

"Eh?" Slake blinked. That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. Normally if the troll caught him flat-footed in one of these situations he'd throw out some teasing remarks, make playful sexual innuendos. Instead, right now he just looked . . . sad.

Was he telling the truth? They HAD gone out drinking, and Screwjob WOULD know that he typically slept naked, since they were roommates and all.

Slake tried to rise up too, but moved too fast and fireballs exploded behind his eyes. "Auuugh!" he groaned as he flounced back down on the bed. The mattress squeaked in protest as his big blue body splayed out on it. "So this is . . . one of those mortal 'hangovers' you're always going on about?" he reasoned from behind his hands. "You warned me, but . . . you didn't tell me it'd be this bad! Ooogh, how much did I drink last night?"

The troll didn't even have the heart to look back at Slake. "About half a barrel of ale, all on your own.  With your size, I thought you would be able to handle it -- I suppose your kind just isn't used to these spirits."

Screwjob lowered his head, not caring when strands of his long, dark hair fell in front of his face.  Granted, he was glad that Slake had seemingly calmed down, but nonetheless he was still rattled.  Being a mercenary, the troll was no stranger to stress, but this was a situation unlike anything he'd ever been in.  Before he knew it, tears began to stream down his face.  Being in touch with his feelings -- not being at all a subscriber to the "real men don't cry" idea -- Screwjob just let them flow.

"I meant to tell you last night,"  Screwjob spoke softly, trying his best not to stammer or sob, "I want to apologize for making you miss your father's match.  I was just in a rotten mood that night...and I had no idea.  I know now what it must have meant to you, and I feel like shit for what I did."

“Eh?” The oni was even more puzzled now than before. Granted, his partner was always acting peculiar, in ways that surprised him . . . but when he saw tears running down the troll's cheeks, Slake was shocked. Being who and what he was, Slake had no idea what could’ve lead to  Screwjob crying. The troll wasn’t in pain, wasn’t humiliated or embarrassed beyond his ability to endure, hadn’t lost in battle or in ambition. This was the first time Slake had encountered someone shedding tears on behalf of another.

But Slake did know that he immediately wanted them to stop. Screwjob looked a lot better when he was grinning like a big idiot.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, succeeding in sitting up this time with a wince. He shifted up to Screwjob, taking a seat next to his partner and letting both their hairy legs hang down together. "That's what got ya in such a slump? Ey, it was no big deal! I mean, yeah, I'm still a little sore," Slake grimaced as he settled on his ass, "but that match? . . . It was crap anyway. I watched a repeat."

Slake watched Screwjob carefully, gauging how he'd react to his words. If this didn't work, he was prepared to switch tactics to something else--though what that would be he wasn't too sure of yet. Just in case it'd help though, Slake also thoughtfully reached up and gave Screwjob's back a pat, having a vague memory of that being done to him at some point last night.

"I was pretty crazy that night too, besides. We, uh, y’know. We both lost it."

Screwjob smiled as he listened to Slake speak such kind words of reassurance, and things got even better as the oni reached over to rub the troll's back.  Screwjob thought the gesture was beautiful -- so Slake was capable of compassion after all.  The troll wiped his eyes as he calmed down, even feeling his loins stir a bit.

"Thanks, partner,"  Screwjob whispered.  He closed his eyes and indulged in Slake's gentle caresses, "I really care about you, Blue.  You know that, right?"

"Sure," Slake said matter-of-factly, though the true meaning of Screwjob's words actually had gone over his head. "Same here. You're my fighting partner. If we don't watch out for each other, we might lose the next match."

Unfortunately for Slake, that was as far as it went. He was an Oni. His aspect was in destruction. The act of love, of tender feelings for another, they were as unfamiliar to him as the heart of a star was to the basest slug. They had no rightful place in his world.

At least, that was what he'd always been taught.

"So buck up, partner," Slake mock-upper'd the troll's chin, then rubbed away a tear. "We're gonna wreck the competition and go all the way to the top. You'll see."

Screwjob's smile widened all the more, his heart aflutter at Slake's words.  As the oni wiped away Screwjob's tears, the troll leaned in to plant a quick kiss on Slake's forehead.

"You're a sweetheart, Blue,"  Screwjob stared lovingly at his partner for a moment. "Anyway, I'm still a bit tired.  You...wouldn't mind cuddling with me for a while, would you?"

"Cuddling?" Slake appeared slightly cross-eyed as he translated the word into syntax he could understand. The very idea was almost a foreign concept to the hard-battled warrior. He looked at the troll suspiciously, thinking this might be a trick. But no, his partner seemed sincere . . . Though honestly, he'd been acting a little funny ever since waking up. All these weird emotions running around. Maybe this was how trolls acted when hung-over?

He frowned as he looked over at Screwjob--who now that Slake thought about it, was looking at him pretty funny too. Like he was still dazed from one too many blows to the head. "Will a . . . 'cuddle' help you recover in time for the next battle?"

Screwjob smirked. "Yes, it would most certainly help.  Now come here, you."

"Urk . . . !" Slake grunted a bit as he fell back on the mattress again, the troll again pressing his hairy front against the oni's back. The troll then wrapped his big, muscular arms around Slake, pulling him back into bed.  Screwjob positioned them back into the places they’d assumed during the night, so that the troll was hugging the oni from behind, pressing their bodies together.  Screwjob reveled in the feel of Slake's warm body -- the troll needed this. And he had the feeling that, just maybe, Slake did too.

The blue ogre thought about dislodging the troll and kicking him out of his sleeping area for such audacity, but . . . Screwjob made it feel so natural to be lying together like they were, his warm body against his and embraced in his big arms.  Like he just . . . fit.

And anyway, his head was still spinning and pounding. Slake huffed and decided he could remain for a spell.

"Goodnight, Blue,"  Screwjob kissed Slake behind the ear. "And thanks for bearing with me.  I'm sure to feel fresh and rejuvenated for our next match!"

"You'd better be . . . You owe me for this, troll," he said curtly. But as Slake too fell grumpily back to sleep, a tiny smile lingered on his face.

And that was the change that started it all.

 ('Inner Struggle', by Maryn, colored by myself)

The Crushed Cigar

(co-written with Zyxxs)

"Screwjob and Slake win, and are moving on to the individual bouts!"

The troll could still hear the announcer's voice echoing through his mind as he did a spry Irish jig followed by a back flip in the middle of the high tech locker room. "Screwjob and Slake win! Screwjob and Slake win!" He couldn't get enough of it.

Screwjob was overflowing with joy, his heart racing and his body surging with so much energy that he felt ready to run a marathon. Screwjob was so proud of his team -- their battle against Rinah and Jake had been quite fierce. In fact, in the beginning of the match, it looked as if Screwjob and Slake might be easily bested by their opponents. But the troll and the oni didn't give up, fighting back tooth and nail, and had managed to pull off the victory in the end. Screwjob counted himself very fortunate that the "Toontown" arena hadn't disoriented him very much. Screwjob had found that Toontown was akin to the Astral Plane, which the troll had visited many times, so he was already used to functioning within a realm that completely defied of the laws of physics.

With a huge grin plastered on his face, Screwjob turned to Slake whom was standing behind him. Wrapping his muscular arms around the oni, the troll scooped him up in a tight bear hug and gave him a big, wet smooch right on the lips.

"We did it, Blue!" The troll cried ecstatically, "We DID IT!"

"Yeah, and about time, too," Slake said shortly against his lips, hardly sharing his partner's jubilation. The kiss had caught him off guard--as everything Screwjob did so often had--and he broke it quickly by tossing his head to the side. The bear hug, too, was broken with a grunt as Slake flexed free.

The troll was always pulling such stunts on him. Letting his endlessly cheery emotions run wild, getting caught up in the moment. Slake hated it, of course. Such acts of affection went against his nature. He was Oni . . . Why didn’t Screwjob understand that?

Slake faced away from his partner, choosing to glare at a row of unused lockers as he spoke instead of at the troll's face. "Now that this last fight's done, there ain't any more team battles . . . Ya heard the announcement. From now on, its all solo fights. Way I see it, this is a blessing in disguise. Means we don't gotta put up with each other any more.“

"What do you mean? Hey, where you going, partner?  Where are you slithering off to?"  Screwjob giggled like a schoolgirl as Slake wiggled free from his grasp, playfully grabbing for Slake to make it seem like he wanted to pull the oni back in -- Screwjob had expected as much from the sourpuss, and even thought it was rather cute at this juncture.

He teasingly hounded Slake for a moment more, poking him in his sides and clapping him on his back and butt, before he finally let the oni be.  Screwjob's hand dived into his pocket and retrieved a cigar, and in seconds he was puffing away on it -- still so psyched about their accomplishments that Slake's cold words just went in one ear and out the other.

"How rude of me!"  Screwjob immediately produced a second cigar -- and this time, it was his imported "special one" -- big, fat, flavorful, rare and expensive, enchanted with even more powerful stimulant magics than his regulars. "Take it, Blue!  Let's do a victory smoke!  Team Oni-Troll for LIFE!  You'll like it!"  Screwjob elatedly extended his arm, pleading for the oni to accept the exotic cigar. "You deserve it!"

Slake glanced at the offered thing.

When Slake had been very young--hardly over a hundred--one of his father’s generals, a strong green ogre named Sabre, had tried to use him in a powerplay. He had been a foolish whelp and let himself be taken in by the man’s lies, only to end up captured and bound, turned into a mere bargaining chip as Sabre tried to force his father to step down from power. It didn’t go well for him. It had been one of the few times Slake had ever seen his father enraged. An odd memory, now, to think back on. But so many things change over time.

With a curl of his lips, Slake batted the cigar aside with the back of his knuckles. It fell to the floor, burning at one end. "Ain't you been listening to me, dumbass? Team's done. We don't gotta play this game of . . . pretend, anymore." He snorted harshly, and crushed the cigar beneath his heel.

"I really couldn't have asked for a better part--"  Screwjob hadn't even finished his joyous ramblings before the oni's hand knocked the cigar from his hand -- THAT got the troll's attention.

The jubilant grin melted off of his face, and it was like slow motion as he watched the cigar fall to the floor, to be crushed underfoot by Slake a moment later -- the cigar may as well have been Screwjob's heart.

Slake still remembered the sickening crunch of that general’s lifeless body falling into the pit they’d dug out for him. The look on his face. It was the same look Screwjob wore now.

"From the start, this team was nothin' but a convenience. Now that I can fight on my own, proper-wise, I'm not gonna spend another second palling around with a . . . filthy troll like you," Slake said harshly. All the pent up hostility he'd been biting back over the weeks, it was all getting released now. But better this than to carry on a sham. He bit his lip and looked to the side. "So get outta my face, guy. From this point on? You're just another opponent in this tournament that I'm gonna massacre."

For a brief eternity, the troll just stared, absolutely dumbfounded -- the once-powerful rush that he had felt whirling inside of him like a hurricane dissipated into nothing in an instant.  Part of him refused to acknowledge what had just happened.

"Blue?"  Screwjob finally squeaked, his blood turning to ice water as the oni's cruel words swarmed into his ears, into his brain, like angry, stinging wasps.

Screwjob just couldn't believe it.  He wanted to get angry.  He wanted to snap out of his stupor and punch Slake in the face and kick him in the balls.  But he couldn't -- the troll felt like his soul had been shattered into a million pieces, leaving him numb to the world, barely able to even breathe.  Slake may as well have taken a dagger and plunged it into Screwjob's guts -- the oni had just wounded him deeper than anything he'd ever felt in his entirely life.

Screwjob felt his jaw drop, his vision beginning to blur with tears, "Blue..."

What the hell was happening?  He had truly felt that he and Slake had bonded through the course of the tournament thus far -- that they were like blood brothers now.  His love and respect for the oni had blossomed into something beautiful, and the pain of realizing that the kinship hadn't been mutual for Slake was absolutely crushing -- more than he could ever bear.

"Blue?"  In a daze, Screwjob slowly reached out to the oni, beyond desperate for a sign that Slake wasn't actually serious.

"And STOP calling me that!" Slake finally snapped, his face twisting. He saw Screwjob reaching out for him, and that reminder of their bond, that closeness he'd never shared with anyone in his millennia-long life . . . it was more than Slake could handle. He knocked the troll's arm to the side, then with an enraged snarl grabbed Screwjob by the neck and SLAMMED him up against a locker.

He was Oni. He was a monster. And it was about time his partner knew that.

"What, gonna cry some more?" Slake asked at the moisture he could see in Screwjob's panicked eyes. The oni sneered. "You're fucking pathetic." His clawed hand squeezed itself around Screwjob's throat, making it impossible for the guy to breathe. "Because you seem startled by this sudden turn of events, let me make it c-r-y-s-t-a-l clear for you, troll." He took a deep breath . . . and his grip almost loosened. Then it was back, full force as Slake's glare returned.

His time spent with the troll before this had been a lie. Slake had been . . . confused. Lost sight of his goals. Allowed himself to feel . . . what no Oni should. But that was over now. He was free of this troll.

Screwjob had tricked him somehow into caring. Maybe with that sex magic of his.

But this? This was the real Slake again.

Oni didn’t have friends. They didn’t feel warm when they looked at anyone.

He had to do this.

(sketch by Maryn)

"You are nothing to me. You are less than nothing. A roach. Every day spent with you was it’s own private hell, and now that I'm free of it, I ain't never going back. I was only using you. We were never 'friends'. And if you're unlucky enough to get matched up against me, I will CRUSH you without a second thought."

He released his grip, and turned as Screwjob slid down the floor, coughing and clutching his throat. Slake turned to leave, grabbing up his club as he went.

Slake didn’t look back.


* * * * *


Screwjob found himself completely helpless, as if Slake had cast some kind of paralysis spell on him. The pain manifested itself into something physical as he was choke-slammed against the lockers, the oni handling him like a ragdoll. Slake could have killed Screwjob in that moment and the troll would've put up no resistance, perhaps even welcomed death, just to stop the pain.

Squeezing his eyes shut, tears cascading from them, Screwjob turned his head as Slake screamed in his face, every word like a sharp punch in the gut. When finally released, Screwjob collapsed to the floor on one knee, choking and sobbing as the oni stomped away.

After a brief eternity, Screwjob finally pulled himself out of the fetal position, slowly crawling across the floor toward the smashed cigar. He stared at it miserably before his hands started to move seemingly on their own accord, feebly attempting to cobble the mess back together. Screwjob packed as much of the tobacco back into the wrapper as he could, furling it all back into something vaguely cigar-shaped. What was once a prized luxury was now a malformed disaster -- perfectly reflective of how Screwjob felt inside.

Cradling the sad cigar in the palms of his hands, Screwjob shakily got to his feet, trembling and crying.

"Screwjob?"

The troll lifted his head and whirled around, finding himself facing a large, very concerned-looking anthropomorphic white tiger.

"Oh, hey, LT," Screwjob managed to choke out a greeting, and then quickly asked, "Do you smoke?"

"What?" Lightning Tiger was taken visibly aback, and before he could answer, the troll shoved the cigar into his hands.

"Here, take this. Please go and celebrate your win with Joe. I'm sorry it's all mashed," Screwjob rattled out before immediately turning around and running off with his hands clutched to his face, not wanting to give the big cat a chance to ask what was wrong.

Lightning Tiger was left holding the twisted cigar, horribly confused as to what had just happened.

Trophy #14: Slake

The desert sun had been on the way down, but it'd still been hot as sin in that arena. He'd started to sweat as soon as the teleport had brought him in. Everywhere there was only rusted metal and blowing sands, and everything was bathed in dark reds and long, black shadows.

Not Slake's favorite place to fight--too dry and arid for his taste, having been borne of water--but he'd thrown down in much worse.

His opponent this time wasn't so easily taken down, however. He was no fox half Slake's size in a closed in boxing-ring like the last guy he'd fought. No, this guy was a lion. And he had a sword floating beside him of a type that Slake had never encountered before.

From the start the fight didn't go his way. The lion--whose name was Ishida, not that Slake overly cared--turned out to be quite skilled in close quarter fighting. Not as much raw strength as Slake perhaps, but he was no slouch. And that sword he had could block even the strongest blow from Slake's tetsubo. Disarming it with a water element was no good either, as Ishida could apparently reform it at will. And using his own gifts too much weakened Slake . . .

By the mid-point of the fight, Slake had grown weaker both from the relentless heat and from his powers overtaxing his body. Ishida, on the other hand, seemed to get renewed the more attacks of Slake's which he blocked. That sword was feeding him energy somehow . . . That information came too late to help Slake, as by that point the tide of battle had turned too far against him. As the telekinetic sword slashed him one final time, Slake's last thought before falling unconscious was . . .

Well that could have gone fuckin' better.

* * * * *

Instead of sinking into blissful oblivion however, the next moment Slake was somehow snapped back into full consciousness, and with the odd sensation of something crammed into his mouth. He'd been teleported again, but he wasn't back in the cheap slum he'd been staying after breaking it off with Screwjob . . . no, this place was totally different.

"Mmmph?"

He was trapped in a glass . . . tube of some kind, filling it with his muscular body. Strong rope were securely wrapped around his ankles, wrists, biceps, and chest, preventing him from moving much. He'd somehow been effectively captured and rendered helpless in the blink of an eye.

". . . GRRMMPH!!"

As he momentarily fought with the tight bindings, he became aware of another aspect of his imprisonment--his cock was ramrod hard, smearing and pulsing up against the glass while he twisted and struggled. It was different from the erections usually brought on by bondage. Those were due to his father's curse, and with enough willpower he could at least partially fight against them. This one however he had no such defenses against, and Slake soon found himself moaning with an intense desire to release his seed the more he struggled.

"So I guess the old saying is true, eh?"

Slake's attention was suddenly diverted to a figure outside his case. Someone was outside of it. A fox, smiling at him sardonically. Slake didn't know who he was, but he instantly wanted to murder him by the possessive and lustful look he saw in the fox's eyes.

"Like father, like son?"

Eyes narrowing, Slake decided to ignore the fox and continue trying to get loose. The fox watched Slake struggle for a few minutes, playing with himself as he did so, until he seemed to grow bored. Then he picked up a suitcase with a piece of rope drooping out from one corner and smugly walked away. It was only as he passed by several other tubes just like his own that Slake realized he wasn't alone in wherever he was. Every tube was holding another captive, and Slake recognized several as fellow tournament champions. In the one closest to him was the tiger, Iudicium, who'd fought in the match just prior to Slake's. Next to him was Lightning Tiger, a friend of Screwjob's. Both were as tied up and naked as Slake himself was, complete with bobbing erections of their own.

Slake's mind spun as he tried to figure out what was going on. What was this place? Were all champions who got defeated in the tournament brought here? He hadn't signed up for this, dammit!

And what was that the fox had said about his father?

Slake was interrupted from that train of thought when he realized from the taste that what he felt stuffed into his mouth could only be his own fundoshi undergarment that he'd been wearing, reworked into a makeshift gag. His rage at that knowledge was a sight to behold, but of course it was an impotent rage. Still, it caused much thrashing in his ropes and furious grunting as he vowed to get even on who had done this to him . . .

"GRRARHMMMMMPH!"

 ('Slake Defeated', by Bogrim)