Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Regretevator sat there, humming its weird little mechanical hymn like it was trying not to cry. The machine thrummed with an almost mournful rhythm, its gears clicking in uneven intervals like it had seen too much and processed too little. Old overhead lights buzzed, flickering like they were powered by bad decisions and leftover microwave energy. The walls were yellowed from time and smoke, some corners patched with duct tape and old bandaids, like someone had tried to give it CPR with arts and crafts. Stickers from previous users?

Poob plopped down on a dusty grande crate with the grace of a dying frog, landing with a loud, hollow thunk and an oof– that stirred a cloud of something probably carcinogenic. Their limbs sprawled in different directions like he had never fully committed to the concept of sitting. They blinked slowly, eyes half-lidded, as if trying to decide whether to stay conscious..

“Dis place… dis gud,” they mumbled, letting their head tilt back, chin pointed at the blinking ceiling light. “Haven’t been here for so long, too cramped.”

Their voice bounced off the metallic walls, unheard by most things except maybe the ancient ghosts of terrible elevator pitch meetings. Somewhere behind the paneling, a wire sparked quietly, almost in agreement.

Pest didn’t respond. He was crouched by the main panel, hunched like a gremlin mid-sacrifice, his back turned, sleeves looking like it had been rolled up unevenly then pulled down again. In his hands were tools of uncertain origin and purpose—one might have been a good ‘ol bottle of Fizz-Up ( who he took it from we’ll never know ). Beside him, a flattened pack of expired Burger wrapping sat open like an offering. He worked with the kind of intense focus only someone feral or truly gifted could maintain, muttering something in a dialect only electronics and possibly small rodents could understand.

“Pesty!” Poob called, leaning forward with the energy of someone about to cause a minor electrical fire. They picked up the party pooper stick—why was there a stick?—from their mouth and poked one of the railings from the Regretevator's side.

Pest didn’t turn around.

Poob twisted the stick gently like they were stirring forbidden spaghetti. “You ever just… like… vibe with the void?” they asked, their voice a strange mix of genuine curiosity and shitposting. “😳👉👈”

There was a pause—long enough to make Poob's question echo and hang awkwardly in the air, like a fart in a church. Pest froze for a second, head slightly tilted, before going back to fiddling with the panel without saying a word. A subtle spark flew out, zapping the gum. It hissed.

And finally, oh, finally, the voice low, calm, cryptic, came out. “The void vibed with me first. We made eye contact in a dream. It still owes me 20 bucks.”

Silence hung in the air like a weird fart–not bad, just there. Poob picked up a dusty Fizz Up bottle, sniffed it, and made a face like they’d tasted emotional damage. “Do you think this soda is lyke… age’d wine nyauw?”

Pest stood slowly, head tilting just enough to be unsettling. “It's a fermented shame. Carbonated disappointment. Sip it and dream in grayscale.”

“...Okay I’ll just drink spraybottle water later.”

Pest chuckled, something low and raspy. He flicked a coin into the air–a dirty, bent thing that looked like it had survived a pocket apocalypse.

Poob’s eyes sparkled. “You always got da money coin. U obsessed wit cash or sumthin?? 🤨💸”

Pest turned to face him, expression unreadable under the cap’s shadow. “Obsession is for amateurs. I… revere the currency. Yen. Euro. Blood-tinted crypto. They speak to me in my dreams.” 

“Bro what 😭”

Pest approached, slowly, coin still twirling. “You ask if I love money. I ask— how can I not ? Money is the universal confession. The answer to every unsent prayer.”

Poob, wide-eyed. “Okay dang. U talkin like a cursed banker rn.” He leaned in slightly, grinning. “So like... real question. How far would u go for da money? 👁️👁️ Like. Hypothetically. Not tryna be weird. Unless…?”

Pest stopped spinning the coin. It landed perfectly on his gloved palm.

A pause.

Then, with unnerving calm: “If you asked me to sell my soul for five bucks and a soda… I’d haggle for six.”

Poob wheezed, “OKAY but like what if I was like ‘yo lemme do you for cash’ 👀👉👈 would u… would u say yes??”

Pest, smirking like a cat that’s already eaten the bird, “お前が本気なら… I would take the deal before you finished the sentence.”

“Bro…”

“A bag is a bag. And if the universe offers coin for flesh… who am I to decline?”

The Regretevator blinked–once–like it knew it was about to witness something that could never be put back in the box. Poob kicked their feet against the crate slowly, like a little gremlin kid swinging at air. Their fingers fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, awkward energy bubbling in his chest. 

“Bro you jokin' right?” They chuckled, but it sounded more like a cough covered in static. “You wouldn't actually say yes if I asked. I mean like. For real, for real. Like fr??”

Pest didn’t answer right away. He looked at the coin in his hand like it held a moral riddle, then closed his fist around it and slipped it into his pocket. “Jokes are lies wrapped in sugar,” he said, voice quiet, almost meditative. “But you’re asking me like it matters. So I’ll answer you like it does.”

Poob blinked. “...kinda ominous ngl.”

Pest turned fully toward him now, footsteps soft and deliberate on the concrete floor. He moved like a cat made of knives–casual, but dangerous in the corners. “You think I haven’t been bought before? This body’s not a temple. It’s a vending machine.”

He stopped just close enough to make the air feel thicker. “Insert coin. Make a wish.”

Poob’s heart did a little honk shoo mimimimi moment, but their mouth didn’t get the memo. “Damn bro okay 💀 that’s hot and also concerning. Like. How many coins we talkin?? Is there like. A friends n family discount?? 😳”

Pest leaned down slightly, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “For you… I might consider store credit.”

Poob wheezed out a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. “YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT TO ME BRO??!?”

Pest straightened, shrugging like it was nothing. “You asked.”

“YEAH but like—okay wait, back up.” Poob waved their hands, cheeks pink now, voice cracking just a little. “If I was like dead serious. Like I pulled out my wallet— not sayin I would but let’s say I hypothetically did. You’d just… go with it? No hesitation??”

Pest’s expression didn’t shift much, but something about the air around him did . It got a little heavier. Or maybe Poob was just very suddenly aware of his own pulse.

“Why hesitate?” Pest said softly. “You offer. I accept. Simple transaction.”

“Bro that’s not simple that’s like. Emotionally charged capitalism.”

“Everything is emotionally charged if you hold onto it long enough.”

He tapped his chest once with two fingers. “金の価値は心で測る… The worth of gold is measured by the heart.”

Poob just kinda… sat there, mouth slightly open. “Bro I literally don’t know if that’s real Japanese or like fake anime Tumblr Japanese and that’s making it worse.”

Pest tilted his head, vaguely amused. “Both.”

“STOP.”

A long beat passed.

“Okay but like. For real. You’d let me... do stuff. For money.”

“Yes.”

“...Even if I was weird about it.”

“Especially then.”

“PESTY—”

They threw himself back dramatically on the crate, arm over their eyes like a theater kid in distress. “I need a minute I’m malfunctioning.”

Pest watched him with that soft, unreadable look — not teasing, not mocking. Just… waiting. Like a predator who knew exactly how fast its prey could run, and wasn’t worried at all.

“Take your time,” he murmured. “The offer’s evergreen.”

Poob was still flopped backwards across the crate like some dramatic Victorian ghost in a hoodie. Their hoodie had a mustard stain on the sleeve and a small rip near the pocket. Probably symbolic of something, but Pest wouldn’t say it unless asked.

The Regretevator hummed louder now, like it was eavesdropping.

“Okay,” Poob said slowly, peeking from under their arm. “I need to like. Five layers of clarification1!1 Clear!”

Unfazed, “Ask.”

“If I gave you like. Five bucks. A crumpled five. Slightly damp. And said ‘lemme hold your hand for two minutes.’ You’d just be like. Cool. No weirdness.”

Pest blinked once. “Time is money. Contact is currency. That’s two commodities in one offer.”

“Bro answer the question, not the philosophical price tag .”

Pest shrugged, voice dry. “Yes. I’d hold your hand for five dollars.”

“WITH INTERLOCKED FINGERS?!?”

“For five dollars? No. That’s a premium feature.”

“OKAY—WHA—so what, like, ten ??”

“Twelve,” Pest said. “If you want me to squeeze.”

“I HATE how fast you said that,” Poob muttered, already digging through their hoodie pocket like an addict trying to find a reason not to follow through.

They pulled out a crumpled five, a two, three coins, a sticker of a sad raccoon, and one extremely questionable breath mint. “Bro this all I got.”

Pest stared at it for a moment, like he was consulting the spirits.

“You’re four short.”

“I can draw you a picture of a sad cow. I’m really good at those.”

Pest considered that for too long.

“Fine. But I get to name the cow.”

Poob squinted. “Okay, wait–that’s kinda wholesome but also vaguely threatening.”

They fidgeted with the bills in his hands, chewing the inside of his cheek. Then—

“Okay but for real, like . This is dumb right? I’m not actually gonna—” They glanced up at Pest, who was just watching , patient and still, like a statue with too much time.

“You really not gonna flinch if I do it?”

Pest shook his head once. “Flinching is for the unsure.”

“Thought you thought I was a though thought of animosity”

“Cash wash the doubts, my friend.”

“IM YOUR FIRIEDend NOW?!??”

Poob looked at his hand like it was holding a bomb, and then — cautiously, like they expected the air to bite him — they reached out.

Fingers twitchy.

Wrist unsure.

Pest didn’t move until Poob’s hand hovered close.

Then, they took it. Gently.

Like they was receiving it, not taking it.

No hesitation.

Palm to palm.

Warm.

Still.

“Bro I am currently combusting in seventeen emotional languages.”

“Then I hope you burn efficiently.”

They sat like that.

Poob blinking.

Pest unmoving.

The Regretevator clicked once in the background, approving? Possibly judging.

Poob tried to act chill. Their leg was bouncing like a hyper chihuahua.

“Okay but like. If this is what five bucks gets me… what happens if I give you twenty?”

Pest’s thumb moved. Just slightly. Across the back of Poob’s hand. Poob instantly blue-screened.

“BRO.”

“Answer: You’re not ready for the twenty-dollar package.” Deadpanned the beetle, while grinning sardonically, his four-eyes searching all over the other man’s reactions.

“OKAY SIR I AM GOING TO LITERALLY EVAPORATE.”

Poob yanked their hand back like they’d touched a stove, holding it to their chest, scandalized and deeply confused by their own heart rate. “I hate this. I hate you. I’m giving you twenty tomorrow.”

Pest, grinning now — actually grinning-“I’ll bring gloves.”

The silence that followed was loud . Not empty — more like the kind of quiet that came just before you made a very questionable decision and told yourself it was for the plot. Poob had tucked their hands between their thighs now, like they were guilty of something. They wouldn’t look at Pest directly. Too dangerous. Too much real in that guy’s stare.

“Okay. New question.” They licked his lips, voice high and wobbly like a violin string about to snap. “What exactly is in the twenty-dollar package.”

Pest, cool as ever, tilted his head slightly. “Curiosity already paid the deposit.”

“STOPPP YOU CANNOT SAY THINGS LIKE THAT—”

“But I can,” Pest murmured, stepping closer. “And I do.”

He was right in front of them now. Not touching. Not yet. But the heat radiated off his body like gravity. With a nervous laugh, the noob finally let out the breath they didn’t know they were holding, “Haha what if I just like. Kissed you as a joke. Like. Ha ha ha. Just a prank bro—”

Pest blinked slowly, leaned down just a bit . “Would you pay me first, or after?”

Poob choked.

“I—I—”

But what follow as a background noise is a voice silk-wrapped steel. “Or maybe you want the joke to be mutual. I kiss you back, but only for the bit. A bit with depth. With tongue.”

“I am sweating out of my soul.” They backed up until his shoulders hit the Regretevator’s cold steel. It hissed faintly, like it was encouraging this unholy interaction. “Okay okay okay okay but like. If we hypothetically kept going. Past twenty. Like. Real money. Big bills. Hundred-dollar kinda energy. What happens then.”

Pest didn’t smile. He didn’t have to.

He simply reached out, thumb brushing gently under Poob’s chin — featherlight — tilting their face just enough to meet his eyes.

His voice was low now, velvet and thunder. “Then I stop pretending I don’t want it too.”

Poob froze.

Absolutely no thoughts. Just static. And maybe fireworks. And maybe the mental equivalent of the Windows XP loading screen.

“...hahaha that’s crazy—what if I like. Actually did it tho.”

“Try me,” Pest breathed.

A pause.

“...I literally don’t know if this is a power play or foreplay and I don’t even care anymore.”

And what might surprise y’all and who am i who not e, who is writing this, is the soft deep graveling voice that follows, “Why not both.”

Then — the space between them vanished. Not all at once. Slowly. Like the air bent to make it happen. Pest leaned in, lips brushing close , not quite touching. Close enough to feel each other’s breath.

For once, the noob is again quiet. “This is so illegal. I'm calling the Regretevator police.”

“I bribed them first.”

And then… Just as lips were about to meet—

CLANK.

The Regretevator jolted. A rusty mechanical sputter. Lights flickered, flashing RED . A flat mechanical voice crackled overhead:

“⚠ WARNING: EMOTIONAL TENSION EXCEEDING RECOMMENDED LEVELS ⚠”

Poob screamed. “WE’RE BEING COCKBLOCKED BY A MACHINE—”

Pest, completely unfazed, shrugged his shoulder with no care for the world. “We can always try again. After hours.”

Poob was pacing now. Back and forth like a cartoon character who just realized the floor was lava and also maybe they were kinda into it. “Okay. Okay okay okay. So just to be clear. You were about to kiss me. Like for real. For money. As a bit . But not really a bit. But kinda. And now I want to die.”

Pest leaned against the Regretevator like the world's most dangerous coat rack, hands in his pockets, gaze lazily tracking him like a predator watching its prey try to convince itself it still has a chance.

“Don’t forget,” he murmured, “you were going to pay me .”

Good lord no, our noob is now flustered beyond repair. “I have never once paid for affection and now I’m like. ‘Hey maybe capitalism’s not all bad.’”

“Love is a transaction. You just never read the invoice.”

It answered by halfway through a dramatic gasp, “ SIR. ”

Pest took a step forward. Poob took one back. Game on.

“You said you’d go far for money,” Poob said, finger wagging in front of Pest’s chest like they were threatening a vending machine with a vendetta. “But you didn’t say where the line is . Like. Is there even a line?? Is this just a whole lawless desert where you sell smooches for pocket change??”

As cool as an ice, he renounced that back, “Smooches are tier two. Hands are tier one. Tongue is negotiable.”

“WHAT IN THE PAYWALLED PATREON TEAR SYSTEM—”

Before they could finish, Pest was in their space again.

No warning. Just presence. 

Big. Heavy. Hot.

Poob felt his brain short-circuit. Again. It was becoming a habit. Pest’s hand landed gently on Poob’s shoulder. Just resting. Not pushing. Yet.

“You’re making a lot of noise,” Pest said softly, head tilting. “But I don’t hear a ‘no.’”

And Poob’s voice once again breaking like a middle school band flute section. “I AM SILLY AND INDECISIVE—”

“You’re stalling,” Pest corrected, voice dropping lower. “And trembling.”

“IT’S NOT TREMBLING, IT’S JUST—like—high-frequency excitement!!”

“Cute.”

Poob froze. That word hit them in the spine .

“Take it back.”

“Make me.”

“I will literally cry right now and ruin the mood.”

“I’d clean the tears off with my tongue.”

Poob immediately made a sound that could only be spelled as: “HHHHHGGGHHGH??!”

The air between them crackled. Pest, still so close, voice like a damn curse : “All you have to do is ask. I’ll do anything for the right price. Or maybe just the right tone.” He raised one hand — knuckles brushing against Poob’s cheek like he was memorizing the shape of them. “So tell me,” he whispered, breath brushing Poob’s lips, “how much are you willing to pay to be ruined?”

Poob’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I got. Uhhh. Seventeen dollars and like half a Capri Sun. You want Snowballs ??”

Pest smiled. Smiled. Y’all know it’s bad when he smiles. His grumbling face means the world is safe for another day but this- Smile. With teeth.

“Deal.”

And then—He kissed them. No warning. No slow burn. Just impact. Hot. Intense.

Unrelenting.

Poob made a sound , high-pitched and slightly wounded, like someone had stabbed their logic center. Pest’s mouth was soft but commanding, like he knew what Poob liked before Poob even did. His hands weren’t still anymore — one sliding to grip the back of Poob’s outer, the other tracing the curve of their jaw, holding them there , owning them with zero hesitation.

Poob? Gone. Vanished. Brain: dust.

At some point, Pest bit their bottom lip. Poob yelped, “AH?! BRO??!”

Pest, lips ghosting against his ear now, “Refunds not available.”

The kiss deepened before either of them could remember the concept of breathing. Poob had fisted both hands in Pest’s hoodie now, not like they were pulling away — no, like they were anchoring themselves to reality, and Pest was the only real thing in the world. Their bodies pressed flush, teeth clicking a little when the kiss got messy — because of course it did — and Pest was making sounds now. Little sharp exhales through his nose, too stubborn to moan yet.

“You're—mmh—you’re so annoying,” Pest gasped when they broke for air.

Poob got this glassy-eyed, looking like their brain was running on dial-up. “Yuh. And you kissed me anyway. L plus ratio plus I win.”

Pest almost snorted, forehead resting against Poob’s again, lips still damp. “You're going to be insufferable after this.”

“I already am.”

They both laughed — breathless, wild, teetering on the edge of something they weren’t gonna walk back from. And then, with absolutely zero shame or sense of self-preservation, Pest dragged a finger down the center of Poob’s chest like he was drawing a damn road map.

“Now,” he said, voice smooth like wine and warning signs, “Are you gonna follow through or was that kiss your whole budget?”

Poob, after a short-circuit pause, “Bro. I still got the Capri Sun.”

Pest smirked as he tugged him closer by the waistband. “Then cash it in.”

Chapter Text

Fade to the back of the Regretevator. The lights back here didn’t buzz so much as snarl —a low, teeth-grinding whine that painted the grime-slick metal in sickly, strobe-like pulses. Every inch of the walls was coated in something that could’ve been oil or regret. The air tasted like copper and Gatorade powder. It smelled vaguely illegal.

Pest was already shirtless.

No fanfare. No explanation. One moment he was tainting the other humanoid next to him with glinting eyes, fully-clothed, all triple-layered ‘cause he would rather die than admit it but he’s unbearably always feeling cold , and the next—just bare-chested, reclining like the Regretevator itself had sighed and undressed him out of spite. The lighting hit his collarbones like it had beef with them. He looked unbothered. Not in a cool way. In a "this is just what happens when I think too hard" kind of way. Like being half-naked was a side-effect of awareness.

Poob was standing a few feet away, shoulders tense, eyes darting anywhere but Pest’s torso. Their entire soul was buffering.

“You’re like. Way too calm about this,” they stammered, voice cracking around the edges like a dropped CD case. “What if I just... threw you down right now.”

Pest didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. He just slowly tilted his head back against the wall, arms behind him like a cat stretching in a sunbeam. Shirtless. Reckless. His expression sat somewhere between a smirk and an invitation. A Problem.

“What if you did,” Pest murmured, like he’d just dared the laws of physics to fight him.

Poob’s fingers twitched. Their eye twitched. They looked like a man staring down a microwave full of tinfoil. 

“You think I won’t??” they shot back, desperation clawing at their throat like a feral raccoon. His face making all that weird early 2000’s “>:3”. 

“I think you talk a lot,” Pest drawled, finally flicking his eyes upward to meet Poob’s, “for someone still wearing pants.”

Poob’s heart did the Windows error sound. Somewhere in the Regretevator, a circuit popped. The machine buzzed louder, as if it, too, sensed the inevitable escalation. There was a primal beat in the air now, thick as molasses and twice as stupid.

There were only two options: implode, or assert dominance.

So naturally, they llunged.

There was no grace to it. No warning. One moment Poob was trembling in the corner of emotional crisis, and the next he launched forward like a possum in a bar fight. Pest let out a sharp breath, barely dodging before Poob’s arms slammed into the wall beside his head. For a split second, they were nose to nose, breath mingling in the space between like static electricity and sexual tension.

“Still got pants on,” Pest whispered.

Poob grinned. “Not for long.”

Pest let out a startled sound — not fear, just genuine shock — as Poob spun him around and pinned him back against the cold metal. The Regretevator groaned in protest, probably traumatized, but Poob didn’t flinch. They moved with more force than expected — all wiry tension and barely-contained impulse, like a rubber band one pull away from snapping.

“ Whoa—dude, I was joking—! ” Pest blurted, voice cracking like a window under pressure.

Poob didn’t even blink. “ No takebacks. ”

Their grin stretched wide and sharp, all teeth and adrenaline. They looked feral , like chaos made flesh, barely tethered to the concept of restraint.

“You opened the door,” they said, voice low and electric. “ I’m driving the car. ”

Pest blinked. Once. Twice.

His body went still — not resisting , just… bracing. That subtle, involuntary tension of realizing the steering wheel is gone and you’re not the one holding it anymore.

“ H-Hold on—y-yamete— ” he stammered, a hand flailing for something — anything — to anchor him. His fingers landed on a protruding bolt. Useless. Just like him right now.

Poob leaned down, eyes gleaming, the heat of their breath brushing his neck.

No hesitation.

They pressed a kiss just under his jaw — hot, sharp, lingering just long enough to feel like a brand. Pest shivered.

Then came the whisper, low and wicked, lips brushing against sensitive skin, “ You’re not getting out of this with anime words, buddy. ”

Pest made a noise — something between a whimper and a half-broken modem. His legs locked, one foot slipping slightly on the grime-slick floor. He looked like he might pass out from either panic or arousal — possibly both.

The Regretevator, eternal and uncaring, buzzed in the background. Witnessing. Judging.

Poob smiled against his neck. Oh, they were just getting started.

Pest squirmed — just a little. Subtle. Nervous. Like a guy trying not to give the TSA agent a reason to open his suitcase full of sins.

“You were supposed to fold first…” he muttered, breath catching halfway out of his throat.

Poob tilted their head, all fake innocence and wicked teeth.

“And yet here you are,” they murmured, “bracing like a laptop on overheating mode.”

That earned them a choked little laugh. Weak. Breathless. The kind of sound someone made when they knew they were doomed and kinda liked it anyway.

“I’m regretting nothing and everything at once.”

Poob grinned. “Regretevator special, baby.”

Their lips were on Pest’s chest now, trailing lower, leaving behind a hot, tingling path like cursed breadcrumbs. Poob’s fingers curled around his hips, firm, possessive, guiding him down — dragging him, really — until Pest was seated fully on the grimy metal floor, back hitting the wall with a muted clunk.

He blinked up at them, dazed and flustered.

“I thought you were the cryptic bad boy,” Poob teased, voice soaked in honeyed mockery. “Now look at you. All pliant and tragic.”

Pest exhaled like a kicked cat. Sharp. Suffering. Embarrassingly turned on.

“You little shit, you’re killing me…”

Poob’s smile dropped a notch — not gone, just shifted. Hungrier. Darker. Their eyes gleamed like cracked glass in moonlight.

“I haven’t started. ”

The Regretevator creaked behind them — not from any gear shift, not mechanical at all. Just the sheer energy in the air. The weight of Poob shedding every last scrap of clown-coded silliness like a molting snake, revealing something much, much more dangerous underneath.

They were locked in now. Gremlin Greed Mode fully activated.

Poob’s grip on Pest’s hips tightened. Not cruel, but commanding. Their mouth hovered just above skin, every breath a promise of ruin. Pest’s fingers twitched against the floor, trying to stay grounded. Trying to remember how to breathe.

He wasn’t smug anymore.

Oh, he wanted to be. His mouth kept twitching like it had a cryptic line ready to deploy. Some last shred of dignity.

But every time he opened it—

Poob did something.

A kiss. A bite. A roll of their hips that short-circuited every functioning neuron in Pest’s body.

And his voice died in his throat. Again. And again.

Outside, the Regretevator buzzed like a microwave stuffed with sins. Inside?

It was about to get so much worse.

“Thought you were built for this,” Poob murmured, voice low and smug as their lips skimmed along Pest’s collarbone. They nosed along the sharp edge of bone like they were trying to leave a scent mark. “Didn’t you say you’d do anything for cash?”

The words hit harder than they had any right to. Casual. Careless. Cruel.

Pest let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in his lungs for years. “I—I did say that, but—” His voice caught, thin and uneven. “ Yabai na… ”

Poob paused. Their head tilted, eyes narrowing with interest. “What’s that?” they asked, already grinning, already evil. “You gonna cry in Japanese next?”

Pest’s lips trembled. No comeback. No scowl. Just that utter betrayal in his voice, the way it cracked like a dropped cassette tape.

“You are so mean.”

Poob’s expression turned wicked. “And you are so bottomed out.”

“Okay,” Pest whispered, squinting like the words had physically wounded him. “ Ow. ”

And then Poob kissed him.

No warning. Just grabbed his jaw and went in — messy, open-mouthed, like they were trying to climb inside him through sheer force of want. Their tongue didn’t ask for permission. It took.

They tasted like metal and gum and recklessness. Like chaos dressed in hoodie and dirt-smudged shoes.

Pest made a sound — something caught between a gasp and a full-body whimper — and melted. Just melted. He didn’t even fight it. His hands fumbled at Poob’s hoodie, trying to grab something, anything to anchor himself, but everything about them was slippery — not literally, just in energy. Impossible to contain.

And just when Pest leaned into it — chasing, clinging, needy — Poob pulled away.

Watched.

Smirked.

Pest’s mouth chased after them involuntarily, like his lips had muscle memory now, like his body was a puppet Poob had figured out how to string.

“Oh yeah, ” Poob breathed, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. “You’re gone. ”

Pest blinked up at them, dazed. “That was— so unnecessary.”

“You say that,” Poob said, brushing their thumb along his bottom lip. “But your tongue disagrees.”

“Shut up.”

“You literally just followed my mouth like a sad anime dog.”

“I said shut—”

Poob kissed him again.

Hard.

Teeth clacked, breath tangled, and Pest groaned this time — loud, involuntary, almost angry at how good it felt. His hands finally found their grip, clutching at the fabric of Poob’s sleeves like if he let go, he'd float into space.

When Poob finally broke the kiss again, they hovered close. Breathing hard. Eyes hooded and sharp.

“You still thinking of folding?” they asked, voice rough, cocky, still laced with heat.

Pest barely managed to shake his head. “No… I think I’m… already folded.”

Poob snorted. “Yeah. Origami’d your ass.”

Pest dropped his head back against the Regretevator wall. “You’re awful.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re… devastatingly hot when you’re in Gremlin Greed Mode.”

Poob blinked. Didn’t move.

Then grinned. Wide. Dangerous. “You trying to get pinned again?”

“I’m literally already pinned.”

“ Harder. ”

“Holy shit,” Pest whispered, covering his face with one trembling hand. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Nah.” Poob leaned in close, mouth hovering just over his again. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

And Pest? Yeah, he didn't say a word.

He just opened his mouth and let it happen.

“Ruin me?” Eyes widened, Pest didn’t know he could have this much shock over what his good ‘ol buddy’s words here. BRO IS THIS THE SAmE GOLDEN RETRIEVER HE BULLY FOR PARTYING AND MADE LIFE HELL EVERY ONE SECOND-

“That’s the goal.”

Poob’s grip shifted. Their fingers locked around Pest’s hips again, but this time firmer. A silent signal.

And Pest gasped.

Loud. Sharp. Like the floor dropped beneath him.

Poob didn’t speak.

They just watched him with hooded eyes, mouth twitching like they were trying not to laugh — or moan. The teasing was over.

This wasn’t a game anymore.

It was pressure. Tension. Hunger.

The kind of closeness that left no room for thoughts — just instinct and sound, skin and sweat.

The Regretevator buzzed overhead, sparking like it, too, couldn’t take what was happening in its rusty old guts.

Pest’s legs shook again. Harder.

“You okay?” Poob asked — quiet, genuine for half a second.

Pest nodded — shakily. Then paused. “I mean. Define okay.”

Poob smirked. “You’re still lucid enough to sass me. You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

“You want me to stop?”

“…No.”

“Good,” they breathed, dragging their tongue slowly along his jaw. “Because I don’t think I can. ”

Poob grinned down at him, straddling Pest’s lap like they owned it — hands sliding under the curve of his ribs, warm and a little too confident, fingers pressing into skin like they were searching for the off switch.

“How’s it feel,” they said, voice all honeyed mockery, “knowing you started this and now you’re the one on the floor?”

Pest looked up, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, chest heaving like he’d just sprinted through five layers of emotional crisis.

“ Zenzen wakannai ,” he croaked, barely above a whisper. “I have no idea anymore. My pride? Gone. Like—deleted from the recycle bin.”

Poob’s smile went feral. “Should’ve read the user agreement before booting me up, bro.”

“I didn’t know you were malware.”

“You installed me with full permissions.”

Pest made a choked sound, hands bunching in Poob’s hoodie like it was the last lifeline he had. “I should’ve stuck to Solitaire…”

“You wanna stick something.”

“Shut up —”

Poob rocked their hips forward, just a little.

Pest immediately shut up.

His whole body jolted, legs twitching beneath them. His head thunked softly against the Regretevator wall like it had blue-screened.

“You still want me to stop?” Poob asked, lips brushing his ear now. Their tone wasn’t even teasing anymore — it was low, almost soft, the kind of voice that knew it already had all the answers and was just playing for the joy of it.

Pest didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He let out this wrecked, high-pitched little whine that sounded like the last cry of a game character caught in a quick-time event with no escape. Poob’s lip curled — biting back a noise of their own — because wow , they hadn’t expected that sound from him.

“Bro,” they whispered, forehead pressed to his. “I’m not even being like… good yet. And you’re already looking like I ruined your life.”

“You have, actually,” Pest breathed, barely coherent now. His fingers clawed tighter at their clothes, like he thought letting go might cause a dimensional rift. “This is… emotional damage with benefits. ”

The Regretevator hummed low beneath them, its gears clicking like it was trying not to be involved. The flickering lights overhead bathed them in an ever-changing glow, throwing shadows across half-bared skin and the glint of sweat that pooled at their temples.

Somewhere off to the side, a faded warning sticker that read “ DO NOT OPERATE IF WET ” had never felt more disrespected in its entire mechanical life.

Poob shifted lower on Pest’s lap, dragging their hands down his thighs with the kind of intentional slowness usually reserved for defusing bombs or opening cursed artifacts. The noise that tore from Pest’s throat wasn’t dignified — more like the audio glitch of a man’s soul leaving his body.

His legs twitched again.

Poob raised a brow. “You’re shaking.”

“ I’m aware, ” Pest hissed, voice cracking halfway through the words like a puberty speedrun.

Poob leaned in closer, nose brushing his jaw. “Nervous?” Their grin sharpened. “Or just weak in the knees ‘cause I’m so powerful? ”

“You’re an actual menace.”

“Correct.”

“If I die here—” Pest was wheezing, now, “—I want it on record that it was in stupidly good taste.”

“Oh, I’ll carve it into the Regretevator wall,” Poob promised, fingers gripping tighter now, anchoring themself to Pest’s hips like they were about to start a possession ritual. “‘Here lies Pest. Got turned into a quivering mess by the world’s dumbest man.’”

“ World’s hottest man, ” Pest corrected without thinking — and instantly regretted it.

Poob froze.

Looked down at him.

Eyes gleaming.

“Ohhh?” They blinked. “You’re getting bold. ”

“I’m having a breakdown in HD,” Pest snapped, cheeks burning, “don’t make it worse— ”

Poob’s grip tightened.

Pest gasped — sharp, ragged, more real than anything he’d let out so far. His legs parted on instinct, his whole body just giving in without waiting for his brain’s approval.

The shift was final.

The teasing? Gone.

The power dynamic? Flipped and nailed to the wall.

Now it was just breathless tension, heavy air, and the dizzying edge of something neither of them had any hope of walking back from.

Poob dragged their thumbs along Pest’s inner thighs, slowly — as if memorizing the tremble there. “You’re unreal,” they muttered. “I could get drunk off the way you break.”

Pest swallowed hard. Tried to glare. Failed.

“Shut up,” he whispered again, but it came out like a prayer this time.

And Poob — greedy and glowing — just leaned down to kiss him again.

Messier. Slower. Like a claim.

And Pest?

He let it happen.

He let everything happen.

-

Pest’s legs were already spread across the cold floor, back pressed to the metal wall, breath coming in quick gasps as Poob hovered above them, hoodie half-off and eyes shining like they just hit a jackpot.

“You still think this is funny?” Poob asked, hands planted on either side of Pest’s head, grin dangerous. “Still feel like joking?”

Pest, cheeks flushed, lips bruised from too many kisses that turned into something rougher, tilted his head defiantly. “Maybe I do. Maybe I like playing with my food.”

Poob let out a breathless laugh. “That’s cute. Real cute. But guess what?” They shoved Pest’s legs apart with a knee, slowly grinding down. “You’re the food, babe.”

Without a split second, the noob caught the waistband of the black jeans of the other man. Hand holding tight like vice onto the buttons as they seamlessly caught down the zipper and rolled it down. As they finally caught the last button and the zipper flip down, no hesitation, they swift down the pants and let it shimmy down to Pest’ thighs. And holy, moly, won’t you look at that?

“Commando, Pesty? How daring.”
“S-shut, angh- shut up!”

“What? No epic comeback? Just admitting you’re just another paid whore with nothing underneath these layers waiting for someone to notice and pay you a good amount just for groping you? My, my.”

“I- It’s comfy that’s all?”

“Still ugly comebacks, Pesty… Even Minecraft kids have better explanations for that honey. What? The friction got you off? The friction got you all high and niceties? Oh my- Don’t tell me all this time, you're acting all high and mighty with all those layers of clothing around you but can’t afford to put on some wraps around it? No wonder you’re always this… pesty.”

“F-fuck off.”

“Oh, that answers it, hm?” And in those milliseconds, they got their hands around the girthy length hiding behind the smooth milky thighs. God, what do a bug need a thigh this thick for?

Pest bit back a sound, but it escaped anyway — a high, desperate moan that betrayed just how ready he already was. The slick noise between them told its own story.

“Look at you,” Poob murmured, dragging their fingers down Pest’s chest, past his stomach, to where Pest was already hard and aching. “You talked all that big game just to end up needy and twitchy like a little freak.”

“I am not—nghh—!”

“Not what?” Poob wrapped a hand around him, slow strokes that made Pest’s whole body jerk. “Not a desperate slut for it?”

Pest was panting now, spine arching, completely at their mercy.

Poob’s voice dropped lower, almost tender if it weren’t so mocking. “You wanna keep playing rough, or you wanna beg real nice for me?”

“I don’t beg,” Pest spat, even though his hips were already chasing every movement. “I never beg.”

“Liar,” Poob whispered, lips ghosting over the edge of his ear. “You’re already halfway there.”

Pest clawed weakly at their arm, trying to hold onto something — anything — to anchor himself. But the moment Poob shifted lower, mouth hot against the inside of his thigh, everything in him short-circuited.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” Poob said, voice all smoke and promise. “Gonna leave you so far gone, you won’t remember how to lie.”

Pest let out a sob-laugh, one leg twitching like he was malfunctioning. “You already—already kinda did that.”

“Mmh. Then I’ll just make it official.”

They moved lower. Tongue, teeth, hands — all at once, a relentless press of sensation that had Pest gripping at the floor, swallowing back gasps that still broke free. His words melted into curses, half in English, half in something he probably didn’t realize he was saying.

“Still think you’re in control?” Poob asked sweetly, chin resting on his inner thigh, fingers toying with him like he wasn’t on the verge of collapse.

“I was never in control,” Pest whispered, eyes glassy. “I just pretended real hard.”

Poob smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “Good. Keep pretending. Just makes it cuter when you break.”

The Regretevator whined ominously above them — like even the machine knew it wasn’t built to handle this level of chaos. Somewhere nearby, a warning light blinked red. But neither of them noticed. Or cared.

Poob was already back between his legs, hands steady, gaze locked.

And Pest? Far too gone, eyes glassy and a blessing he called a mouth opening a bit. All limp and debauched, just how Poob like it. How much ego-boost can they take after making the big bad man limp on him like OnlyFans creators after a whole boost of weed and thorough fucking? 

And he’s not even started yet…

“Say it,” Poob growled, leaning in close. “Say you want me to ruin you.”

Pest whimpered. “I… I want—fuck—I want you to shut up and do it already.”

“Ohhh, bad choice.” Poob yanked his hips down and positioned himself. “Now you don’t get to complain.”

Good creators lord all over the higher-ups, when did they take off their pants? When did they yank out the who the what-e is that even a real cock? A real appendage? With no modifications whatsoever? But, even a horse doesn’t- okay, horse compared to that? 

Pest doesn’t have time to got starry-eyed yet, and yet, he decided once again that fate has given him the final karma for being a sour bitch all this time. Cause- he’s ultimately underestimating how serious this would be- How- 

How, scrumptious, and tempting that monstrosity they called a cock would be. 

And are those piercings- 

Bro’s thoughts went interrupted when they pushed in — slow, deep, unrelenting — Pest cried out, nails scraping the floor, every bit of air knocked from his lungs. No preparations whatsoever but his hole is twitching enough with slicks that it wouldn’t be that much of a need to make a room. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Poob’s unanimously high-pitched voice echoed through the empty Regretevator. “How could it be this easy, hm?”

Both of their eyes widening in realization as Poob finally coming onto their conclusion and Pest… onto his upcoming demise.

“You were full, aren’t you?” Poob grinned, wicked and wide. “You walked in here like your legs were made of jelly, and now you’re acting like I don’t see it.”

“That’s—shut up—!”

“You did it before I even touched you.” Poob’s tone dropped, all syrupy menace now. “Got yourself all slicked up. Sat there like a smug little snack, hoping I’d notice. You’re lucky I’m an opportunist.”

Pest opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Poob leaned in until their foreheads almost touched. “Then why am I sliding my cock so easily here and—ohhhh—what’s this?”

A bundle of nerves accidentally pressed on from Pest’ tremors and Poob’s relentless teasing. Eyes once again widened– this is the most he ever widened his eyes out of every eternity of his lifetime– and Pest gasped, hands shooting to Poob’s shoulders.

“That’s what I thought,” Poob smirked. “Slippery little traitor. Did you stretch yourself too, or were you hoping I’d do it raw and see you fall apart faster?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re soaked. ”

Pest shoved at their chest weakly. “You’re not gonna win just because you’re filthy.”

Poob clicked his tongue. “I already won. You’re the one leaking like an overfilled Capri Sun. All I gotta do is pull the straw.”

Poob grabbed his hips, and Pest made a sound that was not nearly as defiant as he probably intended. A mess of breath and tension and oh no.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am so serious,” Poob purred, guiding him back down to the floor like he was setting a prized trophy on a velvet pillow. “I did slide in without prep, and you’d still thank me.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Too late.”

And that’s when—

Pistoned hips, hands gripping like vice onto the other’s hips. Only small “ah” sounds, gasping, filling the whole elevator with tension and heat. Like a ragdoll, Pest could only could take it as the other humanoid decided to fill him up- again- again, and again. Immediately thickening up the pace with no warning or warm-ups, like the engine decided to just went 110 km/h with no need to heat-up the machines.

Poob leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of Pest’s ear, voice like a blade dipped in honey.

“Still joking now?” they whispered, a grin curling wet and wicked across their mouth. Their breath hitched with the effort, warm and sharp against flushed skin. “Tsundere streaks finally burning out, huh, honey?”

Pest couldn’t answer. Could barely think. His mouth parted like he had something clever to say, but all that came out was a shattered exhale. He was full—stuffed deep—split open and trembling from the pressure of it. Overwhelmed in the worst-best way possible.

“That’s what I thought ,” Poob growled, and when they thrust again, it was mean—harder now, deeper, like they were trying to carve their name into the very core of him. “Look at you— taking it so good . Bet you’ve been dreaming about this. Moaning into your pillow like a fuckin’ loser.”

Pest shook his head, feebly, lips slick and swollen. “No—yes—I mean—shut up—”

“Oh no,” Poob barked a breathless laugh. “ You shut up.”

Their rhythm picked up, savage and relentless. Every slap of skin echoed in the tight, humid chamber of the Regretevator like some shameful rhythm from hell. Their hands gripped tight around Pest’s thighs, fingers biting into skin with bruising intensity, dragging him in to meet every thrust like they owned him.

“You’re the one dripping all over the floor like some fuckin’ vending machine treat,” Poob snarled, “and I’m just collecting.”

Pest choked on a sound—half-moan, half-disbelieving laugh. He couldn’t keep still. Couldn’t stop twitching beneath them.

The sounds between them were vile. Wet, obscene, primal. Sweat stuck to their skin, the flickering lights overhead glitching like even the Regretevator couldn’t handle this level of depravity.

“You’re such a bastard—” Pest managed, voice broken around a gasp.

“And you love it ,” Poob shot back, all teeth and heat, their mouth ghosting across his jaw like a threat. “You fucking love it.”

Then they reached between them without warning, hand wrapping around Pest with perfect rhythm—every pump synced to the unforgiving pace of their hips.

Pest arched up with a strangled cry, body locking up before melting back into the floor like his spine had forgotten how to hold shape.

Poob didn’t let up. Didn’t even pretend to. Their grip stayed steady, every thrust deliberate, like they were trying to ruin him from the inside out. And if Pest’s cries were anything to go by, it was working.

If anything, they got meaner with it—grinding in tight, possessive circles, dragging the head of their cock against every hypersensitive spot with surgical cruelty.

“God, you’re clenching so hard,” Poob muttered, low and marveling, watching every tremble ripple down Pest’s body. “Like you’re trying to milk me dry or some shit.”

They leaned in, biting at Pest’s lip, then muttering against it—

“You really were down bad, huh?”

Pest’s voice cracked, raw with heat and humiliation. “I’m not— nghh— shut— shut the hell up…”

But his body told another story—thighs trembling, chest heaving, every inch of skin hypersensitive under Poob’s touch.

“Don’t lie,” Poob growled, their voice low, threaded with dark amusement. “You’re loving this.”

Their hands slid beneath Pest’s knees, lifting and pressing them back until he was folded open and helpless. The shift in angle had stars bursting behind Pest’s eyes. He gasped, high and broken, fingers clawing at the cold, metal floor of the Regretevator.

“Made to take it,” they murmured, like it was gospel.

Poob’s hips rolled slowly at first—mocking, deliberate. Every grind made Pest twitch, made his nails scrape uselessly at the floor as heat coiled low in his gut. He hated how his body arched into it, how his muscles tightened with every thrust, craving more.

“You feel that?” Poob’s voice was velvet and gravel, their thumb dragging down Pest’s trembling inner thigh. “How deep am I inside you? You’re swallowing me whole.”

Pest’s breath hitched, chest rising in quick, shallow bursts. The overstimulation was unbearable—yet addictively so. His legs quivered in Poob’s grasp, slick with sweat and tension.

Then Poob shifted—slammed back in with brutal force.

Pest screamed, the sound punched out of him as his back arched off the floor. The angle—sharp, devastating—had white heat exploding behind his eyes. Poob didn’t stop. Their pace turned relentless, bruising, the sound of skin against skin echoing off the elevator walls.

Throat hoarse and eyes rolled back up his head now, the beetle could only let out loud whines, screams. Hands gripping over anything, everything, just to hold on tight and not letting himself go over the ascending over the bliss. His head spinning around as his blood went over to the south, tongue peeking around slightly around his glossed lips.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so loud now,” Poob snarled, their hands gripping tighter. “Where’s that snarky little mouth now?”

“Please,” Pest sobbed, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry. “Too much—too much—!”

But Poob was feral now. “No escape,” they whispered, almost tenderly, bending down to press their forehead to his. “You’re gonna take everything I give you. You’re gonna break for me.”

Their rhythm grew rougher, more erratic, like they were chasing something unspeakable between pain and pleasure. Pest’s tears spilled freely, mixing with the sweat on his face as he trembled, overwhelmed.

“You’re shaking,” Poob murmured, lips brushing his cheek. “That’s it. That’s what I wanted. My beautiful, broken thing.”

“I— I hate you,” Pest choked out, his voice wrecked, all pride lost.

“I know,” Poob said, soft as a secret, one hand sliding between them to wrap around Pest’s cock. “I hate me too.”

Stroking the wet length onto completion, letting Pest bucking up his hips to chase his own completion. Oh, how cute! He’s got tears streaming down his face with small sobs wrecking around. How… pitiful.

“Paid whore, to the core. No pun intended.” Poob grinned again, menacingly, letting Pest take in that fact. Knowing that you’re a slut is one thing, but acknowledging that you are indeed a slut with the proof of the previous owner of yours stamped around your neck while taking a monstrous length like a champ? Another thing.

So, they decided to do the only thing fitted to this situation. They leaned in more if that’s even possible, and opened their mouth slightly before latching their sharp teeths around the other’s neck. A wanton moan was let out as the pleasure even skyrocketed.

“Poob- I- I can’t I-”

“Aw, pretty little whore gonna come now? Hm, you wanna come? Admit it, you do?”

Not able to form any cohesive words, he could only nod around wildly, tears never stopped leaving tracks all around his round cheeks. Mouth open, useless now, except for the pitiful whine he let out.

“Okay, Pesty.”

And then, suddenly—Poob *stopped*.

The absence was cruel. The heat between them hovered like lightning ready to strike, and Pest blinked up in disbelief, gasping for air.

“Wh—What the hell,” he snapped, voice still trembling but laced with defiance. “Why did you *stop*?”

Poob leaned back just slightly, letting Pest feel the emptiness. “Oh? Is someone *missing* something?” they teased, lips curling with wicked satisfaction. “You looked like you were about to come. But I didn’t say you could.”

“B-but you said-”

“I said okay, not, go on . Owie.”

Pest growled low, frustration curling in his stomach. “You bastard. ”

Poob only chuckled. “That mouth of yours,” they murmured, brushing a thumb over his spit-slick lower lip. “You want it back so bad? Beg me.”

“Like hell I will,” Pest hissed.

“Oh, I think you will,” Poob said, leaning in to ghost kisses down his neck, nipping just hard enough to make Pest gasp. Their hand wandered lower, fingers wrapping around Pest’s aching cock with slow, infuriating strokes. “Because you need me to finish you off. And I like hearing you ask for it.”

Pest gritted his teeth, but the friction was dizzying. His hips jerked up into their hand without thinking. “F-fuck—fine. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please... fuck me again,” he whispered, defeated.

“Just that? Even any other could do better…”

“What do you even want?!”

Poob only grinned, all-teeth, as they eyed the other man beneath him up and down. “More feelings, honey. Surely your pesty self could provide more heat with your words, can’t you? I mean with all of your… colorful words all this time.”

Pest could only gulp, loudly. As his moral compass decided to just give in or to retain the whole dignity that he had shed all over his capacity after the ordeal. He could stroke himself after right? Like, okay, not done, just get out of the Regretevator and deal with it. Not like he haven’t rub one off after a whole steamy make-outs, even in Mach’s or Folly’s scape. He’s shameless like that. But-

“P-please…” Eyes flicked open as his trembling hands reached to the other’s length. “R-ruin me, break me open, God, I don’t care, make me your personal whore, I won’t run off and ask a dime from anyone else ever again as long as you could let me- Please, just let me- Breed me, fuck it. Just do it!”

A split second. Heartbeats thumping loud and Poob’s pupils dilated enough that it almost fill the whole iris. Hungry and tempted, finally Poob smiled like a wolf with its prey. “Good boy.”

They lined up again, pressing in slow, making Pest feels every inch until he was shaking beneath them.

“I hate you,” Pest croaked, voice already cracking.

“I know,” Poob whispered, kissing him softly like it was penance. “I hate me too.”

The touch pushed him over the edge—white-hot, involuntary. Pest screamed as he came, body convulsing, nerves on fire. And even then, Poob didn’t stop.

Poob didn’t pull out—not yet. They stayed there, bodies pressed close, breath hot against Pest’s neck. The silence between them buzzed, crackling with the kind of tension that couldn’t be released with just one finish.

They pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Pest’s bleary eyes. “You’re not done,” they murmured, brushing damp hair from his face. “Not ‘til I say.”

Pest tried to speak, but only a broken sound came out.

Poob grinned. “One more.”

Before Pest could protest, they started moving again—slow at first, a deep grind that made him whimper. His body jolted, nerves still raw from the last orgasm. Each drag, each push had him gasping.

“You feel that?” Poob whispered against his jaw. “Still so tight… still so fucking perfect.”

Pest couldn’t respond—his mouth hung open, the only sound escaping him were soft, helpless cries. Poob’s hand found his cock again, already twitching, already betraying him with how quickly it responded.

“Look at you,” they purred. “Still hungry for it.”

They picked up the pace. Faster. Rougher. The elevator filled again with the sharp slap of skin, the wet slick of friction, the choked cries of a man unraveling.

Poob kissed down his throat, biting hard enough to leave marks. Their free hand slid under Pest’s back, pulling him flush—forcing him to feel everything. Pest arched, moaned, shuddered as the coil in his gut wound tight, impossibly so.

He was so close again, it hurt.

“Come with me,” Poob rasped, breath stuttering. “I wanna feel you break all over me.”

Pest sobbed, his whole body trembling. And then—

It hit.

They stroked him again, merciless, until Pest was gasping their name like a broken record, twitching on their cock, coming with a helpless scream that echoed like a siren in the steel tomb around them.

Poob came with him, grinding deep, pulling tight, their whole body shaking as they filled Pest again — harder, hotter, messier than the first.

He came with a cry, body seizing, eyes rolling back. And Poob followed—slamming deep one last time, burying themselves to the hilt as they let go with a broken groan. Their body shook against his, buried in the heat of it, the mess of them.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Just the sound of their panting, tangled together on the floor of the Regretevator.

Poob finally pulled back, gently, and cupped Pest’s flushed face.

“You did so fucking good,” they whispered, lips brushing his temple.

Pest didn’t reply. But he didn’t pull away, either.

“Again,” they whispered, still moving inside him, unrelenting. “Now, say thank you.”

Pest sobbed, dazed and ruined, barely able to speak—but he said it anyway.

“...Thank you.”

Poob kissed his temple, breath hot and trembling.

“That’s my good boy.”

Poob eventually helped him sit up, dragging off their hoodie to wipe Pest down with surprising gentleness. Their touch now was light, careful, like they hadn't just torn Pest apart moments earlier.

“You okay?” Poob asked, offering him a sip of water from a dented thermos they kept stashed in the corner of the Regretevator.

Pest sipped quietly, avoiding their eyes. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Poob squinted at him. “You’re acting weird. You’re usually throwing some cryptic proverb or threatening to stab me by now.”

Pest muttered, voice barely audible, “Didn’t think you'd stop so soon.”

Poob blinked. “Huh?”

“I said…” Pest looked away, cheeks flaming, “…I thought you were gonna keep going.”

Poob was quiet for a long beat.

“Ohhhhhh.” They grinned. “You *want* more.”

“No—!” Pest snapped, but his face betrayed him, red and flushed and twitching in all the wrong ways. “I mean—I didn’t say that—”

“You’re so bad at lying,” Poob said, now laughing as they leaned in. “You really liked being ruined that much, huh? You want seconds? Oh, thirds?”

Pest crossed his arms, sulking. “Maybe. I was just—getting used to it.”

“Getting used to being my personal toy, you mean?”

“Shut up.”

“I could go slow this time,” Poob whispered, lips brushing Pest’s ear. “Or rougher. Or make you beg. Or—”

Pest inhaled sharply. “Okay.”

Poob pulled back. “Okay?”

Pest nodded, biting his bottom lip. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

Poob’s grin turned devilish. “No takebacks, baby.”

And so on it goes.

Chapter Text

okay, so... i decided to make a whole... collection... of partybeetle hell... and this work is now part of them ! :) if u wanna req sumthin dont be shy and put em thru comments/dm! :) new work is updated in the series and more would be coming up emeehehehhehehehehehehe ty yall

also bonus: a cover of Poob for From The Start i made last night out of weed-inflicted decision-