ONESHOTS • MARKIPLIER EGOS

Lust; Darkstache

Set in Hell.

Dark is the Demon of Lust, one of the 7 Deadly Sins. (His powers heighten others' pleasure).

Wilford is Pestilence, one of the Four Horsemen.

Enjoy <3

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"You know," said Wilford, "I should've been the one to embody Lust."

He draped himself across the loveseat, running his fingers through the pink feather boa around his neck. He glanced over at Dark through the corner of his eye and rose a brow.

"I think I would've done a better job," he crooned.

Dark laughed under his breath, and he closed the door behind him, resting against it. His eyes glowed under the dimness of Wilford's room.

"You really think so?" he breathed, walking forward. He approached Wilford and slid the scarf from his neck, tossing it aside. He slid his hands down Wilford's chest—felt the soft silk of his shirt—and smirked, humming in Wilford's ear. His breaths picked up at the touch.

"Do you really?" crooned Dark, voice low in Wilford's ear. Wil shivered, and he huffed out a laugh.

"I do," he said.

Dark smirked, and he fanned his fingers over Wilford's chest, feeling the toned muscle there. Heat coiled in his core—Lust—and he let the feeling bleed through his hands and into Wilford's skin.

Wilford took a deep, shuddering breath, his face going red at the feeling. His nerves sang under the spell of Lust, and he tipped his head back and groaned, his body thrumming with desire.

"Dark..."

Dark smirked, and he pulled his hands away. Wilford watched as he circled around the couch, sank a knee into the plush cushions, and straddled him.

Their hips met, flush, and Dark gave a teasing roll of his hips, sliding their hips together.

Wilford's breaths cantered, and he bit his lip, lashes fluttering. Dark smirked at his reaction, satisfied.

"You look awfully stunned," breathed Dark. He ran his hands up Wilford's chest and leaned down, breath hot over his face. "Cat got your tongue?"

Wilford opened his mouth—floundering for a moment—but before he could speak, Dark cut him off with a kiss. Deep, wet, passionate. He didn't even bother starting off slow.

Dark pressed his hands against Wilford's chest—grinded his hips against him—and let the Lust pulse through his veins and into Wilford's body. Wil gasped at the sudden heat, arching his back into Dark. Dark hummed, relishing the taste of Wil, and pulled away, a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"You see," breathed Dark, rolling his hips into Wilford's in a practiced, steady rhythm. "The difference between you and I, Pestilence... is that I know what I'm doing."

Dark smirked down at Wil, watching his every reaction. Heat coiled in the air, and Dark let the Lust heighten between them like a dial clicking up; it made Wilford's breaths shallow—more desperate—and his face flush with heat. His arousal pressed through his pants and into their grinding hips, and Dark groaned at the feeling.

"If you were Lust," breathed Dark, hair falling before his eyes, "then you would fuck the entire street like a whore."

Wilford panted, tipping his head back when Dark sent a wave of Lust through him. He gripped onto Dark's thighs—fingers digging in—tried pulling him closer.