He does not, in fact, get anywhere!

"Fun," says a cheerful voice from somewhere well above Z's head. "I thought the big boys were gonna have to drag you down here, but nope, you came running all by yourself."

"...ha ha," he says, weakly. "You got me."

"Ooh, and he's got a sense of humour! I'm gonna have so much fun with you," he says, shifting his grip smoothly so he can pick Z up with both hands around his waist—a ridiculous display of casual strength and also of how his hands are big enough to span Z's waist with ease—and then toss him a few feet into the air and somehow catch him in a perfect bridal carry. There is motion as though he's walking, carrying Z away from the chute with long strides.

—holy shit. He can’t actually stop himself from squeaking a little in midair. How big is this guy?

...He guesses this is gonna be one of those traumatic parts quest girl was warning him about.

“Uh—not like I don’t want you to have fun but I’ve kinda got somewhere I’m supposed to be...”

The big guy snickers.

"Oh, I know," he says. "And you'll get back to it eventually. But in the meantime..."

He takes a casual forward leap. And... doesn't land, and doesn't land, and continues not to land, for a really unsettlingly long time - maybe as much as a full minute.

Then he touches down lightly, and there's the soft whumpf of a flame abruptly igniting, and the lights come up—a many-armed spiral of flame that races outward from their position, lighting little fire-bowls set into the floor in successive outward rings.

"Welcome to my world," says the nine-foot-tall naked giant, grinning toothily down at the boy in his arms. His purple-red scales and dark curling demonic horns glitter in the flickering firelight. The floor directly under his feet is in fact on fire, and he doesn't seem to mind a bit. As the fire spiral begins to burn out patchily, the bowls of fire set into the floor stay lit. The overall effect is somewhat... hellish.

His stomach drops as they sail through the air for what seems like an impossible amount of time. They should be falling, right? Or at least...landing?

Then they do land, and his guts settle, and...

Well, fuck.

“Is this actually, uh...” Wow his mouth is dry. “A hell kind of situation?”

It’s...

kind of hot.

—god dammit he’s trying to focus on magic powers and being alive here.

He laughs.

"What do you think?" he says cheerfully, and without waiting for an answer he lets go of Z—who remains inexplicably floating in midair—and starts ripping his clothes off.

Oh, and now that Z has line of sight to the demon's crotch: yeeeep that's a tentacle dick. A kind of intimidatingly large tentacle dick.

“—uh.”

He flails a little ungracefully in midair, and then there are giant demon hands literally tearing his shirt off and okay okay this is happening he guesses.

He looks down.

“Uh. You said I was going to get back to that but I’m pretty sure that thing would kill me, can we maybe—”

There go his pants (fuck, observes a weird detached part of his brain, his phone was in there). And his underwear. And, yeah, he’s definitely getting hard. Sue him.

"Don't worry!" the demon assures him. "I'm not gonna let you die. People stop being fun when they die."

He playfully rakes his claws down Z's chest.

He

okay, no, this is not a pretending not to react situation, he has enough things to worry about. He feels the demon’s claws split his skin and he moans.

The demon hums happily and does it again.

Louder, this time, and he should probably be trying to minimize blood loss here but he’s just going to arch up into the claws instead.

If he wasn’t hard before, he definitely is now.

"Ooh," says the demon, very appreciatively. "You are fun."

He applies his claws to more of Z's surfaces, stomach and back and arms and shoulders and hips and thighs. There's kind of a lot of blood now, dripping into the soot-streaked stone at the demon's feet. He does not seem concerned that all this casual bloodletting is going to deprive him of his new toy.

The more blood is dripping the more worked up Z gets. By the end he’s moaning and squirming even when he doesn’t feel claws, nearly screaming when they dig in and slice him open. He doesn’t think he’s ever hurt this bad, felt this good.

“Fuck—fuck fuck fuck I’m gonna—”

The demon chuckles, and pulls Z up higher in the air so as to more conveniently get his mouth on Z's dick.

His teeth are sharp. He doesn't use them too much.

He barely lasts a few seconds. The moment he feels teeth he comes explosively, crying out and jerking where he’s suspended in midair (which doesn’t really help with the lacerations).

The demon swallows, and pulls his mouth away, and sighs contentedly.

"People who get off on this shit are the best," he says with deep, sincere affection.

Give him a second to catch his breath.

Or...maybe give him a minute.

He keeps moving his lips like he’s trying to say something, but he can’t really make sound come out as anything but a helpless moan-adjacent sort of noise, not with his whole body still cut to ribbons coming down from the most intense orgasm of his life thus far.

The demon giggles, and presses an affectionate kiss to Z's inner thigh, and then pulls him down again to nibble playfully on his shoulder. (There are fangs. He's gonna bleed a little more.)

He lets out another choked moan.

“You’ve gotta—you’ve gotta—keep me alive—”

He sort of has forgotten about everything else, but he knows that being alive is very important. And he can’t have any more if he dies, either.

"Don't worry, babe, I will," he murmurs reassuringly, and then he rakes his claws across Z's stomach.

He moans, shakily, again. This really should have stopped being good after he came, but it’s just a different ache, now, slow and deep, almost comforting.

(And he doesn’t think he’s even going to stop being hard before he starts getting hard again. It’s already sort of happening.)

He wraps his arms around Z, squeezes affectionately (which does interesting things to many of those cuts), then lets go and bites his shoulder again, pretty hard this time. There follows an exploration of all the places where one might bite Z and what he thinks about each of them.

He floats on it, hazy, lost in the pain, the teeth slicing into him and the bruising force of his jaws, only distantly aware of the noises he’s making. He thinks this is subspace or something? He’s never quite been able to get there — nothing’s ever really been strong enough to do it for him — but now...

Somewhere in the fog he realizes vaguely that he should definitely have bled out at least enough to have passed out by now. He doesn’t think there’s an inch of his body that’s not covered in blood.