This is short, but I couldn't really think of more to add to it. A drabble, I suppose, set in the AU GreyMoth and I have going with each other. I wrote this at three in the morning, so don't be too harsh. Unedited.
Snuffling, snarling, hungrily scenting at the Canadian's skin, Alfred's tongue laves hot breath and hunger across flushed skin. There's something purely animal about the way he seeks Matthew's body, the way he fits his own to it, making the mage use his strength to pry him away, force him open, to show him exactly why it is him that holds the leash and not War. Because War needs a master. War unchecked will ravage the earth, but War with Matthew behind him, controlling him, yanking on that leash, keeps Alfred feral. Not quite tame as his teeth gleam muzzle-flash white, snapping and nipping at bruised flesh and swollen, bloody, lips. But not wild, not running and baying at the moon as his gun fires into the night. There is no midnight firing-squad on this man's agenda. There is no unmitigated carnage as he claws at the Canadian's back. He needs to hurt; he needs to damage something, to prove he's alive. It's always a struggle with him, always a fight. But that's why he's War.
It's always hard for Matthew to grapple for control of this volatile element, be it on the battle-field where he is happiest, or the bedroom, where he snarls like a wolf, laughing as they roughhouse their clothes away from each other and onto the floor. Half the time, that's where they end up, too. Fighting, clawing, thrusting sweating until one of them gains control, and that person has to be Matthew. Alfred is violent, Alfred is merciless. War is not a kind lover.
It doesn't always go the same way – Alfred would figure out a way to stop the Canadian if it did – but the times Matthew likes best are when he manages to wear Alfred out – no mean feat – and pin the horseman to the floor, or the bed. His own kisses lose their bite, but his hands hold firm, his weight managing to keep the demon at bay as he slowly thrusts into the American's too-hot body. It's rough, because that's how Alfred likes it, and anything else would give away his advantage over the other. He thrusts slowly, deeply, drawing pleasured moans and curses from his lover as he begs for more, tries to taunt Matthew into making this hard and fast, tries to provoke a reaction. But Matthew remains steadfast, taking and giving pleasure indiscriminately. When the pleasure becomes too much to bear, Alfred will cave. He will wrap his legs around the Canadian's waist and draw him in deeper, his back will arch and the taunting will stop so that all that comes from those bitten, bloodied lips are moans of ecstasy and pants of the mage's name.
His favourite part is when Matthew's lips leave hot trails over his skin. He knows that the sweat on his skin is stinging the Canadian's split lip, but he does it anyway. Matthew always keeps his end of the bargain, despite the pain. He stays with Alfred, doesn't send him back. Fights with him and beside him, keeps him from being bored. Everything a demon could want from his Master and more. Matthew is good to him. Matthew fulfils all of his needs, and in return, Alfred helps to make Matthew well reputed, feared and adored by his fellows.
Matthew's favourite part is that once all the brawling is done and they're both panting and grinding against each other, he gets to make love with Alfred.