Patreon Compilation – Fic#216 – Nailsmith/Sheo – Hollow Knight – handjob; aftercare – Against The World (Patreon)

Nailsmith/Sheo – They have both been so very alone but now they have found each other and can spend the rest of eternity together.

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His companion has come to Sheo without a name and with much sadness in his shell. It had radiated off of him like the tendrils slowly ensnaring the Crossroads more and more, but without the sickly orange hue that came with it.

His companion had been simply… defeated. Drifting without a purpose – and She had been only too glad to share his humble home and interests, delighted to find a like-minded soul in the old bug.

One thing has led to another quite naturally; such as choosing the colors for his paintings, one by one revealing itself to him in succession as he moves forward, guiding his brush as if in trance. They had slotted together perfectly, the old bug first following his lead before slowly unfolding himself and trying his claws at all kinds of delicate works.

It is not easy for him after decades of swinging a hammer, but he becomes quite adept soon enough. He is a sensitive bug, beneath his bulky carapace. Sheo can confirm it for himself one night as he lays down his palette with which he had been slowly trying to imbed his companion’s image for eternity upon the canvas and advances on his companion.

The old bug peers up at him, the shine of his eyes guarded in the darkness beneath his proud horn. He does not anticipate Sheo to strike, but he is cautious nonetheless. He relaxes soon enough once the tickling bristles of the brush start to gently slide along the different segments of his carapace. Slow, careful glides which Sheo watches attentively, feeling much more as a watcher than an instigator.

“I would like to offer you a name, if you would have it,” he breaks the companionable silence that had only been filled with his companion’s deep breaths. The old bug has moved his magnificent beard aside to let the brush travel higher on his body. He inclines his head slightly, eying Sheo, shy despite his rumbling voice.

“You wish to offer me a name?”

“I do,” Sheo confirms. “It came to me as I was painting.”

He slowly slides the soft bristles of the brush along the delicate, unprotected skin of his companion’s neck. The old bug shudders. He is slowly but surely being bested by Sheo’s brush, his body tilting backwards until he is lying prone and helpless; at Sheo’s mercy.

As his companion does not speak again, Sheo finds the courage in him to push on. He puts his claw low on the old bug’s stomach and says: “I would like to name you Urro, the steady… as you have proven yourself to be thusly: my steady companion which I would not like to miss any time soon. My rock, firm and bracing. My well of inspiration.”

His claw has moved further down to encounter Urro’s erection which has slipped from behind its shielding compartment, glistening and eager. A short, curved spike, glinting wet in the lighting of Sheo’s hut.

The old bug shudders. He is breathing even deeper now, the sound cocooning them into their own little space. Their private haven. He is sensitive; Sheo’s every move, barely tickling along his spike is causing him to shudder mightily.

“Do you enjoy your name, my friend?” Sheo asks him quietly. He reaches up and pushes his bandana off his forehead. He leans further over his companion, gazing into his eyes as he tickles his erection and feels the thick honey-like fluid gathering at the tip with the fine whiskers on his claw.

“I do… I do! Yes!” It breaks out forcefully from Urro. More forceful than anything uttered by him yet. He is trembling and Sheo cannot tell whether it is just the overwhelming emotion he feels or the way he is quickly barreling toward his release.

Sheo, feeling humbled, leans down and presses one of his short horns against Urro’s large one as he curls his claw around his erection and strokes it slowly from base to tip and down once more. He is moving slow as molasses, dragging the moment out as much as possible as the old bug is at his mercy and his carapace gently clicks as he wiggles about.

They peer into each other’s eyes as he coats Urro’s spike with the thick drops of his excitement. The pearls stick to his claw’s whiskers in a quite distracting manner. The feeling is almost as intense as if he were to let the old bug tend to his own erection, standing proud beneath the paint stained apron he is wearing.

Urro’s magnificent beard is trembling with his every shaky breath. He reaches out a hesitant claw and touches it to Sheo’s breast. He can feel the strength therein, needed to hone hundred, thousands of nails to perfection… and now tempered itself to tend to the most delicate of things: art.

Sheo had not anticipated their acquaintance to take such a turn. He had enjoyed the presence of the rather quiet old bug and been secretly pleased about his decision to stay under his tutelage… yet he had not fathomed such an intense reaction coming from within his own carapace.

Their beautiful Hallownest might be dying a slow, tragic death… but at least the both of them had found each other in midst of this loneliness.

The old bug shudders, a rough cry dragged out from him as he comes, sticky and copious, the droplets hitting his strong carapace glistening quite distractingly in the flickering lights of Sheo’s hut. It is a sight to be remembered. One he wishes to put to canvas as soon as possible. A task that will have to wait until much later for he senses that Urro’s release is not yet completed. While his body might be spent and lethargic, it is clear that his mind isn’t.

He might let Sheo try and clean his stomach while his erection is slowly receding back into its hidden compartment, but he is shifting restlessly and just waiting to be helped back up from his helpless and prone position.

Sheo watches him curiously as he pulls him back upright, half expecting him to… bolt, maybe. Or pretend like what just transpired never happened. He is quite surprised to find him staying still; just perched on the edge of the slab he had posed on for Sheo, seemingly turning to stone.

After a moment of hesitation, Sheo takes a seat beside him, quietly contemplating his hut around them, filled with artwork of any kind. He startles when the old bug suddenly speaks: “I… must thank you. For giving me a name.” Urro is quiet again, his horn tilting forward as he lowers his head. “I am sure I must have had one… once upon a time, but I just cannot… I cannot remember. It is a disgrace.”

“Many of us can’t remember. Time is a quite extraordinary foe. My Master used to say…” he pauses, peering toward the ceiling. He can feel Urro’s gaze on him and eventually he has to laugh and shake his head. “You know what? I… cannot remember what he used to say. How… odd.”

Urro makes a dusty little sound that Sheo expects could be a laugh once upon a time. He curls an arm around the old bug’s back and shifts a little closer so their sides are pressed against each other.

“I know that many demons are still plaguing you. They… might never leave. But I hope that so will you. That you may stay by my side until the bitter end.”

Urro seems to relax a little at that. His large horn bobs as he nods and then says quietly: “I… should not be here. Or maybe I should. It is… fate, I suppose. The whim of a young, undaunted bug that led me here in the first place.”

Sheo sits a little straighter, his claw grasping Urro’s knee. “What do you mean?”

He did not intend to ask with such urgency; he is quite surprised himself by how adamant he is.

Urro lifts a claw, indicating a rather diminutive height. “A young bug came to me a few times to hone his nail. It had been so long since I last saw one through to such perfection and I thought… I thought my role done. I asked him to slay me where I stood, overlooking Hallownest. I had been at peace.

But he did not. He didn’t speak a word. I could hear him slice the air behind me, testing the feel of his weapon before leaving me standing like a fool without a backward glance. He had been stronger than I that day… and I am eternally grateful.”

Sheo exhales roughly. His claw is still on Urro’s knee, tightly holding on. It is the first time he is hearing all the particulars of his companion’s story and they shake him to the core as he, too, knows this young bug. Silent but filled with honor and a steely will.

“As am I,” he whispers eventually. “So very, unendingly grateful. I am sure he will visit us before long… what say you we start on working for a present? Mayhaps models of the Five Great Knights might be just the thing…”