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peggyao3 · 28 days ago

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Mass Murdering Hips

PAIRING — Noid (Disco Elysium) x FMC

SUMMARY — Chased by electric disco lights, two bodies collide under the wooden ribs of the ancient pinewood church.

TAGS — she/her AFAB FMC, no use of y/n, soft/curvy FMC, third person POV, drug use, explicit sexual content, public sex, p in v, sex during a party, sex while high, fucking in a church, creampie, on off relationship, making up, porn with tiny grain of plot, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT — 2.7k

A/N — Posting this, knowing full well that most likely none of my followes give a crap about Disco Elysium, let alone about this random side character who stole my heart a little, but the game has been having a rave in my brain since December and something needed to come out. I wrote this in Dec too but never posted it🪩💙 I really saw this ancient church and the speedfreaks and their stupid anodic dance music and the whole incredible quest there and thought: "You know what this is missing? Fucking in the church during a rave while high as a kite!"

Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Flashing lights strobe across the glittering fragments of Dolores Dei, making the lungs of her Innocence pulse with the colors of Disco Elysium.

The former Dolorian Church has been resurrected by hardcore, and more ravers than they ever could have dreamed of are dancing below the ribs of the wooden carcass. It's been like this nearly all summer. It must be something about the unique soundscape or the remodeled beat or both that fuses ancient wood and human flesh into one single organ of the world spirit, rendering them the closest they can get to a sound based and speed fueled community.

The writhing mass may not seek religious ecstasy but they find it in anodic dance music, feet stomping and hands groping in blasphemy under the glassy eyes of her Innocence. In their chase for rapture, people regularly pass out in the swallow that is nestled ominously at the center of the church, present in its non-presence.

Tonight, bodies collide under the frantic carousel of colored rays. The young woman dancing among them doesn't mind the scent of strangers' sweat, or the many hands that have pawed at her throughout the night, but she minds the hard frame that she bumps into now, mainly because she recognizes it.

The sharp lines of suspenders press into her back and the slender palm that glides around her middle belongs to Noid. Her head lolls back against the familiar shape of him, resting against the nest of suspenders among the young man's chest, just under his thick, golden pearl choker. Brown strands are frazzled but still contained in his teased, backcombed hairdo—so very hardcore, so freakishly pretty. Black within black pupils regard her upside down.

She should be pissed at him, but her hands glide up to Noid's cheeks, bodies still writhing in jerky rhythm, hardcore vibes synced with their skeletons. The young man's pupils grow impossibly wider and his chapped lips chase after her thumb.

He's high. So fucking high on speed.

Seems like the sines were just right enough for him to indulge tonight, or whatever other excuse he could pull out of his arse to feel better about it.

Either way, she's fucking high too and also fucking wet. Each stroke of anodic music makes her channel clench tighter, panties soaked to the last thread of cotton. On second thought, that could be the speed too, or Andre's booze, or both.

"HARDCORE IN THE NAME OF LOVE!" Egg head yells and the young woman all but mewls, turning sloppily in Noid's hold, pressing her bosom up against him, and her hips, thrusting herself into his body to the strobing beat, or perhaps he is the one thrusting into her. His slender hands glide under her skirt, firmly grabbing her ass.

"You're burnin' hot," Noid's voice slurs over the vibrations of bassy loops.

She beams drunkenly, cornering him against the old wooden pillar that emerges from the sea of parting ravers.

"No, I mean literally… You're drippin' hot." His hand slips over the curve of her ass cheek, sweat damp like the rest of their bodies, this mindless summer night.

"Asshole!" She slaps her on-off-boyfriend-or-whatever (when the sines are right) on the chest, sending the ridiculous suspender contraption rattling. Two days ago she had sworn that she was done with him once and for all. Tonight she just wants to fuck him, needy for the rush of dopamine on top of dopamine.

"No, I mean you took too much," he insists with a distinct slur to his own Faubourg accent, hands squeezing and turning her so she's with her back to the pillar, caged between hard, ancient wood and a hard, youthful body. Sweat slips down between Noid's pectorals; pale, bony chest partially visible through his ripped, black longsleeve and the crisscrossing ribcage of suspenders.

"What?" She yells over the drumming waves. "I can't, hah, hear you!"

Noid squishes her face between his thumb and the other four fingers, slightly puckering her lips, regarding her stoically as if she's his personal puzzle to solve. In a way, she supposes she feels honored that the socially awkward speedfreak keeps coming back for her. He, the one who serves no master but the beat, and yet…

"We're the ones providing it," Noid insists. "It's not good for the market."

"Oh, fuck you! It's good for the marketing," she huffs through puckered lips, impatient and dripping because—by her fucking Innocence—he's got some audacity, acting concerned. "D'you wanna fuck me or not?"

Noid's lip twitches in a faint upwards tic and sweat glistens on the sharp jut of his Adam's apple. "Yeah."

"Well good, so fucking do it then, okay?" The young woman lifts her left leg and slings it around her boyfriend-or-whatever's bony hip, arms circling his nape to pull him down and kiss the worry off his lips. The young man's pointy chin collides with hers and the fingertips on her jaw become harsher, pinning her in place.

His mouth is dry and tastes of alcohol and overthinking and unapologetic bad choices. Coming to Martinaise with Andre and the others must have been the worst choice she's ever made, or maybe the best.

Yeah, probably the best.

Her pelvis bucks into Noid's hips as he tugs the dark baggy pants down past his pubic mound which is dusted with brunette stubble, shaved a few days or so ago. His sometimes-girlfriend pushes her panties to the side. She doesn't want to lose them to the boots of some raving asshole on the dirty hardwood floor.

Disco lights dance over Noid's cock, hard and ready to go and adorned with pretty veins like electric wires, pushing electrons back and forth. The thick pearls on his ear lobes clatter against each other as he looks down, guiding himself to her willing pussy—the kathode to his anode. Her hand grips at his suspenders, the other at the nape of his neck, fingers twisting into the damp waves that fall down to the top of his jutting spine.

With Noid and his pointy face, there's always a fine line between a dopehead gutter rat and something tall and regal, with his pasty face and high forehead, the pensive twist of his mouth and deep-set eyes.

The bass crests and her head rolls back against the pillar as the tip of Noid's cock sinks past her puffy lips, into the dripping heat of her cunt. She sucks him right in, no resistance coming from her slick channel, and her leg around his hip urges him deeper. His slender pelvis slots so perfectly into the cradle of hers, hip bones falling into the same spots that he's bruised over and over in the past few months—on the floor of their tent, right here against the pillar, and behind the church against the salt-slick, wooden epidermis of their temple to the hardcore.

Van Eyk's modified beats clap against their bodies like the saline waves against the shore, and the pale against the Insulindian Isola. The world imitates the disco, not the other way around. It all starts here, and her nervous system shivers in ecstasy at the drag of his cock, pumping with the same rhythm that thrusts every single body—and the entire world spirit— back and forth.

This is fucking addictive. A fucking carousel of speed, his cock and the disco lights.

Somewhere in the crowd, she's certain the hard-cop is wistfully watching the young meat twist themselves around each other; not just Noid and her, but Andre and Acele too and a dozen others, sticking their fingers under short skirts, rocking their girlfriends on their thighs or groping at their boyfriends' cocks.

"INTERNALLY COHERENT!" Egg head yowls at the turn tables, one pumping hand raised to the strobing lights, bursting like god-rays from the spotlights.

The young woman who takes Noid's cock to the hilt feels anything but internally coherent.

Noid's a carpenter and carpenters always know how to use their tools, for better or worse, and the one he wields at his pelvis rearranges her guts so good, she can all but mewl and slant her mouth against his lips, crying for God but finding her dopehead sometimes-boyfriend. His slender fingers squeeze around her thigh, squishing her soft meat as the other hand cradles the small of her back, locking her tight in a cage of ecstatic vibrations, sex and snarling beats.

Their pelvises clap into each other; essence drips down her inner thigh like honeyed speed and splashes against the hem of Noid's trousers. He may have said once that Dolores Dei has mass murdering lips, but his sometimes-girlfriend has some mass murdering hips, some carnage everything, honestly. Or maybe she just has that effect on him, a contract killer specifically for the Noid.

Her pussy and the scent of her neck have him silenced, even his thoughts, and who or what else can say that about themselves?

A pair of dancers break loose from the crowd and someone stumbles into the couple by the pillar who are knocked off balance. The young woman yelps and claws at Noid's shoulders, tearing on the already ripped material. He catches her by the thighs and pulls her off to the side, half dragging half carrying her with his thick cock still sheathed in her dripping pussy. His loose pants have slid down to his knees.

She should say something witty and insult him, something like 'Don't kill yourself, trying to carry me,' but she'd trade paradise for whatever it is that has them coming back to each other over and over again.

Sweat slips down Noid's neck as he sets her down against another pillar and his pelvis resumes its fervent rhythm, drilling into her cunt and bruising her ass and thigh with the shredding blows of the anodic beats. The music comes muffled and she rolls her jaw to unclog her ears, but the sensation persists.

"We're in the swallow," she mewls, fingers curling around the thick pearls at Noid's slender neck, his pulse clamped against muscles and sinews.

"Wha'ever, swee'eart!" His accent swallows the already hard to hear vowels.

Yeah, whatever.

The head of his cock rubs into a squishy spot behind her pubic bone and she flings her head to the side in ecstasy, bearing her neck for his chapped lips and teeth to nip at skin and bones.

The beat snarls, lights fan out across the ravers and the glassy lungs of Dolores Dei herself seem to glow brighter as strobing rays are ricocheted back from her fragmented immortality. Her Innocence's apathetic gaze watches the ravers lose their minds.

"Nooiiid~" The girl cries, nails piercing through the holes of his shredded shirt and into his hard back.

"TOTALLY TRANSCENDENT!" Egg Head's voice bursts through the muffled roar of the bass, a faraway thunderstorm.

Yeah, you're right, Egg Head. This is totally transcendent. Completely transcendent, she thinks as her spine arches off the pillar and her pussy squeezes around her sometimes-boyfriend's cock, pulsing with the frazzled sound waves that bleed from another dimension, the future and the past. They'll always wind up here again, won't they?

"That's so— Oh, that's my swee'eart. Fucking. Paradise. M'gonna lose it, m'gonna~"

Noid's teeth scrape against her throat, pelvis rolling, shoving himself deep into her gushing, pulsing, electric heat. His thighs cramp up as he slams hard into her soft body and the ancient pillar at her back. He's gonna start believing in miracles, because the church roof hasn't come down on them yet like the brittle bones of a skeleton.

His head rolls back, baring his own throat to his darling speedfreak. The wooden pearls of his necklace choke him while her pussy chokes the life out of his cock. There's not a millimeter between their youthful bodies as he ruts into her, spilling himself in pulsing strokes that have his molecules flaming with disco lights. Her teeth find his throat, biting at the pointy jut of his Adam's apple and the sinews of his neck, strained like whip cords under pasty skin. So. Fucking. Primal.

The muffled track blares on and lights wash over them in a never-ending, circular chase—just like them, they're the fucking Ouroboros of the hardcore. Their minds are swept clean, bodies growing limp. Her leg slides off the sharp edge of Noid's hip and his chin comes to rest on the crown of her head.

Is the swallow expanding, or is this just the post orgasm stupor that makes her mind swim? The only clear tune is Noid's thunderous heartbeat where her cheek rests against the metal slaps of his tangled suspenders.

She's so happy, her lungs bubble with a dichotomy of laughter and tears, her head stuffed with cotton. Of course, this is why people pass out in the swallow all the time. They stumble here to fuck and when the adrenaline rush eases off, they fucking fall unconscious. She doesn't want to go unconscious just yet though, not when they've just made up.

The fabric of her panties chafes against Noid's oversensitive cock on the way out and he breathes hard while tugging his slacks back over his hip bones.

"Let's go," he urges, paranoia in his eyes as his fingers lace with hers. She puts up no resistance. Cum still dribbles down her right inner thigh and smears against the left one as she follows her maybe-boyfriend's tall, slender form, away from Dolores Dei's false image of grandeur, basked in the carousel of circling laser lights.

Her Noid hates crowds, she knows and smiles.

The salty sea air outside sends a benevolent shiver over the two ravers, sobering them just enough to make their way around the wooden carcass whose stained glass windows flash green and blue with neon light. The dusty seaside makes for the next best seat, though the ragged ground scrapes at her tender cheeks, skirt not long enough to protect them as she sits. She looks at Noid, starlight on his face, Disco at his back.

"Now tell me, why are you so bloody high, Noid?" She smushes his gaunt cheeks between her palms, pearls on his ears clacking against her knuckles. The young man's brilliant mind has been silenced by speed. At least she thinks he's brilliant in the borderline paranoia that he wears like a current under his flesh. "Aren't you too smart for that?"

"All large human gatherings are narcotic, I told you. It's a necessity."

That sounds more like him.

"Yeah, but you don't even like human gatherings." She slings her leg over his lap and climbs over him, bruising her knees on the rocky ground instead of her arse. His hands cradle her Noid murdering hips against his spent, clothed cock.

"I just needed the courage," he confesses with a wry grin that quickly settles back into a tense line, targeting her with the ever worried look that's just built into his face and the arc of his brows. "There's no fault in that."

"I never said there was." Her fingers pet idly at the curls in his nape. "What'd you need courage for?"

"To get ya back, of course. You said you were done with me, and that's not a feasible condition."

For a man who analyzes to the point of overanalyzing, who exercises caution like religion, he is surprisingly incautious for getting their feelings hurt over and over by each other.

"Yeah, but I always say that," she giggles incredulously. "You say it sometimes."

"But I don't mean it." His pupils are still comically large from the amphetamine, sweaty, brunette strands sticking to his pasty temples, even as the night breeze tousles his teased hair. "You shouldn't listen to what people say, you should listen to what they are."

"And what are you? What are we?" Her thumbs caress the sharpest points of his cheeks.

"We're just a tickle on the world spirit's spinal cord." Noid smiles enigmatically as one hand glides up her vertebrae, guiding her breasts and tummy into an arc against his chest.

The familiar drawl of his wording sends an addictive flutter of birds into her heart that hardly matches the thrill of speed and anodic dance music. It's almost soft to the core in a way that neither of them are willing to admit.

A/N — If you enjoyed this fic, a little comment would mean more to me than the Insulindian miracle! 🤭❤️🪩

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