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Patience	By : PetPetAngel Category: +1 through F > Fairly OddParents Views: 5422 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Fairly OddParents, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Patience
- 1
Title: Patience
Author: PetPetAngel
Fandom: Fairly Odd Parents
Rated: R PEOPLE.
Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously.
Summary: Patience is always rewarded. [Anti-Cosmo/Timmy]
Notes: Just like in my last uber porn fic, there was a lot of head-down-on-the-desk-while-writing, so please excuse typos.

Anti-Cosmo sat in his comfortable overstuffed armchair, sipping tea, his frosty green eyes observing the small figure laying just feet away from him, just one or two arm-lengths away, completely unaware of his presence and breathing deeply. His free hand picked lazily at a small hole in the expensive leather. He lifted a brow, unaware of when the hole had been made, but he shrugged it off.

He bit the inside of his cheek, wondering what he would say to the tiny child once he woke up. He did not have to explain himself to the small boy; if anything, the child had some explaining to do to him. He was angry, yes, but the feeling subsided slightly when the boy turned to face him, his expression that of complete peace.

He clutched the teacup tightly. Many a time he had seen that face before, but never that expression. The child was never at peace when they were together; many a time he had to restrain himself from acting out upon his more primitive instincts despite the fact they were alone enough; many a time he had fought with himself over such feelings.

He was only a boy, one side would say, and yet the other would say that that was why he was special. Because he was only a boy; he was rash, impulsive, idiotic (although to what degree was up for debate, Anti-Cosmo knew), and lacked control over his feelings. All of these qualities in the child made him many times his inferior, Anti-Cosmo knew, because after all, he was only a boy.

But at the same time, it was the rash, impulsive, idiotic decisions which drew him to the child. He had often wondered if anyone would ever be rash or impulsive the way the boy, Timothy was when it concerned those close to him. His peers, although he was much above them, pledged loyalty from fear. Would that boy over pledge it to him by love?

Of course not, he told himself, because you are 'evil', wrong, 'perverse' in nature, a freak among outcasts. His cravings, whether they be blood or general violence was what made so many of those around him afraid. He was not picky, not choosy; any would do, a poet, a fool, it was all the same when it came down to it.

But of course something more was always desired; a victim who clung to him rather than fought, a victim whose workings he knew. No random victim would ever amount to the pleasure of taking someone he knew, and the one he wanted the most was just one or two arm-lengths away.

Anti-Cosmo fought down a shudder. Part of the fun was the pregame anticipation. He put the teacup down and uncrossed his legs as Timothy groaned and shifted. He loomed over the child as he awoke, noticing how the deep crimson of the couch complimented the yellow glow of the candlelight on the boy's smooth skin. His eyes roamed the naked figure hungrily.

Timothy's eyes opened slowly. The blue orbs stared up at him in confusion, still unfocused and unaware. He waited. He was a patient man. He could wait.

Timothy shot up suddenly. "You!" he said, but only moments later he cried out, "I'M NAKED!"

Anti-Cosmo gave the boy a chilling smile. "That's how I like it, Timothy. Don't look so flushed. Are you excited? Nervous? Afraid? All will do. After all, you and I are going to play quite the game. Quite the game. You're a lovely shade of red right now, did you know that Timothy? Quite like the shade of pomegranate or cherries or blood."

"Stop looking at me, you pervert!"

"That is what they call me, all those foolish men out there. But they're not really men are they? Unable to own up to their own deeds, they live is squalor, waiting for a saviour. Don't you know I gave that to them, Timothy? I offered it to them, honestly, but they are too afraid. Don't be a fool, Timothy," and he looked at his claws disinterestedly. "Do not sound like you do."

"Where are my clothes?!" Timothy asked angrily, but Anti-Cosmo shook his head.

"You do not need them, anymore. Clothes are such a material thing. You are not that kind of person." He continued to inspect his claws, "And you do not seem to mind their absence. You still reveal yourself to me readily like a virgin waiting for their lover." His eyes looked over the pale body. "I like you this way."
Timothy jerked awkwardly, covering himself futilely. "You're sick!"

"Ah, they say that too. Timothy, you know how I'd like you even more?"

"No, and I don't want to know!"

Anti-Cosmo smirked, but he tried to hide it. "I would quite like you under me, red as you are now, panting in a ravished fashion, disheveled with pleasure and lust. That is quite a nice thought, is it not? You are still young, but I see your every move, Timothy. As I spoke, " and he looked away, "You covered yourself even more anxiously, as though you were afraid I would see something."

Anti-Cosmo shifted his gaze around the room. He could hear Timothy's sharp gasp of surprise as well as if he had been sitting next to him. "Is that not true, poppet?"

"You're disgusting," Timothy told him with a tone of disbelief in his voice.

"Oooh," Anti-Cosmo gave a mock-moan of pain. "Love, your words, they cut me like knives. You are so cold. Do be a gentleman, Timothy. Surely you have been taught better than that by those godparents of yours? Or have you been left in the care of my idiotic half, taught the improprieties of all etiquette?"

"Don't insult my godparents! They're way better than you will ever be!"

Anti-Cosmo's eyes locked with the smaller one's. Timothy sucked in another deep breath, closing his eyes as though expecting a blow, but none came. Anti-Cosmo stared at him steadily.

"Perhaps your moral standards are slightly higher above my own; perhaps their moral standards are even less unlike mine," he said finally, his voice laced with a quiet aggravation. "But neither of them will ever be able to give you true pleasure, Timothy, because you still have not learned true pain."

After a moment of silence Anti-Cosmo continued. "It is best not to test my patience, Timothy, for although I am a patient man I have been patient long enough. You do not realize why I have taken you prisoner, do you, foolish young boy? Of course not. You are too young to understand, but I will elaborate regardless."

He sat down next to the boy, ignoring how he moved away. Strong hands, stronger than what he knew Timmy had anticipated, forced the child to look at him. "What I feel for you is much more than a simply fantasy, but more of a lingering desire every time I lay my eyes upon you, like a light rainfall which is weak but still casts you in a daze."

He caressed the boy's cheek gently, claws just lightly scratching the skin. Timothy tried to pull away but his grip remained as strong as steel. "More of a lingering desire, really," he continued, his voice detached, eyes looking ahead but not seeing anything. "A desire to kiss your sweet lips like no one else has, a desire to touch you in places which are forbidden to me, a desire to take you for my own and make you one of my kind."

Anti-Cosmo's face hovered just centimeters from his the boy several millenia his junior. He placed his mouth over the other's, gentle, ignoring how the child jumped. He pulled away, his chin resting against Timothy's forehead. He whispered, "Yes, a desire quite like that indeed."

"I can't believe you," Timmy said breathlessly. Anti-Cosmo paid close attention to how the boy shook and shuddered.

"Are you shaking from fear or pleasure, Timothy? I sense your arousal but I do not doubt that your fear plays a part in it." He trailed his hand slowly up the boy's side, leaving light scratches on his hips. "Are you breathless from shock or lust?"

Anti-Cosmo watched intently as the boy flushed a dark shade of red once more. He caressed Timothy's cheek gently, shaking his head. "Let me ask you something, Timothy," he said in a soft voice. "Would it be different if I weren't an Anti-Fairy? Or would your eyes still hold such deep hatred for me?"

"What.... what are you asking?" Timothy's brows furrowed in confusion. Anti-Cosmo didn't miss how briefly, he was thrown completely off guard; how those feelings of disgust and hatred disappeared. In the back of his mind, it was comforting, knowing that whatever answer Timothy gave him, he would know at least a little bit of the truth.

Although he hated to admit it, he knew the other's naive nature was pulling him slowly out of control. He felt almost as breathless as the other next to him as he clarified, "Would you hate me if I were a fairy? If Jorgen didn't say I was a bad person before our first meeting, if your godparents didn't credit me as a---"

He struggled to find the right words, but he didn't have to. In a voice he'd never heard before from the boy, he said, "I don't hate you because you're an Anti-Fairy."

"Then what is it? Why is it---"

Timothy's look silenced him. The child looked away with embarrassment, but then met his eyes again. He felt paralyzed from the intense scrutiny. He hated the feeling, wanted to lash out against it, but couldn't. His hand remained stationary, as did the rest of his body.

"I hate you because you're evil. You're a bad person, Anti-Cosmo; you've never done a nice thing for anyone in your life unless it meant you got something out of it. You've tried to hurt everyone I care about and you're constantly thinking you're so high and mighty. Why would I like you?"

If he had had enough blood it would've all rushed from his face; if he had had blood he would've died of blood loss; although Timothy's words were not said with a particularly nasty tone every single one of them pierced him like a knife through the heart. If he had had blood, it would've all been different.

"Oh," he said faintly. shaking his head. Timothy looked at him squarely in the eyes. "You sure you mean it?"

Timothy seemed to do a double-take. Although he knew it was the worst thing he could do, Anti-Cosmo felt his hopes rise. Perhaps he still had a chance? How could he ever send the boy back alive after revealing such things to him? If he was honest, the rejection took the enjoyment out of the kill.

Timothy took a deep breath, and he seemed to think for a moment, as though reassuring himself of his feelings. "Of course I mean it," he said, but he still didn't seem certain. Anti-Cosmo's ears twitched at the doubt he heard in the young voice.

"Is there any way to change that?"

Timothy's hand came down upon his face so quickly he didn't have any time to react. His face turned away, his monocle slipping. He nearly gasped as it shattered on the stone floor, although he wasn't sure how it had done so. He looked at Timothy from the corner of his eye; his good eye, and he saw how he quickly covered his mouth and recoiled.

He glanced at what was left of his monocle, shaking his head at the blurry image. "And here I thought you were such a good little boy, Timothy," he said softly, eyes slowly moving to look at the child once more. Eyes never leaving Timothy's face, he called, "Louie, my good chap! A new monocle, if you would!”

He watched as Timothy's face lit up with hope, but a futile hope. The Anti-Fairy entered the room silently and left just as quickly, wordlessly, not even sparing half a glance to the nude child. Anti-Cosmo smirked at the look. “What a funny look on your face, Timothy, why is that?”

“H-how can he do that? That's stupid!”

“What, my boy?” Anti-Cosmo asked, although he already knew what the boy was asking.

“How can he just ignore me as though I'm not here? Doesn't a naked ten-year-old mean anything to anyone anymore?! That's....”

“You mean plenty to me,” he said truthfully. He took the monocle the Anti-Fairy had given him and fixed it properly. Looking at Timothy fully for the first time since the child assaulted him, he gave a devious smile. “And after your little trick, I don't mind borrowing your hand so much. You shouldn't feel much, maybe just a little sting is all, poppet.”

He grabbed the boy's wrist before he could blink; and they shared a look before Anti-Cosmo began bending the limb backwards, slowly, gently at first, just barely tearing the ligaments, relishing the look of pain on the child's face and how he began to cry out. Then, in one fluid motion, he snapped Timothy's wrist clean out of shape, smiling and cracking his neck as the boy screamed in agony.

He waited patiently until the boy's shouts of pain subsided into pained wheezes and choking sobs before taking the limp hand into both of his, ignoring the small bit of resistance the boy put up. He gently moved the limp hand around, nuzzling it almost affectionately, staring at Timothy with cold, hungry green eyes.

“That wasn't so terrible, was it, poppet?” He took a deep breath, holding the boy's wrist close to his mouth. He was so tempted to bite it, but he waited, listening to Timothy's soft cries, listening to the hatred laced in his voice as he told him what a terrible person he was.

“I can make it better, love,” he said finally, “But you have to let me,” and he shifted, relaxing his stiff back. When Timothy said nothing, he trailed his down the soft skin of the boy's stomach, into his navel before finally grabbing his small arousal, not surprised when the other jumped a mile high, shaking.

He waited patiently for him to adjust, surprised when all the boy said was, “Y-y-your hands are so cold...”

He smirked, shaking his head, a laugh in his throat but he didn't release it. His hand moved slowly, tortuously, his fingers running teasingly over the head, smirk growing wider as Timothy hunched forward, closer to him, arching slightly. Anti-Cosmo licked the boy's wrist in anticipation as he moaned in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

The boy was so submerged in his lust that he hardly even noticed as Anti-Cosmo broke the skin on his wrist, his head cast back as he took shallow breaths. Anti-Cosmo sucked on the blood from the puncture wound, breathing deeply as it filled his mouth, but it wasn't enough. It didn't satisfy him.

He bit down harder and the boy cried out again, panting, placing his head against his shoulder. The quick breaths against his own neck made him shudder, and as he looked down he saw the boy's blood splatter against his own face, trailing down his cheek into his opened mouth and even lower, staining both his neck and the dark fabric of the Anti-Fairy's pants.

Anti-Cosmo felt his own manhood press against the material, but he ignored it for the time being. His hand picked up it's previous motions which had been stalled by his observations. Only for a few moments did he continue, freezing as the child, whose head had merely rested on his shoulder, moved to suck and lick his neck appreciatively, like an animal; like a pet.

He looked down. The boy was beginning to look pale and sickly; but his cheeks were bright with colour, flushed, his eyes unfocused from what he could assume were the combined effects of the blood loss and the sensations he was feeling. The blood which had fallen on his face had grown in amount, leaving a path lacking destination along his cheek and jawline, giving the impression the boy had been caught in a storm of blood.

Noting the ill look, Anti-Cosmo removed his bloodstained lips from the boy's wrists, the coppery taste still fresh; still warm. But of course, he thought, he's still alive. He refused to swallow the taste completely, different plans in mind. He licked the wound, resisting the temptation to simply suck the life out of the boy there and then, watching it heal before his very eyes.

The boy was looking at him from the corner of his eyes, feeling too weak to move his head to look at him completely. Anti-Cosmo smiled at him, ducking his head to place his lips against the boy's, wanting him to know how he himself tasted, wanting him to know what the essence of any living being was like; a pleasure he would never have again after that cold night.

At first Timothy tried to fight it, but Anti-Cosmo refused to allow it. He cupped the boy's cheeks gently and said in a soft tone, “Don't resist, Timothy, simply taste; you will learn about all the world if you simply taste it.”

To his surprise the boy complied, leaning into the kiss, letting the Anti-Fairy part his lips, letting the tangy fluid fill his mouth and stain his teeth. Anti-Cosmo smirked when the boy let out a quiet sigh of contentment, and he said, “Intoxicating, isn't it? You would be surprised at all the being in your own realm who hide their cravings, a hidden people, really, who prey only at night. Very rarely do they taste warm blood, have it flood into their mouths like the richest of wines; but let me say Timothy that no wine will ever sate your taste buds as this does.”

And he knew it was true before the boy made any motion of response, because he had tasted it so many times before, known and lived it's truth. The boy swallowed thickly, and he asked, “Do you feel lightheaded yet, love? Woozy?”

The child's head lolled about in response. Timothy was completely at ease; rather, he had no energy to move his muscles. Anti-Cosmo smiled at the dizzied boy. “Would you like to feel something extraordinary, Timothy?”

Anti-Cosmo was not surprised when all he got in response was a soft mewl. He had never played around with his victims like he was doing with Timothy; most of the time he took them before they reached their peak, but the boy had earned it. His arousal had been growing since the start of their ordeal, but he kept himself in check with extreme care.

Anti-Cosmo shifted the boy who had remained in a sitting position since the beginning of their fun so that he was laying on his back against the soft couch. He took his fingers and coated them heavily in saliva, and with a quick look to Timothy's face he put his first finger inside of him.

Despite his weak state, Timothy still tense reflexively, letting out a weak groan of discomfort, but nothing further. Licking his lips nervously, he shifted slightly so that he was more comfortable. He had always been a patient man, and would remain patient. He laid himself on his stomach, looking up at Timothy, watching his expression as he moved his hand slowly, gradually.

He took a deep breath, pausing when he felt Timothy stiffen once more, freezing completely when he saw how the boy's knuckles turned white due to his tight grip on the plush couch. He waited until the child's face relaxed, pushing in and out once more before adding a second finger.

The godchild immediately resisted the invasion, entire body tensing, his hands weakly pushing against the fabric of his waistcoat, signaling him to stop. A small moan was elicited from the action, but as had already happened several times during their encounter, he couldn't tell whether it was from pleasure or pain. From the look on the child's face, it could've been either.

When the boy remained fixed in his position, Anti-Cosmo tried a different tactic, taking the boy's small arousal not into his hand but into his mouth, sucking gently. His tongue swirled around the erect member, his teeth scraping gently against it, his free leaving his side to close around a sensitive pink nub on the boy's chest.

He took the boy's manhood completely into his mouth, fingers pinching and rubbing against his erect nipple. The boy's hips bucked against him, his body in shock from the sudden warmth; he gagged slightly as the hard shaft hit the back of his mouth, the motion being rapid and unforeseen.

His other hand wriggled its fingers inside Timothy's opening. The boy was completely unaware of the subtle motion, too overcome by the Anti-Fairy's other ministrations. He moved his hand from the boy's small chest to the two sacs below his arousal. He felt the boy coming close, could tell by the way his fingers danced furtively against the back of his neck, grabbing at tufts of hair every so often.

Once more the boy was breathing heavily, his eyes looking down at him but again seeing nothing, his chest heaving from his rapid breathing and the loss of blood. Anti-Cosmo watched the rise and fall of his chest, completely focused. He took the boy's shaft out of his mouth just moments before he knew he would come, and the boy letting out a groan of disappointment, angry at the stall in pleasure.

Anti-Cosmo tsked, saying with more control than he knew he had at the time, “You should know me better than that, love, the best is still to come.”

Timothy relaxed at his words. “A.C....” he said quietly, and Anti-Cosmo's eyes twitched at the nickname. “I.... I feel so tired though...”

He reached forward, righting his position, rubbing the boy's shoulders. “I know, poppet, I know.”

Anti-Cosmo unzipped his pants wordlessly, shifting the boy's legs so they were apart, speaking calmly, “Now, love, this part isn't so grand in the beginning, but just like in a good novel it's the end that you remember. Now, poppet, just relax and don't strain yourself, it can only get better from where you're now.”

He took a moment to look the boy over. He laid completely relaxed, legs heaved in the air, chest still rising and falling erratically, his bad arm hanging lifelessly over the side of the couch, his hand bent at an odd angle, his good arm over his head, tangled in his hair on the other side of it.

His face was still deeply flushed, his full lips parted slightly, shaky breaths being taken out of them, his eyes at half-mast, staring blankly ahead. His cheeks remained bloodstained, the blood caked onto the side of his face, still slightly moist around his chin, contrasting sharply against his pale face and bringing out the pink hues in his lips.

Anti-Cosmo felt himself harden at the observations, and he shook his head to clear it of thoughts. He leaned over the small boy, using his arms to hold himself above him, afraid of injuring or bruising him in his frail state or crushing him under his weight.

Gradually he entered the child, groaning softly at the tightness of his opening. He grit his teeth, grinding them together as the boy under him writhed in pain, crying out, his good arm reaching for him and wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him closer and further inside. He hoisted himself up, torn at the thought of hurting him by being too abrupt.

He let out a growl as they shifted roles; he felt angry at how desperate he had become, but ignored it, caressing Timothy's back, kissing him passionately, remaining otherwise completely still, allowing the boy to adjust. He sucked gently on the boy's tongue, attempting to distract him from his pain, but he felt moisture against his cheeks and knew the boy was crying regardless of his efforts.

When the boy finally quieted, Anti-Cosmo was afraid of losing control, and so he thanked all the deities he didn't believe in when he felt the boy nod. Slowly, he pushed himself all of the way in, waiting for a second more. Timothy leaned closer to him and with a weak voice he pleaded, “P-p-please go. D-don't st-oppp,” his plea turning into a bit of a whine.

Anti-Cosmo smirked at the tone, lifting a hand to ruffle the boy's hair, speaking under his breath, “That's a good pet,” and he wondered if he was imagining things when he heard the soft reply, “Yes.”

With that he pulled himself out of the child, thrusting back in with a pace he hoped wasn't too rash, but his patience was wearing thin. The boy cried out loudly, and his grimaced at the volume of the sound while at the same time shuddering at it's implications, and within moments he created a rhythm, surprised when the boy met his thrusts with an eagerness he hadn't know he would possess in his state.

His hands gripped at Timothy's hips tightly, breath ragged as he pushed against the boy, hearing his every moan, his every mewl, his every groan and cry, feeling as the godchild's nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer needly. Begging for more contact, the boy panted his name over and over, like a mantra.

He felt the boy coming close once more and he slowed his pace, no matter how much it pained him to do so. His own erection was throbbing, his release close and yet so far at the same time. He was a patient man, and he would wait to take the boy at the best time: at his climax and not a moment sooner or later.

When the boy shook with lust, shouting louder than he had during their entire game, Anti-Cosmo concentrated himself once more, aiming for that pleasure point with each and every thrust. The boy cast his head back, revealing a pale neck begging for his attention. Never before had he felt so happy that one of his victims was close.

As the seconds passed, his each and every thrust grew faster, harder, more frantic. Even immersed in such pleasure, his eyes remained locked on the boy's face, waiting for the expression that would tell him when, but he could feel the boy's muscles growing taut and stiff with climax.

And when that look came, he dived down like a predator, sinking his teeth into the boy's soft flesh, ignoring the boy's breathy cry. He closed his eyes as blood spurted into his mouth in a steady stream, and he felt Timothy convulsing him against him, weak pushes growing ever weaker. He shuddered at his own climax, letting the warm blood refresh his cold body and bring him back to life. He could feel rushing through his veins, carrying the fluid to a dead heart and giving it a beat once more.

He let out a feral growl as he heard the boy's heart stopping, feeling a sick satisfaction at the silence. He gripped the boy's hips so tightly that he was not surprised when he felt blood from the boy's lower body coating his fingers. He forgot about not crushing the boy, letting his weight fall upon him, bringing his hands to his face, letting the aroma of blood and death fill his senses.

Pressed tightly against the now motionless body, he trembled with pleasure. Blood soaked his clothing, the top half of his waistcoat and shirt stained a vivid red, his pants a muted crimson. He brought his head up, the edges of his hair black with blood. He looked at the still form of his fairy-half's godchild.

His eyes remained open, blue eyes dulled and pupils dilated. There was no light of life in them anymore, just the look of an empty shell. Hoisting himself up, he crouched over the figure before recovering from his euphoria to get off of the couch and loom over it, much like he had done when waiting for the boy to first awaken.

He felt a pang of pity for the boy. Perhaps he'd been a bit deceiving, but he knew he had taken the boy out of the world far too quickly for him to feel pain. With a deep breath he caressed the boy's cheeks which were still warm, still fighting the effects of death. “You were such a pretty little thing, you know that, poppet? So pretty,” and he lightly smacked the back of his hand against the child's unstained cheek, more as a sign of affection than any attempt at further hurting him.

With yet another deep breath he closed the boy's eyes, zipping his fly. He stretched lazily, back cracking as he he did so. He stood straight, feeling refreshed. He called to his butler, “Louie, do take this pretty little chap out. And tell his godparents that as a result of the most unfortunate turn of events they won't be getting him back.”

And that is all for now!
- 1
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Patience