Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Early-morning sunlight filters through the crack between the curtains at just the right angle to hit him in the eyes, and it wakes him. Not really ready to be awake just yet, he tries to shift his arm to cover his face—only to find that it’s trapped under the head of a beautiful red-haired woman.

Oh. Right.

Well, that is sufficient reason to open his eyes in a way that the band of sunlight across his face is not. Red is still asleep, although she’s only just rolled to face him, he thinks. Her hair curls lazily about her face, having lost most of its styling in her sleep. She’s kicked free of the sheets overnight such that most of her body can be seen, and his gaze lingers a little longer than necessary. Remembering the night before, he flushes. She’s beautiful.

Also she’s cutting off the circulation in his arm.  

He makes a subtle attempt to pull free without disturbing her, but she’s pretty settled in. He sighs, then clears sleep out of his throat quietly.

“Hey, Red? Could you…” He tries again to move his arm. “I can’t feel my fingers.”

She answers by making a grumpy noise, burrowing against his chest, and neither waking up nor moving her head off his arm. But her skin is warm, and the peace on her face takes his breath away. A fond smirk comes to his lips as he gazes at her. He can let her rest here for a little while longer, he supposes.

…OK, no, now he can feel his fingers again and they feel bad. He winces as his attempt to flex them sends pins and needles shooting up his forearm.

“Hey,” he murmurs again, and this time he traces his free hand up her side lightly. “Red…”

She shifts with his touch and makes a pleased, sleepy hum. A smile spreads across her face. He dares to reach a little further down, trailing fingertips over the curve of her rear, and she gives an approving chuckle and finally opens her eyes. Their blue seems to sparkle in the morning light.

“Hey,” she says, her smile more pronounced now.

“Hi,” he answers. “I need my arm back.”

She makes that grumpy noise again, but this time she does lift her head to let him free. He moves it out of her way and then shifts onto his back, flexing his hand to get the blood moving again.  

Red, for her part, seems ready to be awake. She stretches, curving away from him briefly—only to catch the sunbeam in her eyes and throw her hand over them in belated protection.

“Awfully sunny,” she says, sounding faintly annoyed. “Overcast was ahead when I voted.”

“Clear skies must’ve caught up overnight,” he muses.  

“Guess so.”

For a moment, they lie together half-awake and content. Red rolls towards him once more and drapes her arm over his bare stomach with another comfortable hum. Its weight shifts with the gentle rise and fall of his breath.

Then she gives a musical laugh. “Did you wake me up just so you could retrieve your arm?” she asks, playfully accusatory.

“Yep,” he answers. “You were making my fingers go numb.”  

“Hmmm.” Her hand trails down his body, skimming over his hip and curling around his inner thigh, and he exhales a bit harder than he means to. “Just to retrieve your arm?” she asks again, mischief in her eyes.

“Well.” He shifts his leg just a little—into her touch, not away. “That was my only intention at the time.”  

“And now?”

“Now I’m waking up a little.”  

She chuckles, her knuckles brushing lightly against the beginnings of an erection he’s sporting as she continues to caress his leg. “I’ll say.”  

“C’mere,” he says, and slides his arm back under her neck to pull her towards him. She reads his mind and their lips meet; and, a moment later, they both pull back, noses wrinkled.

“Ugh,” he says.

“Morning breath,” she agrees.

“I can go brush my teeth—”

“You’re not going anywhere.” She hooks one leg around his, her thigh brushing up against his cock. He exhales roughly and turns it into a laugh at the end as his body gives an appreciative twitch.

“You know, I think you’re right,” he says. “I think I’ll stay here.”

“Mmmmhmm,” she smirks.  

He trails his free hand down her throat and kisses the top of her head, and a soft sigh of pleasure escapes her as she leans into it. She traces her thumb along his ribs, his abdomen. Her hips roll against him occasionally in an aimless arrhythmia, just often enough to steal quiet grunts from the back of his throat as she provokes his hard-on.  

“Hh—Red…”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t let you do all the work,” he protests.

A sly chuckle through closed lips. “I don’t mind,” she says.

But he shakes his head. “It’s my turn,” he says, and shifts onto his side to face her. He traces one hand down her body—over one breast, earning another hum; then down her stomach, further, until his fingers slip between her legs. She catches her breath sharply, her legs parting to grant him better access. Her head presses against his chest as he explores her folds with two fingers, and she whimpers when his thumb settles onto her clit. The sunbeam reveals a flush spreading across her shoulders.

“That good?” he murmurs.

She gives a soft laugh. “Yes,” she answers, and she rolls her hips against his touch again, more purposefully now. His own hips twitch in answer. He slides his fingers into her, winning another gasp, and her warmth makes him dizzy with need. So he doesn’t stop her when she reaches for him as well, delicate fingers wrapping around his cock and tugging on him as their hips grind against each other. Pleasure makes his breath come fast. She tilts her head upwards for another kiss and he answers it and this time they bear the morning breath because they need this.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp when her muscles begin to pulse around his fingers, but she doesn’t slow her own ministrations. Seconds later he throbs with release as well, spilling his come into the narrow space between them as her name trips out of his mouth. She releases his cock and instead traces her hand down his face. Guides him into another kiss. Slides one leg between his and hums with contentment.

He wraps his arm around her as he catches his breath. Then he gives a wry chuckle. “Guess we should get up and clean up now, huh?”

But Red’s lips spread into one of her mischievous smiles. “No,” she answers decisively. She snuggles close, her head landing on his arm once more, and closes her eyes—as if she intends to fall right back to sleep, right where they started. But a moment later, she cracks one eye open to see his response.

He smirks. “You’re real cute,” he tells her, and pulls his arm free. But only so that he can tuck it under his head and hold her closer. Then he, too, closes his eyes once more to get a little more sleep in her arms.  

Chapter Text

“So what’s on your mind, Lua?”  

He creeps an arm around her shoulder and squeezes her, just a little too tightly. She goes soft and pliant in his grip, turning dispassionate eyes up towards him.

“You already know,” she whispers.

“Oh, do I?” He leers at her. Of course he does. But he feigns ignorance. “Let me think, let me see, let me take a guess… Could it be that you want me to pin you against the wall and have my way with you? Could that be what my little Lua is thinking about right now?”  

A sigh from somewhere behind him. “Ladd, can’t you save this for later?” comes Who’s voice. He probably thinks that a holding cell isn’t the best place to flirt. But Ladd ignores him, because he has Lua’s attention now. A hint of pink comes to her pale cheeks and fever comes into her eyes, but he knows that’s not really what was on her mind. He keeps talking anyway.

“One forearm across your shoulders and the other hand sneaking up your skirt to play with that tight, sweet hole of yours—would you like that?”

Who makes a soft, strangled noise. “Quit ignoring me and shut up, you asshole…” he mutters. Ladd keeps ignoring him.

“I’d have you squirming for me right here, and anyone who passed by would finally know just what kind of sick desires you have.” Lua’s lips part with an inaudible gasp. “You like that thought, Lua? You want people to know the truth?” Her eyes dip with a nod. He bares his teeth in a grin and squeezes her shoulders again until he hears her joints creak. “Well, too bad. I wanna keep you all to myself. But maybe, if you’re lucky, my arm would slip off your shoulders and onto your windpipe and I wouldn’t even notice I was choking you until you went limp.”  

Her flush deepens. He leans in closer, close enough to hear the way her breath comes fast, and speaks in a low growl.

“Then, Lua, I’d guide you to the ground and get your knees up over my shoulders and cover your thighs with bite marks, all before you came to. You wanna hang off my shoulders like that? Wake up with your thighs aching and my tongue up your slit?”

“Ladd,” she gasps. He can feel her trembling. He swoops in to kiss her neck, to brush his teeth against her jugular, and she almost melts. He grins leanly.

“Yeah, you’d like that a lot.”  

He’s vaguely aware of Who standing as far away as the cell will allow, fingers stuffed in his ears as he mutters, “I’m not hearing this, I’m not hearing any of this.” So he decides to be merciful. He lets go of Lua’s shoulders so that he can face her properly; then he wrenches her chin to the side with one hand and croons directly into her ear as her hands creep up the front of his jacket.

“But we both know what you really want, don’t we, Lua?” he murmurs. “You want me to finish you off like that, don’t you? Should I slit your throat? Snap your neck? Or how about I just bash your head in against this convenient concrete wall here?”  

It’s almost too much for her. She has to lean back against the very wall in question to remain standing, her eyes heavy-lidded as she breathes shallowly. He presses himself closer—

Only for a sharp rap on the cell bars to bring him out of his reverie. He turns to see a security guard unlocking the door, face twisted by a disbelieving sneer.

“You three are free to go,” he says begrudgingly. “Lucky you had someone to vouch for you.”

“Hot dog!” Ladd claps his hands together—loud enough for Lua to flinch—and then wraps his arm around her shoulders once more. “Out we go, my little angel. See, wasn’t I just telling you we had nothing to worry about?”

Chapter Text

He’s never going to get over how tiny Red is. She barely comes up to his shoulder and while he hasn’t asked her what she weighs—obviously—he’s pretty sure he weighs at least twice as much. So he takes some comfort in knowing that if there were ever any real danger, he’d be able to pull her out of it or shield her without breaking a sweat.

That’s not what’s been happening so far, though.

So far, it’s usually been something more like this:

Her hands tangled in his lapels, yanking him down to her height. Her mouth on his, hard and demanding and leaving coral smears across his lips; then shifting and leaving them on his neck and shoulders as they take care of each other’s clothing. Bite marks on his collarbones, once she’s gotten his shirt out of the way. It’s a heady struggle to keep up with her but he doesn’t really have to; all he has to do is answer her desire, make his touch available to her. When she wants to be adored, she always makes it clear, and she lets him guide her backwards and kiss down her front and spread her legs. It’s strange how she can become his whole world, become larger than life, when he presses his mouth to her—but when her taste is on his tongue and her thighs tremble around his head, he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Other times, he is the one being laid back in bed and she perches atop him—reminiscent of a bird, but only until her hands come down on his wrists and her eyes shine with an unquenchable light. She loves how readily he stays pinned for her. The first time, he scoffed, Seriously? I could throw you across the room; but she only laughed and pointed out, It’s sexier if you don’t. The answering twitch of his hips was involuntary—pure instinct—and only served to confirm her point. He could throw her across the room; but he can’t, not really, because her eyes have him beat and he loves it, too.

She holds him down and grinds hungrily against his body until she’s ready for him, until neither of them can take the teasing any more. Then she sinks down onto him, taking him completely, hovering still for a moment to catch her breath as he fills her and she swallows him up. She props herself up on one arm when she begins to move so that with the other she can catch his hair or trace his chest; he lets his hands roam to her waist or her rear, wherever they can best follow her rhythm. He lets her lead—can’t imagine doing otherwise. There is something overwhelming and intense about the focus in her eyes as they make love, something driven, until her climax bubbles over as untamable laughter.

When they’ve had their fill, she lets his arms surround her and he holds her close enough to feel heartbeat against heartbeat. They catch their breaths together, in the humid stillness, and sometimes he still wonders how she fits all her passion into her small frame. But there’s no point in questioning it. Red is who she is, and he’s caught in her orbit, and there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

Chapter Text

The fervor in Huey’s eyes always takes Monica’s breath away. It’s sincere, but not just that: it’s the way he seems almost afraid of his own sincerity. He trembles when he holds his desire in check, and when she lies back and invites it, it surges forward as eager devotion. Sometimes, she still can’t believe this is real.

He has helped her out of her slip and settled between her parted thighs without removing his own clothes. His eyes trace her body; then his hands do as well, reverently.  

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her. She blushes. She’s thought that she might be pretty as adulthood has began to shape her body, but beautiful is a word she reserves for other people. People like Huey, his untied hair framing his face in dark waves. And yet his gaze is too intense and too honest for her to deny it, and if she turns it around on him he’s bound to get frazzled. So instead she reaches for his hand and invites him forward—what they both want, anyway.

He leans in eagerly, his hair falling over his shoulder and tickling her stomach as he presses his lips to her nipple. She whimpers at his touch. The reverence in it is what she can never fully believe—what seems too good to be true. She had never thought, until the first time he kissed her, that there could be kindness in desire. But Huey has proven, over and over, that there is.

His lips trail down her body and she finds her legs shifting further apart on their own. Her heart pounds fast with the memory of last time. But—

“You don’t have to,” she says in a small voice.

“Do you want me to?” he answers, and looks her way. She can’t answer the sincerity in his eyes with anything but honesty of her own. Her chin twitches with a nod.

It’s all the permission he needs. He moves back on the bed and lies on his stomach, and she lets her head fall back as he brings his mouth to her. It isn’t just desire, what he does for her; his tongue traces wordless prayers against her folds and he hums worship onto her skin and she can hardly believe that anyone feels this way about her, let alone the man she has adored for so long, but there is no mistaking his devotion. He brings her to a shivering climax without once seeking anything for himself. He kisses her sex gently when she whimpers his name, coaxing her back to the solidness of reality. He takes her hand when she reaches for him, their fingers lacing together in silent, shared adoration, and she lets herself believe in his love for her.  

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Ronny was not expecting a package from Lucrezia de Dormentaire, but the pink box and the fluid script declaring Agent Provocateur make it quite obvious that he can expect to find lingerie inside. Although a quick check reassures him that, like most companies dealing in the sexual, Agent Provocateur usually ships in “discreet packaging” to spare mailmen and nosy neighbors alike from the temptation to imagine the contents. This must be an exception, most likely specially arranged by Lucrezia.

Well, no matter.

This particular UPS driver, at least, is perfectly professional; he obtains Ronny’s signature without so much as a stray comment and goes on his merry way. He’s old, possibly a veteran of this business. He’s probably seen worse. Ronny takes the package up to his apartment—not bothering to hide it from the doorman—and sends a brief glance Lucrezia’s way. She’s at a meeting currently, involved in one of her family’s upcoming mergers in case her particular talents can secure better terms for the Dormentaires. To all appearances, she is devoting rapt attention to the excruciatingly dull man pontificating about the company’s history at the head of the boardroom; but as she seems to take studious notes on the laptop in front of her, a few unconcerned keystrokes shift the computer’s focus to her browser window and refresh the UPS tracking page she has open. And then all her subtlety is rendered moot when she sees the delivery notification and gives an audible gasp of delight.

Ronny snorts quietly and pays no attention to whatever excuses she will craft for the interruption. It’s time to see what, exactly, she’s sent him.

He finds just about what he expected when he opens the box: a lace, halter-top bralette and matching thong (both studded unnecessarily with Swarovski crystals), plus a pair of thigh-high fishnets. It’s all jet black. A pink card tucked into the tissue paper completes the package; the message is written in Lucrezia’s own flawless hand.

I saw this design and thought of you, darling; and you had better appreciate it, because I had it specifically made in your size. Drop me a line when it arrives, won’t you? — L.

Ronny’s phone buzzes then, Lucrezia apparently not content to wait for him to reach out to her. [Well?] she’s texted him. [What do you think?]

She is, by the way, still in her meeting—although the rest of those present have not failed to notice the sudden change in her attitude and the attention she’s brazenly paying to her phone. She is unrepentant when the primary Dormentaire representative at the meeting—a very distant relation of hers—clears his throat and moves the meeting along. She composes a second text. [Don’t you dare keep me waiting :’(]

He snorts. [You seem to be in the middle of something.] he sends back. [Perhaps I should wait until you’re free.]

[You nosy thing! PERHAPS you should tell me what you think now before I PERISH of boredom.]

[I’ve never seen an Immortal die of boredom before.]

[Neither have these boring old men, and they’re not about to because you’re going to entertain me, aren’t you?]

He snorts and types back, [Well, no matter.]

He sets his phone aside for a moment (though not before her answering text of [:P bastard] arrives) and considers the items she’s sent. Then, with a roll of his eyes that’s directed at no one in particular, he decides to indulge her. And, more importantly, himself.

He takes his time changing, less for the experience of it and more for the purpose of making her wait. Which isn’t to say that the experience is unpleasant. Without bothering to close the blinds, he strips out of his pants, briefs, and socks and pulls the stockings up his legs. The thick elasticized bands at the top guarantee that he won’t need a garter belt to keep them up. The visible seams trailing up the backs, on the other hand, serve only an aesthetic purpose. He makes sure the seams are centered correctly before he folds his legs to the side and picks up his phone to take a picture for her. He takes particular care to make sure the light catches the muscles of his calves artfully. He doesn’t bother to keep his cock out of the frame—but he doubts she’ll mind that. Even if she is in a meeting.

Sure enough, her response is almost immediate: [More]

He laughs under his breath and responds. [Tsk tsk. You’re being very demanding. And hurting your chances on that merger.] The indignation in the board room is palpable, and the only reason the Dormentaire rep hasn’t ordered her out of the room yet is that he doubts his ability to make her obey.

Lucrezia’s response is, predictably, [I don’t care at all]

And then, a moment later: [I want to see the rest of it, Ronny, I had it made especially for you]

And then: [It will suit you so beautifully darling, I want to see]

She is quite into this, isn’t she? Her flattery is not insincere, but it’s a pointed appeal to his ego; an acknowledgment that he doesn’t like her enough to do anything purely for her sake. Fortunately for her, he agrees that the lingerie will suit him well—ridiculous crystal detailing aside—and he is rather eager to try it on.

She would be surprised to know, perhaps, that their rendezvous half a year ago was not his first experience with lingerie; it’s an interest he developed closer to forty years ago. His eye happened to fall on a lingerie spread in a magazine and his mind happened to supply the idle thought, I bet I would look good in that. He saw no reason not to test that hypothesis, and in short order he found it to be correct. (Even if Maiza didn’t agree, or more accurately found himself ill-equipped to assess the matter.) But he isn’t going to stop Lucrezia from believing it’s a particular treat for her. It’s true that he’s found no one else as appreciative as she is.

So he slides into the thong—certainly modified from Agent Provocateur’s standard design for women—and then into the bralette as well. A careless flick of his eyes brings a full-length mirror into the living room, and he stands before it to assess Lucrezia’s taste.

And, with a crooked grin, he admits to himself that it’s not bad at all. The black is striking against his light skin, and the glimmer of the crystals seems to recall the way his eyes gleam when he’s pleased with himself. Which he is now. He turns, admires the way the thong frames his ass. Yes, he certainly can’t complain about her taste. Of course, he can make just about anything look good, but she has chosen something that highlights his body and had it impeccably tailored to fit him without ever even taking his measurements. It is, in a word, impressive.

His phone buzzes again. [Send me a picture you goddamn tease, they were expensive] he reads without picking up the phone physically. He rolls his eyes.

[Like money is any object to you.] he answers, and then opens up the phone’s camera. He shifts his weight to one hip, tilts his chin back. Narrows his eyes with all the scornful superiority he generally keeps tucked away. Adjusts the lighting in the room just a smidge, perfects the framing of the image, and—there. It’s a good thing she’s already uninterested in her meeting, because she isn’t going to be able to think straight once she sees this.

Sure enough, her response is immediate.

[oh my god] And then, mere seconds later: [So you’re free tonight, right?]

He snorts. Foolish of her to get this into it without even confirming that simple question. They aren’t even in the same city; she’s in San Fransisco for two more days. For a moment, he weighs the question of how amusing it would be to thwart her expectations now. But, on the other hand, it would also be entertaining to meet her expectations, and would involve far fewer pestering texts late into the night.  Well, no matter.

[I’m free now] is what he sends her.

He glances her way to feel the little thrill she gets when she sees that. [Perfect,] she writes, [I just got kicked out. Meet you where?]

[I’m in the lobby.] he types, and makes it true as his phone sends the message: covers the lingerie with one of his nicer suits and brings himself all the way across the country in the same effortless thought. She’s on her way down to the first floor, completely untroubled by the damage she’s done to an acquisition that has taken five years of hounding to arrange, and she pouts at the poor cell reception in the elevator shaft. Then the doors slide open with a ding, and she sees him before his text can arrive. Her eyes go predatory. But her gait is as carefree as a girl’s.

“There you are, darling,” she trills, sticky laughter in her voice. She pulls on his arm and bounces up on tiptoe to leave a pink-tinged kiss on his cheek. “Look at you, always so wonderfully dressed.”

“You’re quite the troublemaker, aren’t you?” he asks with an unkind quirk of his eyebrow.

She only laughs, untroubled by the insult. “Always,” she answers, and loops her arm into his. “Now let’s find somewhere I can tear that lovely suit off of you.”

Chapter Text

She’s kneeling over him in the couch and he’s got her ass clutched in one hand and his cock primed to slide into her when her eyes widen as if she’s suddenly remembered something. She splays her hands out across his chest, her eyes shining.

“Victor, darling, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she declares eagerly.

He narrows his eyes, sensing a trap. “What?”

“However do you get along with Huey?”

He chokes. Which of course she receives by laughing, high and delighted. She takes hold of his cock and teases the head against her entrance and dammit, he can’t even enjoy it if she’s going to spout questions like that.

“Is this really the time?” he asks, voice strained.

“Well, why not?” Lucrezia pouts. “I finally remembered to ask.”

“That’s bullshit, you’re doing this on purpose. You think I’m stupid enough to mistake you for the airhead you pretend to be?”

Her eyes sparkle. “Aww, clever Victor.” She guides his free hand up to her chest, shapes it around one breast. “Don’t get distracted now, darling.”

“Don’t get—oh, for fuck’s sake.” He pulls her onto his cock all at once, earning a delighted squeak. When he kisses her, she answers with an eager moan, never mind the way he’s glaring at her when he pulls back. “Let’s drop the subject, all right?”

“Oh, but Victor,” she says, sounding very reasonable, “I want to know.”

“What the hell does that bastard have to do with anything?”

Lucrezia’s eyes widen innocently. “Well, he seems like your type!”

He splutters. “My type?!”

“Yes! You do so love it when someone clever runs little circles around you. I should know.” Her fingers creep up his spine and she does something with her hips that makes him grit his teeth. “He told me all about how he snuck out of Alcatraz right under your nose, and it reminded me of when I snuck into Lotto Valentino right under your nose, and it made me miss your silly little indignation so.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I wouldn’t call that letter I wrote you ‘indignant’—”

“Oh, I would,” she says, smiling fondly at the memory.

He flushes. Tries to distract her with a strategic thrust of his hips. She moans softly and moves with him, but her eyes stay focused. She teases a finger into the hair on his chest.

“Darling, why won’t you just answer my question? Could it be that you do have a teensy crush on him?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because he’s gorgeous,” she answers dreamily. “I just wish he’d let me get lost in those golden eyes of his. He’s too obsessed with his dead girlfriend to play with me, but I do think of him from time to time. Don’t you?”

His face burns and he grits his teeth, refusing to let his mind wander. “I think of getting that terrorist bastard back behind bars where he belongs.”

“Mmmm, kinky.”

“No, not like—for god’s sake, Lucrezia!” He breathes heavily, trying to stay focused. Trying not to remember the dreams he used to have of visiting Huey in his prison cell. If she finds out about those, he’ll never hear the end of it.

Of course, she’s not likely to let him hear the end of it anyway. She grinds against him inexorably, sending pleasure swelling up his spine, and yet somehow still manages to chuckle suggestively. “Sometimes,” she confides, “I think of the two of you together.”

His hips give an involuntary jerk. She laughs again, triumphant. “You like that?”

“No,” he lies fiercely as he turns redder and redder.

She doesn’t fall for it. “Victor,” she chides him in a voice like honey. “Of course you like it. You’d love to have me watching while you bluster your way through an encounter with him, trying to stay on top but knowing he’ll get the better of you in the end.”

He tries to tell her to shut up but all that comes out is a groan. He can’t catch his breath anymore. And Lucrezia would never believe that it’s just because of the way she moves over him, even if it were the truth. He can see her eyes dancing and it makes his head spin. “Damn you,” he growls.

She laughs again, stroking his chest. “Tell me how much you’d love it, darling, tell me what you’d say when I laughed in your face as he gets you down on your knees.”

“Goddammit, Lucrezia…” He grabs her hips and fucks into her, trying to focus on her. Trying to keep that goddamn image out of his head. He fails, and his next breath comes out as a whine.

Another laugh from her, breathless this time and mixed with a moan. “Is that your answer?” she teases.

He tries not to whine again. It doesn’t work. “Fuck, Lucrezia, don’t do this to me.”

“Do what? Get you off thinking of him? Oh, it’s too late for that, darling. Unless your stamina has gotten much better in the past three hundred years, you must be just about ready to burst, hm?”

He is, and when she catches his lips with hers and kisses him deeply it only brings him closer. She’s right. His stamina is pitiful, always has been, especially with her. Especially when she laughs at him, toys with him.

“Come, darling, come for me,” she breathes, and it tips him over the edge.