Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You should probably sleep at some point, you know."

Ikora glanced up from the makeshift war room they'd set up in the dilapidated barn. The Farm had seen better days, and Ikora felt slightly bad about commandeering the space for Vanguard operations, but they'd needed some place to plan.

Zavala and Cayde had left a while ago, either to get some rest or to check in with the Guardians still streaming into the Farm. Knowing her workaholic fireteam, it was probably the latter, at least in Zavala's case.

The green-painted Exo standing in the entryway crossed his arms, the Warlock bond on his left bicep gleaming in the lamplight. Forged from the Hive chitin he'd brought back from the Dreadnaught, it was the only war trophy she'd ever seen him wear. 

"The same could be said for you."

Premise shrugged. "Eh, I never slept much even before all this."

Ikora fell silent, but he kept talking— "Exos never do, but you probably already knew that— I can't imagine Cayde's the paragon of a healthy sleep schedule—"

"You two make quite the pair," Ikora cut in wryly before he could go off on a tangent. "Are you sure you're not a Hunter?"

"Everyone keeps asking me that! What, am I not Warlock-y enough for you? Oh, I can get all Warlock on you, I've been going over everything we know about the cage around the Traveler and—"

Ikora resisted the urge to rub her temples as Premise talked, instead just shutting her eyes tightly against the headache she felt coming on. There was a severe lack of tea on the Farm, and she missed it more than she could say in that moment.

"—and I have no idea how the Cabal managed to trap what's basically a god, but maybe the Traveler's not as powerful as we first thought it was—"

Premise was just voicing what had been running through her head for days now, but it was somehow worse when someone else said it. She had never thought it would actually come to this, and she cursed herself for not seeing it sooner, for not anticipating that something like this could happen. The Last City had been such a bastion of strength for centuries that to suddenly live in a world without it was—

It was—

"—and if the fucking space rhinos can figure out how to cut off our Light then who knows what the Vex might be able to do if they got ahold of it— ah shit is that racist? Fuck it, they stole our Light, how dare they?!—"

"Premise."

He didn't even hear her. "—swear on my Ghost, I’m gonna cave Gary's fucking face in—"

"Premise."

“—the second I get my hands on Del’s Gjally I am blasting that bitch right out of the sky—”

Ikora tried to Blink, received nothing but silence from the Light she didn’t have, and stalked across the floor in a single second, directly in front of the Stormcaller. She grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the wall next to the doorway. That got him to shut up, and going off the shocked look on his faceplate, he hadn’t been expecting her to do that. She wasn’t expecting it herself, to be honest. But truth be told, she had been furious at everyone and everything since that damned missile hit the Tower, and her mild annoyance at the Warlock fanned that flame into something she hadn’t meant to act on. 

She’d held such a tight leash on her anger for so long it was starting to strangle her, but for some reason, staring down the nervous Exo as she all but pinned him to the wall made her feel just the slightest bit better. Control. She needed control.

“Uhhhhh, Ikora? Y-you good?”

She knew her actions were completely unbecoming of a Vanguard, that if they were in literally any other situation she wouldn’t have even considered getting violent with a Guardian outside the Crucible. But they weren't in any other situation, they were in this one; their Light was gone, the City was besieged, and all Ikora wanted to do was take her shotgun and blast off the head of every Cabal she saw. 

But she didn’t— she was here, pinning the Young Wolf to the wall in a bout of ill-advised impulsiveness, watching his purple optics dilate.

“Ikora, you— you gotta get off me, I’m gettin’ kinda turned on,” he admitted, throat lights flashing nervously. Ikora actually watched the Warlock regret that sentence in real time, eyes widening and voice box stuttering as he tried to backtrack. “Uh— I mean— um— ignore that, I d-didn’t say anything actually, I think you’re just hearing things—”

“Just stop talking,” she muttered, “before I get any ideas.”

Premise’s eyes got even wider, if that was possible. “Was— was that an offer? Fucking Light Ikora, please say that was an offer, I feel like I’m going insane—”

For the first time in perhaps years, Ikora didn’t listen to the voice in her head that usually stopped her from making stupid decisions. In fact, just this once, she ignored it entirely— and leaned forward to kiss the Exo with a kind of desperate ferocity that could only be born from eons worth of pent-up stress.

And Premise fucking whimpered under her, seeming to melt into the wall she was pressing him into.

“Ikora, wait, the door isn’t even—”

“I don’t care,” she muttered, and the thought that someone could walk in at any moment seemed to excite him— he squirmed against her, doing his best to keep up with the pace she set and only partially succeeding.

She could feel the strength his body held— even without the Light, Exos were exceptionally strong, and with the Light, she had no doubt he could hold his own against her, even to the point where she couldn’t concretely say who would win.

But right now, he was completely submitting to her. He was choosing to be utterly at her mercy, and the rush of power nearly made her dizzy.

One of his gloved hands hesitantly came up to touch her, but she slapped it out of the air. A tiny cry escaped his voicebox at the rough contact, and Ikora all but shivered.

“No,” she whispered harshly against his plates. “This is how it’s going to work. You’re going to stand here and take whatever I give you. Got it?”

His throat lights flashed erratically before he responded. “Y-yes ma’am.”

“That’s more like it.”

Her lips recaptured his, and he sighed into her mouth, as much as an Exo could. Slowly, slow enough that she knew it would drive him insane, Ikora pressed her hips into his, the fronts of their robes getting bunched between them.

He keened at the contact, a long, pathetic sound, and it lit a fire in her chest that she thought had gone out long ago. Emboldened, she did it again, bringing her arms up to brace her elbows against the wall and cage his head between them. They were so close that the purple from his eyes and throat was all she could see, and she made damn well sure that her own gaze was the only thing he saw too.

“Ikora, please—”

She pulled away immediately, a snarl on her lips. “The only things I want to hear from you are sounds, not words.”

Premise looked positively wrecked. He nodded minutely, then more aggressively when she didn’t immediately react. Purple kept flashing at his throat but he made no noise.

“There we go.”

Her voice had dropped an octave or so without her trying, but she rolled with it, continuing her earlier ministrations. True to his answer, Premise only made sounds— whimpers, whines, sighs, groans. Ikora was practically intoxicated on it all, drunk with lust and the need to ruin this man. 

One hand left the wall and trailed over his chest, his arm, the Wormlore bond that glowed softly in the lamplight. Her hand dipped to his chest, his waist, finding the fold of the fabric that covered him and slipping her hand under it—

He yelped at the first brush of her fingers against his clothed cock, jerking into her unintentionally. 

“S-sor-ahh!—”

He cut himself off with a squeak when she suddenly gripped him proper. “What did I say about words?”

“Not t—”

“Ah ah ah,” she chided, removing her hand, and he whimpered again, sounding way more distressed than the situation called for. Or maybe not, considering how hard he was getting.

“Are you going to behave?”

Another frantic nod.

“Good.”

She returned her hand, and the noise he made at the contact was positively sinful. Ikora could feel her arousal growing deep in her belly. It was already pooling in her pants, reminding her of her own need, but she was having too much fun teasing the other Warlock— having someone so powerful at her fingertips was a pleasure she hadn’t expected to enjoy so thoroughly. She really needed to get out more.

Premise was obviously trying to stop himself from grinding into her hand, with only moderate success— every press of her palm won her a tiny glitching sound from his voicebox as his back arched against the wall. His arms were ramrod straight at his sides as she groped him through his pants, fists clenched so tightly she heard the squeaking of his leather gloves. 

“You like this?” Ikora barely recognized the words coming out of her mouth.

Another nod as she heard a fan or two click on in his chest. 

“Really?” she huffed. “Well, I suppose I should expect the unexpected when it comes to you.”

He whined again. Ikora gripped him tighter in reward. 

Eventually, impatience won over, and she pulled away just enough to get at the buckle of her pants. “Off,” she ordered, and the Exo obeyed immediately, throwing the trail of his robes to the side to get at his own belt. Ikora peeled her gloves off as well, wishing she had Light to tease him with, but her fingers would have to do.

Premise had barely gotten his pants to his knees before Ikora cornered him again, shifting them a little further away from the doorway. She let  her bare hand slide up the soft silicone of his inner thigh and edged around where he wanted her most. His throat lit up with a petulant little sound, and her eyes narrowed.

“Patience, or I’ll just leave you here like this.”

Another silent nod. A rush of heat spilled through her chest.

“Good. Now use your fingers. Leave your gloves on.”

A tiny whine escaped him, but he did as she said, right hand tentatively raising, and when she didn't object, slid it down to where her own pants were sitting loose around her hips, loose enough that he could slip his hand in.

Ikora allowed herself a satisfied sigh at the sensation of those cool gauntlets rubbing against her heat. He was a little clumsy, no doubt restricted by the gloves, but he worked around it anyway, finding her clit after only a moment and pressing down eagerly. Everything about him was eager; the way he touched her, the way he responded to her own touches, and it nearly broke Ikora’s already-fragile restraint.

She rewarded him by brushing a feather-light touch against his bare dick, and he practically choked, his hand twitching against her. She hummed lightly, like she was judging the reaction.

“Ikora, pl—”

The syllables had barely left his voicebox before she slammed her full body weight into him, shoving him further against the wall. He cried out at the sudden motion, and when her lightning-quick hand came up to grip his jaw, he whined again, purple optics shining with true fear.

“I don’t like having to repeat myself,” Ikora said slowly, dangerously. Eyes narrowed at the taller man, she suddenly gripped his cock so hard it was almost painful, and he really whimpered at that, going slack against the wall. “Do you like testing me?”

He didn’t respond— not even with a nod. “I asked you a yes or no question.” Another squeeze. He stiffly shook his head no. The whirring of the fans in his chest kicked up another notch.

“There we go. Now was that so hard? You’re going to behave, do I make myself clear?” A nod, more enthusiastic. She hummed again, shifting back only enough to give herself some breathing room. His synthskin was getting tangibly hotter now, and Ikora reveled in it, at how much power she held. She had really needed this.

-------

Premise was so turned on he wanted to cry.

He’d known he was more on the sensitive side, sure, but Ikora of all people was doing things to him he didn’t even know he was into— it was humiliating, demeaning, and he liked it.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Had to have been all those rezzes— he’d read a couple papers by some anti-Thanatonauts that resurrecting too many times could permanently alter a Lightbearer’s brain chemistry, and he was absolutely prepared to blame it on that to avoid thinking about the fact that he just liked it when Ikora shoved him against the wall. 

She currently had a deathgrip on his aching cock, and his world had been narrowed down to the feeling of her fingers wrapped around him, the hand grasping his jaw, and the rough texture of the wall he was being held up against. His unpracticed hand was still down her pants, and he tried to refocus his attentions on that— it was already difficult considering the situation he was in, but it became all but impossible when Ikora’s hand suddenly started moving— gathering the fluid that was already leaking out and sliding back down to the base of him.

The loudest noise he’d made yet all but fell from his throat, lights sparking dangerously bright. He cut himself off quickly— the door to the barn still wasn’t fucking closed, and he had no idea how many people were roaming around at this time of night. He hadn’t seen anyone close on his way in, but that could have changed, and—

Fuck, why did the thought of getting walked in on make him even harder?

Just the concept of someone seeing him like this—completely at Ikora’s mercy—made him feel hot all over, what remained of his composure flying right out the window. His ministrations on her had already turned sloppy, and he was bracing for a rebuke when she grabbed his wrist with the hand that had been around his jaw and wrenched him from her pants. But then she yanked her waistband lower, and before Premise even had time to comprehend what was going on, she shifted up his body, and—

-------

It was only pure impulsive lust that was driving her forward at this point, all higher thought tossed out the window. Ikora instinctually clamped a hand over Premise’s mouth when she sank onto him with no warning, but it didn’t stifle the incredibly loud moan that burst from his voicebox. Couldn’t really gag an Exo, unfortunately. She couldn't hold in one of her own— quieter, strangled. It truly had been far too long, and her body protested at the sudden intrusion, but it was far overshadowed by the pure pleasure of seeing Premise lose himself even more than he already had.

He slid an inch or two down the wall and Ikora belatedly realized his knees had almost given out on him and he was struggling to right himself. A feral smirk flew to her face, shifting the grip she had over his mouthplates to clamp around his neck, almost holding him up. Her other hand braced itself against the wood to keep her steady, staring directly into his optics. She was only an inch or two shorter than him, something almost made up for in her boots, so she had no trouble raising herself up and then sinking back down on his cock, especially with him struggling to straighten his knees. Every single tiny motion drew a mewl from him, and his hands clawed at the wall behind him, nearly gouging lines in the wood.

“You like it when I do this?”

A whine accompanied by a sharp nod.

“You like being pinned down? Like bring fucked?”

“Y-es—”

“Ah ah ah, you haven’t earned the right to talk,” she tutted, instead of truly denying him like she had before. He was too needy now— so was she, if she was being honest, and it was a foreign feeling to experience so completely. The all-encompassing desire to control had never manifested itself like this before, but she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying it.

It sounded like Premise was enjoying it too, if the noises he was making were anything to go by— every time she sunk back down on him, a tiny gasp escaped him, interesting considering he didn’t need to breathe.

“Ikora, f-faster, please—”

“Oh, now you’re begging like a whore?” He whimpered in response. It was a miracle his voice box hadn’t shorted out.

The tiny part of her that was still aware of her actions was appalled at her words, but the overwhelming majority just needed more.

“Fine, but not because you’ve been good— because I want to use you.”

Premise cried out properly at that, the back of his head hitting the wall. Ikora’s free hand went from bracing the wall to gripping his hip for purchase, the other still locked tight around his throat. She had no idea if he was getting any pleasure from that seeing as he didn’t need to breathe, but he was making a very good case for it.

The longer she moved, the harder it was to keep her composure— she was dragging along every nerve as she sunk onto him over and over again, and he was starting to meet her in the middle, hitting depths that had her gasping along with him. 

“Please… please… ple-ase…” he was stuttering, and it spurred her on, going even faster now. Not for the first time, Ikora wished she had the Light to aid her, but she seemed to be managing just fine without it— mostly. 

She was close, but it wasn't enough; and she needed it, desperately.

Making a split second decision, she pulled herself off of him— he cried out at the loss of contact, but then she grabbed him by the shoulders, pulled him away from the wall, and slammed his back down on the dusty barn floor. 

She immediately knelt down to straddle him, and he didn’t even get the chance to say anything before she was dropping back down on his cock.

“Ikora! Fuck, fu-uck…” his voice shook and trailed off, disappearing into static. It almost sounded like he was on the verge of tears, voice dangerously high. He was getting more incoherent by the second, halfheartedly thrashing under her hips, but nowhere near strongly enough to actually get out from under her.

Ikora leaned into the burn of her muscles, reveling in it as she rode him— up, down, up, down, hitting that spot inside her again and again—

She felt incredible. Powerful. Every time she sunk down on his throbbing cock she saw stars. The stretch felt heavenly, especially after so long. She had never expected the night to end like this but by the Light she wasn’t complaining—

Her orgasm almost seemed to sneak up on her. She was so pent up that one second she was riding Premise like her life depended on it, and then the next she was gasping for breath as it hit her with the force of a hundred Nova Bombs. Her efforts faltered, falling hard on her knees with him still inside, and that seemed to push him over the edge as well. He practically sobbed as he spasmed under her, still twitching as her legs burned from staying in the position for so long. 

Eventually, she pulled herself off of him with a groan of effort, trying to make the flop onto her back more dignified than his had been. They both laid there for a long moment, panting, at least one of them trying to catch their breath.

It was another long moment before she could form words. “We will never speak of this.”

“Oh, absolutely, don’t you worry about that. My reputation is down the shitter if people find out my boss fucked me like a freight train.”

Emotions finally under control, all she could manage was a low chuckle.

“We should… probably get up now.”

“... Yeah, probably.”

Neither of them moved.

“You gonna get some sleep now?”

“Premise.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“... Yes, ma’am.”