Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jean is a whiskey woman, only served neat. 

The Angel’s Share isn’t her typical haunt, which is why her presence in the bar sends off warning bells in Diluc’s head. It’s late when she slips in through the door. 

“I close up in a half-hour,” says Diluc, wiping at a cup.

Jean slides onto the barstool, snaps her fingers, and points to the most extensive vintage he has. Then she folds her hands politely, resting them against the bar top. No words, just an expectation for him to obey. Jean is patient as she waits, her head slightly tilted, watching him with a sharp expression until Diluc can’t stand to be stared at any longer. 

“All knights are nuisances,” he mutters.

“But acting Grand Captains?” prompts Jean. Her tone is soft but amused, the edges of curling. 

“The worst of the entire lot.” 

“And yet you entertain my whims.” Jean drags a finger against the worn wooden edge of the counter and laughs. There is a joke there—one only the two of them understand. Diluc’s face heats, burning pink, and he’s relieved that there’s only one other patron left who's tucked near the back. 

“Bleeding me dry,” he says, uncorking the bottle of her choice. “A glass of this is worth your rent.”

“On the house, as always, right?”

Diluc scowls, tipping the whiskey into the tumbler. “Jean—”

“I’m not here in an official capacity,” she cuts in, salty-sweet. 

“Just to steal my most expensive whiskey,” replies Diluc dryly. 

“A small consideration for turning a blind eye.” Jean’s smile is corrosive as she finally takes a sip, throwing back the whiskey without as much as a wince. “The Darknight Hero—” 

“Has been quiet.” Jean levels Diluc with a pointed stare that makes his skin crawl. “Or, so my sources say.”

Jean hums softly and drags her finger around the rim of the glass. “I was going to say that it’s been a while since he’s paid his dues.”

Diluc pauses in the middle of wiping at the counter. “So it’s that sort of night, then.”

Jean says nothing, just takes another sip of her whiskey, letting loose a long sigh of satisfaction. “Business and pleasure,” she finally muses. Diluc looks up and catches her gaze. “Ah—I meant for you. Wine and booze, hm?”

“You know that my vices are different.”

“Yes, I do,” purrs Jean in a way that makes Diluc’s spine tingle.

He goes back to wiping the counter, distracted. Jean drains the glass. Her stool scrapes against the ground as she stands. 

“As always, thank you for the hospitality. Be sure to tell the Darknight Hero that we appreciate his diligence as always.”

Diluc snorts and says,  “Someone has to answer for your shortcomings.”

“Shortcomings,” repeats Jean, her mouth curling around the word in a tease. “In any case, Master Diluc, you know where to find me should you want to.” She leaves quietly. 

Diluc is left there, standing in the middle of his bar, staring at the door dumbly. He knows what is expected of him, and the thrill of it zings down his spine.

Pathetic, he thinks, only he’d rather hear it muttered in his ear, syrupy soft, and a little mean. Jean drives a hard bargain. She tosses back liquor as if she teethed on it as a child, and she never takes no for an answer. If he does not show, she will find him in his apartment above the bar instead. 

Diluc rubs at his face. The clock goes tick-tick on the wall. Diluc swallows and calls out the last round.

#

The door of Jean’s office is ajar. 

Diluc slips in and shuts it quietly behind him. 

“The lock,” she says, still hunkered over paperwork, burning the midnight oil by way of low candlelight. Diluc reaches behind him and turns the lock. It clicks satisfyingly. “Master Diluc,” she greets as his boots shuffle over the tiled floor. Jeans lifts a hand and crooks her finger, and Diluc goes silently like a moth to a flame. 

Pathetic, he thinks again. He’s so easy when it comes to this because there is pleasure in the soft smile she’ll give him when he behaves, the skin around her eyes and mouth wrinkling handsomely. 

Diluc falls between her knees. One hand falls to his hair for a quick pet—and then Jean pulls sharply, just enough to make his scalp sting. “I’m nearly done with this,” she says, her grip easing ever so slightly. “Sit there and be good for me.”

“Jean—” Her gaze is hard, eyes narrowed. Diluc’s throat bobs. “Miss Gunnhildr,” he amends quietly. 

“Be better,” she says to him, nails grazing his scalp hard enough to bite.

Diluc nods, embarrassed that he so quickly forgot the rules. They’ve done this enough times. He could recite them off on command, and she’s made him do so with a white-knuckled grip against his chin, with him splayed across her desk as she does wicked, wicked things to distract him. Now, Jean hums softly, petting his hair again, brushing his bangs back before giving his locks another quick tug. 

“Rest at least,” she says. “I’ll take my fill later.”

Diluc does as she asks, resting his cheek against her lap, and Jean lifts her hand to go back to work. A flick of her wrist as she dips her quill into an ink bottle. A soft tap against the well before she goes back to work, dragging the nib across the parchment. 

His eyes droop as he listens, the scritch-scratching of her quill hypnotic. His knees ache against the hard floor, but he’s comfortable, lulled by the way that the candles flicker in the quiet room. It is a game that they play. Diluc pushes Jean’s buttons, and she taxes him later, a small price to pay for his vigilantism. 

Later, Jean leans over him. “Pet,” she says, curling her fingers underneath Diluc’s chin to tilt his face up. “It’s time to pay your dues.”

Oh. Diluc’s mouth is dry as he sluggishly pulls himself back. Jean’s lap was warm and soft, but the time for rest is over. There’s a sharper edge to her touch now. “Pet,” she says again, fingers curling around his ponytail to yank his face back. “Did you hear me?”

“Miss Gunnhildr,” he whines, grimacing at the angle of his neck.

Jean loosens her grip. “I’ll be kind tonight. I won’t break you too terribly.” An awful tease. Still, his cock twitches, swelling until he’s half-hard in his trousers with anticipation. He likes these games for all the effort he puts into pretending distaste. And she knows it—Jean knows it with that calculated stare she sends his way with every command. 

Her grip shifts, cupping his chin tightly. “Tell me, Pet, have you grown bored of your fun lately? Or is it that my knights have left no work for you?”

Diluc’s tongue is thick in his mouth. “Both,” he says, knowing that Jean can smell a lie a mile away.

She nods, tracing the arch of his cheek with the pad of her thumb. “Did you know that knight recruitment is up twenty-five percent?” The question is conversational but Diluc knows not to answer judging by her lighthearted tone. He just hovers there, waiting for whatever debauched request she plans to make of him.

“I’ve worked hard,” she continues, settling into her chair comfortably, back slightly arched, ass near the edge. “And, you’ve been good, so you deserve a treat. Go on, Pet. You know what to do.”

Diluc sweeps close and mouths at her clothed cunt, feeling the way that heat bleeds through the thick fabric of her trousers. Jean sighs, head tipping back. Diluc’s fingers trace the waistband, pulling gently, slipping his fingers between the linen and her hot skin. He fumbles, pulling at her belts and fastenings, leaning forward on creaking knees for a better vantage point.

“So eager,” she laughs. “I’ve trained you so well.”

It’s embarrassing, but he can’t hide the way that he yanks open her trousers, already salivating at the prospect of tasting her. It’s a treat for them both. Jean lifts her hips and kicks her trousers down around her ankles before spreading her thighs.

Jean rests her elbow against the armrest and settles, balancing her chin against her knuckles. Her other hand drags over her bust, down her belly, and then between her legs to spread her folds. Her cunt glistens. Diluc stares with a wide-eyed, wanton gaze, but he waits until he’s permitted to touch. 

She smirks, petting herself, pulling at her labia until her sex is fully displayed. Greedy—she’s so greedy in what she wants, what she takes—but only because Diluc gives in so easily time and time again. 

“Do you want a taste?” Diluc’s gaze snaps to her face. “Oh, that look— yes. And you’re ready for what I expect in return?”

Diluc stills, his cock aching at the thought. His hole clenches as pleasure swirls through his gut. “Yes,” he croaks. 

“Hands off,” she tells him. “Keep them on your thighs. Yes, just like that. And you better do it well, otherwise I may leave you here tied up and unsatisfied.”

This is one thing he is good at. Diluc nods, leaning forward as his hands remain balled up against his thighs. He licks a stripe from her cunt to clit. Then he sucks, tongue swirling around that slick, hardened bud, pulling it into his mouth. 

Jean moans, a soft, heady sound that sinks right to his cock. Diluc sighs against her, tracing her folds with his mouth, suckling at her messily. Up and down, around, pulling letters and numbers across her skin as he laps at her sex. Jean always tastes divine, like sin on his tongue, and Diluc has to remind himself not to be too eager, not to seem too gone.

This, he fails at. Jean pulls at his hair and Diluc moans, relishing in the burn of his scalp, in the delicious ache of his cock as it twitches in his trousers. He devours her cunt, drowning in her taste, in her slick, as Jean drips a wet mess all over the chair. 

Jean watches him, her chin still cradled by her knuckles. “What a good pet,” she mutters, shifting her leg until the sole of her boot rests against his crotch. Diluc falters as she presses down against his erection, and he chokes against her, hips rising to meet the pressure.

A jerk of his hair. “You’ll take what I give you,” she reminds him. Not unkindly, but the words are tight and sharp, heavy with that expectation that makes his gut heat. Diluc nods, hips falling back. He suffocates on her folds, tongue sliding through them, drunk on her pleasure. Her boot is heavy as it digs into his cock, but he’s good— he’s so good for her. He just lets her step on his dick, eking out whatever pleasure he can find. 

Her boot crushes his length, and he groans, fingers tight against his thighs. He’s sloppy as he laps at her, tracing every edge, every fold of her cunt, tasting her sweetness on his tongue. 

“Fuck,” she curses. A palm against his forehead stills him. “As delightful as you look, it’s time for the rest of your payment. You know what to do.” Jean’s boot pulls away and Diluc whines like a pathetic dog, chasing her heel. “First, pick your poison.”

His mouth falls open. What a rare treat. Diluc tugs open the bottom left drawer of Jean’s desk to reveal a crude assortment of toys and tinctures. They’re clean, at least, settled neatly into boxes. He drags his fingers over plugs and modestly sized dildos of all types and shapes before settling on one with… considerable heft. A rare choice. He pulls it out and tests the width, the tips of his thumb and forefinger not quite meeting as they wrap around it. 

Jeans mouth curls. “Needy thing,” she says, syrupy sweet. She plucks it from Diluc’s hand and sets it aside to take hold of the harness next. She unhooks the straps and pulls it around her waist and through her legs. The leather is sturdy and thick, pulling at her plush thighs and ass, skin spilling over the edges of the straps. Diluc watches hawklike as she buckles it into place before settling the requested cock for fastening. 

It’s handsome as it hands there, between her legs. “Pet,” she says, bringing his attention back to her face. “What’s next?”

Right, right. Diluc rises on shaking legs and turns as he shucks off his trousers. He spreads himself over her desk, mindful of her paperwork. Ass on full display. Jean’s hands are cold as she spreads his ass cheeks and looks, thumbing across his dry hole. 

“Been a while,” she muses. “One would think too tight for this toy, hm?”

“I—”

“Did I say you can talk?” Diluc’s mouth clamps shut, pulling a laugh from her throat. “I had no intention of breaking you tonight, but it seems as though you want just that. Delightful.”

Diluc hisses as she pours oil down his crack, cold, and raises goose flesh. Jean hums as she drags her thumb through it, massaging at his rim. That thumb sinks in suddenly, punching the breath from his throat. Jean tugs, testing the give of his hole before pulling out and sinking two fingers in. It stings. Too fast, too much, too— too good. He rolls his hips, driving those fingers to the last knuckles.

Jean allows it, spreading them wide to loosen him up. A third finger slips in next, spreading his rim entirely smooth around them. “Greedy,” she murmurs, fucking him on her fingers, and it takes everything in Diluc not to just beg for the damn cock. 

But she knows—Jean always knows, and she pulls her fingers out, watching how his hole struggles to close. 

“Perfect,” she says, uncorking that oil again to slick her cock. “Always such a perfect pet. Let’s see how well you take this.”

Diluc feels the tip of her cock press against his hole, and he braces himself against Jean’s desk. She coos softly, rubbing at the small of his back. It’s almost sweet, how she presses in slowly with gentle rocks of her hips. But Diluc knows better. He moans, widening his hips, lifting them—and just as expected, she pulls back and thrusts home in one fell swoop.

He cries out, suddenly full of her cock. He feels it in his gut, in his throat, everywhere; the stinging pressure, the length of girth, the coldness of the Cor Lapis that it’s expertly crafted from. Jean sighs at the sight of him. The palm against his back is still there, a gentle anchor pinning him to the desk as she pulls out to the tip and slams back in.

Gods. Diluc moans into the crook of his elbow. He’s hard, his cock leaking all over the desk. His balls ache, demanding release, and if Jean keeps up this pace, it won’t take him long. It never does. Diluc is easy to please, halfway there just from tasting her cunt. His fingers catch against the wood grain and he keens, rolling back against her in a quiet beg to just fuck him.

And she does. Oh, she does, with hard, heavy strokes as she thrusts into him. Her cock hits all the right places, bullying every inch of his insides, nudging against his prostate as it settles deep. “Here’s where you can make noise, Pet,” she says, the slap of skin sounding through the room as her thighs meet his ass cheeks. “Come on, I want to hear you call my name.”

“Miss— Miss Gunnhildr.”

“Does it feel good?” Jean practically purrs the question, and Diluc can’t help the way that his ass tightens in response. 

“Yes, yes, I’m—”

“Already so close?” Jean clicks her tongue in disapproval. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re always so hungry for my cock, aren’t you?”

Diluc grinds back against her with a grunt. He’s desperate to get off. The heat in his gut coils tighter, tugging through his being, and with every thrust of Jean’s cock he slips more and more. Jean’s fingers curl around his hips. She yanks at him with surprising strength, forcing her cock deep enough that he yelps. 

He squirms, scrabbling against the desk, that wave of pleasure rising higher and higher until he comes with one last thrust, spilling white-hot.

She doesn’t stop. Jean moans, grinding the cock deep as she takes her own pleasure, rubbing her clit against the soft insides of the leather. “Barbatos above,” she hisses, spreading Diluc’s ass wide for a better look. “Look at you. Gods, yes.”

Diluc whimpers as she thumbs over his hole. Then she pulls out, tugging the cock free, his loose rim wholly wrecked. Too empty— he’s too empty. Jean shushes him by shoving her fingers back into the slick mess, tamping them down against his prostate. 

He howls in overstimulation and Jean relishes it, praising him for how he looks, how good he is. “What a sweet Pet,” she says, her other hand pressed into the harness as she fucks herself on her own fingers. Jean comes like that, with sweet words on her tongue so unlike the hard, cruel drive of her fingers. 

Diluc can’t even think when Jean stops, finally pulling them free, he just goes limp against the desk. Jean pets his back sweetly. “Good boy,” she murmurs, tossing the harness to the side. “But you made a mess.” The soft condemnation of her voice makes Diluc cringe. 

Jean leans forward until her mouth is next to his ear. “Lick it up, Pet.”

Diluc’s nostrils flare. His thighs shake as his orgasm still tumbles through him, and he groans gently as he peels himself away from the desk. But he’s a good pet, dropping to lap at his come, tongue dragging over the polished wood, his spine tingling underneath Jean’s masterful smirk.