Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sylus shines in the pale white moonbeam cutting through the gaps in the leaves overhead.
It’s past 1:30am and you had woken up to specifically make the journey to the park and meet him for his lunch break. The night was perfectly peaceful, just the two of you hidden away in the wooded area, seated under the trees and enjoying the picnic you’d brought along.

It’s hard running on different schedules, but you don’t mind sacrificing your sleep now and again to spend more time with your beloved boyfriend, and he loves to do the same for you. He makes every second of lost sleep worth missing.

“Kitten…” he starts with a smirk, swirling the tip of a strawberry around in a small bowl of honey. When he’s done he lets the excess drip off and then leans across the checkered picnic blanket to plant the sweet treat in your mouth. “Don’t you know what they say about strawberries and honey?”

You shake your head, sinking your teeth into the juicy red fruit and savouring the flavours as they blanket your tastebuds. Sylus watches you eat intensely, with a hunger, in a way that you just can’t help but feel aroused by. Something about those scarlet eyes just projects a heat, and though it’s a chilly night, you can feel yourself burning under his seductive gaze.

“They say that they’re aphrodisiacs,” he smiles, popping the other half of your strawberry into his own mouth.

You playfully shrug.
“I didn’t know that. That’s interesting.”

“Very interesting…” he laughs.
He rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt and dips the tip of his index finger directly into the honey, drawing circles and squares in the pool of golden nectar. His eyes stay stuck on yours, hardly even blinking.

“What are you…?” you begin to ask, but are silenced by him bringing the glazed finger to your lips.

“Shh…” he hushes, running his fingertip along the curve of your lower lip and the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “Just enjoy the taste, sweetie…”

With a gentle tug of your bottom lip, his long digit snakes into your mouth and he looks at you expectantly.
Like it’s second nature, like a baby to a bottle, you wrap your lips around him and begin to suck off all the syrupy substance. A satisfied groan escapes him as he observes your technique, he grins as your tongue spirals around the girth.

“Doesn’t it taste so nice?” he teases, sliding out against your best efforts to latch on. “I’d love to have a little taste myself…”

The two of you on your knees both lean towards each other over the food. The hand that he’d used for feeding you runs up your jawline, sending shivers down your spine that have nothing to do with the cool breeze sweeping through the trees. Your lips are inches from his, the tips of your noses gently brushing against each other, your eyes locked in his unbreakable fervid gaze.
A light tickling sensation makes you smile as his tongue traces the honey-coated outline of your mouth before he brings you in to a passionate kiss.

“Mm,” he hums mid-kiss, the small noice vibrates through your body. “Tastes delightful…”

As the kiss becomes more intense, you can’t help but crawl closer, narrowly avoiding knocking the food over as you wrap yourself around him.
The park is quiet at this time of night, with all the people who come here to run or chill or have their own picnics gone until the sun comes up. The only other visitors to the spot at this hour are the occasional dog walker, but it’s unlikely they’d bring their pet this deep into the woods when it’s so dark.

“Sylus…” you exhale and he grumbles your name back to you as his hands start to pull off your t-shirt. “Do you think that we can… here, I mean?”

“Mhm,” he replies, nodding against you as his kisses travel down into the crook of your neck. A tingle of electricity surges through you and you feel yourself become damp against your underwear. You do want to believe him, but you know that outdoor sex is something that would get you in trouble with the law if you were caught, the fear overrides your arousal and threatens to ruin the whole mood for you.

“But what if…” you hesitate, running your fingers through his feathery hair. “What if somebody sees us?”

“Then lucky them,” Sylus jokes.
He stops pecking at your bosom and looks up at you with a comforting expression. “It’s night time, there’s nobody around. But if you don’t want to do this, then that’s okay. Just tell me to stop.”

You take a moment to reconsider, grateful that he is so understanding and respectful of your feelings.
You do really want to have him, right here, right now. Whether it’s the aphrodisiac snacks or the fact he’s been making the eyes at you ever since you met him at the entrance to the park, there’s something that’s making you crave him like crazy.
And you know that he’ll have to get back to his work soon, so there isn’t much time to deliberate.

“Okay,” you nod, gently pulling his face back into the space between your breasts.

He growls lowly in appreciation, continuing his process of absolutely covering you in hickeys. His fingers creep up to your shoulders and pull down your bra straps, then wrap around your back and undo the clasp.

He repositions the two of you, preparing to lay you down on the blanket.
“So sorry to do this to your lovely meal,” he laughs, and with one swift sweep of his hand the remnants of the picnic fly off of the sheet and land perfectly onto the green space beside it. “I just can’t help myself.”

You breathe out a moan as he lays you down and spreads you out, kissing down your stomach and coming to a stop at the space between your thighs.
“Shall I continue?” he asks, his eyes looking up to you for permission to proceed. Your response is a shamelessly desperate nod and a shrill “mhm” that you can barely manage to get out. He grins and starts to tug down your pants, throwing them dismissively to the side once they’re completely off.

You squirm against the quilt as he nibbles your inner thighs, edging closer to your wet heat but taking his time with it. Impatience combined with that lingering fear of being seen makes you try and speed things up, you grip onto his silvery white hair and push his head down to the gusset of your underwear.

“Wow,” he laughs, shaking out of your grasp with ease and returning to his previous position, sucking the inside of your leg.

“Please, Sylus…” you whimper, clawing at his snowy nest again. “Please.”

“Good things come to those who wait,” he teases, making his taunting kisses last even longer. “Just wait for it, kitten… I want you to enjoy this… I don’t want to rush greatness…”

You know you’d be fighting a losing battle, so you do as he says and wait. It’s unbearable, he’s so close and yet so far, lingering on the edge of glory but not committing himself to anything just yet. Each moment that passes feels like an eternity, each kiss and bite and suck seems to last forever until finally you feel the shape of his pout against your clothed mound.

Your body jerks against the softness of his mouth on the material and you arch your back, pushing yourself against his face.
“Please,” you repeat again.

Sylus definitely knows how to keep you hooked and he loves the feeling of power that comes with this. To hear how needy your pleas are, to see your body tremble and twitch with even the lightest of touches, to feel you cling on to him and beg for his salvation. It’s a blissful torture that you’ll endure only for him, but only for so long. He knows your patience is worn so thin that you can’t wait any longer, so he doesn’t make you wait any longer.

“I guess I’ll indulge, since you’ve been asking so nicely for quite a while now,” he chuckles, then runs the flat of his tongue up your wet panties. The motion makes you whine, your thighs automatically squeeze together, sandwiching his face between them.
He continues to taste the fabric covering, lapping slowly and tenderly, grooming you in his delicate yet animalistic manner, sucking up the dampness of the material and working you up to your peak.

You let out a chorus of soft whimpers, rocking against him, clenching and unclenching your fist in his hair. He hasn’t even made direct skin-to-skin contact with you here yet, and still you can feel yourself drawing closer to the ecstasy of release.
The night’s bitter wind blows past you both, rippling through his hair, kissing your neck, caressing your erect nipples. It leaves you charged with a pleasant sting, heightening your sensitivity until you can’t contain it any more.

Sylus knows where you’re at without having to be told. His hands wrap around your thighs and his grip tightens, holding you still as you begin to wriggle and writhe in euphoria, the orgasm oozing out of you, hot against the fabric barrier and his wet pink tongue.

“Cum for me,” he demands with a whisper so sharp it cuts the air, his ruby eyes glisten as he watches you lose yourself in uninhibited pleasure. You bite down on your lip to suppress your moans as you ride out the wave.

After giving you a moment to recover, his fingers slip into the waistband of your panties and peel them away from your folds, pushing them to the side.
“I need to get a proper taste,” he smirks, pressing the pointed tip of his tongue to your clit. The bud is swollen with overstimulation, so even the most gentle sweep of his tongue causes you to squirm.
He quickly swings from soft licks to rampant swirling, the sounds of him slurping at the slick make you blush as they notify you to how wet you are. He loves it. Having you here, all to himself, laid bare and exposed and vulnerable for him to worship.

You stare up at the ceiling of branches above you, catching glimpses of twinkling stars hidden behind the dark foliage, the full moon acting as a spotlight, the two of you basking in its glow. The kaleidoscopic scenery becomes a blur of white and green and black as your vision fades and you come undone again, howling groans of pleasure at the sky.

“Good girl,” Sylus praises you, the pride a crisp undertone in his husky voice. “You taste divine… I’m certainly spoiled with what you’ve brought to this picnic.”

You giggle at his joke; Sylus has an appetite for the finer things in life, and he always makes a great deal in letting you know that your taste is one of his favourites.
He wastes no time in tucking back into you, dominating and devouring and demolishing you with his mouth alone until you’re completely submitted, hopelessly devoted, a whimpering and whining mess on the blanket, climaxing a third and a fourth time with not much of a recovery period in between releases,

During your prompt fifth orgasm, you clasp your hand to your mouth as the sound of thumping footsteps and padding dog’s paws trudge along very close by. Sylus comforts you with soft pecks at your folds which only make you want to whine more.
When the dog and its walker have passed and the coast is clear, you allow yourself to make noise again, removing your hand from your face with a gasp, playfully reprimanding Sylus for his kisses. He just laughs and smirks, coming up from his kneeling position and leaning over you, planting a little kiss on your protesting mouth.

“I love you,” he grins, staring at you in adoration and making it impossible to be annoyed at him.

“I love you too,” you give in, scratching his head admiringly. “You’re so good to me.”

You get redressed and Sylus packs away the picnic, before the two of you head out of the park and to his motorbike - he insists on giving you a ride back to your apartment, despite it only being a ten minute walk away.

You wrap your arms around his waist and he kicks off, the engine growling as the bike speeds down the empty street, coming to a swift stop moments later at your doorstep.

It would be nice to spend the night with Sylus, but he regretfully informs you that he has some “unfinished business” to attend to, and a set of menacing twins who won’t like to be kept waiting for his return.

“Good things come to those who wait,” he reminds you with a coy smile and a soft press of his fingertip on your nose. “So please wait for me.”

You kiss him goodbye, making a promise to wait for him to finish his work, and return to bed excited about what’s to come next.

Chapter Text

You approach the bathroom door with caution, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are under your fluffy bath robe. Bathing or showering wouldn’t normally incite such anxiety, but that’s because you’d usually be doing it alone.
Tonight, Rafayel is in the tub waiting for you and your body is tingling with nerves, hot and sweaty beneath the thick fabric of the gown.

You’ve been dating Rafayel for a few months and it’s been going great, but there hasn’t been much spiciness so far; you just don’t feel confident enough to go further than kissing yet. But after a few instances of Rafayel ignoring your texts for hours due to being in the bath, you’d made a joke about him prioritising bathing over your relationship. His response was a very serious proposal for you to take a bath with him.
You’d agreed and had been feeling nervously excited for it up until right now, when it suddenly feels too real and too scary and too overwhelming.

He senses your presence and you hear his coy voice beckoning you from beyond the door.
”Come onnnn, don’t be shy…”

The doorknob feels cold beneath your fingertips as you twist it, stepping into the heat of the steamy bathroom. It’s dimly lit, sensual with dozens of candles lining the walls instead of the ceiling light being turned on. Condensation has fogged up the window and the mirrors, sweetly scented clouds swirl before your eyes and through the haze you see Rafayel, sat up casually in the porcelain tub, obscured by a mountain of thick foamy bubbles.

“That robe is gonna get wet if you wear it in here,” he jokes, his mystic topaz eyes staring you up and down hungrily. He seems so confident and relaxed despite being in such a vulnerable position, you find it a little intimidating.
But when you step forward and shyly shake your shoulders out of the gown, you see the pink heat rise in his flustered cheeks and he becomes quiet, introverted, just as reserved and timid as you.

You gaze down at the floor, too insecure to watch his live reaction to seeing your naked body for the first time.
What if he didn’t like what he saw?
Would he tell you to put the robe back on and leave?
Keeping your head ducked and feeling your face blaze with embarrassment, you let the garment drop from your frame and pool around your feet.

Following a long moment of silence, you dare to look up to the silent Rafayel. His mouth is agape and his eyes sparkle, wide with awe. You feel reassured to know that your appearance, which you’ve never felt secure enough to take much pride in, has made Rafayel speechless. The man looks like a sculpture himself; flawless skin, sharply carved jaw, features that could’ve been painted on by one of the greats - Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo or, indeed, the other Raphael. He can’t take his eyes off you, even though he has no idea where to look.

“Wow…” he exhales, his breathy words cutting through the screen of steam surrounding him. “You are…”

His next word is a word you’ve never heard before; a compliment spoken in Lemurian.

“English doesn’t have a word great enough to describe your beauty,” he quickly explains. “I guess I could say ‘perfection’, but that praise isn’t high enough.”

“Oh, Raf…” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself. He beckons you to the tub, inviting you into the water with him.

You slip into the opposite side, immediately relaxing in the heat of the pool, relieved of all your pent up stress by the soothing fragrant bath oils and salts that Rafayel has poured into the bath. You stare over at his glistening skin and can’t resist taking one of his hands and rubbing it comfortingly in yours.

“Thank you for doing this,” you smile.

“Thank you for agreeing,” he replies, sliding his oily hand from your grasp and playfully flicking bubbles at you, spraying you with a small amount of soapy water. You splash him back, and what follows is a five minute water fight which leaves you both soaked and struggling for breath due to laughing so much, a few of the candles closest to the tub have been extinguished by the water flying around.

His eyes look you up and down, a flirty and feisty look on his face, the corner of his mouth hooked up into a sexy smirk.
“Wanna massage?” he asks, a secret shyness evident in his tone. You nod and reposition yourself, so that your back is touching on his chest. His nimble fingers comb through your hair, tickling your back and making you giggle.

“You’re so cute,” he whispers as he wraps your lengths over your shoulder. “And you’re so pretty… don’t you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

You shake your head sadly.

“I’m going to make you feel beautiful,” he promises, his seductive tone makes you tingle with arousal and the motion of his fingertips working on the tightness in your neck and shoulders feels incredible.

“Mm,” you hum with content, closing your eyes and unwinding against him, all your worries and fears and anxieties abandoning you with each circle of his artistic touch on your skin. Your heart throbs with pure adoration for your boyfriend and how sweet and sentimental he is.

His hands hook around under your arms and cup your breasts.
“How’s that? Too much?” he asks.

“Just perfect,” you say, leaning further into his stunning body, resting your head on his shoulder. “That feels so good, Rafayel…”

He’s glad to hear it, appreciatively squeezing and stroking you, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers. The pressure is so enjoyable that a small moan passes through your lips; you blush and try to disguise it with a little cough.

“You like it, huh?” he giggles, seeing right through your trick and teasing you for it. “Massages have many benefits… just enjoy it…”

You’re not too sure whether the intense arousal and desire you’re experiencing is one of the intended ‘benefits’ of massage, but it’s something that heightens the more Rafayel rubs your sensitive and tender breasts.

“It’s important not to let these areas get too tense,” he whispers matter-of-factly, and then runs one of his hands down your stomach, dipping into the bubbly water and feeling your inner thigh. You squeeze your legs together anxiously, but he persists. “And here…”

“Oh,” you exhale as he rubs a tight circle on the muscle. “That feels nice…”

His feet hook around your ankles and he spreads your legs under the water.

“And…” the submerged fingers crawl up into your most personal, private space and brush gently over the folds. “Here…”

He waits for permission before continuing.
You’re full of anxiety once again, but it’s different now that he’s got you so turned on. You want him to touch you, to give you the intimate massage, to make you cum.

“Please,” you nod, keeping your eyes squeezed shut and biting your lip in anticipation.

You can hear the smile affecting his next whispered phrase.
“Massaging this body part is very important. And it has to be done properly.”

He delicately sweeps his fingertips upwards, feeling out your clit and rubbing a tight circle on the bud. His lips meet the back of your neck and he sucks on it softly, gently pinching your nipple with his other hand. You squirm against him and can feel his hard cock against your back, wondering what it might look like, how it would feel to take in your hands, your mouth…

“Doesn’t this feel good?” he asks, biting your shoulder with little pressure. You whimper and nod, still holding on to some of your initial fear but feeling it slip away with each passing moment.

You thought Rafayel would’ve been quite submissive; as a boyfriend he was easy to boss around, could be quite bratty and whiny in an adorable manner, and he had seemed so nervous earlier on, stuttering and stammering when he first got a glimpse of your naked body. His sudden change in demeanour is a pleasant surprise, you’re very pleased that he has this secret dominant urge to share with you.

His breath is hot as he groans against your neck; he’s vocal in expressing his enjoyment of the moment and you love hearing him.
You wriggle against him, shaking in the warm water, letting the aromatherapeutic effects of the luxurious bath products entice and overwhelm you as Rafayel’s fingers work their magic on your clit. He strokes downward, teasing your entrance with the tip of his middle finger.

“Raf…” you moan as his teeth sink into the side of your neck, sucking at the skin until he’s left a mark on his territory.

“Mm?” he hums, softly kissing the swollen skin where the hickey is forming.

You rock against his hand, bringing one of your own hands to rest on his jaw, the other cupping his one as it clutches your breast.
“Rafayel, I want you to…” you mumble shyly.

“Tell me,” he encourages you.

Your face burns with fluster as you shamelessly make your request very clear to him.
“I want you to be inside of me…”

“Of course,” he responds softly, startling you by thrusting his finger into your depth. It feels like it belongs there, and it’s so much better when his ring finger slips in alongside it. You moan his name as you stretch out around his slim digits, rolling your head against his chest. He groans in response, his touch burning hot against your skin and in your wet heat. The water ripples around you as his wrist moves faster, his motion becomes more powerful and intense.

“It’s so good,” you whimper, tilting your head up so that you can peck his sharp jaw, rolling the back of your body against the front of his.
He continues to plunge deeper into the tight space, curling his fingers upward and finding your sweet spot. You respond with an involuntary jerk, ready to cum against his fingers.

He nuzzles into you, whimpering softly himself at how nice you must feel around his long fingers, clearly excited to witness your orgasm for the first time in his life. It’s new to both of you, but he has figured you out so quickly and will shortly be reaping the rewards.

“I’m so close,” you tell him, making your fingers creep into his dusky purple hair and tugging gently on the damp waves. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t stop; he speeds up ever so slightly, hitting the perfect pace. You tell him to keep it just like that, and he does. He doesn’t try to go faster or harder, he just keeps fucking you with his fingers at that optimum pace, so in tune with your body and its needs. You hungrily grind against his hand, causing quite a commotion in the bubble bath, making the water spill over the sides as you rock back and forth.

“Oh, fuck!” you groan, blushing furiously at how desperate you’ve become. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologise,” he responds sharply, thrusting his fingers, exhaling onto you. “Cum for me… I wanna feel you cum…”

“So close!” you pant, grinding against him like some kind of animal in heat. You just can’t help yourself.

Finally, you clench around him and give a stuttered sudden gasp, coming to a stop as you sink into the euphoric sensation that makes you tingle and tremble, shaking and shuddering against his chest and moaning “Rafayel…”

He coos your name back, his tone so soft and sweet. You find it so adorable how much he loves to moan and groan, even when he isn’t the one having stuff done to him. It makes you excited to see how loud and proud he’ll be when you take things from the bathroom to the bedroom.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, out of breath and planting dozens of kisses on your neck, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. “You’re perfect. That was amazing.”

“Thank you,” you smile. He truly has made you feel perfect, which is a word you would never normally associate yourself with. He’s made you realise that all of your insecurities aren’t as big a deal to him as they are to you, and that even if you see them as imperfections, he sees them as perfect… too perfect to describe in the English language.

Chapter Text

There’s just something about an “everything shower” that gets you feeling all hot and bothered. Perhaps it’s your body’s desire to unwind and reward itself for all of the effort that it takes to get squeaky clean that ironically makes you want to be dirty but, whatever the reason, it’s a common urge which more often than not you resist.

Tonight you don’t think that you can.

The bedroom is dimly lit, all lights turned off with the exception of the nightlight on your nightstand. You slip into the bed beside Xavier, who’s fallen asleep whilst waiting for you to come out of the bathroom. No surprises there.
Giving him a sympathetic smile, you turn onto your side and face away from him, basking in the warm yellow glow of the bunny shaped lamp and running a hand down your silky nightie, fingers grazing your sleek legs.
Creeping upwards into the skirt, they sandwich themselves between your thighs and seek out your sweet spot, circling around the sensitive bud and swirling around in the pool of slick, getting wetter and wetter with each stroke.

Xavier stays asleep beside you, softly snoring and sniffling, absolutely adorably ignorant to what he’s missing out on. You know how much he loves sleep and how important it is to him, so you play with yourself carefully, caressing your depths and indulging in the warmth at a slow pace so as to not make so much noise.

When it’s time for release, however, you can’t stop the soft whimpers that tumble from your lips. You shake and squirm, huffing into your pillow as the wave of euphoria crashes down on you, leaving you utterly drenched.

You gasp when a firm hand grips on to your rocking hips, and a light kiss on your ear tells you that you’ve woken your boyfriend despite your best efforts not to.

“Are you having a nightmare?” he worries.
His hand slides down your arm and follows its path, stopping at the final destination between your thighs as his hand cups over yours.
“Oh… I see…”

“Sorry baby,” you mumble, face flushed with embarrassment, breaths still coming out in short gasps as you recover from the intense orgasm you’ve just given yourself. “I tried to be quiet.”

Xavier’s hand nudges yours out of the way and he begins to rub circles on your clit himself. You’re still fragile and flustered, chirping gentle moans as he works you into overstimulation, his own touch much more confident and determined compared to yours.

“I’m just disappointed that you started without me,” he chuckles, peppering your nape with sweet smooches, inhaling your perfumed scent.

“Mm, right there,” you groan as his middle fingers slip inside of you and hook upward, locating your G-spot. “It’s so good.”

“Feels so good,” Xavier hums, thrusting his digits deeper and desperately. He knows what he wants and how to get it, and he can’t help but dominate.
“Tell me what you want.”

“I… ah, I want y-you…” you gasp out, grinding against his soft hand and its harsh fingers. “Wanna cum…”

“Mhm,” he nods with a smirk, gently biting and licking your earlobe. “That’s what I want too… so why don’t you go ahead and do the honour of pleasing us both?”

His fingers drum into you, harder, faster. Your vision blurs and the sight of the bedroom fades as your eyes squeeze shut. You press against him, your core clenching and unclenching around his rampant fluttering motions.
With anybody else you would never give in so easily, but Xavier just contains this kind of magic that is so bewitching that you cannot even attempt to resist. Whenever he has his hands on you, your body becomes his possession. He knows what makes you tick and uses that knowledge to his own advantage, taking pride in the fact that he is the only other man who knows all of your dirty little secrets. He loves to feel superior.

Your stomach tightens and you relax against it, inhaling and exhaling deeply as your whole body tingles, surging with pleasure. Xavier withdraws from your heat and brings his hand to your mouth, watching in pure delight as you taste yourself for him.

“So good,” he whispers softly as your tongue swirls around his sticky fingers. “So beautiful…”

When his hand comes away from your latch, it immediately comes down to the waistband of his boxers. You reposition yourself and prepare for him to enter you in missionary while he lubricates himself with your slick, rubbing against your folds.

“Can you turn out the light?” he requests.

You tap the bunny’s head and the room is lost in darkness. Above you, you make out the hazy glow of happy Xavier. You reach up and brush his cheek, running your fingers into his hair and scratching affectionately like you would do to a puppy.
“You’re just so cute.”

He blushes and shakes his head, coming away from your touch.
“Turn around, back on your side…” he whispers.
He lays down behind you, pulling you into his body and curling around you like a cocoon.

Your gasp echoes in the silent room as you feel him take the plunge into you. He groans softly into the crook of your neck, his minty breath warm against the skin. His arms wrap around you, strapping you in, his chest pounding against your back with each breath he takes.

He fills you with his length and then utters a teasing “goodnight, My Lady…”

“Huh?” you giggle, wondering why he hasn’t started to thrust. His body seems to be unprepared for that; he’s drowsy, tired,

“Xavie…” you whine, starting to move against his cock to simulate the sex yourself. His grip on you tightens.

“Hold still,” he tells you. “Just… keep me warm… please.”

You smile to yourself; Xavier had mentioned this “cockwarming” thing to you fairly recently, and you had both agreed that it was something you’d like to try. Clearly he had decided that tonight would be the night for the trial.
It feels so good, and yet so wrong. It’s not uncomfortable or unpleasant, it’s just funny to know that he’s inside of you and isn’t actually doing anything. Another dirty little secret.

“Alright,” you giggle, and this must feel nice for him because he exhales a soft moan. “Can I touch myself at least?”

“Nope,” he replies with a smug tone.

You wriggle impatiently, but he’s impossible to defeat so you just relax in his arms and enjoy it, clenching and unclenching around his girth, inhaling and exhaling deeply to try and satiate your craving and ease the tension of the pleasurable pressure pressing into you.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” Xavier mumbles, interrupting his pattern of soft breaths.

You snuggle against him and close your eyes, taking comfort in having his arms around you and his cock inside you, letting his slow breathing lull you to sleep with a smile on your face.

Chapter Text

Four months and seventeen days ago, you told Caleb that you would never ever fuck him.
You’d drilled the statement into him following a tipsy game involving a Magic 8 Ball; you’d both been asking it ridiculous questions and receiving ridiculous answers, the absurdity of the predictions becoming sillier the more the both of you drank. Caleb had asked the Ball if the two of you would ever hook up, giggling as he shook it and you rolled your eyes in disdain.
He proudly turned the base of the Ball to you once the fluorescent blue text had materialised:
MOST DEFINITELY.

You’d made a vow that you would most definitely not hook up with him, and you’d been stubbornly loyal to this vow.

That was the thing with Caleb; whenever he told you that you would or wouldn’t do something, it became some sort of mission for you to instantly prove him wrong. One time you’d ordered far too much takeout and Caleb had teased you with a coy ”you’re not gonna be able to eat all’a that…” and so, naturally, you had stuffed every last morsel into your mouth and made yourself feel unwell for days afterwards all in an effort to spite him. You hated how smug he was when he was proven right, and it was very satisfying to see his ego deflate once he was proven wrong.

It’s a typical Friday night, two of you cuddled up on the sofa with all the living room lights off, you in an oversized t-shirt and panties and him in his sweats, snacking on chips and dips and binge watching reruns of shows you’ve seen so many times you can recite the script from memory. It’s nice and comfortable, a routine. But it admittedly gets a little boring, doing the same thing week after week. You’re in the mood for something different and new, something exciting.

Caleb doesn’t seem to share your ennui; he basks in the white light of the tv screen, mouthing the lines and laughing at jokes that stopped being funny a long time ago. He’s so goofy, like a big kid. He’s just happy to be there, because he’s there with you.

Desperate for some sort of thrill, your fingers unwrap from his pendants and slide down his chest, creeping up under his shirt and combing through the path of fine hair leading from his belly button.

“Whatcha doin, Pipsqueak?” he swallows, staring down at you as your fingertips brush the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

“Just bored,” you mumble, making your fingers walk along his hip and down his thigh. Those grey sweatpants are your weakness; they leave very little to the imagination, you can see the outline of Caleb’s cock against his thigh, mere inches from where your hand is currently.

His violet eyes follow your gaze and his cheeks pinken. His brows hitch up his forehead and the corners of his mouth hitch up into a playful smirk.
”You wouldn’t.”

Clever Caleb.

Your own face heats up as the moral dilemma bubbles inside of you. He’s familiar with your game now. You do want to touch him, but you don’t want him being a big show off about it. And him telling you that you wouldn’t means that you have to, just to prove him wrong, just to make a point.

You ponder your choices for a moment before deciding to act for the greater good, for everybody’s best interest; your hand strokes downward, caressing his inner thigh and the bulge. It twitches under your touch and both you and Caleb giggle shyly about it.

His head rolls back, leaning against the top of the sofa as your heightening arousal allows you to become more confident and you feel him becoming harder with each brush of your palm.
You had expected to give him head once he was fully erect, but your instincts have other things in mind. Instead of relieving him of the thick grey fabric covering and meeting him with your mouth, you sit up and wrap your legs around him, straddling the tent that’s hitched in his pants.
His veiny hands grip onto your hips as you begin to rock against him, your arms rest on his shoulders, hands rubbing the back of his neck.

“Shit,” he exhales with a soft laugh. “And you said that this would never happen…”

“I’m not fucking you, Caleb,” you say firmly, resisting the temptation to whine.

“So what do you call this?”

You ignore his question for a moment, whimpering as your latest grind rubs your clit in the most perfect way. You move in closer to him to keep hitting that spot, the friction of the fabrics making you soak through your panties and dampen the light grey to a darker tone.

“Self gratification,” you eventually answer.
It isn’t necessarily untrue; you are masturbating, the only difference to your usual circumstances are that Caleb is present and being used to do the job that your fingers, a toy or a pillow normally would.

Taking on the role and responsibility of an object whose purpose is to give you pleasure seems to come naturally for Caleb. For somebody who is so self assured and confident in everyday situations, he’s surprisingly submissive and timid in this tender moment. His face is burning scarlet and flushed with uncertainty, his pretty purple eyes squeezed tightly shut, his fists clenching and unclenching your bunched up t-shirt. Soft whimpers and whispers sneak out of his lips and he bucks his hips desperately beneath you, saturating the crotch of his pants with the precum weeping from his tip.

“Fuck me,” he begs. “Please, please fuck me…”

“Not happening,” you tease, rolling your body against his and planting a soft kiss on his nose. He moans as your lips move away from him, making more desperate demands for you to take total control of him and continue this momentum without the barrier of your clothes getting in the way.

Drunk on the power, you shut him up by kissing him on the lips. It’s so passionate, he clings on and doesn’t even let you stop for breath, only breaking away from you when his teeth collide with yours and you both fall into a small fit of the giggles.

You reach your peak and snuggle into him, burying your face into the crook of his neck and giving an ecstatic moan as you succumb to the absolute pleasure of your release. You squirm and tremble, thanking him for his service with small kisses on his neck and whispered words of praise.

It’s a short-lived high, and within a few minutes the euphoria subsides and the blurred line between right and wrong becomes clearer. You don’t regret what you’ve done, but you do feel guilty about initiating this just out of boredom, feeling almost hollow as you come away from his person despite having felt so incredible just moments ago.

“Thanks,” you mumbled awkwardly, refusing to make eye contact with him as you sit down in your previous spot on the couch.

He groans with a tone of disbelief and disappointment.
“I didn’t even finish!”

“Uh… yes you did,” you reply in deadpan, pointing to the sticky patch of white that’s seeped through his pants.

Caleb looks down at it in astonishment, then looks to you. It’s totally adorable and you can’t help but laugh.

“I can’t believe I came from that and didn’t even notice,” he thinks aloud. “All of it was just… so, so good.”

You return his sweet smile and return to your bedrooms to change out of your spoiled clothing, before continuing the evening in front of the tv as if this were just how things usually went, as if nothing had changed.

Chapter Text

You were sat on the edge of Zayne’s desk, swinging your legs and sighing impatiently as the clicking and clacking of keyboard keys became more intense.

The idea of bringing your boyfriend a surprise lunch was sweet in theory, but in practice it was proving itself to be quite tedious. He hadn’t even looked at you past giving you a small smile when you’d entered the room, and it seemed he wasn’t even aware of the brown paper bag that you’d planted on his desk.

“Just a minute,” he mumbled in response to your latest blowing of a raspberry.
You had been waiting several minutes, almost 15, and didn’t think that you could wait much longer.

Obviously, Zayne was somebody who took his work very seriously. You knew this and you appreciated it, but there was a reason to be concerned about it; his work to play ratio was greatly imbalanced and surely the lack of personal life wasn’t good for him mentally or physically.

“Isn’t this your lunch break?” you grumbled. “Why are you still working? On a break?”

Zayne bit his lip, pausing his rapid typing for just a moment so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. This is just some really important research and… I’m in the zone right now, taking a break would just bring me out of it…”

You rolled your eyes and gave a sharp sarcastic laugh, feeling mean for doing so, but ultimately acting out of hurt.
Zayne was always “in the zone”; at work, at home, even during one weekend away at a spa resort he couldn’t resist whipping his phone out to take flash notes mid-massage.

This was just the price you had to pay for dating a dedicated cardiac surgeon, and you had accepted that work (almost) always came first, but sometimes you started to feel neglected, jealous even.

The paper bag rustled as you clasped your fingers over the folded top, waving it beside Zayne teasingly.
“Don’t you wanna know what’s inside? No spoilers… but it might just be your favourite…”

His catlike green eyes remained fixated on his screen, but the corner of his mouth hooked up into a small smirk. He shook his head, much to your disappointment.
“I really appreciate it, and I’ll enjoy it later. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like to… but do me a favour and don’t be such a brat, huh?”

He continued to tap away at his keys, clickety-clacking his way through detailed findings about heart defects, but his cheeks started to flush a soft pink.
“Be a good girl instead, hm?”

Just the two words “good girl” made you tingle, taking you away from the clinical feel of his pristine office and into the comfort of your own bedroom where he had praised you with those words many times before. Not just in the bedroom either; Zayne was the sort of lover that would have you any time, any where, any way that he could. When he wasn’t distracted by work, obviously.

But you had never messed around in his office.
You had always assumed this was a boundary that Zayne would not cross, since he was such a professional and all.

But what else could he have meant by telling you to be a ‘good girl’?
Why else would he have been blushing like a bride? Eyes glittering yet refusing to meet with yours?

“You want me to be a good girl for you?” you played dumb. “How?”

His fingers slowed as he considered for a moment, before whispering a husky “get down on your knees…”

The raspy tone was shaking with desperation and longing, you met its demands obediently, sliding from the corner of the desk and dropping into a crawl.
Creeping under his desk, you sat on your knees and made your fingers walk up the leg of his slim-fit slacks, tracing heart shapes against his inner thigh.

“There you go,” he smiled down at you. “You look so pretty when you’re on your knees.”

The compliment made your face warm and your heart race, thousands of butterflies fluttered in your stomach. Zayne was always so proud of you in moments like this, so it meant a lot to you to return your gratitude by showcasing your best efforts.

You popped the button of his pants and the zipper hissed as you tugged it down, splitting the grey fabric and uncovering the black boxers hidden underneath. The prominent bulge was already hardening even though you hadn’t even touched it yet.

“Hello gorgeous,” you giggled, planting a soft kiss on the bump. Zayne laughed above you, an adorable breathy chuckle that you sadly didn’t get to hear very often.

Your palm brushed over the surface before your fingers tucked into the waistband and you relieved him of the tight material packaging.

Zayne’s cock truly was gorgeous.
At its fully erect length, you couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate it in all of its glory, wondering how on Earth something so big and girthy managed to fit in your tight spaces.

You were just about to start licking and lapping at the burnt apricot coloured head when he cupped his own fist around it and prevented you from advancing further.

“Say please,” he requested.

“Please,” you begged. You had been made to wait for so long and you couldn’t bear any further delays. “Please, baby… I’ll be so good… let me make you feel so good…”

He smirked and brought his hand back to the desktop, letting you take full advantage of his vulnerable cock. He took such a pleasure in hearing how much you needed to have him.

You weren’t holding back.
You paid attention to every little bit of him; kissing his shaven balls, dragging your tongue up the base of his shaft, circling your thumb on the tip head and gently teasing the sensitive slit.

“Mm,” Zayne hummed. “Feels so great…”

And that was just you getting started.

Spitting onto the top of his cock, you ran your palm over the drenched head and lubricated the whole length as you jerked him off, soft slapping noises accompanying his moans as your hand moved at great speed.

“Fuck… that’s amazing… you’re so good at this…”

Thanking him for his words of affirmation, you pressed a kiss against his most prominent vein and then took him into your mouth, sucking determinedly and bobbing your head up and down until your throat rejected to take any more of him.

He gazed down at you and you stared back at him through watering eyes.
“Your eyes are the most precious eyes I’ve ever seen… you’re so beautiful, baby…”

You hummed appreciatively, the sound vibrating through his cock as you geared up for taking more of it. His kind words just made you want to do all that you could for him, even if you got so embarrassed by the sound of your own gagging.

One of his hands stroked your flushed cheek softly, wiping away the tears rolling down it.
“Oh, baby… you sound so pretty when you gag… sounds so sweet when you’re choking on my cock, mhm?”

You struggled to nod but he knew what you meant, flashing a little smile before resting his head against the top of his seat, fully disengaged from his important research project now that you’d shown him what he was missing out on.

“Keep going…”

You worked your magic on his length, savouring the flavours of his sweet precum on your tongue, sucking and slurping and showering the whole thing with plenty of wet kisses.
His fingers weaved themselves into your hair, clutching harder as he edged closer to release.

“You make me feel so warm, baby… haaa, you’re gonna make me cum…”

Zayne didn’t really whimper or whine at all, but his mumbled moans did become more frequent whenever he was close. He gripped tighter onto his handful of hair, gently thrusting upward and giving a soft groan.

“You take it so well,” he whispered, pushing your head down ever so slightly. “I’m so proud of you.”

That was the thing that you wanted to hear the most. The way he said it was so genuine and gentle that it made you throb and moan, more desperate than ever to make him orgasm now, to make him feel that good.

“Such a good girl, let me hear you moan some more for me…”

“Mm,” you hummed, blinking hard to clear your weeping eyes, serenading him with a symphony of gagging and gargling.

“So good,” Zayne hissed, losing himself with each passing second. “I’m gonna… fuck…”

Weakening under your firm suction, he came undone and collapsed against the backrest of the chair, his tight hold on your hair loosened as he breathed out a deep groan and filled your mouth with his hot and salty load.

Pulling away from him, you sat on his knee and he smiled at you in exhaustion.
“Gonna swallow that all for me now?” he cooed.

You nodded and let it ooze down your throat, laughing as you stuck your tongue out at him to show him that it was all gone.

“You’re such a good girl,” he whispered back, running a hand down your jawline. “My good girl.”

Giving him a quick kiss, you grabbed the brown paper bag from his desk and pressed it into his chest.

“Alright, Doctor. I’ve had my lunch, so you gotta have yours.”

He shook his head in disbelief at your silly joke, fixing himself up again and unwrapping the homemade sandwich that was stuffed with his favourite filling. He kissed your head in gratitude and took an enthusiastic bite of the delicious meal you’d lovingly prepared.

Chapter Text

If you had to sum up Simone’s entire being in one word, you’d have to go for the word ”badass”.
Anybody who knows her knows that it’s true, they’d totally agree.
She’s independent, sassy, has the most insane knowledge and skill when it comes to weaponry… she’s a total force to be reckoned with, the making of a strong female character.

Her biggest secret is that she’s a total softie.
Only you know that however, you get the exclusive VIP content as a perk of being her girlfriend.

She loves nothing more than coming home after a long day of kicking Wanderer ass and indulging in comfort food with you before soaking in a hot bubble bath for at least 45 minutes. You find it pretty amusing that somebody who is so dark, mysterious and cool could have a guilty pleasure as tame as taking a bath.

Her footsteps pad lightly down the hallway and she lingers at the door of the bedroom, waiting for you to acknowledge her presence, adorable in the way that she pouts her lip, looks down at the floor and twiddles her thumbs.

“Hey baby,” you smile at her, peering from over the top of your book. “Good bath?”

“Mhm, those new salts are excellent,” she nods, entering the room and coming to sit by your side on the bed. She looks absolutely stunning, wearing a satin yellow two-piece pyjama set, the shade so lovely against her oiled skin.
You place your book down and pick up the hairbrush that you had ready and waiting, sitting up in the bed and starting to brush through her long black hair.

The scent of lavender wafts from her and you inhale it, feeling calmer with each deep breath in.
“I thought you’d enjoy those bath salts,” you tell her. “They smell great… you smell great…”

Simone hums happily, pushing back her cuticles with her thumbs while you twist her silky hair into one thick braid. When it’s all done, she slips under the sheets with you and you pick up your book again; you were getting to a very interesting part so you’re excited to pick up where you left off and find out what happens next.

However, you only manage to read a single sentence before Simone’s nimble fingers wrapped around the books spine and dragged it from your hands, snapping it shut and letting it fall to the floor.

“Hey!” you gasp at the injustice. “I was reading!”

“I know,” she giggles. “I missed you. And that book was getting in the way of me seeing your pretty face.”

You tut and poke the tip of her nose in feigned annoyance, but honestly you can’t be mad at her, she’s just too damn cute.

So what if she had taken the book from you when you didn’t have the bookmark in the correct page? You’d find it again later.

Who cares if she cut you off just as the story was getting intense? The text would be the exact same no matter when you came back to it.

All that matters right now is that Simone is in bed with you, and you can tell that she’s feeling hot. The whole hairbrushing thing normally gets her all fired up, especially when your fingertips gently brush against her neck in the way that they had deliberately done tonight.

And while Simone may enjoy the princess treatment to some extent, she certainly is not a pillow princess.

Her kiss is strong, passionate, determined, her tongue creeps into your mouth almost shyly but then totally sweeps you away with the power of its swirling and slurping, making you moan because it just feels that good.
Her hands cling on to your waist, moving up and up and up until they’re on your breasts, warm and gentle as they squeeze playfully, somewhat desperately.
That’s all it takes to get you feeling that familiar fuzzy feeling in your chest and that damp sensation in your panties.

But the last few times you had been intimate together, Simone was the one working on you. You think it’s about time that she gets rewarded for her efforts.

“Oh!” she gasps as you push her down onto the mattress and throw the sheets off of you both, laying her flat on her back and kissing her jaw, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

“Let me make you feel good tonight, Simone,” you mumble as you suck her earlobe, dragging your tongue down her neck and burrowing your face between her breasts. She gives a groan of approval, her small fingers clutching the back of your head as you decorate her smooth skin with a cluster of hickeys.

Kissing her is like sucking on actual gold; she’s so beautiful and flawless, even the little insecurities she has about herself are perfect to you, things that make her even more loveable.
Her responses to your commitment are incredible, soft moans and delicate whimpers letting you know that, if making her feel good is your goal, then you’re doing a great job at it.

Your fingers crawl down and tuck into the waistband of her satin shorts, welcomed in amongst her folds by an enticingly wet heat.

“Please,” she whispers, pulling your head back and gazing deeply into your eyes.

You nod reassuringly, giving in to her silent request immediately.
Simone is a girl who knows what she wants, and she doesn’t like to have to wait for it. Of course, she understands the value of foreplay and everything, but ultimately foreplay is just something that lasts way too long in her opinion.
Your fingers stroke up and down her pussy, thumb circling her clit before you insert your middle and ring finger into her entrance.

“Fuck,” she exhales, giving a sigh of relief. “Faster.”

Wet sounds chorus as you work your fingers faster like she has requested, she’s so lubricated with slick and so relaxed with arousal that they slip in and out with ease, the back of your hand beats against the inside of her shorts.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chants in hiccuped whines, rolling her body against your fierce strokes, placing her hand on your jaw and pulling you in to kiss her.
“I’m so close,” she breathes, words hot against your lips.

Upon hearing her confession, you work even harder, even faster, to bring her to her peak.
Everything Simone does is spectacular, but she’s exceedingly amazing when she cums.

She starts with a soft “mmm”, and then her thighs press together, trapping your hand between them. Her stomach tenses, she holds her breath, her eyes squeeze shut and then within seconds she lets it all go, jerking and jolting as she rocks against your palm, praising you with moans of pleasure.

“You want more?” you ask once she’s started her recovery process. It’s a stupid question since you already know the answer, but part of the fun is watching how needy she becomes when she nods in response.

“Alright, let’s try with three fingers. Think you can manage that, mhm?” you tease, just to see that desperate bobbing of her head again, her dark eyes wild and glazed over with absolute lust for you.

You tug off her shorts and drop them onto the floor beside your book, as they’re only getting in the way and you can’t cope with any barriers spoiling this for you.
Her pussy is glistening with slick, absolutely soaked, a beautiful dusty pink rosette in full bloom, its petal damp with drops of dew.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper admiringly, petting and stroking her before sinking fore, middle and ring fingers into her warmth.

“Shiiiit,” she hisses, grinding her hips to maximise the pleasure.
Your fingers curve upward, instinct directing them to her sweet spot and applying gentle pressure there. Pressing and releasing in sync with her breathing pattern.

“More…” she demands with an overstimulated whimper. “M-more please…”

“Are you sure?” you raise your brows at her.
You’d never gone as far as four fingers deep before; three was always enough to push Simone over the edge, enough to cause her to make you stop because it was just too much.

Apparently not anymore.

“Please, baby,” she wriggles impatiently, bringing her own hand down her body, brushing her clit with her fingertips. “I can handle it…”

She is the wettest you’ve ever felt her, the most aroused you’ve ever seen her. Her eyes sparkle with hunger, she bites her lip seductively, gazing at you with that kind of look that just seems to scream ”I dare you”.

Taking her up on her challenge, you lube her up even more with your spit and then squeeze your pinkie finger into her packed entrance, bringing your fingers close as they can be so as to not cause any discomfort to you or her.

“Oh, fuck,” Simone wails, eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy. The tight channel becomes even tighter as she clenches and seizes up, the walls squashing and swallowing your fingers until they’re knuckle-deep inside of her. The internal throbbing is accompanied by external pulsing, she gasps and groans and grunts, rubbing her clit with almighty passion and making herself cum around your hand.

“So… fucking… good…” her moans flow out of her mouth in shaking sighs as her body spasms, her back arches against the mattress.

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper in response, so turned on by her resilience and her determination to take so much of you. She feels so good, so wet and warm and welcoming, each thrust of your fingers more enjoyable than the last. “This is so hot…”

“You’re so hot,” she giggles flirtatiously, taking deep breaths. “Think you can get your thumb in there?”

“Seriously?” you ask, totally impressed and utterly astonished by her behaviour tonight. She’s always been quite a demanding lover, but tonight she’s reached new levels of neediness.
You stroke her clit one last time before attempting to fit your thumb into her opening, uncertain about whether or not she’ll be able to accommodate it.

The odds are in her favour; it’s a very tight squeeze, but your little thumb somehow manages to join the rest of your fingers, your whole hand now up to its knuckles in pussy.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, staring at the scene in total amazement. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Simone laughs, and it feels incredible to have your fist inside of her when she gives that string of giggles; your hand feels the vibrations and it sends an erotic tingle up your whole arm, making you shudder.

Taking your time with it, you slowly and steadily fuck her with your fist, keeping your arm at such an angle that you’re able to caress her G-spot with each upward motion. Her moans become louder, hungrier. Her eyes are glossy with tears of joy. She kisses your lips, totally breathless, whimpering and biting your lip in desperation as desire consumes her.

“I’m gonna cum,” she announces after a few minutes of the fisting, rocking and rolling her hips, knees trembling, toes curling. “I’m about to…”

Your hand pulls out of her and she squeals, losing herself in the euphoria as her most eventful orgasm gushes from her, the short spurt of clear liquid squirting onto the bedsheets. Simone is way too caught up with chasing the high that she doesn’t notice, and you don’t really care so much anyway. Simone rarely squirts, it’s something that she always struggles to do, so you’re not gonna be an asshole and complain about the mess when she does.

“Fuuuuuck!” she weeps, clutching on to your arm with one hand while her other hand frantically strums her sensitive clit. Your own fingers pet her affectionately as the remainder of her climax oozes out of her.

“That was incredible,” she huffs and puffs once she finally comes down from the high. “Holy fucking shit.”

“You’re insane,” you giggle. “But I love you. That truly was incredible.”

Though she wants to help with the clean up, you insist on her staying in the bed whilst you grab the towels, wiping away her thick layer of slick and redressing her in her pyjama shorts. You excuse yourself to the kitchen and return with a calming cup of nighttime tea for her plus a bottle of water; she’s still panting and breathless from everything that she’s just endured.

“Love you,” you smile as you tuck the both of you into bed, skimming through the pages of your book to find where you were at before the delightful interruption, hoping to avoid spoilers as the pages flick through your fingers.

“Love you so much,” Simone grins back, planting a tea-scented peck on your cheek.

Chapter Text

You’re sat on Caleb’s lap with your legs crossed around his back, your arms around his neck. Your fingertips gently comb through the back of his hair.

“Mm,” he hums with satisfaction, rolling his head back against your soft touch. “Can you do the scratching thing?”

You giggle at his request.

Caleb is the definition of the term “Golden Retriever Boyfriend” - the concept of personal space is non-existent to him; he’s always laying across your lap or snuggled into your neck when you’re at home, or clinging to your hand or has his arm wrapped around your waist when you’re in public together, he whines for your attention when he’s feeling neglected, he waits at the door for you to arrive home from work, and when you do come in past the threshold he hounds you with excited hugs and kisses and questions about how your day was, whether you had eaten, if you had missed him as much as he had missed you.
It’s adorable. It’s what’s earned him his pet name: “Puppy”.

“Who’s my good boy?” you coo, pushing your hands into his hair and scratching behind his ears like he had asked for.

His cheeks burn pink and he closes his eyes as he relaxes, his hands squeeze your waist and he gives a small thrust underneath you, his growing erection brushing against your bottom.
“I am…” he exhales, sounding needy. “I’m your good boy…”

Readjusting yourself to be more comfortable against his hard-on, you lean in and kiss his jawline.

“Fuck me,” he whispers.

“God, you’re so needy,” you laugh. If he were a dog, he’d definitely be the type that would stare into your soul and drool shamelessly whilst you were eating, or constantly hump your leg. He just can’t help himself when you’re alone together and you’re sat so close, so intimately.

You bring your fingers away from the backs of his ears and drag them down his neck, wrapping them around the black leather collar that you’d strapped onto him. It’s decorated with a hollow apple charm that contains a bell which jingles softly as you toy with it.

“Mine,” you whisper firmly.

“Yours,” he nods, opening his violet eyes and gazing deeply, longingly, into yours. “Fuck me…”

“Sh, Puppy,” you smile at his desperate plea.
You love how he begs, it makes you feel so desired, so precious. To know that he wants you so badly that those two words fall from his lips like an automatic response to any movement your body makes against his, any words you say to him.

You slowly begin to rock your hips, grinding lightly against his crotch.

“Please,” he whimpers, shuffling beneath you and pulling you towards him so that he can smother you with kisses, his chapped lips brushing your face. “I-I can’t take much more of this teasing, baby.”

Staring up at the ceiling, you allow him to move his cluster of kisses from your lips and cheeks down onto your neck. A pleasurable pain runs through your throat as he playfully bites you, nipping at your throttle like a teething puppy would nip at a chew toy. He snaps his teeth incessantly against your neck, only taking short breaks to moan or beg for you to have sex with him. His fingertips claw at your skin, digging into your rippling hips.

“Puppyyyy,” you groan, grasping on to a handful of his hair and pulling his face away from you. “You’re starting to hurt me.”

He apologises, his arousal subsiding to make room for worry, but you brush it off and pet his soft feathery hair.
“No biting,” you say with a smile.

“Yes baby,” he agrees, but when he starts kissing your neck again it’s only a matter of seconds until he’s gnawing at it again, scraping his front teeth against the spots where he’s left trails of hickeys, pressing gentle bites into your shoulders, tugging on your bra straps with his mouth.

“Right,” you sigh, trying hard to give a convincing performance as a frustrated dominant and superior.
Caleb releases an agonised moan and starts to chant the word “sorry” when you uncoil your body from his and pull away from him. You stand up on the carpet, staring at him with your brows raised and your arms folded.

“Down, boy,” you command, and he sinks from his seat on the sofa to the floor, on his hands and knees before you. “Go and get the muzzle.”

His jaw gapes and he shakes his head vigorously in protest.
“No! Please not that again… I’ll be good! I promise I’ll be good!”

“How good will you be?” you tease back.

His fists wrap around your ankles and with one sharp yank he’s pulled you down so that you’re no longer standing on the carpet, but are sitting on the sofa. Animalistic tendencies take over as he crawls forward, leering at you with a dark look in his eyes, his innocent face now baring an expression of pure lust.
“Let me show you,” he utters under his breath.
His arms come behind your calves and spread your legs open, his lips press against your knee.

“I won’t bite,” he chuckles. “Unless you want me to…”

You give a shaky giggle in response, letting him take control of the moment. His kisses travel from your knee and up your thigh, leaving purple hearts in their wake.
You hold your breath in anticipation when his head disappears under your skirt and his tongue runs along your inner thigh.

“Beautiful,” he coos.
His nose and mouth press against the gusset of your panties and you’re blessed with a sweet tickling sensation as he inhales, breathing in your scent, sniffing you out like a pup searching for treats.
“So good…” he sighs, drunk on you.

“Please…” you whine.
Usually, it’s Caleb who’s left to beg and plead all night until you finally give in to his demands, but there has been plenty of times where he’s able to manipulate the situation and make you beg for him, you don’t even realise when the switch in power happens because he’s that good at being discreet with it.
“Please, Puppy… be a good boy…”

He mumbles a short response which is drowned out by the puckering sounds of his kisses on your panties. You’re reaching the level of dampness where you start to soak through the fabric and he can sense it; he’s giving an occasional lick or suck, followed by moans of approval.
“I want you,” he growls in a low tone, snapping teeth gnashing and gnawing at the waistband of your underwear. You shift around so that he can remove them from you, the black fabric is dragged down your leg and slipped over your ankles until it’s separated from your person completely.

“Ruff, ruff!” Caleb barks jokingly, keeping the material between his teeth and shaking his head.
He’s sitting on his knees with his hands flat on his thighs, his cock bulging against his black jeans.

“Puppy,” you say firmly, pointing your finger at him and swiping it downward to the floor. “Drop.”

“Hmph,” he whines as his mouth opens and the panties fall from it. “Hmmmph…”

“I know, Pup,” you giggle at his petulance, his flushed expression at being scolded. “But it’s not time for playing, okay? It’s time for eating.”

A shy smile curls upward, his pursed dark brows relax and he leans forward again, burrowing his face between your thighs and starting to lap between your folds.

“Your pussy is so pretty,” he moans appreciatively. “I can’t wait to fuck you… my God, I need to fuck you…”

“Eat,” you whimper in response, pushing yourself forward. Your desperation makes you blush; Caleb can be such a tease and it just drives you crazy. He loves giving you what you need, but he can’t help rambling and babbling about what he wants.

“Mm,” he mutters between wet kisses, the sloppy sounds so loud that they mute majority of his whispered words of praise.

You gasp as his lips latch on to your clit, sucking hard, determinedly.
“Ohh, Puppy,” you groan, flapping your hands at your side as the sensation begins to overwhelm you.
You feel yourself throb, your core burns with arousal, your wet heat weeps against his suction.

You whimper and whine on the seat above him, grinding against his face, scratching the soft fabric of the couch’s cushion.
He just knows what to do, where to kiss, where to lick, where to softly bite.
He wraps his hands around your thighs and brings you forward, then his tongue flutters around your clit and then moves downward, circling your entrance.
Each motion is fuelled by passion, you lose yourself, your inhibitions lowered until you can’t tell what’s wrong or what’s right, but nothing else matters except for what Caleb does to you.

“That’s my good boy,” you whisper in ecstasy as his tongue flickers in your hole. “My good fucking Puppy…”

“You taste so good,” he mumbles, his hungry tone sending a rumble through your body and making your clit pulse in pleasure. “So delicious… so yummy for Puppy…”

“Yessss,” you cry out, working against his movements, clutching his collar.
You grind against his beautiful face, gliding against the bridge of his nose with ease due to how wet you are, while he continues to feast ravenously, like a stray dog finally finding a decent meal.

“Cum for me,” he requests, clawing your thighs with his bitten fingernails, holding you firmly in place as you try to squirm away from him.

“I’m gonna cum,” you groan, wriggling around, instincts attempting to drag you away from his face just to preserve what little dignity you still had. “Oh, Puppy, please…”

“Cum against my tongue,” he demands, keeping his tight hold on you and not letting you go anywhere. “Puppy wants to taste it. Please, please, please.”

Something about Caleb’s begging always makes you tingle; he’s just got the voice that seems to be made for saying phrases like this. It just seems to be in his nature to yearn.

Your thighs clamp together, pressing against his ears, squishing his face between them. He doesn’t resist, he relaxes, like he’s comfortable being held here with no chance to escape.
His low moans and mumbles are silenced, but you can feel them vibrate through you, rattling you to your core. It’s just so good.

The knot in your stomach tightens, ready to come undone as soon as you accept your fate and unclench.
Your fingers tug hard at the top of Caleb’s head as your body rolls.

“Puppy,” you whimper, then letting out a pleasured sigh so high pitched that only dogs could hear it.
The wave of euphoria crashes down on you and consumes you, you squirm against Caleb’s face, whole body alight with the intense tingling sensation of excitement, of ecstasy, beads of sweat breaking from your forehead.

“Good Puppy,” you coo exhaustedly as you part your legs and pull on his hair, dragging him up to be face to face with you.
His lips are wet, gleaming with your slick, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you fervently.

“Fuck me,” he breathes out, and this time you’re ready to abide.
Your fingers hurriedly unbutton his jeans and tug down his zipper, while he yanks off his t-shirt and gives you an eyeful of toned stomach, muscular arms.

“What do you wanna do, Pup?” you taunt him.

“Wanna fuck you so hard,” he groans, throbbing as you brush his bulge with your palm.
He can’t wait any longer and pulls down his boxers, exposing his beautiful big cock to you.

You spit into your hand and stroke the substance up and down his smooth shaft, while your vacant hand scratches his cheek playfully.

He plays up to it, keeping his Puppy persona in tact as he nudges your hand with his head, almost panting, looking at you with stars illuminating his purple puppy dog eyes.

“Such a good boy, yes you are,” you babble, adoring every second of this irresistible act.
He thrusts back and forth gently, fucking your fist, breathing out frustrated groans.

“I just wanna fuck you,” he whimpers.

“I know, Puppy, I know…” you respond soothingly.

You let go of his cock and bring your hand away from his cheek, shuffling onto your side and sprawling out on the cushions.
“Up, up,” you laugh, patting your stomach as you beckon Caleb forward.

Rampant and ravenous, he crawls up onto the couch and hovers over you, kissing down your neck and body before grasping his erection and brushing it among your folds, his peachy pink tip spills precum against your sensitive clit.

“Fuck me,” you beg this time, unable to take the heat.

He strokes downward and sinks into you, slowly for your comfort, but also to revel in the feeling of you stretching out to accommodate his girth. He likes to start slow just for this, to absorb each intimate moment such as your gasp, your warmth, your eyes widening and your stomach hardening.

“Fuck,” he exhales as he pushes in deeper, until you’ve taken all of his several inches. One of his hands presses against your stomach, while the thumb of his other one pets your clit and you whimper, whispering demands for him to start moving.

“Just wanna make you cum,” he mumbles as he starts to thrust, giving you deep strokes, agonisingly slow paced but so pleasurable, so passionate. “Just wanna make you feel so good, baby…”

“Yes, Puppy,” you moan, bucking your hips in rhythm with his. “Such a good Pup. I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he whispers.

Each thrust sends a pang through your stomach as he presses determinedly, digging into you, seeking out your sweet spots until you can’t bear it, until you’re thrashing and thrusting beneath him and frantically crying out for him to go faster and harder.

He lays down against your body, meeting your demands and giving you less of his cock but at a faster pace. He growls into the crook of your neck as you comb through his hair, whimpering and whining as he fucks you hard.

“Fuck! Caleb!”

“Puppy,” he corrects you, his moan coming out like a low howl. “Oh shit, you feel so good, baby.”

“I’m gonna cum,” you rattle, clawing at his scalp, jolting and jerking underneath his weight.

He pulls out and your next orgasm drools out of you, dribbling onto the couch beneath you.
You squeal and shiver, scratching his neck and back as he re-inserts himself and resumes his pounding of you.

Now that he’s finally been permitted to fuck you, he’s uncontrollable. He bites and growls and whimpers, singing your praises, worshipping you.
The sounds of slapping and sloshing, skin hitting skin and mutual whining echo around the living room, the couch groans as it takes its beating, the floorboards creak under your combined weight. The bell around his neck jingles, playing a twinkling tune as he savagely sets in about you.

“Mmph,” he squeaks, slowing down, trying to pace himself and make this last longer.

“Cum for me, Puppy,” you say softly, digging your nails into his shoulder blades. “Be a good boy and cum.”

He responds with an agitated groan, shaking his head with a light jingle of his bell.
You grip on to the collar and pull him in so that the tips of your noses are touching.

“Cum for me,” you demand with a more stern and serious attitude.

“B-but…” he begins.

“No.”

“Baby…”

Caleb’s such a stubborn force to be reckoned with, but you have him sussed out by now, knowing that he’ll fold with just a few of the tricks you have up your sleeve.

“Puppy,” you whimper in your sweetest tone, exaggerating further by fluttering your eye lashes and puckering your lips. “It’s gonna make me so happy if you cum. And don’t you wanna make me happy?”

“Mhm,” he nods, the response coming from pursed lips. His face is scarlet with flustered blushing at your cute little act, his thrusting slow and steady. “All I ever wanna do is make you happy.”

“Good Puppy,” you softly kiss him. “So, come on… or shall I say, cum on…”

“Haaa,” he starts to crack, sinking deeper as he weakens. “Oh, I’m gonna cum…”

“Good boy,” you praise him, scratching behind his ear in the way that he loves.

His breath is hot as he exhales, spilling out inside of you and collapsing into your chest, taking deep breaths.

“I love you so much,” he sighs.

“I love you, Pupsqueak,” you joke.

He starts to pick himself up, pulling away from you so that he can head to the bathroom and run a bath for you, and also grab a towel to clean you up.
You shake your head and grasp on to his sinewy arms, dragging him back down.

“Just lay here with me for a few more minutes, huh?” you ask, feeling sensitive and sentimental at the closeness and the tiredness, wishing to bask in the warmth for a while longer.

“Okay baby,” he nods, nuzzling into your neck.

Your fingers brush through his hair which is damp with sweat, you hush and kiss and coo soothingly, sweetly.
“Thank you, my good boy. That’s a good Puppy…”

Chapter Text

After a long, hot Summer’s day out exploring Rafayel’s private island, there’s absolutely nothing better than a relaxing massage before bed.

You’re laying on your back with Rafayel kneeling beside you, you’re both wearing separate parts of the same pyjama set: Rafayel is shirtless and wearing the navy silk shorts like boxers, while you’re wearing the matching oversized silk shirt with your panties.
His hands are moving up and down one of your calves, rubbing circles on the muscular side. Your head sinks back into the plump pillows as arousal builds within you in response to the sensual massage.

“So tense from all that swimming” you giggle breathily as he works on the tension.

He softly laughs, giving a soft nod.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got such a great masseuse for a boyfriend, huh?”

His hands slide down past your knee and clutch around your thigh, his nimble fingertips ease the pressure trapped in your inner thigh muscles.
He does take such great care of you, but you both know that this will take a bit of a turn, switching from a therapeutic exercise to something much more sexually explicit. It’s just the way things go in your relationship, and you love it.

It’s only a matter of time…

And then it starts.

The edge of his hands gropes further into the space between your legs, gently pushing against the gusset of your mesh blue panties, while his opposite hand creeps up the outer edge of your leg and toys with the underwear’s hem. A flush of pink spreads across his cheeks and nose, and you can tell he’s making an effort to mask the smirk that’s desperately trying to spread across his lips.

“Is this turning you on?” you tease, eyeing the growing bulge under his shorts.

He shakes his head, avoiding your gaze.

“Rafayel…” you whisper. “Answer me…”

He bites his bottom lip and looks down at you, his alexandrite eyes lit up with a playful glow, hot and passionate crimson against a background of deep sea blue.
His brows are pursed with mock-confusion, and he looks so genuine that you almost believe him when he gets all flustered and replies “it was an accident.”

But you know him far too well by now.
And you know that a man who is as perfectionist and precise as Rafayel simply does not make “accidents”.

“Oh, that’s okay then,” you play along.
Rafayel is the master of deception, and he loves to start off times like this by acting all sweet and innocent, as if he won’t eventually have the headboard rattling like a sailor on leave. He’s the dominant one in this relationship, but he lets you have your fun in acting like it’s you.

You shift around, sitting up and bringing your palm to his erection, smoothing the silk admiringly. He’s rock hard, suffocating against the tight fabric, twitching under your touch. He exhales and breathes out a low whimper.

“Whoops,” you smirk, staring directly into his seductive eyes with a challenging expression. “That was an accident too.”

With your hand dipped into the waistband of the pyjama shorts, you grasp onto his smooth shaft and stroke up and down its impressive length.
“I’m just such a silly girl…” you coo in a hushed tone. “I keep making mistakes…”

“Mmm,” Rafayel groans, rolling his head back and closing his eyes, consumed by euphoria. He’s so sensitive to your touch and so responsive, his soft whimpers and whines have you tingling, a wet heat spreading through your panties in absolutely no time.

“Yes, baby,” you praise him. “So big and so hard…”

“What are you gonna do about it?” he tempts you, his tone sultry and thick with arousal.

You know just what you’re gonna do about it.
Without another word, you tug down the shorts until they’re loose around his bent knees, and bring your top half up off the mattress. You lather his pink tip with soft kisses and gentle licks, lapping at the precum that oozes from the slit.

“Like that?” you ask, entertaining the tip of his cock with your mouth while your hands are occupied with the base and the balls. You squeeze gently on the soft balls, loving how they feel in your palm, fitting there like that’s where they belong.

His toned stomach ripples as he rolls his body, taking deep breaths in and out as he attempts to pace himself.
“You already know I do,” he laughs, “but my question for you is… do you like that?”

He stays knelt at your head, but extends his arm out to come between your spread legs and stroke your pussy through your panties. The sheer fabric is already soaked even though there’s been almost no touching of your sensitive parts at all. Raf just gets you so hot.
He strums you with his three middle fingers, rubbing sensual circles on top of the fabric.

Your body jolts instantly, back arching in submission. A high pitched moan escapes from your lips, vibrating through Rafayel’s shaft.

“I’ll take that as a yes” he nods, smug and confident as opposed to his former state of shy and confined.
His palm plays with you, the flat of his hand rubbing round and round or stroking up and down, until you’re so saturated that the panties cling to your skin.

Trying hard not to get carried away with how good he’s making you feel, you continue to suck on his cock, only managing to take the tip into your mouth and humming against it as you moan. As an artist, Rafayel knows how to make magic with his hands. His touch is so soft and yet so intense, desperation has you in its grip as you start to grind against his hand, begging for more.

“Please…” you whine, falling back into the mattress and resorting to giving him a handjob only. It’s simply impossible to keep yourself busy with the effort of a blowjob, when your head keeps rolling back in ecstasy anyway. “More, Raf…”

His lips curl into a sly smile; even as the recipient of your attempted foreplay, his favourite thing about this is how good it feels for you. Pride washes over his flawless face, and he looks down at you with pure and absolute lust. Further south, precum dribbles from him gleaming tip, glazing your fingertips.
His own fingertips lift the sticky mesh of your panties and move it to the side, allowing direct skin-to-skin contact with your glistening folds.

“Mm, yes…” you exhale as his middle and ring finger slip downward and dive into your depths. His fingers are slender and skinny, but so long that when he curls them upward he seeks out your sweet spot in record time.

Wet sounds fill the bedroom as his digits thrust in and out of you. You squeeze your eyes shut, tingling and shivering against the mattress, moans and groans tumbling from your lips. Your legs straighten and bend, and it feels like you’re no longer in the bedroom, it’s like you’re back in the sea, swimming around with Raf in the moat that surrounds his home. The tides turn and you feel the building of waves thrashing within you, the anticipation that you’re almost at climax.

“I-I’m gonna c-cum…” you stutter, clutching on to his shaft like it’s something of a life jacket, your free hand flaps and flutters at your side.

The anticipation sets you up for disappointment, unusually. Rafayel withdraws his fingers and takes his whole hand away from your wet heat, stroking the slick against your inner thigh.
Your stomach pangs and you give an exasperated whimper, forcing your eyes open to glare at him.
He looks amused, cheeks pink with boyish charm.

“What did you do that for?!” you demand. You’re not totally angry and arousal is still the dominant emotion, but your body feels upset, like it’s missing something due to the denial.

“I just wanna try something,” he chuckles back, leaning in to give you a quick peck on your sweating forehead. “Want me to fuck you? Or are you mad at me?”

He’s such a tease.
You nod, answering both of those questions with a yes, but confirming your choice verbally.
“Fuck me, Raf… make me cum…”

He grins and repositions himself between your legs, you squirm and squeal softly as he sinks into you, his thick cock plunging into your abyss.
Heat spreads through your core, his hands grasp onto your rolling hips and he starts to thrust, deep and passionate strokes to start with, his entire length soaking in you.

He serenades you with a siren’s song of breathy moans and whimpers, whispering to tell you how good you feel, how much he loves you.
These chants are soon drowned out when he picks up his pace, thumbing your sensitive clit as he pounds you, those wet sounds that you feel so embarrassed about becoming the soundtrack to the evening once again.

Your face burns with the humiliation of it all, though you know Raf doesn’t care. He loves it. To him, it’s the sound of waves crashing against rocks, it makes him feel at home, like you’re his home.
With each passing moment you start to feel better about it too, sinking deeper and deeper into the pure pleasure of being with him, your bodies working together as one.

Your clit throbs under the strumming of his thumb, and you’re there again.

“Haaa,” you exhale, taking short breaths, gasping as you come closer and closer and closer until…

He pulls out again.
He stops stroking you again.

“Raf!” you groan, jerking and jolting, squeezing your thighs together against his body.

He giggles softly, leaning into you and nuzzling your neck.
“I’m sorry… it’s just so sexy…”

“But I wanna cum…” you whine pathetically. Knowing how silly you seem but not being able to care enough to shut yourself up, you beg and beg, running your finger through his soft purple waves, massaging the back of his neck. “Please, baby, please-please-please…”

“One more?” he whispers, coming out of your grasps to take up his former position again.
His cock strokes your folds, but you’re so overstimulated that you shake and squirm in response to it.

“Raaaaaf!” you cry.

“Just one more time,” he smiles sweetly, or sadistically, depending on how you feel right now.

Once more he dips in and starts fucking you, hard and fast, rubbing your clit with his thumb in rapid motion. Your whole body is numb and fuzzy, with the exception of just one sensitive area, all sensation like a fire flowing through the bundle of nerves that is your sensitive bud.
Your thoughts are a muddled mess, but you can focus just enough to rationalise, to come up with a solution for this problem. You just won’t give any indication of when you’re going to cum, and then Rafayel won’t know so he won’t be able to stop you - right?

The moment creeps up on you once again, more desperate and demanding than ever.
You bite your lip to stop yourself from moaning.
You try to keep your trembling body as still as possible.

You’ve fooled him - he keeps on fucking you, accompanying your sloshing sounds with his deep grunts and soft moans.

“You’re not…” he exhales breathily, sounding exhausted. “Fooling… anyone…”

And just as you’re about to succumb, he pulls out again.

It’s unbearable. But it feels so fucking good.
The masochist side to you is absolutely satisfied, even if your desire isn’t.

Overcome and overwhelmed and overstimulated, you gasp and burst into tears, looking at Rafayel come closer through blurred vision.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he coos, running soft pecks up your jawline, kissing away the tears rolling down your burning cheeks. “You’ve done such a good job baby, I’m so proud of you.”

“L-let me c-cum,” you cough and splutter, clinging on to him desperately, smashing kisses on his lips. “I love this… but please… I can’t take it anymore…”

You and Rafayel do have a safeword since things can get pretty wild when you two go to town on each other, and you don’t necessarily think that you need to use it now, but one more instance of this edging might just push you over. You almost ache with the pressure built up inside of you, your core is flaming, your clit throbs and pulses.
You need to release this. You need to do it now.

“You’ve taken it so well, baby,” Rafayel continues to comfort you, giving you one last kiss before resuming his position. “And I promise… it’ll all have been worth it…”

Returning his cock to your cunt, he works slowly and sensually, giving soft whispers of praise or reassurance, so gentle and so kind.

“I’m gonna make you cum,” he coos. “And it’s gonna feel so good… gonna make you feel so nice…”

His body sways back and forth as yours rocks below him, you absorb what he says, trusting his every word.
His thumb pets your clit gently and carefully, aware of how sensitive and stimulated it is by this point.

Just like before, pressure builds and builds with each movement, all your frustration bubbling and brewing within you until it’s at boiling point. When you reach your peak, Rafayel keeps going, fucking you through it where he has previously stopped.

“Yes… yes… yes…” you pant, huffing and puffing as you bring your own shaking hand down to join his at your clit.

Within a few moments, the wave of euphoria crashes down and consumes you, and Rafayel lets you bask in it. Your breathing shakes and your body shudders, his strong hands grasp your waist and hold you in place. Tears stream down your face and you choke on your cries of joy.

Naturally, the intensity and the eroticism of the whole thing sets Rafayel off too; he gives a sharp whimper and digs his fingernails into your sides, scratching the silk navy nightshirt, gasping and groaning and grunting as he spills out inside of you.

Once you’ve both recovered, you gaze up at him and he stares back down at you.

“I love you,” you both say in unison, both in the same breathless voice, both wearing the same exhausted smile.

Chapter Text

You and Zayne are sat on the sofa, binge watching your favourite show and gorging on luxurious chocolates - alcoholic chocolates.
They were a gift from one of his patients and, while had been reluctant to indulge with you, his sweet tooth couldn’t resist.

You’ve heard some very funny stories about “drunk Doctor Li” from his colleagues at the hospital but you’re yet to witness it for yourself, and so therefore you were more than encouraging when it came to his dilemma about whether or not you should share the sweets together. You’re excited to see a different side to him, to make your own funny “drunk Doctor Li” story.

His eyes are glossy and lustful, his cheeks and nose a warm pink shade. He leans across the couch and nuzzles your neck, exhaling a hot breath laced with the sweet scent of cherry liqueur.

“You can’t have me that easily,” you giggle as you push him off of you, playfully slamming him against the back of the couch and clambering onto his lap. You can feel his cock twitching beneath you as you softly grind your crotch against it.

“That’s okay,” he whispers back as you kiss the tip of his nose and the apples of each cheek. “You can have the advantage. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

When you’re up so close and personal with Zayne’s face like this, it’s necessary to take a few moments silence to appreciate his beauty. Soft creases from frown lines, the seductive sparkle in his green eyes, the strong bridge of his nose.

“You’re pretty,” you tease him, pressing your lips against his. Usually you aren’t the one who takes control and, even though you have Zayne’s blessing, you like it best when it’s familiar. He exhales out hungry grumbles, his fingertips grasp on desperately to your upper arms, his hips buck under your weight. You know he wants you.

Your arm breaks free from his grip and your hand reaches out to the side, bringing another chocolate from the box and running it over his lower lip.
“Taste it…”

His uniform teeth snap playfully and he grins as he snatches the sweet from your fingers. You cup his face and kiss him, tasting it for yourself in his breath, his saliva. Rich dark chocolate dances on your tastebuds, split by the refreshing tang of fruity filling.
“Pear…” you mumble as you pull away. It’s his favourite. “Can you taste it?”

Nodding with urgency, he gazes into your eyes; you can see that he’s done with playing games now.

In a split second you find yourself thrown back onto the couch and the chocolate box swept away, assorted truffles rolling along the carpet. Zayne lingers above you, fingers fumbling with the silver buckle of his belt.
“Is this okay with you?” he questions with his voice deep and thick, laced with lust.

“Mhm,” you whimper, tingling with anticipation. This side of Zayne is so far from how you know him; normally he takes his time, making you wait, spoiling you with lengthy foreplay sessions before giving into his desire. It seems that drunk Zayne doesn’t like to wait - he knows what he wants, and he wants it now.
Your fingers creep down your body and tuck into your panties, playing with yourself as you watch him pull his hard cock from his pants and start stroking it.

“Getting yourself wet for me?” he jokes darkly, humming under his breath. “Good.”

In almost no time at all your sensible and smart boyfriend has transformed into this sex-fuelled stranger who’s claiming your body all as his own, tearing your oversized shirt off and exploring each crook and dip and curve with his hands, his lips and his tongue and his teeth. He pulls your panties to the side and envelopes his throbbing length in your slicked folds.
“I… want… you…”

“Take me,” you command with a whisper. “Take all of me.”

And he obeys.

There’s something wild about how Zayne behaves when in the throes of drunkenness. It’s exciting. He’s so primal, almost feral, as he pounds into you, fast and furious, so unlike his usual slow and sensual way.

“Oh, doctor Li…” you whine, arching your back and digging your nails into his, grabbing fistfuls of white linen shirt. “Don’t stop!”

The more you reward him with whimpers and whines, the faster and harder he fucks you.
You lose yourself in the heat of his alcoholic breath, in the depth of his gleaming eyes. You feel so privileged to have him in this position, that he has surrendered control over to the alcohol and has given in to his deepest, darkest desires and dreams to just have you.

He’s a very passionate lover sober, but you’ve never had it like this before. It’s so good, so intense, so…

Your orgasm catches you by surprise and halts your train of thought as it consumes you. It’s a euphoria that both you and Zayne can bask in.

“Good girl,” he laughs into your neck, fucking you through it.

After a few more harsh thrusts he succumbs himself, gasping and groaning and collapsing on top of you, suddenly soft and tender.

“I love you,” he whispers as he nuzzles into your neck and kisses it.

“I love you,” you smile back as your fingers caress his dark hair.

Chapter Text

“Do you still love me?” Xavier asks you one evening at the dining table. He’s not eaten a bite of his dinner, while you’re just finishing up with yours.

The question is so spontaneous and so absurd that you almost choke on your mouthful and have to fix yourself up with a combination of repetitively clearing your throat and chugging water like your life depends on it.
Across the table, Xavier’s expression flickers into one of utmost concern, but he quickly catches himself and retains that intimidating scowl, brows furrowed, a dark and broody sparkle in his eyes.

Xavier is your boyfriend - of course you love him, of course he is the light of your life… but lately things have seemed a little dark.
The warm smiles that he greets you with each morning have turned into uncertain frowns, any interest he shows in you seems feigned and any attention he gives you seems forced.

Petulance and puerility aren’t unusual behaviours for Xavier at all and you normally find his sulky comments and childish pouting irresistible and endearing, but now it no longer comes across as playful. It feels serious. You worry that this personality shift is the beginning of the end, and the worst part is that you’ve no idea what you’ve done wrong.

Until he brings out your diary and places it down with a much-too-aggressive attitude.

Your stomach drops and your guts churn as your eyes widen, fixated on the tatty book, wondering how on earth he found it and how much of it he has read.

“Or do you love him?” he hisses, sneering at you with an absolutely venomous stare.

Your face heats up and you duck your head, your neck feels heavy from the weight of the dark cloud hovering about your head and raining down on you, drenching you in guilt and embarrassment and shame until it feels like you’re drowning in it.
This is because you know that you’re not going to be able to defend yourself; recently all you’ve been “telling” your diary about is Lumiere, filling the blank pages with sketches of him and stories about brave knights rescuing trapped princesses. It’s nothing serious, just harmless fantasies. Xavier obviously disagrees.

“Y-you have no right to go through my things,” you stutter, avoiding eye contact with him though you can practically feel his seething glare cutting through your skin. “It’s private.”

Clutching your diary and departing from his seat with a harsh scoff, Xavier comes around to behind your seat.
“Look at me.”

When you look up at him, you feel an inappropriate tingle of arousal. He’s certainly made you feel uncomfortable with the invasion of privacy and the intimidating behaviour, but after all he is still your boyfriend, you love him.

“I love y—“ you begin, but he cuts you off by starting to read one of the most recent entries in the book - much to your displeasure, it’s a graphically detailed account of how it would be to kiss Lumiere, to have him sweep you off your feet and make love to you all night. You can’t bear to hear Xavier torment you with it and reach out to snatch the pages away from him, jumping out of your seat.

“Nope,” Xavier smirks, holding the book above your head. “Even if you did take it, I know it off by heart. Why would you write this?”

Your heart throbs at the slight crack in his voice, you hate that you’ve upset him. He towers over you, cheeks flushed pink, eyes determinedly unblinking as he waits for your answer.

“It was just a silly story,” you mumble, bowing your head. He drops the book and brings two of his fingers to your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

Then he kisses you.

It’s much unlike his usual soft smooches; this is intense, raw, fuelled by a burning passion. It makes you pull him in closer, causes an involuntary moan to slip out of your mouth and into his as his tongue pushes through and starts to swirl.

“Does he kiss you like this?” he questions through the kiss, running his soft hands up and down your body, grasping onto your hair and your neck and your waist and your ass. “Do I taste just like him?”

“Mm,” you whimper, letting his dominant side take over. You’re pressed against the corner of the table so you make yourself more comfortable by sitting up on it, pushing your dinner plate away from behind you.

Xavier takes his lips away from yours and presses them to your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, caressing his head with your jaw, inhaling the scent of his shampoo.
“What does Lumiere smell like?” he hisses, marking you as his territory with clusters of hickeys and bite marks. “Do you want me to smell like him?”

You and Xavier do have a great sex life that certainly strays from “vanilla”, but you’ve never experienced him like this before. This bitter resentment and total jealousy has changed him, but it’s made you want him more. He’s kissing you in ways you’ve never been kissed, in places that you’ve never been kissed. He’s acting like he has something to prove. Like he’s in competition, and he refuses to come second place to Lumiere.

“Does he know…?” Xavier exhales, breath hot against your neck as his fingers unbutton your blouse. “Does he know what makes you tick? Is he able to make you sweat? Can he make you whimper and whine like I can? Is he better than me?”

You know that the easy thing to do would be to disagree with Xavier - to reassure him that he’s the best, that only he knows you this well.
But there’s a grey area that you’re desperate to explore having been totally entranced by how drunk on jealousy Xavier is - what would happen if you gave him more reason to doubt his capabilities? How would he respond if you were to knock him off his pedestal and deflate his ego even further? Would he get worse? Would you like that?

“Mhm,” you squeak, nodding against his head.

He pulls away from you, a dangerously seductive hunger dancing in his sapphire eyes.
“… did you just… is that a yes?”

You dare to nod again, resisting the impulse to smirk. You love being a brat and deliberately getting on his nerves. His reactions just get you so hot.

“I see how it is,” Xavier mutters under his breath before dropping to his knees and spreading yours, gluttonous kisses travelling up your inner thigh, his head disappears beneath your skirt. “I guess I’ll just have to try and change your mind.”

“Try hard,” you giggle, relaxing against the feeling of his lips on the gusset of your panties.

A spark ignites at the top of your spine and flows through your back, searing through you, oozing out of you. His kisses start to sound wetter and eventually he moves the sodden fabric to the side, making your hitched gasp catch in your throat when his tongue starts to lap at your wet heat.

“Oh, Xavi…” you tremble. “Tell me what you’re gonna do to me…”

He doesn’t come out from under the cover of your skirt to tell you, so you feel his each and every word vibrate through you, muffled against your folds, making you squirm with pleasure.
“I’m gonna make you forget all about Lumiere.”
He spits the name out like it’s poison in his mouth.

“How?” you ask.

The satisfaction of him devouring you is short lived once you’ve uttered this response; he comes away from your sensitivity and glares, leaning on the table’s corner and pressing his face against yours nose-to-nose. His lips brush against yours and he breathes out and you can vaguely taste yourself as you inhale.
“By fucking you so hard that you forget his name. Maybe you’ll even forget your name, and the only name you’ll be able to remember is Xavier… because you’ll be whimpering it…”

He smashes a kiss onto your lips and then comes away, his fingers start toying with the fastening of his jeans. He exhales as he tucks his hand into his boxers and strokes his throbbing erection.
“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you’re seeing stars.”

His threats don’t scare you; they do the opposite. Even though you’ve just eaten, you feel ravenous and your stomach pangs in desperation as Xavier coats his cock in your slick by rubbing it against you.

When he sinks into you finally, the wave of relief that washes over you is euphoric.
“Xav!” you gasp, biting your lip.

“That’s right,” he smirks. “I’m the one you need.”

The sight of dining room blurs around you as he stands there, setting in about you, muttering sweet nothings and absolute filth to you as he pleads his case. If you had known that the result of him finding out about your crush on Lumiere would be this, you would’ve made much less of an effort to keep your diary hidden away. Each thrust is perfect, hitting the sweet spots, making your mind and body numb. The dishes on the table rattle behind you, battling with your ecstatic moans and Xavier’s deep groans to become the loudest sound in the room.

“Oh!” you whine, spasming as he pulls out and your body succumbs to orgasm. You cling so tightly onto Xavier’s arm that the skin becomes pink and there’s fingernail-shaped indents in it, but he doesn’t mind one bit. He enjoys the visual and auditory expressions from you too much to care about something so trivial.

“Can Lumiere make you do that?” Xavier laughs sadistically as he dips back into you.

“No, Xavi,” you whimper. “Only you can.”

“That’s right,” he beams with pride.

Continuing to absolutely destroy you with his spiteful screwing, he manages to get you off twice more, just as intense. He gets more smug the more you cum, and by the time he’s ready to cum himself, he’s positively supercilious.

“Do you love me?” he whispers as he begins to slow, pacing himself as he reaches his end.

“More than anyone or anything,” you respond.

“Even more than… him?”

“So much more. No contest.”

Satisfied with your answer, he gives over and groans as he cums inside of you. Showering each other with kisses and words of praise, the two of you stay together at the corner of the table in no great rush to resume your evening as normal.
Being so close to him, you can see the boastful glow in Xavier’s skin; he’s obviously immensely proud of himself for beating off the competition, even if the competition was himself.

Chapter Text

“Spoilt brat,” Luke and Kieran chuckle together as you tumble in through the front door of Sylus’s home and drop half a dozen shopping bags at their feet.
You’re about to tease them back with a snappy response when Sylus interrupts, emerging from the living room with Mephisto perched proudly on his shoulder.

“Now, now, boys.”
His laugh is lighthearted but there’s an edge of discipline in his voice, his arms are crossed and he eyes the two young men with an almost-authoritarian glare.
“What have I told you two about manners?”

“Sorry, boss!” they chime obediently, then turn and apologise to you yourself. Sylus throws you a quick wink.

“Want some help taking these to the bedroom?” Luke asks, motioning to the mountain of heavy shopping on the floor.

“That won’t be necessary,” Sylus clears his throat. “But thank you for offering. I’ll deal with the bags, you two can take a walk outside… Mephisto needs to stretch his wings.”

You stifle your laughter at Sylus’s pathetic excuse to get some alone time with you - the twins exchange squeamish responses which tells you that they see right through it too, but they respect Sylus so much that they don’t dare call him out on it.
Instead, they give curt nods and chant “yes, boss!” before heading out into the grounds, Mephisto in tow.

Sylus chuckles softly and shakes his head, picking up your weighted bags with ease and heading to the bedroom with them.
Although you’re just a couple of years older than the twins, Sylus doesn’t act so much like a father figure to you as he does them; you’re definitely the boss of him, he’s wrapped around your finger and he eats out of your hand. There’s something so precious about such a complex man having such sensitivity and warmth hidden beneath his many layers. He’s a tough nut to crack, but you’ve managed it. You get to enjoy the secret softie side, to unleash the lover boy trapped inside a cold man’s body.

“I see you’ve enjoyed your day out with my card,” he teases and raises his brows at you as he puts your new clothes onto hangers. You nod proudly and throw yourself onto the bed, staring at him seductively.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got something for you too,” you flirt. “It’s in the pink striped bag, so save that for last.”

Sylus’s garnet eyes are glittering with excitement by the time he gets to the bag in question; he already knows that this pink striped packaging is from the lingerie store. He sits next to you on the bed and rubs your calves soothingly before picking up the last bag.
“What did Kitten get for Daddy, hm?” he whispers, his voice husky with arousal as he fingers the silk black ribbon.

His expression changes to one of confusion briefly, then he laughs to himself, playfully glaring at you and producing the anti-ageing eye cream from the bag.
“Hah! Kitten… you tease…”

His cheeks are flushed pink, his sharp features soften, the outer corners of his eyes and mouth crease with smile-lines.
“When I saw the bag, I must admit I was expecting something a little different,” he chuckles, tossing the small tub into the air and catching it effortlessly.

“Naughty Daddy,” you giggle, sitting up on your knees and leaning in towards him. You plant a little kiss on his nose, taking the tub from his hands and twisting the cap off. Sylus pulls you closer, so that you’re sitting on his lap with your legs wrapped around his back.
Now that you’re mere inches from his face, every mark and wrinkle and pore is maximised - not that there’s many “imperfections”, Sylus still boasts a youthful glow and you’d never be able to tell what violence and corruption he runs into on his job, thanks to his ability to heal himself. His eyes gaze lustfully into yours and he hums happily, brushing his lips on the tip of your nose.

“You really think I need this? Do you think I look old and wrinkled?” he whispers playfully.

“I think you look sexy,” you shake your head. “But…”
You pet the outer corner of one of his eyes with your thumb.
“These crow’s feet are enough to make Mephisto jealous.”

“Fair enough,” Sylus chuckles. “Okay, Kitten. Rejuvenate me”

The eye cream is made by a luxury skincare brand and therefore has been formulated with specialist ingredients; such products don’t come cheap, but luckily cost isn’t an issue when Sylus gives you free reign with his bank account - the twins aren’t lying when they joke about you being a spoilt brat.
You dip your finger into the lotion and take just a small amount; since it’s such a thick, rich cream, you really don’t need much at all. Dotting it on the purple-grey bags that hang under Sylus’s tired eyes, you beam at him.
“Pretty,” you coo.

“I’m flattered,” he retorts, flashing a smug smile.

Once you’ve rubbed all the product in, you reward him with a kiss.
“There you go… grandpa.”

Sylus exhales a hitched gasp and brings one of his huge hands to his chest, as though clutching an invisible string of pearls, blinking in exaggerated mock outrage.
“Grandpa?” he queries, masking his urge to laugh. “Well, surely not! I think you’re trying to get a rise out of me, Kitten. Isn’t this what you kids call “rage bait”?”

You smirk at him and roll your eyes; he’s so cringe that it’s cute. Placing the cap back on the eye cream, you place it on the nightstand and wrap both of your free hands around the back of Sylus’s neck, combing your fingertips through the ends of his silvery white hair.
Since you’re already in a position of straddling him, it’s easy enough to wind him up even more.

“Well, is it working?” you ask coyly as you start to gently grind your crotch against his. “Am I getting a rise out of you, Daddy?”

He closes his eyes and rolls his head back, humming deeply and gripping your waist. You can feel the twitching of his massive cock against yourself as you rock back and forth in his lap.

“Hm,” he mutters. “Keep being a bad girl and you might just. Naughty Kitten…”

“Naughty Daddy,” you giggle again, nuzzling into his neck as he pulls you in closer and arousal sweeps you into its embrace. With each breath in, you inhale the seductive scent of his cologne, which just makes you tingle even more.
Like a true brat, you decide to mess around with him and resist your instinct to submit so quickly - you just can’t resist how he responds to it.

“Are you hard?” you whisper against his ear, ignoring the fact that you can feel his clothed mound throbbing beneath you. “Maybe you’re at that stage where you need a little extra help… like those blue pills that guys of a certain age—“

You don’t get the chance to finish your sarcastic comment.
Instead, you are thrown onto the mattress with one swift roll from Sylus, who now hovers over you, staring at you with starving determination, a lust-fuelled fire dancing in his dangerous eyes.

“Okay, Kitten. You’re asking for it,” he growls as he undoes his silver belt buckle. “You leave me no choice but to punish you.”

Excitement bubbles inside of you, fizzing from your stomach and up into your throat. Your eyes can’t be torn away from his erection as he unveils it with a quick tug of his pants zipper. He’s a big guy in general and, of course, his cock follows suit. It’s above average in both length and girth, the shaft is decorated with prominent blue veins and the nude-pink toned top glistens as he spirals his thumb over the slit. It’s almost intimidating to watch him toy with himself; when you see it from this angle, you’ve no idea how he manages to fit.

“Oh, Daddy,” you whimper as he brings his non-occupied hand spreads your legs and starts to creep up your skirt, caressing your damp panties once it reaches that warm space between your thighs. Just the slightest touch has you oozing, and it only takes a few strokes from his firm fingers to have you soaked right through.

“Oh, Kitten,” he hums back, satisfied. His fingertips wrap around the wet fabric and pull it to the side, he replicates the petting of his fingertips with the tip of his cock instead. “What a naughty girl you’ve been…”

“Yes, Daddy,” you reply immediately, obediently. The brat has been tamed; it’s Sylus’s turn to take the lead now, to show you that an old dog (or dragon) can do some new tricks.

And he knows that the dynamics have shifted too, he knows that he is the boss. His movements are erotically charged with superiority, intense power. His strong hands grip your waist and he holds your body still as you squirm in anticipation, then navigates your folds so that his tip is aligned with your slicked-up entrance.
“Deep breath, sweetie…” he smiles, pushing forwards, stretching you out as he enters you and you respond with a gasp, rolling your eyes.

“F-fuck,” you groan.
He’s gentle, but the pressure in your stomach is immense. He comforts you with shushing and stuttering sweet nothings and stealing kisses, talking you through it with words of encouragement until you’ve consumed the whole length of him.

His initial strokes are deep yet dominant, slow and sensual. He continues to work at this pace, observing your reactions, silently timing your breathing, just making sure that it’s not all too much for you.
Then, once he’s reassured that you’re adjusted, he gives a harsh cackle.

“Alright, Kitten,” he chuckles slyly. “Let’s see if you’re calling me Grandpa after this…”

In an instant, he’s picked up his speed and has started pounding into you, groaning and grunting in your ear, lips pressing against your jaw and smothering you with rewarding kisses.
You respond with pleasured cries, rapidly breathing as you take him in and out, your ecstatic moans drowned out by the wet clapping sounds of skin slapping against skin.
Although he’s losing himself in the heat of the moment, he still takes care in making sure everything is perfect for you.

He worships you, gets washed away in you; how you feel and smell and sound. His hands are here, there, everywhere. He smothers you in those moreish kisses, giving you every little thing that you crave, truly spoiling you rotten until finally you reach your peak; your back arches against the mattress and your body spasms, resisting his firm hold, whimpered whines escaping your pursed lips.

“Good Kitten,” Sylus purrs, slowing down to allow you a chance to recover from the overwhelming feeling of relief. He brings a thumb to your overstimulated clit and rubs it softly, soothingly. The feeling makes you jolt and cry out, he just laughs. “I love having you like this… I love how you look, how you sound…”
He brings that thumb up to his lower lip and sucks on it, enticing you with some seriously sexy eye contact.
“How you taste…”

“Oh Daddy, please,” you beg. He’s so addictive.

“Anything for you, Kitten,” he smiles, working his way back up to his previous speed, hitting all the spots, wrapped up in your arms with your hands clenching the back of his black shirt.

After a few more minutes of extreme thrusts, he bites back a moan and collapses onto you, his massive frame shaking slightly as it envelopes you.

“You’re the best, Daddy. That was… exceptional,” you whisper into his hair, kissing his crown.

The aftercare is cut short by the sound of the front door opening and closing, the sounds of Luke and Kieran joking around with each other and Mephisto’s squawking songs flood the hallway. Naturally, they all stay well away from Sylus’s bedroom.

He shakes himself off and stands up, fixing up his outfit and wiping sweat from his brown with the flat of his palm.
“I guess that’s that,” he jokes. “Why don’t you go and take a shower, and I’ll go and start on dinner…”

He reaches out and grabs the eye cream from the nightstand; you’d been so carried away with the sex that you’d forgotten that the eye cream was how it all began.
“You should show this to them,” he laughs. “I’m sure they’d appreciate your evil sense of humour.”

“Yes Grandp— I mean, Daddy,” you tease.

When you stand up and start to head to the bathroom, Sylus pats your rear, giving you a playful spank.
“Seems “Grandpa” will have to punish you again later.”

You sure hope that’s the case.

Chapter Text

Let’s get one thing straight: Zayne Li definitely is.

In fact, he’s been reading up on LGBTQIA+ terms with regard to equality-based practise in Akso Hospital and he’s beginning to wonder if he might be asexual. It’s no secret that he’s a bit of a loner, but that’s not something he can complain about; he likes his own company.

He’s never seen why there needs to be such a big fuss about having crushes and going on dates; it’s something he’s never done and something he doesn’t have any desire to do.

And he definitely can’t imagine himself ever sleeping with anybody.

That is, until one day he walks in on Caleb after a basketball match.

It’s not what it sounds like - Zayne is not a pervert, thank you very much.
What it is, is simply a misunderstanding.
Caleb had sent Zayne a text asking to meet up at the locker rooms so that they could grab lunch together after his game.
The misunderstanding lies in that Zayne has decided to wait in the locker rooms, rather than at them.

Caleb stayed behind to help with cleaning up the court, as he always does, and so he was the last player to return to the locker room. As far as he’s aware, it’s empty and he has the whole place to himself. He blows a raspberry and shakes beads of sweat from his spiky dark hair, then tugs off his jersey.

Unbeknownst to him, Zayne is sitting on one of the back changing benches, with a full view of his childhood friend standing in the mirror, flexing his muscles. He can’t exactly blame him; Caleb is huge. His rock hard abs glisten with moisture, the muscles bulge in his sinewy arms, he laughs at himself as he puckers his chapped lips and plants a kiss on each tensed arm. The match had worked out in Caleb’s team’s favour so he’s absolutely ecstatic.

Before Zayne gets the chance to clear his throat and announce his presence, he’s knocked speechless by the sight of Caleb’s bare ass; he’s dropped his shorts and underwear now too and kicked them off with his shoes and socks. He stands totally naked in front of the mirror, in front of Zayne. And as much as he wants to, as much as he knows he should, Zayne just can’t look away.

Instead he just sits and stares, thinking about how it would feel to have his hands running up those taut calves, to be sat in Caleb’s lap, on one of his thick thighs. He’s not really sure why he’s having these thoughts, but he’s sure that it’s just because Caleb is fit and healthy, and - as a doctor - Zayne greatly appreciates that his friend takes such good care of himself. That’s all.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of running water - Caleb has came away from the mirror and headed to the cubicles to have a shower. Now that he will be undetected and inaudible due to the battering of flowing water, Zayne stands up and makes to leave the room.
He’ll wait outside and greet Caleb once he exits himself, which was obviously how this meeting was supposed to happen. It’ll be fine.

“Oh.”

Zayne stops in his tracks. What was that sound?
Caleb had definitely just whimpered.
Had he slipped in the shower? Got shampoo in his eyes? Had he hurt himself?
If he was hurt, then who better than Zayne to come to his aid?
So, instead of walking to the front door, Zayne tiptoes along to the other side of the room where the shower cubicles are. Caleb appears to be quite the exhibitionist; he’s standing stark naked, proudly, with the cubicle door wide open. He believes he is alone, of course, so perhaps it’s not exhibitionism at all, or at least not intentionally.

“Oh… fuck…” he grunts.

Well, he’s definitely not in pain.
Heat floods Zayne’s cheeks as the realisation kicks in. The slapping sounds make him cringe. And yet… he feels aroused.

He can see Caleb but, once again, Caleb can’t see him. He has his eyes squeezed shut and his head rolled back, leaning against the turquoise tiled wall, quite literally feeling himself under the curtain of the steamy shower.
His cock is just as big and beautiful as the rest of him, its peachy-pink head glistens, he whines as he circles it with his thumb. He sounds so pretty.

The feeling courses through Zayne’s veins, making him feel something he has never felt. His own cock twitches, tight against his black slacks, aching to be touched.

“Mmph,” Caleb huffs. His body rolls under the rippling water, he thrusts his hips and fucks his cupped fist, glossy precum drooling from his tip and dribbling onto the floor of the shower, instantly flushed down the drain.
His cock is gorgeously textured with prominent blue veins running down it, his balls hang low and are of an impressive size, stubbly with wispy dark hairs. He’s beautiful.

Even though Zayne has abstained from sex with others, he understands the importance of masturbation, the human nature of arousal.
He isn’t going to start pleasuring himself here - he is not a pervert - but he palms his semi-erection over his pants, just to relieve some of the pressure and the tension.

“Fu-uh-uck…” Caleb groans, still lost in his own little world, rewarding his team’s win with this special kind of celebration.

What’s most surprising to Zayne is just how loud Caleb is - aside from a subdued grunt at climax, Zayne’s own private sessions with this matter are often silent.
Still, Caleb has always been quite the show-off, the loud mouth, the crybaby. It makes sense that this shouldn’t be any different.

Gently caressing his own hard cock, Zayne’s eyes give Caleb another once over, taking everything in.
How cute he looks with his hair wet.
How his flawless skin is flushed an adorable shade of pink.
How his cupped fist is riding the length of that precious cock whilst the sweetest sounding whimpers and whines tumble from his lips.

He imagines what it would be like to have sex with Caleb as the recipient - how in such an intimate moment he might be so vulnerable and submissive just for Zayne, how their ribs would press against one another, how pretty he would look and feel and sound.
He imagines them fucking everywhere; under the shower with Caleb pressed up against the wall, in the kitchen with him bent over the counter, in the living room pressed into the sofa until the cushions have been reshaped with the outline of his body.
Caleb is so vocal and would definitely be the type of person who pleads and begs for more; he’s so needy and demanding of himself, let alone another man.

“Haaaa,” Caleb sings, bringing Zayne out of his daydreams and back to reality just in time for the big finish.
He watches as his naked body tenses, shuddering breaths fall from his gaped mouth, spurts of milky white spray from the pink end of his girthy cock and paint the wet textured floor of the cubicle.

He exhales exhaustedly then switches the shower off, which is when Zayne knows he has to get out of there.
While Caleb is distracted with patting himself dry, Zayne sneaks back to the other side of the room and manages to slip out without being caught.

What just happened?
He thinks to himself, blinking hard in disbelief.
He needs to think about something else to bring his erection down before Caleb emerges from the locker room for their lunch out but he just can’t get the image of Caleb’s Adonis features out of his mind. That experience has left him with so many questions regarding sexuality, none of which Caleb can answer, but all of which Zayne wishes Caleb would be the answer to.

Chapter Text

It’s your birthday and obviously your boyfriend Caleb has made a big fuss about splashing the cash and spoiling you rotten; he’s booked the city break that you’ve been hinting about for ages, taken you out for your favourite food at the fanciest restaurant, paid for the luxury hotel’s biggest and best suite. Things couldn’t get any better.

Or so you thought.

When Caleb emerges from the en-suite bathroom wearing his military uniform, you realise just how wrong you were. Things are about to get a lot better.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, sitting up on the bed and gazing at him. He looks so good that it makes your mouth water; the hat casts a seductive shadow over his face, the long jacket fans out majestically behind him as he walks over to you, the white pants fit him in a way that empathises just how big he is, and those boots… you tingle with excitement as he comes closer to you, his face painted with a coy smirk.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispers with a laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear as he sits beside you.

You nod, showing your gratitude with a kiss.
Sexual roleplay was something you had been wanting to try for a while, but you could never quite convince Caleb to do it. He would do almost anything for you, but he had point blank refused to give you this.
It’s not the dressing up that caused his discomfort, it’s more so the character that you wanted him to play.

Caleb is a devoted lover boy who prioritises you over everything, he loves to praise you, be soft with you, take his time with foreplay just so that he can make you cum again and again and again, just to make you feel good. And you love this about him, obviously.
But one of your fantasies is to be treated roughly. You know that he’s feared by his colleagues and you to explore that side of him. You want him to be mean, to be selfish, to degrade you and hurt you and torment you, overstimulating you until you’re crying and shaking and begging him to stop.
Caleb wasn’t willing to do that for you.

Until now.

“Pipsqueak…” he breathes against your mouth. “You sure about this?”

You giggle and nod again, entwining your fingers with his leather-clad ones. To reassure him, you whisper the agreed safe word and promise that you’ll use it if things get too much.

"Please, Caleb… just do anything…” you whine.
You’ve been sprawled out on the bed wearing your sexiest lingerie for a while, waiting for Caleb to be dressed. Now that you’re both ready, you don’t want to be made to wait any longer.

He clears his throat and his eyes twinkle.
“That’s Colonel Xia to you,” he grunts.
Your body reacts positively to the change of demeanour, squirming, spine tingling, heart throbbing.

“Show some respect to the Farspace Fleet’s Colonel,” he grimaces, pushing you away from him so that you’re laid flat on your back.

“Respect?” you scoff, scrambling around and picking yourself back up again. “You’re the one who’s broken into a vulnerable woman’s hotel room… and you want me to show you respect?”

It’s so much fun and it’s only just getting started. You’ve wanted this for so long; you’ve had many inappropriate thoughts and dreams about it, so naturally you know just what to do and say in your role, and you love being so over dramatic.

Caleb’s face is stone, but his cheeks are flushed a light pink. You’re sure he’s enjoying it, he just isn’t used to being the one in charge when it comes to this.

“What do you want from me?” you demand, encouraging him to continue the scene.

He gives a small, grateful nod as he picks up on your cue.
“Information,” he sneers. “About the Aether Core.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” you respond smugly.

“I think we both know that you do.”
His tone is chilling. It’s laced with sarcasm, but sharp and patronising. So different from his usual puppy self. So… sexy.
He grabs your wrists and stares intensely into your eyes, mouths mere millimetres apart.
“So… are we going to do this the easy way? Or the hard way?”

It’s a classic line, but it works like a charm.
“I’m not telling you anything, Colonel,” you smirk.

“Hard way it is,” he mutters.

One of his hands stays pressing your wrist against the mattress, while the other lets go and comes up to your jawline.
“You’re a pretty girl…” he starts. “And just look…”
His finger trails the line to the centre of your chin, then combs down your throat. He takes your neck into his hand, applying gentle pressure. The feeling makes you breathe out a hitched gasp.
He grins, knowing how much this means to you.
“Look how this pretty little neck fits so perfectly in my hand, hm?”

Arousal washes over you, rushes through you, sparking a fire in your core, making the tips of your fingers and toes tingle, a pins-and-needles sensation all over.
This is just what you wanted. A Caleb that won’t hold back.

“S-sir…” you stutter. “P-please…”

“Shut up and take your clothes off,” he spits back at you, letting you go and throwing you back against the bed. He stands up and stares you down, waiting expectantly, tapping his foot impatiently.

“My c-clothes?”

“Yes. I need to know that you’ve not got any concealed weapons on you. For my own protection.”

Still in character, you suppress the urge to laugh. Caleb is so big and powerful, especially compared to you, that the idea of him needing to protect himself from you is just hilarious.
Your fingers fiddle with the spaghetti straps of your silky nightie, teasing and taunting.

He groans in exasperation and grabs the fabric himself.
“Let me do it,” he insists harshly.
With one vicious tug, the delicate little dress has been torn in half. It’s bittersweet - you love this aggressive display, but that was your favourite piece of nightwear.

“Nothing,” Caleb nods, staring at your bare chest.
His gloved hands cup your breasts, giving a less-than-gentle squeeze, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers. It’s sore, but that’s what you like.
“Tell me what you know about the Aether core,” he demands again in a whisper.

What he’s doing feels so good and so right, it’s enhanced by the feeling of the leather gloves against your skin. And he looks so dangerous.
Your back arches and your hips involuntary thrust forward, bringing you closer to him.
He smiles, placing one knee on the bed, sandwiching his thigh between yours.

“I don’t know anything,” you repeat.
With how his leg is positioned so close to your crotch, it’s easy for you to wiggle even closer until his knee is pressed against it. You start to softly grind, rolling your body ever so slightly.

“Yeah?” Caleb hisses. “I really don’t believe you.”
His eyes trail down past your breasts, past your stomach, watching your hips as they move.
“Stop it.”

And immediately you do stop.
It feels like invisible weights have been placed on either side of you; you’re stuck firmly to the mattress, not able to pick yourself up no matter how hard you try.
Unable to do much else, you whimper helplessly.

“Quit acting like a bitch in heat,” Caleb commands. “And… you’re still wearing your panties. So the search isn’t over.”

One of his hands travels down, touch ticklish against your flushed skin. Once at the waistband of your silky underwear, his fingertips tuck in and slide down all the way to your entrance. You’re so wet that the smooth leather simply glides, like it’s so easy. You tremble with anticipation, they brush upwards, resting on your clit.
The motion is so different to Caleb’s usual soft, sensual strokes. He’s pressing harder than he usually does, circling his fingers faster than what you’re used to, quickly working you into near-overstimulation.

“Oh- Caleb!” you groan.

With the hand that isn’t in your panties, he slaps your face.
Admittedly, it takes you by shock. Your cheek stings and your eyes water, and you watch Caleb’s own face fall, the apology ready to burst from his quivering lips.

Before he breaks character completely, you flash a menacing smile to confirm that this is fine, that you are fine. You’re actually feeling really proud of him; this is so much more than what you had expected. It feels phenomenal to be treated so disrespectfully by Caleb.

“C-call me Colonel Xia,” Caleb stammers, voice faltering slightly as he tries to move past the initial shock of the slap.

“Or what?” you dare to retort. “Gonna slap me again?”

Caleb sighs and shakes his head. He obviously can’t believe this is happening either, but as long as you’re happy, he’s happy. You’ve promised to use the safe word, and you did tell him to do anything.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles darkly.
You really would like it. The pleasure of the pain might just be enough to make you orgasm.
His fingers keep strumming your sensitive clit, to the point that you just can’t bear it.

”Mmmph,” you huff, squirming and spasming, rocking frantically against his hand. “Oh, Caleb…”

“What’s your fucking problem?” he hisses, tugging on your earlobe. “Are you deaf?”
He cuts things short, bringing his hand away from your wet heat and spoiling your orgasm just as you’re about to submit to it.
“I’ve told you to call me Colonel. I don’t know why you won’t listen to me.”

“I’m sorry! Please, just… just touch me again,” you beg pathetically. Having to be so desperate turns you on so much, and you know how special Caleb feels having you at his mercy like this.
He blushes and smirks, firmly grabbing on to your hips and flipping you over so that you’re laying on your stomach. He yanks your panties off and throws them across the room, they land on the lampshade. Butterflies swarm in your stomach when you hear the slow buzzing of his pants zipper coming undone.

He pulls you up so that you’re in the prime position for doggy style; one of his favourites.
“I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, aren’t I?” Caleb teases, rubbing his tip against your entrance.
His hand slides down your back and wraps around your hair, forcefully tugging your head up.
“Answer me.”

“Y-yes, Colonel,” you whimper obediently.

“Good girl,” he coos, pressing his tip into you.
You’re especially wet from his overstimulation but his girth still makes you gasp, it’s so good that it hurts just a little. He doesn’t ease you into it; he knows how badly you’ve been craving this, how long you’ve had this desire to take it rough, and he’s done playing games. It’s your birthday and he’s treating you to what you want and deserve.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he promises, thrusting desperately. "Until you tell me what you know about that… that thing…”

Mutual laugher fills the room, accompanying the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the twinkling of his chains and your combined breathy moans and groans. Caleb’s so overwhelmed and so engrossed in the play that he can’t even remember what his character is doing this for.

“The Aether core,” you remind him, grasping on to the white linen sheets.

“Yes,” Caleb giggles. He coughs and deepens his voice again. “And if you won’t tell me then I’m gonna make you tell me.”
He let’s go of his firm grip on your hair and grabs onto your arm; first your left and then your right; bringing both hands to rest in the small of your back, his one hand tightly clamping on to your wrists. He’s totally overpowered you now, you’re defenceless.

You bury your face in the sheets, whimpering and whining as he pounds you so hard and so fast. Each thrust makes you see stars. It’s so much harder than Caleb usually gives you and it’s so much more than you can take, you throb and you moan, crying into the sheets, the sound muffled by the fabric.

His Evol keeps your hands behind your back and his hand grabs a fistful of your ponytail again, dragging your face back from the bedsheets.
“Hm?” he hums. “What’s that you’re saying? I’m not gonna hear you if you don’t speak up.”

He’s so fun, so intimidating. You almost wish that you worked in the Fleet as well, so that you could be undermined and humiliated by him like this every day.

His other hand comes around and rests on your throat, squeezing lightly again. The choking is what you like the best, it just feels euphoric.
This is all so much… too much…
The restriction and the humiliation and the sheer lack of respect that Caleb’s Colonel character has for you. The pain of the choking and the hair pulling and the pounding.

“Oh fuck,” you exhale, starting to shake. Your clit pulses and throbs, your walls clench around his cock, you shiver and tremble against his restraining hold.

Caleb slows down just to pace himself; your own orgasm is so intense that it almost brings him to his own.

Sobbing and shaking, you struggle to break free from the ties that bind you to him, desperate to collapse against the covers and have a few moments of rest.

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what you know,” Caleb grunts, slamming his length into you even deeper now, hitting all the right spots.

“Please!” you whine. “Please, please, I can’t… I can’t take this…”

You’re well and truly pushed to your limits - not enough to say the safe word, but almost. Your head feels fuzzy from his fingers pressing into your neck, your vision is blurred and your throat is burning from crying so hard. But you can handle it.

“You can handle it,” Caleb groans from behind you. His cold, stern tone has dropped and he sounds exhausted and needy. “Just… a few more minutes, okay?”

“Yes, Colonel,” you gasp out between moans. “So fucking good…”

“Baby, I’m gonna-“ Caleb whines, all of that Colonel facade gone. He just can’t help himself - he’s truly just a submissive lover boy to his core. He’s loosened his grip on both your throat and your hair, and he’s stopped using his Evol to keep you still.
You decide that he’s done such a good job that it’s now your turn to fuck him, so you grind your hips, backing up into him, letting him relax whilst you finish the job.

”Owh, fuck…” he pants, clutching on to your hips, digging his short nails into your sides. His groan comes out all needy and pathetic, and then he pulls out and the two of you collapse onto the bed together.

“Sorry, I kinda broke at the end there,” Caleb laughs, slipping his gloves off and rubbing his tired eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

He’s staring at your neck, which is probably slightly marked or bruised.

“I loved it, you were perfect… the slapping was a welcome surprise,” you smile, shaking your head.
You take the hat from his and put it on, giggling and snuggling in to his chest, rubbing your cheek against the fabric of his jacket. “And for your birthday, I promise that we can do your greatest fantasy.”

“Missionary with hand holding, intense eye contact, tongue kissing and saying ‘I love you’?!” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head.

You roll your eyes, playfully punching his shoulder and then comfortingly rubbing his earlobe.
“If that’s what you really want…”

“Yes please!” Caleb chirps enthusiastically, and you just know he’s set a mental countdown, counting down the exact number of minutes until his own birthday comes.

Chapter Text

If there were a list of all the people in the world who could ever be considered a “good guy”, MC would never expect to see Viper’s name on it.

Yet, as she’s stumbling and staggering drunkenly through the dorm, as the faces of her friends merge into unknown blurs, as they giggle and whisper behind their red cups, he is the one who comes to her rescue. A knight in black leather armour.

She hadn’t came to the party with the intention to get this drunk - truth be told, she doesn’t really like the taste of alcohol much - but when she had seen Caleb standing in the kitchen with this pretty blonde girl laughing at his jokes and batting her eyelashes, the sting of jealousy felt like a knife to the heart. A knife that twisted as Caleb ran his fingers down her ear, staring at her like she was his next meal.
How else was MC to cope?
One shot became four became seven, thrown back like it was boring to her, regret not kicking in until the consequences of her actions presented themselves and she was falling into walls and over feet and onto tables, like Bambi learning to walk.

At least when she’s sat down on Viper’s messed up bed the only problem she has left to deal with is the room spinning and a weird smell.

Viper’s room is just how she had expected it to be; posters and prints of heavy metal bands covering every square centimetre of wall, cans of Monster energy drink left discarded on the window sill and desk, bedside table cluttered with grinders and bottles of black nail polish and ink-stained needles used for stick-and-poke tattoos. It’s an “emo boy’s room” and it’s a mess and it’s MC’s idea of hell. But for now, it’s a sanctuary.

“I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing,” she sniffs, sinking down onto one of his flattened pillows. “I shouldn’t have drank so much.”

“It’s fine,” Viper chuckles lightly. “Get some sleep. I’ll have the Tylenol and a cold glass of water ready for you when you wake up.”

She smiles at him and whispers a little thanks, the last thing she sees before she falls asleep is him watching over her from the doorframe, the last thing she thinks about is how he isn’t such a bad guy after all.

That is, until a few hours later she wakes up to the feeling of pierced lips against her neck and bitten fingernails caressing her breast under her T-shirt. She can smell his cheap cologne, can taste the bitter alcohol from his breath. She feels the tickle of his frizzy swampy green hair on her shoulder.

This is something that unfortunately happens to lots of women, but it has never happened to MC. She never thought it would, as long as she had Caleb to protect her. And yet, here she is, unwanted hands and lips exploring her body whilst Caleb probably has his blonde babe bent in all crazy kinds of positions. Consensually.
She doesn’t want this, but she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. Viper is bigger than her and stronger than her and honestly, he’s terrifying. Caleb beats him up all the time, but that’s Caleb. MC is small, weak, vulnerable.

She stays still, hoping that Viper will get bored of her if she stays “asleep”, praying that somebody will be looking for him or for her and be able to find them before his hands find their way to her skirt.

His kisses are cold and delicate, like falling snowflakes. He’s not aiming to leave hickeys. He’s acting with that same gentle tenderness, almost pitiful manner in which he had when he had brought her in here. Is this opportunistic? Or had he started planning this as soon as he saw her down her first shot?
His hands are cold too, thin bony fingers like icicles as they play with her nipple, squeeze her boob. Then they start to creep, four fingers and one thumb moving down and down, descending from her ribs to her bellybutton to her mini-skirt’s waistband.

She stays still, exaggerating her breathing a little to maintain the illusion of sleep, to remind him of her existence as a living, breathing, non-consenting human rather than a plastic sex doll who doesn’t have the ability to consent.

His hand tucks in, brushing the gusset of her pink panties.

Why is he doing this?
Why does it feel… nice?

MC tries to soothe herself.
It’s not nice, it’s just sensitive.

His breathing is heavy, loud, thick with arousal.

She thinks of the sea, drowning him out.
The last time she had been at sea was with Caleb.
Oh, Caleb. Where are you now?

MC can hear the change in her own breathing as she starts to lose herself in his soft touch.
He’s not the stereotypical rapist, all angry and aggressive and into BDSM. Well, not so far. That’s what makes it so difficult - the fact that he makes this assault seem so passionate and loving. He disrespects her respectfully.

Naturally, she gets wet.
Arousal isn’t something that is optional.
He’s manipulative, conniving and cheating, taking what isn’t his.
His fingers swirl around in the slick until they get bored. He doesn’t want to just touch her.
He wants to taste her.

And so, although she’s tried to make herself a dead weight, it’s still possible for him to turn her from her side onto her back, letting her legs fall open and laying down in between them, serpentine yellow eyes staring right up her skirt.

She doesn’t move, but her mind is running in rapid circles, praying and hoping and manifesting for an end to this even though she knows it’s not going to happen. Her closed eyes sting as tears form behind them.
He lightly kisses her, sucking her slick from the fabric, making satisfied humming sounds.

His frozen fingers brush against her inner thighs as he tugs the wet panties, peeling them away from her folds and pulling them to the side.

Please stop. Please stop. Please stop.

But he isn’t a mind reader.

When his tongue meets her skin, it feels different. She had forgotten about the split, and unfortunately this does make him a little bit more talented. She’s so slicked and sensitive, and that forked tongue just slips and slithers and slides in ways that satisfy her every need. She doesn’t want this, but her body feels like it needs it.

As much as MC wishes she wouldn’t, she starts to involuntarily squirm, unable to keep up the illusion of being asleep for much longer.
Viper is just too much, too good.
There’s an irony in how much he likes to treat a woman, despite violating her. Nobody had ever taken care of MC like this before - any other man she had been with had been selfish. Viper is a giver.
And a rapist.

It’s so wrong but it feels right and MC hates it but she loves it. She’s so confused, still in the alcoholic haze.

Then the tingle hits her in the small of the back.
It’s coming.
And it shouldn’t.

“Stop!” she shrieks, jolting against the mattress, clutching on to a handful of his long wavy hair. “Stop it!”

But even though her mouth is crying out for him to stop, her hand grabs on to him and pulls him closer, her legs wrap around his shoulders and prevent him from escaping.

He’s saying something, but she isn’t sure what. She’s pressing him against her and just can’t seem to let go.

“Get the fuck off of me, Viper!” she sobs, attempting to kick him away but failing.

Her mind and body have opposite intentions; one doesn’t want to be raped, the other wants to orgasm. She’s so close. He’s so determined.

“Ahh, mmmph…” she moans, confusing him and herself even more. If it’s so bad and if it’s so wrong, then why does it feel so good? Why does it feel right? Why can’t she stop him?

She tries and fails to sit up; her head hurts too much. He said he would give her Tylenol. He didn’t mention anything about giving her this.

”Oh God,” she pants, sobbing and simultaneously grinding her hips. “Viper! Please… please…”
She thinks the word “stop”, but her brain short-circuits each time the word is supposed to actually make its way out of her mouth.

Neither of them seem to have a choice; Viper won’t stop devouring her against her will, and even if he has had a change of heart, MC has him completely locked in without any wriggle room.

Her breathing hitches, her sobs become sadder, her pleas become more desperate.
His tongue keeps flickering and fluttering, sucking and slapping, creating so much embarrassingly wet sounds.

MC arches her back and clings on tightly to him, giving a final squeal and it’s impossible to know whether it’s one of pain or one of pleasure. The feeling is beyond euphoric, but the experience has been a waking nightmare.

Finally, she loosens her grip and he breaks free.
He can’t even bring himself to look at her and he picks himself up from the bed. His tight black jeans aren’t great at concealing his bulging erection.

“You’re a fucking monster,” MC spits at him. She’s shaking with anger, feeling absolutely violated, but most of all ashamed with herself.

“I know,” he nods.

“Caleb is going to fucking kill you,” she continues. Even just saying his name hurts. She wishes he were here. She wants to know where he is, what he’s doing.

“I know,” Viper repeats. He swallows and sounds genuinely remorseful, like he hates himself. And so he should. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” MC scoffs. This isn’t how any of the rapes she’s read or heard about have gone at all. Normally the guy denies all responsibility, uses the “consensual rough sex” defence or something similar. But Viper has a staggering self awareness. That doesn’t fix anything. It’s much too late for “sorry”.

“I fucking hate you,” MC groans as she picks herself up off the bed. She’s still drunk and can’t stand straight, so Viper actually helps her to stand up.
He fixes her clothes.
He helps her to the door.
He walks her down the hallway to Caleb’s room.

She doesn’t want him to do any of this, but she just isn’t able to stop him.

Chapter Text

How is Sylus’s head?

Well, right now, it’s absolutely aching.

Rafayel is talking nonstop, complaining about the fact that Sylus approached a stray cat whilst the couple were out on a walk today. He’s been talking about it for hours - if there’s one thing Rafayel never gets tired of, it’s yapping.

“You’ve made your point,” Sylus sighs, pinching the long bridge of his nose in frustration. “And I’ve made mine - it was just a kitten. Not a monster.”

“Hmph,” Rafayel huffs.
He looks to Sylus with a petted lip, but the glint in his eyes is playful, mischievous.
“Want me to shut up?”

His lips curl into a smirk; it’s not exactly a smile, but it’s the happiest Sylus has seen him look in the hours since the incident. This was never a serious argument anyway, but it feels good to know that it’s coming to an end, and Rafayel clearly has some trick up his sleeve to bring things to a close.

“It would be nice if you could,” Sylus chuckles.
He reaches his arm out and wraps it around Rafayel’s shoulders, rubbing softly as they snuggle up on the sofa together. “Some silence would be lovely.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can guarantee silence…” Rafayel begins.

One of his hands creeps along the outer edge of Sylus’s muscular thigh, fingertips crawling down to the knee. Sylus gives a small laugh and a gentle jerk, sensitive reflexes responding to Rafayel’s light fingered touch.

“…but I think you might know how to make me stop complaining,” Rafayel finishes his flirty talk in a husky whisper, lips pressed to Sylus’s flushed neck, palm brushing up his inner thigh until it’s resting comfortably on his bulge.

“Does that mouth do anything else?” Sylus replies in a flirty albeit sarcastic tone.

And rather than telling Sylus what his mouth can do, Rafayel decides to show him.

Latching on to Sylus’s neck, he kisses until the proof of it is revealed in a rush of blood, bursting vessels, blooming purple hearts.
Sylus exhales, rolling his head back, letting Rafayel’s fingers comb through and claw at his white hair whilst the others caress his twitching cock over his pants.
Something about the way Rafayel touches him just always gets Sylus so hot and bothered, lusting, yearning.

”Please…” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut, whispering pleas and prayers for Rafayel to stop teasing.

But Rafayel likes to play. He likes to work Sylus up until he's breathless and begging - and this is just the start.

Electricity tingles in the tips of his nimble fingers as he toys with Sylus’s zipper. The low buzz is dragged out as Rafayel takes his time in tugging it down, and Sylus, growing more and more impatient, hisses and bucks his hips.

“Just do it,” he whispers.

“Just wait,” Rafayel laughs back.

The kisses continue, softer than what they were, down the front of Sylus’s black shirt. Rafayel shifts around, sitting on his knees and bringing his sweet smooches further south, his fingers still wrapped around the half-pulled zipper.

Sylus throbs against the fabric of his pants, aching for the feeling of Rafayel’s soft palms wrapped around him.
The next time he speaks, the request comes from deep in his throat. It sounds desperate and needy, a growl.
”Please.”

Rafayel taunts and teases for just a little while longer before finally letting the zipper come all the way down, the flaps of fabric fall open and the demanding erection bursts out of the seams, only to find itself further restricted by the fabric of Sylus’s underwear.

“Look at you,” Rafayel smirks, toying with the stiff outline.
His cheeks are rosy, his eyes wide, gazing expectantly at the flustered Sylus.

“Please,” Sylus repeats himself.

This time, Rafayel decides to obey.

His lips meet Sylus’s covered tip, peppering it with kisses. He’s surprised to feel the dampness and taste the sweetness of precum straining through the barrier already. Sylus is desperate.

Mouthing some more at the tented material, Rafayel finally decides to give Sylus what he needs. His fingers dip into the waistband and pull out the concealed dick.

“Shit, Sy,” Rafayel laughs with a small gasp.
The shaft is sticky and shiny, coated in a thin, translucent layer of precum, making it easy for Rafayel’s hand to glide up and down it. “How’d you get so wet, huh? I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Shut up,” Sylus retorts playfully, face glowing an adorable pink.

The two men softly chuckle as they look at each other with pure loving warmth.
Rafayel kneels on the couch cushion beside Sylus, cupping his fist around the slicked length, twisting his wrist from base to tip to base again whilst Sylus sits obediently, exhaling breathy groans of pleasure and occasionally bucking his hips when the sensation is just too good.

“Make me shut up,” Rafayel dares, bringing his mouth to the glistening pink tip. His lips wrap around it, but he doesn’t take in any more than that. Instead he waits for Sylus to give the remaining inches to him.

“You’re a nightmare,” Sylus whispers, combing his fingers affectionately through Rafayel’s hair. He bucks his hips gently, pushing more of himself into Rafayel’s mouth, and then pulls back again.

Rafayel hums in appreciation and agreement - he is a nightmare and he knows it.
But, here and now with Sylus feels just like a dream.

Sylus’s fingers tangle themselves in Rafayel’s twilight toned waves. He’s been controlling himself, only thrusting so that his tip touches the entrance to Rafayel’s throat, but not going any further.
The only sounds produced by Rafayel now are light gagging and soft moans that vibrate through Sylus’s length. Sylus gives a little groan.

“You sound so beautiful when you’re not bitching about everything.”

Rafayel’s gag becomes a choke as he laughs at Sylus’s words. Sylus may not seem like the kind of guy who jokes around, but he’s got this dry sense of humour that always gets Rafayel giggling at the most inappropriate times.

“You’re okay,” Sylus soothes him as he readjusts himself. “Are you ready for more?”

Following an eager nod from Rafayel, Sylus beams down at him and takes another thrust, but this time he doesn’t stop when there’s resistance. He gently pushes further, pressing himself into the gap until he feels himself be swallowed in by Rafayel’s. It’s tight, warm and welcoming.
But most of all it’s wet, internally and externally; Sylus’s length gets more soaked the more he fucks into Rafayel’s throat, and Raf’s bottom lip is dripping with drool that dribbles down onto his chin and leaks down into Sylus’s lap.

Sylus keeps a firm hold of the back of Rafayel’s head, groaning and grunting in ecstasy, all senses overwhelmed; though he’s an artist himself, in this moment Rafayel feels and sounds and looks like the masterpiece.
Between the heavy breaths and the deep groans, Sylus makes sure to whisper plenty of encouragement and praise to his partner, telling him things like “you’re doing such a good job”; each compliment is received with a grateful hum.

The motion continues, each buck of Sylus’s hips becoming faster as he becomes more desperate. Rafayel’s head bobs up and down under Sylus’s guide, and his throat clucks in sync with each entrance and release.

Once at his peak, Sylus informs Rafayel and pulls out for the final time, then Rafayel quickly readjusts the position so that he can take Sylus’s load onto his tongue. He looks gorgeous; hair pushed back, eyes glossy and tearful, cheeks flushed pink with overstimulation, sweet lips glazed with drool. And Sylus’s cum spilling on to his flat pink tongue just completes the look.

“You’re adorable,” Sylus giggles as Rafayel closes his mouth and swallows obediently.

Rafayel grins and sits up, snuggling into Sylus and planting a wet, appreciative kiss on to his lips.

Chapter Text

As you clip in the final buckle on the harness around your waist and squeeze a generous amount of lube into your palm, you can’t take your eyes away from Tara laying sprawled out on the bed before you.

She’s so gorgeous.

Her brunette bob fans out underneath her head and creates intricate artworks on your pillowcase, her doe eyes gaze at you longingly, her soft pink lips tremble.
Your eyes travel further down, admiring her naked body; how her perky boobs look when she’s laid on her back, how her stomach ripples and her hips buck, how her fingers fiddle in the space between her thighs, short manicured nails glistening with slick.

You step closer to the edge of your bed, still staring at her, speechless, mind clouded with ravenous and rambunctious desire.
She tastes as good as she looks; the foreplay has left a lingering flavour on your tongue, and you want her to know what it tastes like too.
Grabbing onto her active hand, you pull it up to her lips and press the damp fingertips into her own mouth.

“Mmm,” she hums, latching on and sucking obediently, nodding with appreciation. Her eyes bore into yours, drunk with lust.

Tara is so fascinating.
In the bedroom, she likes it when you put in all the work, and as a domme you don’t have any issue with that at all. You feel so honoured, so privileged that she trusts you enough to just let you have your way with her.

She shudders with pleasure as you bring the tip of the strapped-on dildo to her clit, sliding it down her folds to rest at her entrance.

“Ready?” you whisper seductively.

She gives a daring nod, a devious smile. She’s such a minx, even though she looks so innocent.

“Deep breath,” you reply, pressing the tip into her.
Tara’s mentality is “go big or go home” when it comes to shopping for toys, so you have to make sure that you take it slow to start.

Giving an exhale of relief, she relaxes into the mattress, giving herself to you.
It’s all fine and well to see Tara’s reactions, but there’s always a bittersweet feeling looming whenever you fuck her, a wish that you could feel how her body reacts to the strap-on seeping into her.
You yearn to feel the stretch of her hole as it accommodates the toy’s wide girth, to experience the warmth and the wetness, to feel it when she clenched, to have the tightness of her channel sucking you in like a current.

At least she knows how to put on a show.

“Yesss,” she breathes out, wrapping her legs around your thighs and pulling you in closer.
Her hand creeps back down her body and her fingertips spiral on her clit as you begin to thrust. Sweet whimpers tumble from her lips, encouraging you to take the advantage.

And you do.

What starts as something slow, steady and sensual gradually evolves into something much more intense. Your movements speed up to the point in which you’re pounding her, watching her arousal ooze out of her, hearing the sloppiness increase with each thrust.

“You like this?” you ask her, receiving a response of frantic nodding and a chorus of moans. You giggle at her sheer desperation, taking a softer tone as you call her your good girl.

“I am a good girl,” Tara laughs back.

Her whines are so high pitched and repetitive, she’s like a poor little puppy in heat, just begging and begging. She wriggles around a little; back arching, legs twitching, moans rattling as she endures another orgasm.
She’s already came a few times whilst you ate her out for foreplay, but this one seems to have pushed her to her limit. Clearly overstimulated, her hand comes away from her clit and rests on her stomach, on that sweet cushiony pouch below her bellybutton.
The sight of her makes your own stomach feel funny and fluttery, overwhelmed with that sweet sickly butterfly sensation.

“Oh, Tara…” you whimper, fingernails digging into her soft thighs.

She can barely get her words out now, merely mouthing back your own name to you, speechless, breathless.

But you’re not finished yet.

Sliding your hands down her legs, you grab onto her calves and raise them so that her ankles sit on your shoulders, the gap between your bodies getting tighter.
This position enables you to push the final few inches of the toy into her, and once it’s fully in you just pause for a moment, basking in the shared ecstasy.

“Feels so good,” Tara whispers, squirming against the silk sheets, grasping them for support.

“You take it so well, baby,” you coo adoringly. “I’m so proud of you.”

One of your hands comes away from her taut calves and comes to her clit, thumb stroking the sensitive bud, observing how Tara reacts to so much stimulation.

She gasps, whines, groans. Clutches onto your hand in resistance, tries to push it away.
You love to push boundaries and she loves being overpowered, lost in sensory overload - you know that if she really wanted to take a timeout, she’d use your safe word.

Batting her hand away, you resume gently caressing her clit. She feels and sounds so wet, you’re overcome with a sense of pride at knowing that you’re the cause of it.

“Be a good girl, hm?” you soothe her as she trembles and twists beneath you.

She doesn’t listen, grasping onto your hand once again, thrashing and shaking, breathing out moans of pure delight. Beads of sweat glisten on her forehead, her fringe is damp and all out of place. Her eyes squeeze shut and she shakes her head, biting her quivering bottom lip.

“I can’t,” she says, almost weeping.

But you know that this is just a test - it’s a Tara signature; saying she can’t handle it, just to provoke you. Obviously, you’re going to take on the challenge to prove her wrong.

She gives a satisfied giggle as both of your hands grasp on to her bucking hips, holding her still with slight pressure. She submits immediately, bringing her hands up to her chest and playing with her nipples, chanting a whispered “yes, yes, yes” into the steamy bedroom air.

You pull back until just the tip of the toy remains inside of her, and then pound her with the whole length all at once; it’s not difficult to do when she’s as lubed up as she is.

”Oh! Oh, yessss,” Tara cries. This is her favourite part, and you love how into it she gets. Her moans rattle as you slam and ram the dildo into her, it always impresses you how someone so small and petite can handle such a beastly length and girth; she takes it like a pro, like it’s easy. You’re not sure if you could take even a quarter of it, but you’ve never been able to test it yourself - Tara is a staunch receiver, when it comes to the rare occasion of her giving, you shouldn’t expect more than two fingers and tongue. But that’s what you love about her. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but it’s for you.

Besides, it’s not like Tara doesn’t give. Sure, she’s enduring the physical pleasure of the sex you’re having, but the emotional pleasure that you’re experiencing is just as intense and incredible. She always spoils you with her energy and her passion, it makes you feel like the most special person in the world.

You power through until neither of you can take much more; your moans become exhausted sighs, her body tenses up, ready for a final release.

“I’m so proud of you,” you beam at her before withdrawing the toy entirely.

A sticky white cream seeps out from her as she groans in euphoria, mouth gaping wide and eyes rolling back in an almost possessed expression. Once her body has settled and recovered from her spasming and shuddering, she returns her hand to her heat, swirls her fingertips around in the climax.

You unbuckle the belt around your waist, putting the toy aside to be cleaned up later, and collapse down beside her, pulling her into a tight embrace, smothering her sweating neck with appreciative kisses.

“Your reward,” Tara giggles, bringing her slicked-up fingers to your mouth.

You take your time in licking and lapping at her fingers, savouring her flavour, reaping your “reward”.

It’s true - this is a prize of sorts, but the most rewarding thing is seeing Tara all hot and bothered, hearing her shaking breath trying to steady itself, bringing your hands to her chest just to feel heart pounding.
It’s easy to be the giver in this relationship when Tara is just such a spectacular recipient.

Chapter Text

Rafayel notices you’ve had your nails done before you’ve even had a chance to tell him.

Both of you have been so busy lately - you with hunting and him with his artwork - that the only time the two of you actually get to have a conversation with each other is in bed at night. Obviously, this isn’t ideal since you’ve both been shattered, much too tired to talk, barely even managing to mumble a mutual “goodnight” most nights.

But tonight is an exception.

One of his hands clutches onto one of yours as you climb into the bed next to him, taking you by surprise.

“This colour is new…” he says sleepily, a small smirk on his face and a glimmer of light twinkling in his colourful eyes. He’s bogged down with exhaustion, but still manages to find the energy to tease you.
“You tryna get my attention? Tryna flirt with me?”

"Maybe I am,” you flirt back, slipping into the bed and snuggling up under the covers.

Rafayel has a thing about hands, specifically your hands.
The first time you had noticed it was when you were in the early days of your relationship, enjoying a “sip-and-paint” date night, and he had spent more time watching how your hands worked with the paintbrush rather than actually using his own. When questioned about it, he had blushed and stuttered and stammered out some response about how he was just “observing your technique”.
After this, you found that he also liked to “observe your technique” when you were holding chopsticks or typing on your phone or applying your skincare.

With his hand still grasping onto yours, he pulls it out from the bedsheets and observes it now, eyes sparkling as they trail down, examining each wrinkle of your fingers and each bump of your knuckles, spying small freckles and papercuts that you yourself aren’t even aware of.

His thumb glides over your own polished thumbnail, gently massaging the space between the polish and the cuticle.

“I like this colour,” he says, voice somewhat shaking. “I really like it.”

You’re glad he does, since you had picked it out at the salon with his reaction in mind.

You bring your thumb to his lower lip, provoking a small gasp from him. He looks at you lustfully as you press it into his mouth, past his teeth until it rests on his tongue. His lips close around it, latching on and sucking softly, smiling sweetly.

“I’m so glad you like it,” you whisper. “Because it’s all for you.”

Though he tries to resist, you withdraw your thumb from his mouth and smear his plump lips with his own saliva. They look so glossy, so shiny and hydrated and tempting.
But you don’t kiss him. Not yet.

Instead, you drag your thumb down his chin. He moans lightly when it tickles his neck, resting on his Adam’s apple.
You taunt him further, resting your four fingers against the side of his neck and scratching gently.

“They’re longer than usual,” Rafayel giggles, tickled by the clawing sensation. “Feels nice.”

Your fingers rake down his bare chest and your gaze follows them. A small patch of his skin is shimmering, decorated with iridescent blue and gold scales. These only show up during special moments, and it’s been a very long time since you last saw them. Just the sight of them makes you tingle with excitement - tonight won’t be a night of just sleeping, that’s for sure.

“Does it feel nice…” you begin, dragging your forefinger to the edge of the scaled area, “… when I touch you here?”

His eyes shut and he gulps, suppressing a groan.

“Raf?” you persist, smirking to yourself.

Heat rises in what little space there is between your bodies, and that’s not the only thing to rise - you bring your leg over his waist and can feel the twitching of his crotch, his semi-erect cock starting to press against your thigh.

“How does it feel?” you ask in a coy tone, fingertips dancing over the sensitive surface of his smooth chest. “Does it feel good?”

He nods, baring his teeth as his eyes squeeze even tighter shut. His breath comes out like a hiss.

“Use your words,” you coo, stifling your giggle.
He’s just so cute, and it’s so easy to get him all flustered.

“Feels so good,” he whispers, swallowing hard. “Just… k-keep touching me. Go lower…”

A pinkish blush creeps across his nose and along his cheeks as you obey his request, grazing your fingertips down the ridges of his toned stomach.
When his ears turn red, you just can’t resist it. You bring both of your hands to the rooks of his warm ears and stroke down to the lobes.

“I said lower,” he chuckles as his eyes flutter open, sultry and seductive behind long dark lashes.

Even though he laughs, there’s something a lot more dark about his tone now. It’s desperate. Demanding.

But you can’t resist the temptation to rattle him just a little bit further.
Your hands come away from his ears and crawl up into his hair, becoming lost among the thick purplish waves. You massage his scalp, giggling under your breath.

“You…” he groans, shaking his head in protest.

“You,” you smile, cupping his flushed cheeks with your hands and pinching them, making him look all chubby and cute, squishing his face together until he’s pouting. You coo at him, “my sweet little fishie.”

That’s all it takes to finally do it.

With no words, but an utterly exasperated groan, Rafayel wriggles out of your grip and you find yourself in his instead. Like handcuffs, his fists squeeze around your wrists and pin them above your head as he hovers above you, glaring down at you with ravenous desire in his eyes.

“Enough,” he grunts.

His body leans forward, pushing against yours, pressing you into the plump mattress. His throbbing cock is resting on your crotch, two pairs of underwear rubbing together, the slight friction of his solid mound and the fabrics feels electric against your wet heat.

“Oh,” you whimper as the spark courses through you, racing down your veins, setting your nerves on fire.

With Rafayel’s weight on top of you, it’s difficult to satisfy yourself. Luckily, he does it for you - he grinds against your body, tightening his hold on your struggling wrists. You squeeze your hands together, newly manicured nails digging into the base of your palms. He knows just what to do to get you going, to take you there. He moves at your preferred pace, until “dry” humping becomes wet and hot; your panties saturated with slick, his boxers sticky with precum.
The firmness of his solid cock feels so good and so right, girth nestled up in your folds, length rubbing against all the right places.

“Maybe you shouldn’t tease me so much,” he breathes, words warm against your flushed neck. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have to take such drastic action.”

You can only respond with desperate moans, speechless and stuttering as you edge closer and closer to that orgasm. The pit of your stomach is full with a dull ache, guts twisted into a knot that’s gradually loosening and loosening until…

”Oh, Raf!” you cry out, wrapping your legs around his waist and halting his movements. Still bound by his hands, your own hands flap and flutter pathetically above your head, your toes curl and your feet gently kick against his back.

“Does it feel good?” he taunts you with the question you had asked of him earlier. He smothers your face and neck with gentle kisses, so soft and sweet compared to his brutish voice and hungry expression.

It truly does feel amazing. Like waves crashing down on you, sweeping you from the shore, washing you away until there’s nothing left; you’re speechless, breathless. Your mind is empty, your body is numb.

Taking your groan of pleasure as an answer, Rafayel smirks with smug satisfaction and releases you, sitting on his knees between your legs.
His own hands move to the tented fabric of his boxers, but you’re quick to shift around and sit up, bringing your own hands to him instead.

Naturally, he relaxes into your touch; his favourite feeling in the world is whenever you have your hands on him, particularly here.

You peel the wet clinging material away from the outline of his shaft, then tug the boxers down from the waistband.
Out springs his pulsing cock; gorgeous from base to tip, intricately detailed with thin, prominent blue veins, the gleaming head a rosy red and absolutely drenched with glossy precum. It’s a masterpiece in itself, an artwork from his private collection, for your eyes only.

Whimpers and whines fall from his lips as one of your skilled hands wrap around the head and the other cups his balls. You massage the soft balls with gentle pressure, exactly how he likes it, while dragging the excess fluid down his length.

Neither of you are watching what’s happening; his eyes are fixed on yours, yours are gazing up longingly into his.
He gently thrusts his hips, fucking your fist, gliding with such ease due to how slicked he is. His balls throb against your palm, you can tell it won’t be long until he gives over.

“I love you,” he exhales with difficulty. He’s so overstimulated, he can hardly bring himself to speak his thoughts.

His hand clamps around yours and together you finish him off, both of you twisting around his length with joint effort until the orgasm has been coaxed out of him, spurting into your palms.
A chorus of moans and whimpers escapes him.

He appreciates your hard work, placing his own soiled palm flat against yours, entwining your fingers, the two hands fitting together like they’re two parts of the same puzzle. It’s warm, wet, and wonderful. His eyes seem to glitter as he grins down at you, leaning in for a kiss.

The “spark” with Rafayel hadn’t ever been lost, but it had somewhat dimmed as you had both become busier with work.
However, now as you sit here - holding hands, exchanging kisses, twirling tongues - you can rest assured knowing that the spark has been ignited and is burning brighter than ever, a heat so intense that you’re not sure whether either of you will get any sleep at all tonight.

Thank God for that manicure!