#mainescribbles

Ever since his release from prison, Simon has decided to live his life to the fullest in every single aspect. He'd come to you every other day with a new crazy proposition - he's invited you skydiving on more than one occasion (neither one of you ever went), talked about purchasing a motorcycle and even seriously deliberated on the pros and cons of starting a band with Klavier Gavin. For the most part, you were happy to indulge him when it came to ideas meant to broaden his horizons.

Naturally, he had other types of ideas as well. At least once a week, usually at bedtime, he'd lean in for a passionate kiss and purr "So, there's this thing I've been reading about..." You'd tried most of them out with varying degrees of success. Whips he liked; chains and handcuffs expectedly turned out to be a big no-no, at least on him; toys, well, it depends on the toy, really. One constant, however, had become apparent through your consistent experimentation - Simon Blackquill was a massive brat. He liked to be ordered around and to talk back all at once, to be spanked into submission and somehow act smug through it all. Whatever. You were into it.

You never would've guessed he was a mommy's boy, however. One day you're having dinner and he's visibly distracted, eyeing over a document while pointlessly poking around at his food, never taking a single bite. Already annoyed by his antics and determined to get that man some proper food dammit, you lean over the table, pick up a morsel off his plate with your own fork and bring it up to his mouth. "Open wide for mommy, won't you, dear?" It's meant to be teasing more than anything, but he freezes in place, eyes searching your face. His mouth opens and accepts the food. The document he was reading is tossed aside soon after and he focuses on his food, avoiding your gaze for the rest of the dinner.

He sits you down later that night. It's the first time you've seen him blush while asking for something. The Twisted Samurai is sputtering, face and the tips of his ears burning. "That whole 'mommy, mummy' whatever thing from earlier... Do you like that?" You shrug. He nods and continues, "Well, it turns out that I do. Can we try that?"

And you do. And he likes it. So do you. A lot. And it becomes a recurring thing.

***

He comes home from work later than usual, tossing his briefcase on the chair by the door. Already half undressed, he enters your bedroom and collapses next to you, head resting on your chest. "Rough day?" You ask, tugging at the hairband in his thick hair. "Our justice system is a circus," he groans. "You would not believe the absolute hogwash I have to deal with in the courtroom." He sighs, pausing for a moment. "Can I please have my mommy now? I want to not think for a while." You chuckle. As if he even has to ask.

He needs to be fucked, he tells you earnestly. Thoroughly rammed, as he puts it, eyes staring up at the ceiling. You let him pick the toy while you get the necessary supplies - a towel, lots of lube and a pair of rubber gloves. He ends up on his back, an old pillow you keep around just for these occasions under his hips. You put on your gloves - safer for everyone, especially when your nails are long - and drench your fingers in lube. He's whimpering whilst you take your time stretching his tight hole, a hand covering his eyes and the other one gripping whatever part of you available.

"I'm ready, please. Please fuck me, mommy. Fuck." He groans when you line up the head of your strapon with his entrance, pouring a generous amount of lube over you both. You push in painstakingly slowly and he takes it so well, gasping with every inch he takes inside. He leans back as far as he can, body curled in half and legs bent towards his chest, helping you find that angle that makes him see stars. You rub his thighs, even smack the sides here and there, remembering that time you somehow convinced him to wear those lovely thigh high socks. Maybe he'll agree to it again once you've fucked the defiance out of him. Worth a shot.

He keens when you hit his spot, eyes closing and his hands reaching out for you. You keep the angle, picking up the pace to push him over the edge. He's now alternating between groaning like a man possessed and whimpering, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Poor thing, he really is wound up tight.

Simon's on his hands and knees before you, back arched as he wildly ruts against your thighs. It's quite a sight, that large man completely dishevelled because of you - his long hair is loose and damp with sweat, sticking to his neck and upper back; that firm butt is red, visible handprints marring his pale skin. Simon is keening and begging, whimpering in pleasure and pain as you wreck his powerful frame.

"Nnngh, please!" Simon whimpers, reaching for your hand. You know what he wants, lifting your palms from his hips to slide them up the arch of his back. Once at the nape of his neck, you gently rub the sensitive skin before curling your fists into a claw shape and digging your nails into his flesh. A whine leaves his lips, quickly replaced by a guttural grown as you rake your nails down the taut muscles, leaving angry red marks in your wake.

The man beneath you throws his head back, hips violently snapping back at the mixture of pleasure and pain travelling through his body. You spend some time clawing at his back, careful to soothe the skin with your palm occasionally. His wobbly arms give out, causing that large body of his to collapse onto the soft mattress, pulling you on top of him.

Your chest is pressed into his sore back, pushing against the painful fading marks. Simon groans, reaching back to grasp at your thighs, begging for some friction. Obliging, your hips snap into motion again, pushing relentlessly into his exhausted body. "Close?" He groans in approval, thrusting his hips against the mattress. After pressing a few kisses into his upper back, you open your mouth, dragging your sharp teeth against the rough skin. Without warning, your teeth clamp down on the taut flesh, leaving an array of red patches and teeth marks on your way.

cw/tags: blowjob, facefucking, deepthroating, hairpulling, kinda rough sex, petnames, established relationship

notes: i plan on editing/expanding on this a bit and uploading to ao3 bc hey i keep getting carried away LOL im still remembering how to write short things apparently lmfao

Your boyfriend had burst through the apartment door with a groan. Distractedly muttering grievances to himself, he neglected to see your resting figure on the couch and headed straight toward your shared room. While Friday evenings were usually scheduled for just the two of you, he had been tasked to stay late and finish up some particularly demanding casework today.

Thrilled to finally spoil your lover after such a grueling week, you quietly lift yourself off the sofa and make your way to the bedroom. The door’s hinges quietly squeak as you push the door fully open and rest your hand on the knob. The slightest smirk creeps up your face. “Hey, baby. Rough day?”

Simon’s eyes light up as he turns to you, like a switch is flipped. “Darling…” Having only taken off his coat and shoes, he stands hip cocked, tie askew. It’s a view somewhere between professional and casual that only you get to see. And it’s such a gorgeous view. He continues as you stare. “I did not see you in the living room.” With a hungry look of his own, he rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, drawing your attention to his hands and arms. He takes one step forward, his eyes somehow focusing even more on you. “I assumed you to still be out picking up groceries.” You don’t even let him finish. Eagerly you move alongside him, grabbing his arm and dragging you both onto the bed.

With a huff you’ve pulled the large man on top of you, much to his surprise but even more to his delight. You respond intending to tease him slightly, “I got home a few hours ago! In fact I was waiting so very patiently for the most handsome man to come through the do—“ He’s staring at your lips and letting you speak until he can’t take it anymore. He interrupts you mid-taunt, and his lips feverishly meet yours, while your arms gladly wrap around his neck.

Almost begrudgingly, his mouth pulls away from yours. “You see, my patience has grown too thin, my love.” He can’t bear to move any farther away from you than this. Already your legs are tangled, breath fanning each other’s faces with hands running through hair. You search his face at this response—you want to see the fire in his eyes. But he greedily buries his face in your neck and grinds against you with pure desire. He leans toward your ear. “I need you. Please.”

You’d do anything for him in this moment. Now he’s biting and panting down your neck, and you can barely get your sentence out between moans. “Ah, Simon, tell me what you want, baby. Hhh-Anything for my good boy.” You feel him press his dick against you even harder, and your own wants are growing more difficult to ignore by the second. Managing to untangle himself from you for a brief moment, he unzips his pants and positions himself against the headboard, short of breath already. “My cock.. please.”

He watches you slink out of your shirt, and for a moment you’re still. His eyes are soaking in every inch of you as you then lick your lips and speak. “Simon…” You’re on your hands and knees now. “What do you want me to do to it? Tell me what you need.”

He takes a deep breath attempting to steady himself. “Your perfect mouth engulfing my cock. I need your warmth around me… I—I need you to devour me, my dove. Please. I beg.” He can barely get out the last words, he’s already so worked up.

You crawl towards him, slowly pulling down his briefs with your teeth. He hisses and slams his head back with probably too much force, but it’s an excited reflex. On your knees, you reach and feel up his sides while you arch your back, savoring his moans. Scraping your nails down his torso, you can’t wait any longer, and you lick from the base of his shaft to the tip, eliciting a drawn-out whine from your boyfriend. Caressing his balls with one hand, you slowly wrap your other around the base of his shaft and begin lightly kissing the tip of his cock.

His gaze could burn a hole through you, he wouldn’t dare take his eyes off this gorgeous sight. He carefully runs a hand through your hair and you lean into his touch. “I think you should—“ You kiss his hand. “—take what you need.” His face somehow turns paler, and his cock twitches in your hand. “A—ah..don’t hesitate to double tap, my love.” Your eyes are uncharacteristically blown out, and you throw a pillow onto the floor, clamboring down as quickly as possible. You can’t move or get the words out quick enough. “Of course—now please, Simon!”

The look on your face mixed with your desperate pleas gives him an intoxicating feeling of desire. You catch a glimpse of a sly, proud smile as he repositions himself. As he grabs a fistful of your hair, you excitedly grab at his hips and take him into your mouth. The weight of him on your tongue makes you dig your nails into his skin. Hesitantly he begins thrusting into you, checking your face, but that only turns him on more. Your half-lidded eyes, and dripping mouth are heavenly. His pace quickens and force grows, as you happily let him use your mouth as he needs. The mixture of slopping, wet noise with Simon’s ever-growing whimpering has you trying to grind against the empty air, you’re so desperate.

It’s almost too difficult physically to take him like this, but it feels so good, you don’t care how ruined your face and throat are right now. Moaning around his cock is too much for him. “God. Oh, fuck me. Ah..ah.. going to come..” Your tongue swirls around him, making sure to focus on his sensitive tip, as you forcefully help guide his hips in and out of your mouth at a rhythmic pace. With an ungodly cry and snap of his hips, you feel him release down your throat. The taste is delicious, only for you, and just makes you want more of him.

“Y/n, wait!” Anne called, “Merlin, slow down!”

“Abso-lutely not!” You shouted.

Slowing down was a death wish. Slowing down meant you’d open your big mouth again, and considering the last time you’d done that you told Anne you’d dreamt about her twin brother… 

Yeah, no. Sitting behind a locked bathroom door was kilometers more enticing. You hung a hard right, barreling into the Gryffindor bathrooms like a bombarda spell gone awry, and made yourself comfortable in the stall labeled ‘out of order.’ 

To your dismay, however, the bathroom door swung open just as your foot drew up to settle atop the toilet seat. It was Anne, you knew it was. The silence settling afterward incriminating in the way only a Sallow could make it. 

“Go away, Anne,” you muttered into your sleeve, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talk about what? How you just won? Beat the britches off Sebastian? Cause I think anyone, and frankly, everyone, would like to talk about it.”

She was right. Dethroning the Crossed Wands champion wasn’t an everyday thing— more like an every three years or so thing, and considering Sebastian had twirled the title between his fingers for just as much time, you should be in that Clock Tower celebrating, like a normal person, but no. What had you done? You’d run, a choice that had painted ‘guilty’ in bold letters down your back, and now that you were free from the boy’s searing stare, you realized as much with a giant's helping of regret. Still, despite this self reflection, that didn’t mean you had to come right out and say why you really ran.

You sighed, lifting your head out of your arms to peer at the scuffed heels beneath the door.

“I just loathe all the theatrics,” you mumbled.

Silence. Another helping of that damned, incriminating silence.

“Theatrics?” Anne snorted, “You ran from more than that.”

More than that. Her words were smug, entered without knocking, settled themselves in your living room, and kicked muddied boots atop your polished table. You pulled a mental wand to depulso the layered implication back out your door.

“Well he’s your brother,” you blurted, “You should know.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, ‘guilty’ was being painted once more over a coat that hadn’t yet dried. She hadn't said a thing about Sebastian. You retreated back into your arms, but your ears were subjected to Anne's pointed footsteps heading for the vanities where her wand latched onto one of the many woes of Narcissus to drag it behind her. It detested, clawing at the stone floor until it came to a stop outside your door.

“He is my brother,” she admitted, voice straining as her own feet disappeared from beneath the door, “And because he’s my brother…” the wooden legs wobbled as her head appeared over the top, eyes narrowed at her feet, “…I do know something.”

The vanity came to a compromising still, and Anne’s gaze landed on your’s atop a keening grin.

“I know he’s in love with you.”

-~- Sebastian -~-

Sebastian would have to wear a tie more often. 

He was late to class, as was the case most of the time, but this time he found his starched button-up, ironed trousers, and, dark, solid Slytherin-green tie seemed to part the sea of students before him. The last time he’d commanded this much respect was the beginning of sixth-year after he’d unknowingly grown ten or so centimeters in a single summer. Well, maybe ‘unknowingly’ was a stretch— no pun intended.

Sebastian straightened, robbing a single centimeter more from the hall as he smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see your reaction, but more than that, he couldn’t wait flirt to high heaven with you. His prior advances had always been of a veiled nature, one where he was careful not to spook you, but after last night, after a dream like that… he was going to wake the sleeping dragon if it was the last thing he did.

“Mr. Sallow, so nice of you to finally join us,” Professor Sharp intoned without so much as a glance up at the door. 

Sebastian didn’t afford him much in return. He took his place at his assigned cauldron while, discretely, but anxiously, searching the room for you. You weren’t next to Anne, nor speaking to Professor Sharp. Maybe you were in the storage closet? Or perhaps with Adelaide, no. Poppy? Not there. Natty--

“Merlin’s beard, Sebastian! Dressed to the nines, aren't we? Got a hot date tonight?” 

The sheer volume with which Garreth announced his attire forced the Slytherin to tuck his ear toward his shoulder, and only once he'd silenced the urge to flipendo the Gryffindor headfirst into his cauldron, he straightened slowly, eyes shut over a deep sigh as he played ignorant to the twenty heads turned in his direction.

“Yeah, I do, actually,” Sebastian replied, turning to split open his textbook.

Garreth grinned and leaned an elbow against his station, intent on turning up the heat not knowing the brunet thrived in it.

“And with who? Do tell.”

The room grew silent, but Sebastian continued to turn to the proper chapter, licking his thumb to give it a bit more traction before he delivered the name “Matilda Weasley” without so much as missing a beat. 

Garreth’s hungry flame went limp, diminishing visibly until it was nothing but a charred candle wick below a wisp of smoke. Sebastian sank his molars into his cheek opposite the boy. Gagged, a response he was used to, but for some reason it was always sweeter with his redheaded peer.

Sebastian continued to feign normalcy, rolling up his sleeves as he turned to lean against his own station just in time to see your robes sweeping through the door. You hugged the wall, moving on light feet like a niffler with paws full of stolen treasure, but the ex-auror, with that profession-induced sixth sense, caught you red-handed.

“Miss y/l/n, you’re late.”

You froze, brows cringing.

“Apologies, professor,” you mumbled, scuttling toward your usual place by Anne in a bid to escape the twenty heads that had now turned toward you, but Sharp had other plans… plans that worked wondrously in Sebastian’s favor.

“Ah-,” Sharp tut, finally lifting his gaze from his desk to flick his fingers in Sebastian’s direction, “You’ll be working with the other Sallow today.”

You froze again, but this time a blush melted you from the top down. Sebastian kept his gaze on you, letting a grin settle comfortably on his features. 

Look up, love. Go ahead.

You did, slowly. You started at his shoes, climbed up his trousers, zigzagged around his button up, then, in a way that had Sebastian folding his bottom lip between his teeth, got caught on his tie like a bee in honey. You didn’t struggle, instead, your eyes widened slightly and your lashes fluttered, but in true ‘you’ fashion, you slammed your attention into the floor before he could find your gaze… and that was exactly what he’d spend the next two hours raising to meet his challenge. 

“Go on, ” the professor sighed, “He doesn't bite.”

Sebastian sided to his left with a softened grin, opting for a kinder, less heated expression as you settled next to him like a lamb next to a wolf.

Though the Slytherin was aware of infinitely more than you could hope to dread, and knew deep down you wanted to manhandle him by the tie that hung around his neck, he wanted to take his time. He was going into this with an ace up his sleeve, and he planned on setting the stage beautifully before its reveal. 

“Alright,” Sharp announced to the class, directing Garreth over toward Anne, “Thunderbrew, on my desk, no later than noon.”

The classroom descended into languid waves of conversation as all nestled in for the two hour period. The space had become awash with sighs, grumbles, and slumped shoulders, but Sebastian stood straighter. He turned back around, gathered a knife and cutting board, then slid them over to you like a peace offering.

“Wanna cut the shrivelfig?” He asked, figuring it was a far better preparation than leech juice or stench of the dead.

You nodded with a fleeting smile, “Sure, thanks.”

Sebastian smiled back and pulled out his wand to float one of the purple fruits toward him, but while it made its way over, he couldn’t help noticing your gaze was still tacked below even a house elf’s line of sight. That wouldn’t do.

“Y/n?” He voiced, as softly as possible, and still you jumped.

You acknowledged him with a glance. 

Alright, easy does it.

“I never got to congratulate you on your victory yesterday,” he said, brushing his fingers with yours when he handed you the fig.

“Oh, yeah, um, thanks… Wait— not thanks for the title, cause, you know, I took it from you, so maybe, uh, maybe sorry?”

Sebastian exhaled a mix of shock and amusement out of his system, “Sorry? Don’t be sorry! I had to best someone to earn it myself all that time ago. It was only inevitable someone would take it from me…” He paused, smiling over the measuring bowl of leech juice, “And I’m glad that someone was you.”

The knife in your hands faltered, slipping down the fig to give it a decidedly wonky cut, but Sebastian pretended not to notice. The ‘awake’ version of you really was affected a quidditch field and a half more than your sleeping self. Confidence. You needed confidence.

“Mind sharing where you learned that kick from?” He asked, still busying himself with the measuring bowl.

You chuckled, sliding the blade evenly through the center, “I dunno, it just kind of came to me in the moment.”

“Huh. Impulsive, but still impressive… and might I add, dirty,” he grinned, “Looks good on you.”

He readied himself for another slip of the knife given he’d practically purred the last part, but you only ticked a brow and kept dicing.

“Only for you,” you replied.

Sebastian donned a surprised frown and couldn’t stop himself from shooting you a coy smile. That was… new— a roll of distant thunder from a storm he was anxious to get caught in, one that had his very hyper-ecstatic brain somersaulting over and in on itself.

“So,” you started, scraping the contents from your cutting board into the boiling cauldron, “you were late too?”

“Yep,” he admitted as he poured his own ingredient in after yours.

“Mmm, why?” 

Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. Why. The answer promised to accelerate things tenfold. He was usually quick with his words, but his wit was still in recovery.

“Uh, sorry, just a second,” he stalled, patting the last of the liquid out of the bowl.

As he did so, he was subjected to yet another pressure, a new pressure, a pleasant pressure: your eyes on him. You’d lifted them, fixed them to his ‘occupied’ gaze before they fell to inspect his forearms, then ticked up to his tie, and then below his waist. 

Sebastian swallowed, and suddenly the heat from every station in the room was palpable. You’d just checked him out, a fact that had blood rushing somewhere it shouldn’t be in Potions of all places. Sebastian had always thought himself an unbothered individual, one rarely ‘caught off guard’ or ‘blindsided’… ‘gagged’…

No, he reminded himself, clearing his throat as he set the measuring bowl down. You’ve got the ace here, not her. You were being far more forward than he’d expected, and in such little time too. He'd planned on drawing this out, but you were devouring his bait faster than he could lay it and had begun to set your hungry eyes on him. He'd have to usher in the final act now.

“Can’t do two things at once,” he fibbed, wiping his hands on a rag.

You nodded, gaze picking him apart.

“Why I was late?”

“Yeah. Party hard or something?” You struck smugly, like a bolt of lightning.

It was distant, but a storm nonetheless. You wanted to play, and caution, no longer a viable factor, had Sebastian sneering over his hand of cards, anxious to come out on top… or bottom, it didn’t much matter to him.

“Nah, just had trouble waking up... Or rather, didn’t want to wake up.” he finally answered, settling his backside against the work table as he crossed his arms, powerless to stop the smirk that snaked onto his features when he met your gaze, “Was having a good dream.”

Your complacency fractured in the form of a flinch, one that was likely accompanied by a slew of ‘there’s no way he knows,’ but he did know, and he tried his absolute best to exude that fact… not that that was a conclusion you’d ever come to naturally.

Still, you pondered for quite a while, even seemed to nearly lose yourself in the simmering concoction below, until you broke free with a shake of your head, “Sorry, stench of the dead,” you admitted, tossing a thumb at the group closest, “Messes with you head.” You took a deep breath, likely dispelling the ‘crazy,’ but unknowingly valid fear with a polite smile. “A dream? What was it about?”

Sebastian didn’t miss a beat. He needed to add further fuel to the fear before you could dismiss it, so he answered “You, actually,” tone informing like you’d asked him for the time.

You hiccuped, or maybe that had been a squeak? A cough? A squeak-cough. Whatever it was, he kept stirring the cauldron, let silence creep in and gather forebodingly in the stands, demanding a show.

“Me?” You clarified.

“Yep, in the common room,” he added.

You stilled at the incriminating detail, like one step in either direction would snap a twig beneath your feet and alert the monster in the woods, except deep down you knew it was already watching you. The question now, it seemed, was were you going to run or stand your ground. Sebastian watched you mull it over, your gaze bouncing about the station counter.

“By the fireplace?” You whispered, so quietly Sebastian almost didn’t hear it, but in the interest of playing his cards right, he pretended he hadn’t.

“Hmm?” He voiced

Your gaze unfocused. You didn’t answer. You were too busy battling impossibilities to acknowledge him. Instead, you shoved the part of you that wanted to fight down deep which left 'running' as your only option. You turned, fleeing into a small ingredient closet nearby. 

Not so fast.

Sebastian pushed off of the work station and followed after you, catching the closing door of the space so he could slide in after you. 

You'd been quick to busy yourself, distract yourself. You were reaching for a jar of inferi bones one shelf too high for you, the coverage of your skirt stressed to its limits, something that was doing little to tame the taller Slytherin’s intentions. 

“You need help with that?” He asked, his forced normalcy losing its edge.

You didn’t respond. You'd taken interest in pretending none of this was happening, so you committed to the bit, strained harder, finger tips brushing the base of the jar.

Sebastian watched you struggle stubbornly, keeping your back turned, because, in your defense, ignorance was the only sane response to what he was suggesting— that he’d shared your dreams, seen your darkest desires… and yet he had. You’d wished for them, conjured them, wanted them, wanted him, and that fact cornered his resolve to toss the ace on to the table face-up. He stepped forward, planting himself directly behind you so the fringes of your skirt brushed his hips as he mentally unfurled the nocturnal script.

“Use your words love,” he recited, looking down at you as he lifted his fingers to glide up the arm you’d extended.

You shuddered, lashes fluttering when his touch wrapped around your wrist and settled on your hip. He tugged you away from the shelf, lowering your arm as he did so he could guide it through Sectumsempra, just as he had the first night. 

“Tell me what you want.” He continued.

The combination flicked the switch in your mind. Realization poured over you like a waterfall, drenching your expression in rouge and parted your lips as you seemed to revisit fight or flight, only this time Sebastian had opted to take the latter out of the running -- no pun intended -- completely. He hovered behind you, watching realization welcome an eerily gentle breeze of acceptance. It was almost undetectable, but it rippled through your white veil all the same. It brushed it aside, gave him a glance at what he was asking for, warning him, and still he pierced his shovel into the earth and gripped you tighter.

You exhaled shakily, and the breath that poured from your lungs turned your veil black when you finally whispered, "You, Sebastian."

Sebastian sighed and his touch retreated up your arm to grace down the column of your neck.

“Me?” He smiled, following the same script as he dipped his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, “What do you need from me?”

You swallowed. You knew what you’d said next beneath the guise of sleep, but your composure was fighting it, fighting a side of you he’d seen and wasn’t afraid of… a fact that eventually slipped the veil from your face and pooled it at his feet.

Sebastian watched it settle, possess you. You turned, found his gaze, and there it was: The Look. The silken, poisonous stare of a cobra, raised and lulled to dance by a melody he’d crafted and played… a look he could never forget. And then you played your part, brazenly.

“I need, gods,” you spoke in turn, taking on the tone you’d whimpered into his ear the previous night.

Sebastian’s heart pounded, desperate and terrified all at the same time. You'd given in, and suddenly he felt the part a hunter, bow trained, arrow nocked, only now his prey had locked eyes with him and hadn’t run. You’d seen the glint of your demise, and still you moved closer, dared him to ‘shoot.’

“Sebastian…” you called.

He leaned closer, entranced, bewitched.

“I need…” you continued, lifting your gaze in time to your electric touch, traveling up his thigh, “… your cock.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched and his frame stiffened when your fingers wrapped around him through his pants. They squeezed, and you, with a soul-eating smirk, found what had plagued him since he’d entered the space. You gave him a stroke and he choked on a groan. Then another. He released the breath he’d held with a trembling shudder.

"Fuck, love-" he started, but you stilled.

“The Astronomy Tower, tonight…”

He nodded, gaze pinned to the way the words looked falling from your lips as his hips chased your touch.

“… just after curfew. Meet me there.”

Another stroke and his vision trimmed with tears. You scoffed, somehow looking down at him despite your position beneath him, and slipped passed him. 

He stayed. Stuck to the floorboards beneath his feet. Heart hammering, throat closing. All at the behest of a sultry, spellbinding, soul-entrapping, set of eyes.

- - -

<<< Previous Chapter

A.N. I know I said this part would be published Friday at 8 PM PST like I was some professional or something... but the quality of this part at 8 PM PST was not up to by STANDARDS. Been workin' workin' day'n'night (literally just five additional hours) to give you a part 3 worth your time.

the astral express had always been a place where people found their way to one another. for you, it had become home. somewhere between the countless worlds you visited, the battles you fought, and the quiet nights spent watching the stars drift past the windows of the express, you had found something you never expected to have — a family.

and danheng. somewhere along the way, danheng had become more than just a member of the crew. he had become the person you searched for without thinking. the person you wanted beside you after every mission. the one whose quiet presence never felt distant, only comforting. your relationship with him had never been something rushed. it had grown slowly, naturally — built from countless small moments that neither of you had expected to matter so much.

danheng was never someone who expressed his feelings loudly. he showed them differently. the way he always noticed when you were tired before you admitted it. the way he remembered every small detail you casually mentioned. the way his usually unreadable expression softened whenever he looked at you. you knew him. and you knew that beneath all his restraint was someone who cared for and loved you deeply.

everyone on the express knew it — though some weren't the most accepting of it. caelus had been your closest friend since the beginning. someone you could bother without feeling guilty. the one you could tease endlessly because you knew he would always tease you back. you could steal his food, complain about the smallest things, make terrible jokes, or throw yourself onto the couch beside him without a second thought.

because caelus was your best friend. and you never questioned anything beyond that. you never noticed the way his expression changed when you weren’t looking. you never noticed how carefully he paid attention to you — the things that made you happy. the things that bothered you. the little habits you had that you didn’t even realize existed.

you never noticed that every playful touch, every teasing comment, every moment of affection you gave him so easily meant something entirely different to him. to you, it was harmless. but to caelus, it was something he treasured and something he had to learn not to hope for.

because he had loved you long before you and danheng became something more. and he had accepted a long time ago that there was nothing he could do about it. danheng was his friend. someone he trusted. but more than that, he was someone he respected. who had fought beside him and stood with him through everything. caelus would never try to take you away from him. especially not when you looked so happy. so he stayed quiet. he kept joking. he kept being the same guy you had always known. and most days, he managed to convince himself that being your best friend was enough. almost.

the problem was that sometimes he forgot to prepare himself. like the first time he walked into the lounge and found you curled up against danheng's side, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as you read together. caelus stopped in the doorway.

only for a moment. only long enough for danheng to notice. his eyes lifted from the book, immediately catching the brief flicker of emotion on caelus’s face before it disappeared.

"caelus."

you looked over with a smile, "oh, come sit with us."

you said it so naturally. so easily. and caelus hated that you had no idea what those words meant to him.

he quickly shook his head, forcing his usual grin into place.

"nah, i was just looking for something."

after that, it became a pattern. caelus always seemed to have terrible timing. a door opening at the wrong moment. a room entered without warning. a quiet moment between you and your boyfriend interrupted by your best friend immediately making some excuse and disappearing again.

at first, danheng didn’t think much of it. caelus was unpredictable at times. that was normal. but eventually, he began to notice patterns. danheng had always been observant. and eventually, he realized something was wrong. not because he was jealous. not because he doubted you. but because he understood the look of longing on his face.

and neither of them knew that you — the person at the center of it all — had no idea any of this was happening. not until that night.

you're straddling danheng's hips on his narrow bed, the soft hum of the express filling the quiet between your shared breaths. his hands grip your waist firmly, guiding your movements as you sink down onto his cock again and again. the stretch feels perfect every time, your pussy clenching around him while his thumbs stroke lazy circles over your skin.

the door is cracked open just enough for a sliver of hallway light to cut across the floor. you don't notice. your focus stays on the way danheng's eyes darken when you roll your hips, how his breath hitches when you lean forward and press your chest to his. he kisses you hard, tongue sliding against yours, and you moan into his mouth without thinking about volume.

"fuck, you feel so good," he murmurs against your lips, voice low and rough. his hands slide down to your ass, squeezing as he thrusts up to meet you. the wet sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, punctuated by your soft gasps every time he hits that spot inside you.

you ride him faster, his voice spurring you on. danheng had never been super vocal during sex. he especially wasn't one to swear. danheng’s gaze flicks toward the door for a split second—barely a glance, but you’re too lost in the rhythm to catch it. his jaw tightens, yet he doesn’t stop. instead he pulls you down harder, one hand moving between your bodies to rub your clit with steady circles.

"danheng—ah, right there," you breathe, nails digging into his shoulders. your thighs tremble as pleasure coils tighter. he watches your face the whole time, eyes half-lidded, and you can feel him throbbing inside you. the knowledge that he's close only pushes you further.

outside the door, footsteps pause. you never hear them. danheng does. his fingers press a little firmer against your clit, and he angles his hips to grind deeper, almost like he’s daring the moment to stretch. you whimper and clench around him, orgasm crashing through you in hot waves. your walls pulse, milking his cock as you ride out the high with shaky breaths.

he follows right after, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you with a low groan. his hands hold you steady while you both come down, foreheads pressed together. sweat clings to your skin, and you nuzzle against his neck, completely unaware of anything beyond the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart.

danheng's eyes stay on the cracked door a moment longer before he pulls you close, lips brushing your temple. "stay like this a little longer," he whispers, voice calm but carrying something heavier beneath it. you nod, content, still oblivious to the tension lingering just beyond the threshold.

you're still catching your breath when danheng shifts beneath you, his hand sliding up your back in a slow, possessive stroke. the room smells like sex and sweat, your thighs sticky where they rest against his hips. he stays inside you for a long moment, cock softening but still thick, before he finally pulls out with a wet sound that makes you shiver.

he doesn't let you roll away. instead he keeps you on top of him, one arm locked around your waist while the other reaches for the blanket at the edge of the bed. you're about to ask why when the door clicks open behind you.

your head snaps up to find caelus standing there. his eyes are wide, cheeks flushed dark, but he doesn't look away from the sight of you naked and straddling danheng's lap. and danheng's voice is low and calm when he speaks.

"close the door all the way. lock it."

caelus obeys without a word. the click of the lock sounds loud in the quiet room. danheng's fingers tighten on your hip, keeping you in place even as you feel heat rush to your face.

danheng says against your ear, voice steady. "he wants to watch. nothing more unless you or i say so."

your pulse hammers. caelus stands frozen near the door, breathing uneven, the front of his pants already tented. danheng's hand moves between your legs, two fingers sliding through the mess he left inside you and spreading it over your swollen clit in slow circles.

"stay like this," he murmurs. "let him see."

you feel exposed in a way that makes your stomach flip, but you don't move off him. danheng's cock twitches against your thigh, already starting to harden again. caelus takes one hesitant step closer, then another, until he's standing at the foot of the bed. his gaze drops to where danheng's fingers start working you open, slick and shiny.

danheng's free hand cups your breast, thumb brushing your nipple. "you can touch yourself if you want," he tells caelus without looking at him. "but you don't cum until she does."

caelus swallows hard not saying a word, as his hand drops to his own cock through his pants, squeezing once. you can't look away from the way his throat moves when he swallows again. danheng's fingers press inside you, curling, and your hips jerk forward on instinct.

"that’s it," danheng breathes. "let him watch how you take it."

he moves your bodies so you sit with your back to his chest, legs spread wide open on display. his fingers move continuously, brutally and his other hand continuously palms your breast, lightly twisting your nipple, causing your breath to hitch.

"pathetic,” he muttered. "you've been watching us for who knows how long, haven't you? probably jerking off in the hallway like some desperate little pervert. and she still doesn't have a clue."

you gasped at his words, hips twitching, and danheng's attention shifted to you, his tone softening just slightly but still laced with that teasing edge.

"you really are oblivious, aren't you? flirting with everyone, leaning in close, laughing at his jokes…and the whole time he's been hard for you. probably came in his pants more than once just thinking about this."

caelus's hand gripping himself tightly now rubbing furiously, but danheng's next words stopped him cold.

"slow. remember what i said, if you finish i’ll make you watch us fuck again and again until you’re crying."

every time your breathing picked up, every time your walls started to flutter around him, he eased off—slowing, pulling back just enough to keep you hovering on the edge.

"she's dripping all over my hand." he told caelus, voice dripping with mockery. "maybe if you'd grown a spine she'd be riding your cock instead of mine."

he pressed a third finger in, stretching you, and you moaned loudly, pushing back against his hand. danheng chuckled darkly.

"needy little thing. you like knowing he's watching? like knowing he's sitting there with his cock in his hand, aching, just because i told him he could?"

caelus's breathing was ragged, his strokes slow and deliberate, eyes locked on the way danheng's fingers disappeared inside you again and again. every time you got close, danheng would stop, leaving you whining and squirming, your orgasm slipping away.

"beg for it," danheng murmured against your ear, loud enough for caelus to hear. "or maybe i should let him help. would you like that? let the poor guy touch you?"

he looked over at caelus, eyes cold and sharp. "you want to help her? get over here. but you still don't get to finish until she does. and if you do, i'll make you lick every drop of my cum out of her while you sit there untouched."

caelus was already moving before the words fully registered, dropping to his knees beside the bed, one trembling hand reaching out toward you. danheng's palm stayed glued to your hip, thumb stroking slow circles over the skin as he leaned back just enough to give caelus room. his fingers trembled when they first touched you, but danheng's low voice cut through the hesitation.

"two fingers. curl them. don't you dare rush."

caelus obeyed, sliding into your slick heat with a shaky exhale. danheng's hand never left you—every time your breathing hitched, his grip tightened, anchoring you to the bed.

"slow down," he ordered when caelus's pace quickened, growing impatient. "she's not yours to make cum. you're just borrowing her."

caelus's cheeks burned, but he obeyed, dragging his fingers out until only the tips remained inside before pushing back in, agonizingly measured. danheng's free hand drifted up to cup your jaw, forcing your head down to look at your friends fingers going in and out of you, while his other hand stayed firm draped across your waist.

danheng murmured against your ear, voice dripping with mockery aimed at caelus. "he's shaking just from touching what's mine"

caelus's cock twitched visibly in his fist. he really was pathetic...for you.

as caelus's thumb found the swollen bud, rubbing in tight, wet circles, danheng's hand never left your body—the possessive touch grounded you even as pleasure built, sharp and relentless.

suddenly he pulled caelus's hand away abruptly, leaving you empty and whining.

"beg," he ordered, voice soft but commanding. "tell him whose fingers you want. tell him who you belong to."

caelus watched with desperate, hungry eyes, waiting for permission to touch again. your voice cracks as you beg, hips twitching violently under danheng's unmoving hand. "please—danheng, i want you, but i want to help him too. let me touch him while you fuck me. please."

danheng's low chuckle vibrates against your ear. "look at you," he murmurs, almost fond, "my sweet little angel trying to take care of everyone. so generous."

he moves, slightly shoving caelus out of the way to line himself up and push his cock back inside you in one slow, thick thrust. the stretch punches a moan out of you. his hand presses down harder on the buldge in your tummy, feeling every inch as he sinks to the hilt.

"keep your word," he tells caelus, voice turning sharp again. "kneel right there. let her jerk you off while i fuck what's mine."

caelus scrambles closer on shaky knees, cock flushed and leaking. the second your fingers wrap around him he jerks, a broken sound escaping his throat. danheng's hand anchors you as he starts to thrust, deep and measured. every time his hips snap forward, his palm presses down, making you feel how full you are.

"that's it," danheng coos, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "such a good girl, stroking him nice and slow while i ruin you." his free hand slides up to your breast again, pinching your nipple in time with his thrusts. "go on, angel. make him feel good. just remember what we agreed."

caelus's cock twitches in your fist, pre-cum slicking your fingers as you stroke him. danheng's rhythm stays steady, possessive, hips rolling so every thrust grinds against that spot inside you that makes your walls flutter

danheng leans down, teeth grazing your shoulder. "cum for me," he growls, pace picking up just enough to push you over. "cum on my cock while you jerk him off, and maybe i'll let him finish too." his hand stays firm, pressing you down into the mattress as your orgasm crashes through you, walls pulsing around him. caelus's cock throbs in your grip, but he doesn't dare come—not until danheng gives the word.

"go ahead" he huffs out slowing his thrusts as his hips begin to stall in you.

danheng's breath shudders against your ear as his hips finally still, cock buried to the hilt while thick pulses of cum flood your cunt. every throb forces another wet spurt deeper, and he keeps you pinned, making sure none of it leaks out around his shaft.

caelus is already trembling, head cracking against the wall when your fist twists once more around his twitching cock. the first rope of cum paints your knuckles white. the rest follow in heavy, messy arcs that drip down your wrist. he whines, high and broken, hips jerking helplessly as overstimulation sets in, yet your grip doesn't let go.

your eyes flutter open just in time to catch the wrecked look on his face—mouth slack, lashes wet, cheeks burning—and the involuntary squeeze of your pussy around danheng's spent cock draws a low growl from him. he slams his mouth over yours, teeth clashing, tongue forcing its way in like he needs to claim every sound you make. when he finally pulls back, his lips drag down to your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.

"look at him," danheng rasps against the fresh mark, voice rough. "look at the mess you made of your best friend. but that mark on your neck? that's mine. don’t forget it."

your palm cups his cheek, thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw. "be nice…for me," you whisper. then you turn, meeting caelus's glassy stare. sweat glistens at his hairline, his chest heaves with every shaky breath. something shifts behind your ribs—fondness, heat, a new kind of hunger—and you rest your forehead against his shoulder.

"i think… our friendship just changed into something else entirely."

a/n: should i make a pt 2? let me know i can definitely find a way to continue this.

hey, just wanted to say thank you properly, your donations are always so generous and i feel bad just thanking you on stream lol

the typing indicator appeared. disappeared. appeared again for a long time.

oh. hi. yeah, no, it's really okay, you don't have to. i mean i wanted to, i just really like your streams.

well i'm glad to have you around

you smiled at your screen.

how long have you been watching?

about eight months. i found you through a vod someone clipped and then i just. watched everything. all of it. i had a lot of free time

all of it? that's like 400 hours of content

i know

..phainon

that is genuinely insane

i know that too

you were laughing now, properly. he had this quality to his messages, this slightly shy sincerity. like he was saying the honest thing and immediately scared that he'd said it. it was endearing in a way that felt a little dangerous. you kept going anyway.

it didn't happen all at once. these things never do.

you texted back and forth for two hours that first night, about nothing in particular. he was funny in the quiet, dry way that sneaks up on you. he talked about a place he grew up, somewhere remote that sounded more like a myth than a real location. he had this streak of idealism running through everything he said, this absolute refusal to be cynical, and it made you want to poke at it, test the edges of it, see if it held.

it held.

by the third night you were texting him before bed. by the first week it was constant. comfortable in a way that felt surprising, like finding a door in a room you thought you knew.

then one evening he said, i keep thinking about the stream where you were eating that noodle cup at 2am and talking about having no one to talk to at night. you seemed lonely.

you stared at that message for a long time.

i was, you typed back.

me too, he said. still am, mostly. except for this.

the silence after that felt warm rather than empty. you sent a voice memo instead of typing, just a soft hi into the dark of your room. he replied with one too, and his voice was low and careful and a little rough at the edges, and something in your stomach went tight.

you have a nice voice, you typed.

so do you. obviously. i've listened to hundreds of hours of it

god, you really don't hold back do you

you asked

i did, you admitted. then, before you could think better of it: send me a photo

another long pause.

like of me?

no of your kitchen, yes of you

the typing indicator ran for almost a minute. then a photo came through.

you weren't prepared for that.

he was sitting in what looked like a bedroom, warm lamplight cutting across one side of his face. light hair, a little dishevelled. jaw that could cut glass. eyes that were light, almost golden in the photograph, wide and a little uncertain, like he wasn't sure what expression to make. he was wearing a plain dark shirt and one hand was raised towards the camera like he'd been about to lower the phone when he took it.

well, you typed.

is that okay?

khaslana. you're gorgeous. what the hell.

the longest pause yet.

oh.

really?

really really. why do you sound shocked

i don't know. i didn't think i'd be anything particularly…

stop, you said. you're hot as fuck. i'm looking at this photo and i'm being a little bit embarrassing about it actually

now i need to see a photo of you being embarrassing about it

and something shifted. you could feel it in the texture of the messages. the shy sincerity was still there but something else had slipped in underneath, something warmer and more deliberate.

you want me to be embarrassed?, you typed.

maybe a little, he said. is that bad?

no, you said. call me.

the call connected after one ring.

"hi." his voice was softer than the voice memo, a little breathless. like he'd been waiting for this and hadn't quite believed it would happen.

"hi," you said. you were already lying down, phone against your ear, room dark.

"this is surreal," he said. "you know that, right. this is surreal for me."

"good surreal or bad surreal?"

"good. very good." a pause. "you look exactly how i imagined you'd look when you were off camera."

"and how's that?"

"softer," he said. "more real. i like it."

your breath came out slow. "khaslana."

"phainon," he said. "you can call me phainon. that's what people who know me call me."

"do many people know you?"

"no," he admitted. "not really."

"phainon," you said, testing it. he made a small sound at the other end. "you've been watching me for eight months."

"yes."

"and you've thought about me."

a pause. "yes."

"what did you think about?"

longer pause. his breathing changed, just slightly. "do you want me to actually answer that?"

"i'm asking, aren't i?"

"your voice mostly," he said, slow, like he was choosing each word. "the way you laugh at your own jokes before you finish them. the way you tuck your hair back when you're concentrating. and sometimes…" he stopped.

"sometimes?"

"sometimes i thought about what it would be like if you were talking to me. specifically. not the stream. just me."

"like now?"

"like now," he said quietly.

you shifted against your pillow. "and what do you want to do with me now that you have me?"

the silence was thick and hot. you could hear him breathe.

"i want to make you feel good," he said. and the shyness was dissolving, you could hear it going, like ice in warm water. "i've thought about it a lot actually. what you'd sound like."

"yeah?" your voice dropped low.

"yeah." his matched it. "are you in bed?"

"i am."

"what are you wearing?"

"not much," you admitted.

a soft exhale on his end. "okay," he said, almost to himself. like he was steadying something. "okay," he said again, but different this time. lower. like he'd made a decision. "touch yourself for me."

your breath caught.

"phainon—"

"you set this up," he said, and his voice had an edge now, this unexpected quiet certainty to it. "you called me. so let me make it worth it. touch yourself and tell me what you feel."

god.

you slid your hand down your stomach, slow, and the sound that came out of you was involuntary. "warm," you breathed. "i'm already—"

"already what?" he pressed.

"already wet."

a low sound from him, barely audible. "from talking to me?"

"from hearing your voice. from that photo." you pressed two fingers against yourself and bit your lip at the pressure. "phainon. what are you doing right now?"

"touching myself," he said plainly. "thinking about you."

"what are you thinking?"

"what you'd feel like around me," he said. "whether you'd be loud or quiet. i think you'd forget to be quiet."

"keep going," you managed.

"i think about laying you out and taking my time," he said, steadier now, unhurried, like something had unlocked. "i've thought about it so many times. watching you on stream, hearing you laugh and thinking about what you'd sound like if i had my mouth on you instead. if you were making those sounds for me."

"fuck," you whispered.

"are you touching yourself properly?"

"yes." you worked your fingers in slow circles, the pressure building already, humiliating how fast. "phainon—"

"i want you to push inside," he said. "two fingers. for me."

you did. the sound you made was embarrassingly wet and open and you heard him inhale sharply through the phone.

"yeah," he breathed. "like that. keep going."

"i can't believe you," you said, half-laughing, half-gasping. "for someone who came off so nervous—"

"you asked to see me and to call you at midnight," he said, and there was something almost warm in the edge of it, almost amused. "i think you knew what you were doing, sweetheart."

you had. obviously you had.

"how does it feel," he asked.

"good. so good. i keep thinking about your hands."

another low sound from him. his breathing was unsteady now too, the rhythm of it breaking up. "tell me," he said.

"they look big in the photo. i keep thinking about them on my hips." you curled your fingers and gasped. "phainon. what do you sound like when you—"

"you'll find out," he said, rough at the edges. "keep going. i'm close."

you worked yourself faster, the wet sounds of it audible through the phone, shameless now, past caring. his breathing was ragged on the other end. you could hear the slick rhythm of his hand.

"you're my absolute favourite," he said suddenly, through a breath, barely coherent. "you know that? eight months and you're still my favourite person and i don't even— fuck—"

"phainon," you gasped, "i'm gonna—"

"yeah," he said, urgent, "come on, let me hear you—"

you came with his name in your mouth, hips pressing into your own hand, thighs clenching around nothing. the sound that came out of you was broken and open and embarrassingly loud in the quiet of your bedroom. and then he made a sound too, low and rough and desperate, and that made you flutter all over again even as you came down.

silence.

then breathing. both of you, unsteady and warm.

"you didn't tell me you were going to be like that," you said finally.

"like what?"

"confident. once you got going."

"you told me i was hot," he said simply. "i believed you."

you stared up at the ceiling of your dark room, chest still rising and falling too fast, thighs damp, the ghost of the orgasm still humming through your legs. outside, the world was quiet. your monitor had gone to sleep. somewhere through the phone you could hear him shifting, settling and it was somehow the most domestic and intimate thing imaginable given what had just happened.

"i meant it," you said softly.

"i know," he said. "i know you did. that's the thing about you. you say what you mean." a pause. "i've always liked that about you. even just watching. you never pretend."

your eyes prickled, which was absurd, which was so out of proportion to what this was supposed to be. but there it was.

"stay on the phone," you said. "just for a bit longer."

"i wasn't planning on going anywhere," phainon said, his voice was warm and low and quiet, the sound of someone who had been lonely a long time and had just, finally, found somewhere to put it down.

Taglist: @inu1gf @143-ilyuu @irethepotato @mikemsmm @bbladie @sky-casino @thetwinkims @elemayooooooo @angelhqlo1111 @valberryboos @yazjvea @calypsolstice

And then you'd started dreaming. Whatever silly thing your mind had conjured up, you could only remember that it'd involved Himeko's coffee, had been swiftly turned to far more suggestive activities once the pressure between your thigh had become too much.

You'd woken up aching and practically soaked. How exactly could you know that this was Dan Heng's fault and that you hadn't just been rubbing against him? Well, you couldn't. But the fact that he was twitching and dragging his tail against you now, which was wildly incriminating in your opinion.

"Overgrown lizard..."

"...I heard that.."

His arms tightened around you, trapping you further against his broad chest. You tilted your head just enough to nip at his bicep.

"So you're just ignoring the fact that I'm suffocating?"

Dan Heng nuzzled into your nape and curled up around you. "Mhm.. just a little longer.." His tail moved, slowly pulling back and untangling itself from your legs, putting pressure against your clothed sex the entire time. "Doesn't seem like you mind it too much."

It drew a little squeak from you, your hips instinctively moving to chase the friction that his smooth scales had provided. He didn't let you miss it long, the outermost part curling to rub you through your panties with more vigor.

"Of course I mind it," you huffed, hands doing nothing to stop him, "you're using me as a heater when we're supposed to be getting up." You felt his chest vibrate with a rare, warm laughter, and your cheeks heated up just the slightest with confusion. "What's so funny about that..."

Dan Heng cleared his throat, mouthing a little at your neck and letting his sharp fangs drag down your skin. One of his hands moved to your hip, giving it a little squeeze before pressing against your rear. "Ah well, I just thought that I'd rather be getting up in you."

Your eyes snapped open in disbelief. His tail had stopped moving between your legs and you could feel him practically trying to hide in the crook of your neck. You'd wager his ears were bright red if you turned to look.

"Did Stelle teach you that one?" You arched your back, feeling his lengths twitch against you.

"Caelus, actually."

You snorted at that, reaching for the hand that had been feeling along your chest and bringing it to your lips. "Tell him it was horrible."

Dan Heng still sounded embarrassed when he chuckled into your shoulder, but the little ruts of his hips hadn't ceased. "I already did."

Comfortable silence stretched, both of you occupied with kissing what bare skin you could reach and slowly grinding against each other. Your breath hitched when his tail resumed its teasing exploration, his fingertips reaching down to tug your panties aside enough to let the scaly appendage push through your folds.

He groaned against you as your wetness coated him, guiding your hips back and forth in slow movements that had you feeling every little ridge. A breathy little whine left you when it nudged at your sensitive bundle of nerves, and Dan Heng adjusted until his breath brushed against your ear.