Armourangel

"mandy bought the shirt cause it was 'so her style'…"

his tongue traces the edge of your panties, and you gasp mid-sentence but keep talking.

"anyway, then we went to that new boutique downtown-"

bobby hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them aside and exposing you completely. he groans appreciatively before diving in, his tongue flat against your folds as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up to your clit as his cock strains against his boxers.

"oh god," you breathe, your hands tangling in his hair. "t-then i found this skirt."

"mmmhmm," he mumbles against your folds, his voice muffled.

he sucks your clit into his mouth, and your hips buck involuntarily. "bobby," you moan, your train of thought completely derailing for a moment. "the skirt was…uh…was on sale."

your boyfriend releases your clit with a wet pop, his face pressed against your folds as he rubs his cheeks against you like a cat. "mmmhmm," he murmurs again, the vibrations sending electricity through you.

you whimper, trying to continue your story but failing miserably. "the-um-the skirt was…oh fuck…"

he adjusts your legs, draping them over his shoulders to get deeper access, and you cry out as his tongue plunges inside you, your grip tightening in his hair.

he's making out with your pussy now, sucking and licking and kissing like it's your mouth he's devouring. his nose bumps against your clit as he tongue-fucks you, and you're seeing stars.

he's so turned on it's obscene, the wet spot on his boxers probably growing bigger with every second.

you try to pull away, the stimulation becoming almost too much, but his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place. "stay right here." he mumbles against you.

"s-sorry" you whimper, trying to squirm away from his relentless mouth. "anyway," you continue, trying to focus on your story, "so mandy and i spent a-all our money at this boutique…"

he just holds you closer, his tongue working magic on your clit as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right.

you tug on his hair again as he sucks particularly hard on your clit, your hips bucking against his face. "w-wait m'gonna cum- bobby don't stop baby-" you gasp, your train of thought completely derailed for a moment.

he looks up at you, his chin glistening with your wetness, a smug little smile on his face. "keep talking," he says, his voice rough. "i'm listening."

you nod and continue your story as he goes back to eating you out, his tongue doing this amazing flicking thing against your clit and his fingers curling up that's making it hard to form coherent sentences. "so…um…what was i saying?"

"spent all your money-" he reminds you, his voice muffled against you.

"oh right! so-" you gasp as bobby slides a third finger inside you, "fuck, okay, maybe we can finish this story later…"

he smacks your ass, the sting radiating through your whole body. smack. smack. he does it again, harder this time, and you can feel the heat rising on your skin.

"you like that?" he sneers, his breath hot against the back of your neck. "you like being treated like spoiled bitch?"

he shifts his weight and wraps his arm around your throat in a tight headlock, cutting off your air just a little bit while he keeps thrusting. it’s a rough, possessive hold that leaves you gasping and clawing at his forearm. he leans in, pressing his lips right against your ear, kissing you condescendingly in wet smooches.

“prissy rich girl, always thinking you're better than everyone else huh? huh baby?" he coos, his voice dropping to a dirty, low rumble.

“better than you- dirty disgusting pig-” you manage to whimper out,

he lets out a low, guttural laugh that vibrates right against your ear, the sound mixing with the wet slap of his hips against you.

he tightens his arm around your neck, forcing your head back further and pressing his lips right against the shell of your ear. he shifts his hand down, rubbing you roughly, mercilessly, on your throbbing clit.

"you're not wrong" he hisses, "i am a dirty, disgusting pig, and i'm gonna pump my dirty disgusting spunk right up in this princess pussy-"

he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt with a brutal thrust that makes you see stars. he feels you clenching around him, milking him, and he groans in approval.

"d-don’t you dare aerion-" you manage to choke out, your voice breathless and shaky. you reach back with one hand, digging your fingernails into his forearm,

"yeahhh, take it," he commands, his voice dropping to a sneer. “take my cum-”

you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, and it pisses you off that he’s making you feel this good when you're supposed to be hating him.

then suddenly, he pulls back, letting you out of the headlock, to spit right onto your ass, the hot, wet fluid landing exactly where he wants it. he watches it slide down with every thrust and then smacks your ass right where the glossy spit is just to smear it all over your ass cheek.

you bite your lip to hold back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction. instead, you look back over your shoulder at him with fire in your eyes and spit right back at his face.

"fuck you, aerion," your voice defiant.

he laughs, a low, dark rumble of amusement at your defiance. "oh, we're spitting at each other now?" he muses, his eyes glinting with dangerous amusement.

“you started it asshole-”

and before you can react, his hand shoots out, grabbing your jaw in a bruising grip. he stops his punishing thrusts, leaving you aching and stretched for a moment as he forces your face toward his.

without warning, he spits directly into your mouth, "swallow," he commands, his thumb pressing against your throat as if he can force the action physically. when you don't immediately comply, he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "i said swallow."

as you finally force yourself to comply, he releases your face with a satisfied smirk. "stupid girl…" resuming his brutal pace, somehow even deeper than before, each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of your combined fluids and the sharp slap of skin against skin.

"you're just low-life trailer trash trash with no class who thinks he owns me. you're the one who's desperate for this, so stop pretending you're doing me a favor."

you want to spit back another insult, but his thumb finds your clit again, circling with merciless precision. your defiance melts into a helpless moan as pleasure builds rapidly, threatening to overwhelm you completely.

"trailer trash that popped your cherry…"

his words hit you like a physical blow, freezing the breath in your lungs. the casual, cruel reminder of a night you cherished shatters your composure completely. your body, already traitorously responding to his touch, clenches around him at the memory.

"fuck you," you choke out, but the words lack their earlier fire. they sound desperate.

aerion's smirk widens, triumphant. "already am, baby. and from the feel of it, you're remembering just how much you liked it the first time too."

his thumb presses harder against your clit, moving in relentless circles that make your toes curl. your mind screams at you to fight, to push him away, but your body arches back into him, seeking more of the pleasure only he seems able to give you.

"tell me you hate me," he demands, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous register that makes your stomach clench. "say it while you're cumming on my cock…”

the humiliation of his words, combined with the overwhelming sensations, becomes too much. your orgasm rips through you with violent intensity, your back bowing as a strangled cry escapes your lips.

aerion who was very fond of your smile and your laugh. to aerion your smile was your own way of telling him that it was him you wanted. not daeron, not valarr, or baelor or his father, but him. a secret language between you two that made it clear your attention was on him. your focus, your joy, your being. because for you to laugh with him, you’re mind must’ve been filled entirely with the thought of him. what he had said, what he had done, the cause of your laughter (whatever it was) being him meant that aerion was the only thing you were thinking of in that moment and the thought of that made him shiver.

one time he heard you laugh at something daeron had said. a joke at breakfast. the type of laugh where you had to cover your mouth with a napkin for the sake of propriety and your whole body shook. aerion stilled when he first heard it. it was a sound that belonged to him. an expression he only deserved to see. yet you gave such a thing to daeron? to him and his vulgar jokes? he did not deserve it. not as aerion did. yes his brother shared the same blood but he was the dragon. the one who had fire in his veins. he had seen you laugh at something valarr said next, then aegon, then baelor, then fucking maekar? his brick wall of a father? how is it he had seen you smile at everyone, laugh with everyone when he was the only one who deserved to see it, to hear it. to laugh along with you.

then you had smiled while reading a book. a gentle smile at something insignificant. and aerion had felt…scared. he was warm at the sight of you enjoying something so fully but he wanted to be the only one you enjoyed being with, listening to. he wanted to prove himself as the best. better then his family. more deserving of your kind eyes and soft smile. he was scared because he was losing to fucking ink on a page. to yet another man’s word, even if it was in the form of a book. and he didn’t lose. not ever.

so then he started to seek you out. he danced with you at feasts, sat next to you at breakfast, joined you with reading in the library. he was trying to occupy every single moment of your time and it was probably the hardest he’s ever worked on something in his life. because your laugh wasn’t something he thought anybody else deserved. of course you wore that polite smile around his family but that was all he wanted you to show them. not your real smile, your real laugh. the laugh where : your breath would catch as you struggled to breathe; you’d have to hold onto a table as you hunched over unable to keep standing straight; your eyes would sparkle with delight at first and then grow glossy with tears of joy. the laugh that wasn’t something you could just pull out of thin air. it was something you had to give, something to bestow upon a person, and aerion didn’t want you to give such a gift to someone else.

whenever he earned your laugh, a loud delighted thing, he’d nearly faint. at one point he had spilt his wine. like a child he had taken too big a sip and it spilt from both corners of his lips, then dribbled down his chin and onto his clothed chest. it was a smile first, then a chuckle, then a true loud laugh and it was real. you turned your head slightly away to try and disguise it but you had snorted rather loudly. he blamed the wine for the way the sound tightened his chest. it was the wines fault that every single sound faded and all he could hear was you. not even his favourite song could compare to the sound, not even his favourite painting could compare to the look on your face. he also blamed the wine for the fact that if anybody else laughed at him, he would cut their tongue out, but with you, he was delighted. he must have been staring wide eyed and silent for long enough for your giggles to ease, and your body to still. then you turned around to offer him a napkin. a raised brow and a smug smile and you looked beautiful. devastatingly so. he adored the sight of it yes, the sound of your laugh, but to aerion it wasn’t just something he found visually and audibly appealing, it was something that gave him a sense of self. the thing he woke up for and fell asleep to dream about.

also the fact when you laugh your eyes gloss over with tears and it reminds him off when you suck his cock.

duncan vers

Now you sit cross-legged on the bed with one of Bobby’s shirts hanging from your frame, sweating in the summer heat. The fan in the corner rattles noisily, doing little to combat the warmth, and the heat of your annoyance at a camcorder being shoved in your face isn’t exactly helping.

You roll your eyes at him, unimpressed. “The camera isn’t a person. I'm not introducing myself.”

“Well—“ He kisses his teeth, ready to argue his case.

“If you’re just using this as an excuse to roleplay, I want no part of it,” you interject, arms folding stubbornly over your chest.

Bobby zooms the camera in on your deadpan face. “Subject displays signs of hostility—“

“Turn that thing off.”

The warning in your voice only seems to amuse him. The viewfinder hides his expression, but you imagine him grinning, which only exasperates you further.

“Hostility increases—“

“Bobby.”

“Fine. Fine,” he relents—not by turning the camera off, obviously, because that would have required him to possess even a shred of self-restraint, and he’s thoroughly enjoying pestering you right now. Instead, he zooms back out and lowers the camera enough for you to see his face. “This image quality is insane.”

Despite yourself, you feel a little endeared by his enthusiasm. “Well, it better be. That thing is worth, like, a month’s rent.”

The number still makes you feel vaguely ill. The conversation where you’d discovered exactly how much his new equipment cost had almost given you a heart attack. Bobby, however, appears completely unbothered. In fact, judging by the distant look in his eyes, he probably hasn’t heard a single word you’ve just said.

He’s more focused on staring at the tiny flip-out screen again, adjusting the focus ring, watching you reluctantly unfold your arms again.

“Though to be fair,” he says, “you make it easy.”

Your frown deepens. “That’s a terrible line.”

“Line?” He replies absently.

“That.” You gesture vaguely towards him. “Whatever that was. You make it easy.”

A smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “It wasn’t a line.”

“It absolutely was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You called me pretty.”

“I did not,” he denies.

You sit upright. “So now we’re lying?”

Bobby laughs. “I said the image quality was good.”

“Because of me. Therefore you implied I was pretty.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Liar!”

The grin spreading across his face makes your stomach flip unhelpfully. You considered yourself immune to his charms by now, but his boyish grin and the way he’s admiring you through his camcorder makes you want to swoon. Which is exactly why you immediately scowl at him.

“Stop looking so pleased with yourself.”

“I can’t help it,” Bobby says.

You huff an amused breath despite yourself. The sound seems to encourage him, and he adjusts something on the side of the camcorder and squints through the viewfinder.

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully to himself.

Naturally, such a sound is immediately enough to warrant suspicion. “What?”

“I need the subject to move around. Test how it picks up motion.”

“So now I’m just ‘the subject?’” You raise a challenging brow at him, and he immediately backtracks.

“I need my hot supermodel girlfriend to move around,” he corrects.

You roll your eyes, but it does make something stir in your chest despite its sheer ridiculousness. Bobby lowers the camera again and you catch the mischievous look on his face.

“Maybe you should model.”

“No,” you deny instantly.

“You’re not even going to think about it?” He says, a whine catching in his voice.

“I don’t need to. I don’t want a video of me stripping, or whatever the hell you want, sitting around our apartment. I babysit my niece here twice a week.”

“Okay, and? It’s not like she knows how to work one of these. She barely knows how to brush her own teeth.”

“It’s— it’s the principle,” you insist, cheeks burning. You wouldn’t consider yourself a shy woman, far from it, but the idea of there being a physical record of you attempting to seduce your boyfriend is offputting. “I’m not a slut.”

He groans and throws his head back. “No, you’re not,” he agrees as patiently as he can. He’s using the same voice he uses to console your aforementioned niece, which isn’t exactly helping his case. “You’re very loyal, in fact. Dedicated, too. It’d be really nice if you could show me that dedication—“

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out. “Don’t make it weirder than it has to be.”

“Fine. Fine.” He raises his free hand in surrender. “I’m not making it weird.”

A silence falls over the both of you, and you worry at your bottom lip in consideration. It just goes to show how much you adore him, because you should be sticking with your gut answer and telling him to fuck off. Alas…

“You promise you won’t show anyone?”

Bobby perks up instantly. “Promise. Scout’s honour.” The boyish salute that follows makes your shoulders ease up a little, and you briefly question why you’d even consider stripping for such a childish individual.

“Fine. But just a little. To… test your motion, or whatever.”

“What?” He blinks stupidly, before realising that’s the excuse he’d used just a moment ago. A sheepish grin tugs at his mouth. “Oh, right. Exactly. Just a little is fine.”

You swallow, shifting slightly on the bed. The frame creaks, and you can’t help but think the moment feels incredibly unsexy. You’re sweating in the sweltering heat, and it’s probably picking up the whirring sound of the fan, and—

Now you’re just psyching yourself out. It’s fine. It’s just Bobby.

“Okay, so… what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“Bobby.”

“Just do what feels right.” He waves a vague hand. “Take your shirt off, or something.”

Such a request should make you sputter with indignance, but it’s no surprise coming from the man who seemingly spent upwards of eight hundred dollars on a camcorder just to record his girlfriend in their shitty apartment. You force some more confidence into your posture, shoulders squaring as you look down at your shirt. Slowly, your fingers drift down to the hem, curling around it.

You glance up at him for reassurance, met with an eager nod. Stifling a sigh, you drag it up slowly, revealing inch by inch of warm skin. “Like this?”

“Just like that,” Bobby breathes, voice lower now.

Encouraged by that, you pull it up further, dragging it up past your bra. Bobby wets his lips at the sight—your breasts spilling over the cups, soft and enticing. Up up up it goes until you’re pulling it over your head, letting it fall to the floor in front of you.

You want to shift uncomfortably, clamp your thighs together, cover yourself with your arms. It’s not like he’s never seen it before. It’s just unnerving with the camcorder directed at you. But you force yourself to stare directly at it, spreading your thighs slightly to give him a proper view of your panties.

“Fuck, yeah,” he murmurs. “Touch yourself.”

“What?” You say, alarmed.

“Not—“ He laughs a little, shaking his head. “Not there. Sorry. Just… your tits, or something.”

Your shoulders sag with relief. That’s a little too much for now, but you’re content enough to give him at least some form of show. Your fingers skate back up your stomach, goosebumps prickling beneath them. Then you cup your breasts over your bra, watching his reaction through half-lidded eyes.

“You’re so pretty, babe,” he says, and the approval goes straight between your legs. “Doing so well.”

You reward him by hooking your fingers under one of your bra straps, inching it down. His breath catches audibly—selfishly, you hope the camera caught that reaction—and he shifts a little on his feet. The thought of him getting visibly aroused by your display emboldens you further.

The other strap follows, and you palm at yourself over the cups a little more. “I would have worn a better set if I knew we were doing this.”

“I like this bra,” he says, only half hearing you, zeroed in on the sight of you squeezing at yourself.

You release them and he almost groans in disappointment. Before the sound can escape, you reach behind you, unclasping the bra and letting it fall away. His eyes widen cartoonishly, and you bite your lip to mask a smile, trying to remain as sultry as possible.

“Shit, can I touch you?” Bobby takes a step forward. Your eyes flick down to his jeans. They’re tight, but you think you can make out the forming bulge beneath the denim.

“Can’t touch ‘the subject,’” you quip.

Hands skim along your chest again, and he seems enraptured as you grope yourself. You’re surprised he hasn’t caved already, but his restraint is admirable as he nods sagely in agreement. Still, you hear him groan under his breath when you focus on a nipple. It stiffens under the touch, already sensitive enough to make you bite the inside of your cheek.

“Is this enough movement?” You ask, rolling your nipple between your fingers while your other hand palms at the flesh of your other breast. You’re hardly moving, so the answer is definitely no, but he indulges you with another one of those enthusiastic nods. You're certain you could sit entirely still with your bra off and he'd tell you it was enough for his little 'motion test.'

“Yeah. Looks, um—“ His gaze moves to the viewfinder, which he realises he hasn’t actually looked through since you took your shirt off. He can only hope the camera was pointed at you properly. “Looks great.”

“The movement, or me?”

“The movement,” he says, laughing at the indignance that crosses your face. “You look more than great. You look perfect.” Heat crawls up your cheeks, but he’s not done. “Which is exactly why I really can’t keep my hands to myself right now, and I don’t think you should waste your day off sitting in bed alone when we could be having sex.”

You bark out a laugh as he switches it off, setting it on the dresser and advancing towards you. “Well, that’s an improvement from your last line.”

He stands between your parted legs, ducking his head to give you a quick kiss. “For the record, it wasn’t a line,” he insists as you reach for his belt.

“Liar,” you mutter against his mouth.

The smile he gives you when he pulls back is so hopelessly smitten that your own laughter softens with something warmer. He ruins it by breaking the silence with: