🂡 MAYHEM 🂡

His included.

You’re good at your job. It was one of the many first things he noticed about you, and it made his ears perk up whenever you spoke and the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention.

Like whatever words rolled off your tongue was something he’d want to know, something he needed to know because missing it felt detrimental.

Whatever world you were brought into, clearly far too young, has shaped you into a person who completely understood objective. The cold hard truth of it in the unconventional, and more importantly how necessary it is.

And yet somehow, after he’d come back from something terrible and wretched in nature yet as easy as breathing, disgustingly normal for him with blood still splattered on his suit - you’d have a soft smile. Gentle, like reality held no meaning and the diner is going to close in an hour and you still have to be up for three hours so come with me Dex!

You’d drag him by his jacket like he’s a puppy who can’t be let off the leash too long or he’ll do something you don’t have enough money to pay for.

And he’d follow like he didn’t just end someone’s life hours before, and yet somehow he still deserved to have your hand on him and your late night grin beaming towards him in the midnight streets of New York.

Your energy is like a vortex of something that wants to peel away at him, pick at his brain and settle yourself between matter. He doesn’t get it. In a lot of ways it frustrates him, makes his skin itch a little because people aren’t just like that.

They don’t ask you how you’re feeling when you’ve still got fresh blood on your hands, or steal sips of your coffee and pretend they don’t see you subtly lick the edge of the cup where their mouth just was.

And yet, he felt the buzz in his brain start.

It started as a hum in the back of his skull, and yeah of course it was nice to go out for for breakfast at three A.M with a beautiful woman and chat business that always turned into talking about what movie you’d watched recently and how it changed your life.

And then he’d start talking about a mixtape that meant everything to him when he was nine and had no one but the boys in the orphanage who thought he was a fucking freak to talk about it with.

All because you asked what his favorite song is since he’s always wearing those ancient headphones, and maybe it was the faux compartmentalized safety box that he’d put you in that made it so easy.

Second arm to his boss, to a job he needs because structure had become wonky and he couldn’t have that. Not now, not after everything.

The hum quickly became a horrible, gluttonous, deafening roar.

He had, and still has no rational explanation. He knows the basics, he’s a man, and you’re you and you’re in close proximities and it is literally your job to make sure he is alive and well and every cog in the machine is well oiled.

So at his big age he should be able to differentiate between your professional and personal relationship. You meant something to Charles that wasn’t quite like a daughter, but something close and too parental in nature for Dex to understand anyways. He didn’t know what that even meant.

But Dex has never had a crush.

The word feels so fucking juvenile in his head, something from a life he’s never had and never will have. He has never felt love. Real, true, honest to god love.

He only knows the intensity of something under his skin, something that festers and writhes and aches inside of him. It crawls through veins and tendons and muscle and the framework in his spine and it beckons him.

So it did not take long for you to fester within him. To spread to every thought that wasn’t about his next hit or organizing his weaponry. Even doing the dishes, he wondered what you were doing in that exact moment.

Brushing your hair, your teeth? Were you still asleep and wrapped in your covers that he envied because they get to be bunched between your arms and legs and against your stomach?

You even seeped into the mundane everyday parts of life like something divine and real. When he did his laundry he thought of what you wore to bed and what soap you used and how you smell.

When he made his bed he thought about what your weight would feel like against his mattress, how your frame would ruffle the duvet and he’d be okay with it. And how the springs might creak when he crawls on top of you and kisses your sternum and makes a mess out of the softness between your legs.

Fuck.

He could lie and say he tried to fight it, but he’s more than grown now. He can take accountability. He’s just exercising a little free will, and he’s not hurting anyone, really.

No, this is the most devotional, wholehearted and earnest thing that he’s done in a very long time.

Your room is filled with your scent and he’s bathed in the glow of it like a wash of fresh air. His hands started shaking as soon as he walked in and felt surrounded by you, his belly hot and he really didn’t know what to do with himself with such an opportune moment.

His head went fuzzy, and his thoughts didn’t make sense anymore.

He scoped everything like forgetting would mean death. Your shaggy rug at the foot of your bed, your desk and the half open books and messy papers scattered everywhere. Your laptop still open and your chair rolled away like you got up and never sat back down.

Your bed is softer than his, and fluffy blankets surround your bedposts and there is no creaking of the springs when he sits himself down. You don’t make it in the morning like he does because the covers are still thrown from your spot and crumpled, pillow still indented with the shape of your head.

His fingertips graze the pink fabric and it lights something dangerous and hot inside of him very very quickly.

First it’s his palm on the sheets cause he wants to know if he can feel even the ghost of your heat when you lied here, and then his knees are on the mattress and god you really do smell so sweet, and then his face is in your pillow and he’s inhaling like a mad man.

He lets out a guttural groan, the blood rushing to his head as fast as it is to his dick and in the haze of it all he feels his hips buck unconsciously. Like his subconscious felt your insides too just then.

He doesn’t think about it. He can’t, or he’ll dwell and convince himself that he’s better than this. And he doesn’t want to be.

He just flips himself around, thick fingers fumbling with his belt buckle with all the trembling, and when he’s unbuckled he doesn’t even pull his pants down all the way to his knees before reaching for his weeping cock from the fold in his briefs.

He lets out a sigh of relief when the cool air from your overhead fan hits it, propping himself up on one elbow and letting his thick thighs part a little further. His feet are touching the ground, heavy boots scrunching your rug underneath their rubber soles.

He’s so hard it hurts, the tip is pink and leaking dribbles of iridescent precum down the thick of his veiny shaft.

His hand is as hot as his manhood when he wraps his thick fingers around himself and tugs with a dirty smirk and a half chuckle of disbelief that he’s so pent up. He hasn’t cum in months, and now this is happening.

“Fuck.”

He breathes out, hamstrings tightening along with his abdomen when the callouses tucked inside his fingers graze his sensitive mushroom head.

It’s dirty, and he feels like a teenager all over again because he’s staring at all of your stuff and is envious of everything that’s ever gotten to see you in your most human version.

He’s blushing at the thought of laying on the same bed you do.

He writhes his hips into his hand, pants like a dog in heat. He’s started getting a bit too messy, precum soaking into his underwear at this base. He’s still in a lustful haze when he’s looking off to his right and sees a haphazard piece of clothing that’s barely hanging off of your bed.

He twists his torso and grabs it like it owes him money. It’s inside out but he sees flashes of the white lettering on the front of the green fabric and he moans out loud. It’s one of your favorite tee shirts, you wear it to work at least three times a week and you’ve worn it on your after hours restaurant runs too.

He shoves it to his face, and if he’d done it any harder he’d break his nose but he doesn’t care. The smell of you after a shower and a night of sleep fills his senses, clouds him like a rainstorm and he’s so lost, so deep in it now so quickly.

He whimpers into the fabric, rocks his hips and the sound of his own arousal leaking out of him and being used as lube while he touches himself fills the room. He’s dragging his hand from his tip all the way down, and his head is just images of what you might feel like pulsing around him.

What it would be like if you were here right now on top of him, spread open on his thick lap and taking him to the hilt. Insides all battered and soft and sensitive. Crying his name over and over again. Getting him wet and messy and sticky.

“Fuuuuuck, baby fuck.”

It’s incoherent with your shirt pressed to his nose and mouth, at least that’s what Dex would be thinking if he had any thoughts other than your cunt and the shape of your mouth and the feeling of your cervix.

You’re honestly astonished he hasn’t heard you yet. He’s one of the best you guys have, so perceptive it’s almost superhuman and his reflexes are some of the best you’ve ever seen.

You, however, are quieter. Clearly. And it’s endearing, to see him through the crack in the door and understand almost immediately that he is the human embodiment of starvation and desperation.

It makes you gasp, because he’s so big and dressed in all black in your frilly room and the juxtaposition makes your insides throb. Of course it’s also the sounds he’s making, they’re whiny and loud your his whole hand is wrapped across his mouth with your shirt directly underneath.

It’s seeing a version of him that you never even fathomed would come to life. You didn’t even know it was this serious for him despite the fact that you knew his gaze lingered on you longer than normal during interactions.

Your heart feels like it’s going to leap out of your chest and onto the floor with a loud, squelchy thump.

You’re not disturbed, and that’s the most concerning part. But you’ve read up on his file over a hundred times now, of course. You know he’s not…conventional in his proclivities. You know he’s suffered, that it’s altered him permanently.

And you’ve spent time with him in the outside world, away from the murder and secrecy of your work life. You know what a real smile looks like when it spreads across his broad mouth, what a genuine satisfied hum sounds like when he takes a sip of his drink and it’s the right balance of milk and sugar.

And maybe you’ve always had a soft spot for the fucked up ones. For the ones that need to latch onto someone so badly they’d hang on until their fingers bleed. Because all you know how to do is help.

However, you can’t think too much about it right now when you’re distracted by how pretty his dick looks in his big hand and how neatly shaven he is or how his greying hair is getting long and you want to run your hands through it and tuck it behind his ears.

You just know you have to open your bedroom door all the way, so your hands find the cold knob and you’re pushing it open with a tepid step.

Dex stills, everything locking into place all at once. A series of thoughts run through his head very quickly, almost too fast for him to decide on one.

Ultimately, you didn’t break the door down. Or barge in with a gun aimed at his forehead although he’d kind of like that. In fact, you’re looking at him in a way that makes his balls tighten and his manhood twitch in his hold unconsciously. His body is just responding.

It’s not so much shock, or surprise or disgust. It’s like you’re curious, utterly transfixed by what’s taking place despite the fact that he’s staring dead at you and is slowly lowering your shirt to his lap over his erection and his cheeks and neck couldn’t be more beet red under any other circumstances.

“I have cameras, you know.”

Your voice hits him like a punch to the gut, he has to stop himself from doubling over a little because the taboo nature of the scenario is really fucking doing it for him and where someone normal would feel humiliation, Dex feels thrilled.

He’s been caught, and more so, he’s been surveilled while he thought he was being incognito and expertly smart about breaking and entering.

He looks like something scary and hungry right now, you can see his cock bobbing under your shirt where it’s covering him. He’s still panting, hair a little slick with sweat and you wanna lick the bead that trickles over his forehead and down the sharp bridge of his nose.

He looks like a person. Not a case file, not a weapon, not Bullseye. Just a man. And it makes you squeeze your thighs together when his eyes rake over you like he’s not ashamed of what he’s doing right now.

“You saw me come in?”

He asks, and his voice is rough like it has the permission to be when he’s pleasuring himself in your room. Completely wired and completely fucked. He licks his lips without thinking.

And now you’re advancing towards him, and you gently kick the door shut with the heel of your boot and he thinks he might spontaneously combust when it closes with a thud. He watches you like every step means something prophetic.

“I wanna know something,” You ignore his question, and he swallows so hard you hear it. He lets out a soft grunt of surprise when you’re finally so close he can map out details in your expression and feel your body heat in rivelets.

Your eyes are innocent and sparkling, head cocked a little.

You’re enjoying this.

Dex controls the cocky smirk threatening to spread on his face. He adjusts himself because he’s so sensitive and so unbelievably pent up and of course you’d have to be, well, like this.

Looking at him with saucers for eyes, breathing heavy.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

He asks, and now his heart is in his throat because you’re kneeling beside him on the bed, situating one foot under your bum and your weight dips him towards you a little and fuck. He’s ruining your shirt.

“You didn’t even go for my underwear drawer,”

You reach out and touch his face with your middle finger, grazing the scar on his cheek before tracing his jaw and chin. Then you’re pushing his hair back from his eyes and everything in his body starts vibrating.

He’s done something good. He must have, to earn this.

“you just saw a shirt I wear almost everyday and started touching yourself.”

Your hand doesn’t leave his face. It lingers and sears him, if he could see himself it’d be a sore sight. He’s molding himself to the curve of your palm and makes no effort to deny anything you’re saying.

“Thats kind of pathetic, Dex. Keep going.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum from that alone. Nothing in his fantasies, nothing he’s fisted his cock to in the shower or humped his fucking mattress to could ever have conjured a sweeter vision than what’s in front of him.

He stutters when he speaks, trembling all over again with excitement and desire. Somewhere tucked away far and deep, he’s also nervous.

But you asked him nicely, and he can see your pulse thudding and feel how you’re starting to lean into him. He jumps a little when you reach out and pull your shirt off of the protrusion underneath it because it drags against him.

“You know I have cameras, Dex.”

Your breath is against the side of his face and he closes his eyes to savor it as he wraps his hand around the base of his shaft again. The goosebumps on his skin are tingling, and his blood is starting to swoosh inside his ears.

“You wanted me to watch. So move your hand, hmm?”

He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. He gives himself a long stroke because doing anything else seems futile and useless and everything that could matter is happening right now.

His forearm is thick and strong and you watch how everything flexes and relaxes with each drag.

“Yes ma’am.” It’s said sarcastically, teasing at the end and yet his voice cracks a little when he says it.

He’s been caught, and you’re here beside him encouraging him with your voice and hands. What more could he reduce himself to?

He’s so beautiful it hurts. You’ll be angry at him later, maybe say some stuff that would humiliate and degrade a regular person and mean nothing to him. You just can’t get over how palpable your presence is to him, how intensely it’s influencing him.

All that strength, and brute and broadness and he’s nothing but this blushing, stuttering mess who’s jerking off with you whispering in his ear.

You grip his jaw with little to no force, and predictably he offers you his neck with his head lolling to the left a bit. The sound that leaves him is guttural and nasty and honest. His whole body jerks at the contact too, but you’re distracted by the taste of his skin.

You get caught up sooner than you expected yourself to. You’re mouthing at his throat, his jaw, his ear lobes. And you can hear the sounds coming from between his legs, sloppy and wet and it’s all him. Not to mention he is practically a lit wire under your touch.

You catch his thick wrist in your hand and the tendons flex harshly in your light grip. He looks over at you and now you’re low lidded gaze to barely restrained lust, noses brushing. You let the air between your mouths burn with the need to vanish.

You swat his hand away and he listens silently, fists your bedsheets instead and god, his pupils completely blow out when your grip replaces his.

“Fuck.”

You let him whimper it into your mouth, swallowing it with your lips against his and there are too many pleasurable sensations at once. His brain is completely empty, not capable of any other thoughts. He tries to use his free hand to touch you, but you shove it to the side and he knows he needs to behave.

He pouts and it’s earnest disappointment, but it doesn’t linger for long.

His tongue is explorative, finding yours immediately like he’s thought about kissing you over a thousand times.

Cause he has.

And he’s so reactive in your palm, you feel his pulse through the veins and he’s twitching with each pass of your teeth over his bottom lip and your nose brushing against his.

“Thought about this for so long.”

He confesses it like it hurts, and you finally move your hand and his pretty hazel eyes roll back. You already miss it, his overawe gaze, and so you grip his thick throat just enough to grab his attention and fuck it does.

“Did you? You’re unbelievable, look at you Dex.”

You’re toying with him now. With his emotions. It seems that anything you say will dial him up to ten and it’s riveting. Your grip on his throat tightens just a little, Adam’s apple bobbing underneath your palm and his pulse fluttering like a moth underneath his flesh.

He looks at you with watery eyes, like everything is burning hot where embarrassment should be. Where shame should be. You lick his open mouth, taunting him despite the slickness between your thighs and the blossoming heat in your gut.

“When did you think about doing this? Tell me the truth, I know you can do it.”

He scrunches his eyebrows together when you start palming the tip of his velvety cock, focusing on the sensitive underside while trying to draw out a response. You tangle your free hand in his hair now, tugging. He makes a pathetic sound through his nose.

“A w-week after I met you, fuck slow down.”

He’s genuinely overwhelmed. You can’t believe it. He’s more capable of submission than you thought, more attuned to your movements and your voice than what seems possible for not having an intimate connection until now.

His scar twists everytime his mouth quirks from your hand stroking him, crows feet crinkling by his eyes.

You tug his head back by his scalp, kiss his throat again and this time you let your teeth graze the surface. Just testing the waters, and his stomach convulses.

You remove your hand and he could really cry. But you can feel that perhaps that was going to do him in, and he’d spill all over his lap and make a mess of your sheets and you just don’t want it to be over yet and neither does he and you both know that.

Shouldn’t he know how much you’ve thought of this too? How many nights you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him? How you came home the moment you saw him on your cameras?

“Please, goddamit.”

He curses, clenches his jaw and he’s only confused for a second whenever you bring your cupped hand up to his mouth. He meets your eye and you nod, he spits at once, and then your palm is back over him with the hot saliva coating his length.

He smirks again because you let out a small gasp you didn’t think he’d notice, his lovesick eyes wondering how your lips could be so kiss bitten and swollen already, how you’re doing so good at trying not to act like this isn’t working you up so bad you’re leaking and aching just like he is.

“You’re so big, I always knew you were.”

His head starts throbbing, you’re getting dangerously sweet on him. Now you’re focused on his cock, switching to the sight between his legs and then his face because you don’t know which one you’d rather admire.

And your body has gotten so close you might as well be on his lap now, your tits against his bicep and your knees knocking his hips. He wants to lift your skirt and bury himself between your thighs, to know what your face looks like when you’re getting fucked by him.

“You’ve thought about it too.”

You just smile at his musing, and it’s sweet and familiar and it’s the version of you that he knows so well and he surges forward to kiss you again. You’re receptive, suckling the bottom and using your grip on the hair at his nape as leverage.

It’s sloppy, wet and loud and he groans down your throat. Your stroking has picked up its pace, focused on the tip where that hot stickiness leaks and lavishing his shaft ever so often. You’ve now thrown a leg over his thigh, pulling it towards you and effectively spreading them apart further.

“Of course I have, look at you. You might never know how much I’ve really thought about you.”

You breathe it out, and his heart feels like it’s grown three sizes, like it’s being mutated in real time. It might be at risk for swelling so badly it bursts from behind his ribs.

He’d chuckle in disbelief if he weren’t ruined, gutted from the inside out.

And now you’re kissing all over his face, his sharp nose, the creases in his forehead and neck. You’re hot to the touch, almost as hot as he is and your movements are full of tremble like you’re forgetting you initially started in a position of control.

He wants you to get lost like he is. He wants you to not be able to control yourself, to have no lingering thoughts about anything other than him and his body and his mouth and how heavy he is in your grasp.

He wants you to consume him, wholly and completely.

His eyes are closed so all he feels is you crawling on top of him and he bucks his hips instinctually, the heat between your legs just above his left knee as you straddle it firmly.

It’s thick, meaty and the rough material of these black cargos he’s wearing bumps right against your clit through the fabric of your panties.

He wants to feel your naked hips underneath where your skirt has risen up around your soft waist, and your breasts in his palm and how your nipples would feel rubbing against his skin.

He feels you right here on his thigh and yet he knows that he wouldn’t risk moving a muscle without your permission as to not end what’s happening.

When you start rutting yourself on the fabric, though, dragging yourself all the way up and then down over his knee, he has to grab your hand and stop you from pumping him for a second

“Just a second…please.” He asks, and you oblige him only because he looks so pretty. God.

“Using your manners, good job Dex.”

You say it like you’re genuinely proud and his eyes flutter shut as you fight his hand and start stroking him again. He grits his teeth, jaw clenched so tight it could shatter but he is surrendering in a way he’s never surrendered before.

And you’re not lost on it. No, you’re good at reading people too. You can see how the praise colors him in a blanket of warmth and lust and lightheadedness.

But now your clit is throbbing and you feel yourself leaking into your panties, the fabric is sticking to you and drags wet heat against your slit whenever you grind against his thigh.

The sight is just too much for you. Everything is clinging to him, every muscle and ridge and scar. And he is so pliable, so heavy on your fingertips that you don’t know what to do with the reality of it all.

Your hips surge forward again, and a sigh so soft leaves your mouth that he hopes he can hear that sound forever. It’s an immediate realization, a blinding sensation. He sees you with so much clarity.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

It comes out dazed and it takes you by surprise because you didn’t expect to ever hear the word pretty come out of his mouth. And for everything he is, all the horror and all the hurt and all the misunderstanding, honesty slips out of him like loose teeth when he’s around you.

He’s pliant when you pull him to your mouth, and the kiss is raw now because you let him grab your face and his hands feel better against you than your thoughts previously cojurned in half asleep daydreams. They’re big and rough and his fingers are eager just to feel your soft cheeks, the curve of your nose.

His mouth is vicious and his tongue is greedy, and he’s making little plaintive cries in the back of his throat like your lips might be his immediate demise and he’s thankful for it, grateful for it.

“More, give me more.”

You say it like a demand but your voice is thin and weak and he just bucks his strong hips to readjust before using two hands under your ass to slide you over the shaft of his cock.

You’re planted with his length directly against your covered slit and it’s heavy and hot and twitches against you when your body recognizes what’s touching you. Who it belongs to. What situation you’ve gotten yourself into and you know you won’t refuse him. That he can’t refuse you.

Your thighs squeeze together, trapped by his broad waist in between them. You feel him everywhere already, the push and pull. Not to mention you’re sticky where he’s bobbing against you, and his chest couldn’t be more prominent through his shirt when he’s heaving like he is.

“Whatever you want. Take it from me. I’m yours, fuuuuuck f-fuck are you-“

He’s never felt anything like it, the softness of your slit and how you could be so syrupy and wet already, seeping and covering his pink tip in your essence. You’re so hot between your legs it’s making him lightheaded.

And he really is stunned in place. His body reacts for him, stomach tensing and torso attempting to grind up into you and the worst part is that you let him. That you’re allowing any of this.

Because now it’s made a home in him, not just the scrunch of your nose when something makes you laugh, genuinely laugh, or the skin by your fingers that you’ve chewed off, or your cunt rutting against him.

He’s already not the same, whatever infatuation he had is now dangerous and heady and sifting through his head like it’s trying to find ways to make it stop because he really needs this job.

Unfortunately, he needs you more.

Because now he’s gripping your hips and prying his arm underneath your ass to pull your panties to the side and you’re caged against him with the air knocked out of your lungs. He’s solid and strong and you’re clumsy when you reach between your bodies to grab his cock and shove it past your silken slit.

You lift yourself by the knees, and then lower yourself and he’s completely seated inside of you with one exhale and maybe if it were anyone else you’d be embarrassed about the noise that leaves you.

“Oh god, fuck.” You whimper it out, and he trembles. The stretch is severe.

You cling onto his shoulders and he’s so hyper aware of the pouting of your lips and the scrunch between your brows, your eyes closing like you’re savoring him. He’s should feel guilty for his thoughts, for how insatiable and miserable he’ll make you if you ever try to leave because you’re fluttering around his cock and he’s kissing your cervix.

“Take your time, not going anywhere.”

He encourages, and you don’t really know what to do with yourself because minutes ago you thought you had your head on straight, that you knew how to navigate all of this and all of, well, him.

But he’s big and throbbing against your gummy walls and you didn’t think you could ever feel so full of someone. It’s incredible how he can become Dex so quickly, not the new hire or the assassin or the anti hero or the mercenary.

He’s greying hair and scarred skin and rushing blood beneath you. And when your arms fasten themselves tighter around his freckled neck, he drags himself out slowly, savoring the syrupy glide before pushing himself back in to the hilt.

You melt against him further, body weakening with the intensity and he smiles to himself, satisfied and sanguine at your disarming. At how your hips couldn’t be more loose on top of him, with all that tension and tightness right where he’s disappearing inside of and your voice all gooey and soft now in his ear.

God, he couldn’t have dreamed it would go like this.

“You’re p-perverted for breaking in.”

You taunt him while he begins pistoning himself inside of you, hiccuping each syllable. The sound of your wetness is as loud as his jerking off was, a terribly gut wrenching sound that makes his possessiveness that much worse.

And your words, they shouldn’t make him shudder and convulse the way they do but you’re saying it while he’s fucking you and you just can’t really blame him.

Your fingers are holding onto the back of shirt so tight, your cheek planted against the nook of his jaw and shoulder. You’re putty in his arms, and they’re tighter by the minute in their hold on your middle.

His hips are so powerful, and you wish you could think about how bad of an idea this is. You wish you could break yourself out of your fucked out stupor, but you didn’t know he’d fuck you this good. You didn’t know that he’d be so deep inside you’re sure you’ll be able to feel him tomorrow.

“I know shhh, I know,”

he grunts it against your hair, starts searching for the skin of your neck. He just hovers there with parted lips and a red face and that hot wetness hugging him with each thrust.

“but l-look at us, you feel so goooood fuck, look how it turned out, yeah?”

He sounds dirty, menacingly nasty in what he’s saying and how he’s saying it and most of all how true it is. You love it, it’s terrible that you love it and yet you were buzzing with excitement when you checked your cameras and saw his big frame sauntering in.

The wet squelching sounds between your legs intensify, and somewhere between the grind of your hips and your teeth against his neck you’re crying his name.

“Dexxxx, ohhhh my g-god, baby.”

His hips genuinely stutter and his stomach starts fluttering, you feel him tense and relax three times over and his torso grinds into you a bit harsher than before.

He never thought he’d hear you call him that, and he’s glad you can’t see his face because his expression is so fucked.

That word is reserved for people who care about each other. For people in love. For people who can say soft things and not feel ridiculous and out of place or like they don’t deserve to hear it at all.

“Don’t stop, j-just don’t stop please.” You beg petulantly, hands rubbing his broad back, ignoring the way his pace has faltered and he’s softly panting in your ear.

He laughs, and it’s short lived and airy but you feel it in his chest. He grinds himself deep and unfairly into you, pushing you down on him while he’s fucking up into you. He feels the blunt ends of your nails leaving crescent moons in his skin.

“W-why would I stop? I can’t, I can’t.”

It’s true, he can’t fathom it. The thought doesn’t even seem feasible right now. You’re so tight, squeezing around him and he can feel your heartbeat inside of you. Rocks you against him sturdy and hard.

It feels like forever, with him pounding himself into you and your insides being bullied. In reality it’s only about five minutes, and you’ve been sucking on the side of his neck and his earlobe and he’s balls deep - writhing his hips.

Your clit is being rubbed by his pubic mound and you feel so much intensely deep pressure from his thick cock inside you that you’re sure you’re gonna burst. You’ve started pulsing too, milking him for everything he’s got.

He really didn’t know that he could feel things this intensely that aren’t anger or despair.

It starts unraveling when you take yourself out of the crook of his neck and meet his face. He swears he sees a little drool seeping from the corner of your mouth, and you’re looking at him like he’s a completely new person.

Or maybe he’d just never noticed it before, because he was too wrapped up in noticing you. And the idea of you noticing him too felt unrealistic.

But no, no it’s real and happening and you’ve got both hands on his cheeks and your nose is against his, your hips swiveling on top of him and your pussy making a mess on his lap that he’d frame if it were practical to do so.

“It’s all mine now, right?”

You kiss his mouth when you say it, and then your hand is splayed against the broadness of his flexing chest and you’re shoving him back until he’s lying down on your mattress, staring at you with so much devotion it’s scary.

You readjust while he’s still inside of you, leaning over to kiss him again and he knows he’s going to finish in this position. He’s already hiked his feet up on the bed to fuck you good and hard and he hates that his boots are on your pretty covers but he’ll wash them for you.

“I’m yours. My dick is yours. Everything. Take it, just like tha-a-at.”

He’s whining and blotchy, and the strain in his throat makes you double over because you feel the white hot tension move in your stomach when his cock curves into the deepest parts of you.

You want it to be true, all of it, and the physical reality is too much for you to handle.

You shove your face in his neck because you don’t want him to see how completely ruined you look when you cum. No, everything is shaking and you’re trying to close your legs and the tingling and throbbing is working its way through you like a virus that’s got to fever you first.

“O-ohhh god, Dex m’cumming.”

You slur it and he thinks he might pass out because he can feel it happening. He squeezes you harder than he has the whole night, holds your wriggling body firm against his frame when he starts delivering his last round of thrusts into your cunt.

It’s trying to push him out, it’s contracting around his cock and kissing it and weeping for it. He’s never been so high off of anything he’s done to another human being. Not even the most rectified kills have felt like this.

“Oh f-fuck, gonna fill you all the way up, mmfuck, you’ll take all of it honey, yeah yeah yeah.”

He sounds delusional and dizzy, he’s past the point of trying to sound nice or sweet because his balls are tightening where they’re still tucked in his briefs and he has to practice restraint like he’s never known so that he doesn’t crush you in his arms accidentally.

You put your tongue in his mouth when you feel the staccato thrusts, the immediate heat that swells in the space between your walls as he pumps his seed into you. And he’s moaning like he’s hurt, mmm’s and ooohhhhh’s and his teeth on full display like a wild animal from the curling of his lip.

You let your mouth linger on his while he’s twitching and you’re still pulsing.

His hands find your face, and he sloppily makes out with you, almost casually if it weren’t for the tremors in his wrists or the scrunch of his brows or the way he’s keeping himself inside of you while his cock softens.

He’s happy. He realizes that’s the emotion he’s feeling when you look him in the eyes again, and your face still hasn’t changed from that soft and frowny pleasure contorted look quite yet.

You don’t want it to end either.

You’re sobering up, and the ache still isn’t going away. You’ve completely crossed a line that has sent you into a realm you won’t come back from - because now he won’t ever be the same to you.

You know what he tastes like, what he sounds in your ear when he feels good, what he’s truly capable of when he’s got your body in his hands.

“Stay.” You don’t ask, just state it plainly like it’s already decided.

It crushes him from the inside out. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s never gotten and if he didn’t work with you everyday he’d think you were being cruel, offering him such a sweet thing.

Don’t you know it’ll make it worse? That now he’ll be in here every waking moment he’s not working? That he will memorize every part of your life that you think others will never notice?

“Really?”

He asks, and you don’t expect him to sound so small after all of that. To look so pitiful and blushed crimson and spent now, with blonde hair sticking to his forehead.

You nod, kissing his nose and his hands are smoothing over your shoulders, down your arms and over your back. Explorative and greedy and you arch into them.

“You can help me put my window lock back in place, creep.”