ExeToby

Xavier: Found something. Thought it might look good on your bed.

You tap the link eagerly, expecting a picture of some ridiculously soft, oversized penguin or maybe a weirdly cute dragon. You’re already mentally carving out a space for it on your bed.

The link loads. You blink.

Then you blink again.

Your thumb freezes mid scroll. It is not a penguin. It is definitely not a dragon. It is an explicitVIDEO that makes your entire face turn red in approximately 0.5 seconds.

Just as the girl in the video lets out a soft moan, your phone vibrates again. This time, it’s a frantic succession of messages.

Xavier: Wait, did that go through?

Xavier: The link?

Xavier: Please tell me you didn't click that yet.

You look at the video one last time before quickly locking your phone and pressing the cool glass against your burning cheek.

🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟 🌟

He doesn't say a word. He doesn't have to. The look in his deep blue eyes is heavy, dark, and entirely unapologetic.

The transition from his accidental text to both of you completely naked in your bed happens in less than 10 minutes. Because you’ve only been intimate for a few weeks, there’s still this electric, terrifying novelty to it, the way your heart hammers against your ribs when his hands touch your skin.

He’s behind you, his body acting as a warm, solid anchor. His skin is hot against yours, a seamless fit that feels like it was designed by the universe itself. But it’s what he’s doing, the agonizing patience of it that is pushing you toward the edge of madness.

He isn't fucking you. Not yet.

He's doing exactly what you saw on that video. He’s sliding his cock between your thighs, the slick, heavy length of him dragging slowly against you. Every single time he thrusts, the tip of him catches the little hood of your clit before dragging the lenght of his cock across your most vulnerable spot with a precision that feels soooo good.

"Xavie..." you moan, your voice breaking, a plea you can't quite finish.

"Shh," his breath is hot, uneven, smelling faintly of mint. His lips brush the sensitive curve of your neck. "Just breathe, bunny. Let it build."

He pulls back, nearly losing contact entirely, only to slide forward again, with enough pressure to make your eyes roll back.

"I've been thinking about this," he whispers, his lips brushing your earlobe, sending a violent shiver down your spine. "For months"

You let out a choked sob, head falling back against his shoulder. "You're so beautiful when you're desperate, you’re close, aren't you?"

His voice vibrates against your skin and the smile you can feel against your pulse point is nothing short of predatory. He knows. He’s always known exactly where you are, even when you’re too lost in the haze of pleasure to find the words.

You try to answer, but your voice is trapped somewhere in the back of your throat, drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat. You don't speak, and he thrives on that silence. To him, your quiet isn't an absence, it’s an admission. It’s the honest, raw truth of a body that has been pushed past its limit and is now screaming for a release it can't quite grasp.

His hand slides down from your ribs to settle firmly on your waist. His grip is certain, unyielding and controlled anchoring you to the mattress so you can’t squirm away.

He presses a kiss to your neck. Once. Slow. Then again, lower, his lips grazing the curve where your shoulder meets collarbone. The heat of it enough to make you arch backward, your spine curving into him, while the dirty intent of his touch makes you clench around the empty air.

"Ask me, bunny," you try to find your voice, but all that comes out is a breathless hitch in your lungs. Seeing your struggle, he doesn't let you off the hook. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in your hair to gently but firmly tilt your head back toward him. He never breaks the rhythm, he angles his hips with precision, pressing the length of his cock harder against your clit, forcing a loud moan from your lips directly into his mouth.

"Use your words," he insists, his eyes dark and hooded, watching the way your expression fractures.

The words tumble out of you, wrecked and desperate, "I want to cum, Xavie... please..."

His lips crash against yours, but the sweetness is gone. He kisses you like his patience has finally grown teeth, hungry and sharp. His hand moves to your thigh, pressing down firmly to maximizing the friction, ensuring every single nerve ending is on fire, making sure you feel every bit of what you asked for.

The world simply ceases to exist. You both break at the exact same moment. You’re gasping, your hands instinctively flying to your own breasts, squeezing them as you chase the peak, your fingers digging into your skin for any extra stimulation you can find.

"There you are..." he whispers against your lips as he spills over your thighs, your cunt, and the damp sheets beneath you. He holds you there, pinning you to the moment, letting the aftershocks roll through you until your muscles begin to tremble into stillness.

When the world begins to drift back into focus, a languid warmth settling over your limbs, a realization begins to dawn on you. He didn't just give you an orgasm. He found a hidden part of you, the part that craves to be unraveled, the part that wants to be ruined slowly and meticulously and he taught it to answer to him, and him alone.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz

Caleb [14:22]: Found a recipe for a honey glazed salmon. Reminded me of that place we went to last week.

You’re supposed to be working on a pile of halfway finished reports on your desk but he’s been rambling about dinner for the past hour.

Caleb [14:23]: Let's try it tonight. Let me know if it looks okay to you.❤️

A link follows.

You tap it, expecting a colorful food blog or maybe one of those YouTube tutorials with a soft acoustic soundtrack. Your brain practically short circuits.

A VIDEO loads instantly. It’s not salmon. It's a girl, sprawled out on a bed, and there’s a man, looming over her as he... well, he's fucking her face. The girl is looking straight up at him, eyes glazed and heavy lidded, completely lost in it. The sound of the video starts to play before you can find the volume button.

"Oh my god," you whisper, frantically trying to close the tab.

Was this a joke? Or maybe a very, very subtle hint? Did the great Colonel Caleb actually just fumble the most embarrassing mistake of his entire life?

Bzzzz

Caleb [14:26]: Pips. The link was wrong. Ignore that. It was supposed to be a cooking blog. Please delete it.

You could pretend you didn't see a single thing and let him stew in his own embarrassment all day. You could let him suffer.

But then again... he did say he wanted to try something new tonight.

You type out a quick reply, heart racing just a little bit.

“The recipe looks good. Do you think we have all the ingredients?😉"

🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎 🍎

The dim light of the bedroom catches the violet of his eyes, making them look entirely too satisfied. He’s hovering over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world, leaving you in a private universe where the only thing that exists is his weight and the heat of his cock.

His hands frame your face. "Look at me, baby,"

He guides himself to your lips and begins to slide in. He moves slowly, testing your limits, watching your eyes widen as you try to adjust.

"God, you look so good like this," he breathes, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "With your mouth so full of me..."

The praise makes your head swim and your throat tighten.

"I should have done this sooner... I should have stopped playing the gentleman and just taken what's mine."

His slow pace breaks, and he thrusts deeper, a sudden surge that hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water instantly, an involuntary gag catching in your chest when your body tries to protest the sudden fullness.

"Silly girl," he coos, not pulling back. He stays right there, buried deep "Don't fight it. Just breathe through your nose"

He waits until he sees your nostrils flare, until you take a shaky, shallow breath through your nose, eyes locking onto his.

The moment you manage it, the tension in his shoulders melt "Theeeere we go," he whispers, giving you one more deep, slow slide, making sure you feel every inch of him. "Such a fast learner. My perfect... fuck... perfect girl."

The need to see just how far you can push him takes over and instead of just taking him, you begin to draw him in, sucking your cheeks in slowly, creating tight pressure around him.

A groan rips from his throat and his hands, which were previously just guiding your head, suddenly dig into your hair, fingers knotting into the strands with a force that almost hurts.

"Fuck, Pips..." his head falls back for a split second before he snaps his gaze back to yours "I didnt teach you that..."

He loses the battle with his own restraint and his hips begin to move with punishing speed. Every time the tip of his cock hits the very back of your throat you can feel the involuntary reflex of your throat tightening and saliva begins to pool at the corners of your lips. It’s messy but it’s exactly what he wants.

"Look at you," he pants, reaching down to catch a stray drop of saliva and smearing it across your chin "So messy for me. You're dripping all over yourself because you can't get enough. You want it all, don't you?."

Your lungs are screaming, your chest heaving in search for oxygen, but you don’t care. The burning in your throat is nothing compared to the sight of him right now, his eyes blown wide, his jaw locked, his face twisted with a kind of agony and ecstasy that he’d never show anyone else.

He’s on the edge. You can feel it in the way his thighs are trembling and he starts to pull away.

Your fingers dig into the hard, tensed muscles of his ass and with a sharp tug, you yank him back inside, slamming him against your face.

The sudden change in pressure snaps the last of his restraint. He doesn't fight you, he doesn't even try. He just collapses into the sensation, his entire body shuddering as he finally lets go.

You feel the first hot, thick burst of him erupt in the back of your throat, a sudden flood that makes you choke and gag, eyes watering.

"Fuck, I can't.. I... " he's shaking all over, his fingers bruising your scalp as he rides out the waves of release.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn't move far. He lingers, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his eyes searching yours.

 "You really won't let me have anything for myself, will you? he whispers, his voice rough and ruined. "You just have to take it all."

Your workday has been a total slog. Between the endless briefings at the Association and the exhaustion of keeping up with Wanderers, your brain feels like it’s been through a blender. All you can think about is getting home, kicking off your boots, and maybe if you’re lucky getting a moment of peace.

Until your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out, expecting a tactical update or maybe a nagging message from your supervisor, but it’s a text from Rafayel.

Rafayel: "My darling, my muse, my precious bodyguard, don't you dare go home and sleep yet”  the text reads, followed by a string of dramatic, pouting emojis. “Remember I have an exhibition today! It’s a secret location, very exclusive, very avant garde. You simply MUST come by after your shift. It’s going to be breathtaking, just like you. Don't be late, or I might actually die of loneliness. Here is the location!" 👇

LINK

You smile, a little warmth spreading through your chest despite the fatigue. He’s so much, truly, but he has a way of making the mundane parts of your life feel colorful. You tap the link, expecting a Google Maps pin or a sleek digital invite to a high end gallery in Linkon City.

Instead, your screen loads a video.

You aren't looking at a gallery. You are looking at a naked woman perched on a chair, looking entirely too comfortable, while a man, in front of her, puts on a very intense performance. The camera zooms in just as he reaches the grand finale, a messy orgasm that ends up all over the woman's legs, stomach and breasts.

You stare at the screen. You stare at the ceiling. You stare at the wall.

Did he... did he just send you a porn link?

Your phone vibrates again. A second text. Then a third. A fourth.

Rafayel: “Did you see it? The lighting is so evocative, don't you think?”

Rafayel: “The composition of the colors is quite striking.”

Rafayel: “Wait. Why aren't you responding? Are you mesmerized by the art? It's okay, take your time, it's quite a lot to take in"

Then, a final text arrives, and the tone shifts instantly from "pretentious artist" to "absolute disaster."

Rafayel:"Don't look at it! Close it! Close the tab! Throw the phone into the ocean! Forget everything you saw! It was a glitch! A spacetime anomaly! A Wanderer attack on my phone! "

You can’t help it. A snort escapes you, followed by a full blown fit of giggles that makes your coworkers glance over in confusion. You quickly type back a single, teasing reply.

You: “The lighting was lovely, Rafayel. Very... evocative.”

The "typing..." bubble appears immediately. It stays there for an agonizingly long time.

Rafayel: “I am literally dying. Bury me in the sand. Don't you dare come to the exhibition. Actually, come. But don't look at me. I'm never leaving my studio again.”

🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧

The exhibition was a triumph, of course. Rafayel was the star, basking in the praise of the elite, playing the part of the brilliant artist to perfection.

But now, the doors are locked, the lights are dimmed to a soft, amber glow and you aren't looking at his paintings anymore. You’re the centerpiece of a much more private gallery.

You’re perched on the edge of chair, your wrists pulled taut behind your back. He’d used a length of fine, crimson silk to bind them, tight enough to force your shoulders back and arch your spine, thrusting your chest forward, the cool air of the studio grazing your skin, making your nipples harden.

His hand is wrapped around himself, moving with a slow rhythm "You're staring, cutie," a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth "Is the view to your liking?"

You nod, looking up at him, licking your lips.

He lets out a shaky breath, his knuckles white as he grips himself. "I’ve spent my whole life trying to capture beauty on a flat surface. Trying to trap light and shadow and emotion in pigment and oil. But it's never enough. It’s always... static. It doesn't breathe. It doesn't react."

He moves closer, the heat from his body finally making contact with your open thighs. His gaze drops to your breasts, tracing the curve he’s forced you to present to him.

"But you..." He swallows hard, a low groan escaping his lips as he watches the way your chest heaves with every breath. "You are the only masterpiece that matters. I want to treat your skin like my finest silk and use your naked body as my own living canvas..."

He looks almost pained by need, his eyes wide and dark with a hunger that goes far beyond simple lust. He’s not just looking at a lover, he’s looking at his salvation.

"Every blush on your cheeks, every shiver that runs down your spine... that's the only art worth making."

His free hand moves to one of your breasts, thumb sweeping over your nipple with a pressure that is both worshipful and demanding. He watches the way your eyes flutter shut, memorizing the exact shade of your arousal.

"God, you're so beautiful it hurts," he whispers "Tell me you want it," the hand around his cock moves faster "Tell me you'll let me finish my work."

You don't make him wait. You lean forward as much as the silk allows, your voice a breathless rasp. "Fiinish it, Raf. Show me what you can do."

You can’t look away. You wouldn't even if you could.

A bead of translucent precum swells at the very tip of his cock, glistening like a misplaced jewel under the lights. The skin there is flushed a deep, angry rose, pulsing with the force of his arousal. His head is thrown back, his throat exposed and taut as he bites his lower lip to stifle the needy whimpers that threaten to spill from his lips.

He looks beautiful.

He’s close, so painfully close to the edge that you decide to push him. 

Even with your arms bound, you find a way to arch your back further, thrusting your chest toward him in an unspoken invitation. You offer yourself to him, presenting your bare skin as a landing site for his release. "Give it to me. All of it."

The sound of your voice, the invitation in your tone, is the final blow to his crumbling resolve. His body jolts with the force of his release and you watch as the heavy, hot ropes of him arc through the air, splattering across the expanse of your breasts. The heat of it is startling, a wet warmth that makes your skin tingle.

The moment the tension snaps, the strength drains right out of his legs. There is no grace in it just the heavy, unceremonious thud of his knees hitting the floorboards right between your thighs.

He stays there, head bowed, hair falling over his eyes in a dark, damp mess. But then, slowly, so slowly, he lifts his gaze.

His eyes, blown wide and shimmering with liquid heat, find yours at the exact same moment your tongue sweeps out to lick a drop of cum from the corner of your mouth.

When your eyes finally lock, you see the exact second his breath hitches again.

His pupils are so dilated they almost swallow the color of his irises, and a fresh wave of heat, a visible crimson surges up his neck and into his cheeks. He stares at your mouth, watching the way your tongue retreats, his gaze tracing the wet glisten you left behind.

"God..." he groans, the word a broken fragment of a thought "You're going to ruin me completely."

The vibration of your phone against the marble countertop is enough to make you jump. You’ve been nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee for the last twenty minutes, trying to shake off the lingering chill of the Linkon City winter, when the screen lights up with his name.

Sylus

[Sylus]: There’s a private auction tonight. High stakes. It starts in an hour. I’ve been tracking that specific protocore for weeks.

[Sylus] : I’ll send you the catalog link. Take a look. Tell me if the energy readings look as tempting to you as they do to me.

You tap the blue hyperlink, ready to nerd out a little and give him the professional opinion he wants from you.

The video player loads, and you nearly drop your phone.

It isn't a protocore.

It's a VIDEO of a man sprawled across rumpled sheets, his chest heaving as a woman jerks him off. She isn't looking at a camera, she’s looking at him.

The sounds hits you next, the wet friction of her hand, the groans the man lets out, overstimulated.

You bite your lip, a nervous, hysterical little laugh bubbling up in your throat. You can almost see his expression if he knew, that slight, elegant tilt of his head, the way he’d probably pinch the bridge of his nose in a rare moment of genuine embarrassment.

With trembling fingers, you start to type a reply.

You: Sylus... unless this protocore is incredibly well endowed and prone to making loud noises, I think you sent the wrong link.

The silence that follows is agonizing. You stare at the "read" receipt, your thumb hovering over the screen, half expecting the phone to burst into flames from the tension. You’ve spent months navigating his moods, his riddles, and his terrifyingly intense presence, but you’ve never quite known how to handle a moment where the power dynamic shifts so abruptly.

The little bubbles appear. He’s typing.

Is he going to ignore it? Is he going to double down with some devastatingly smooth line that will make you want to crawl under the rug?

A moment later, the notification pings.

Sylus:It seems my finger slipped. Or perhaps my subconscious is simply being more honest than my conscious mind intended.

A few seconds later, another message follows, one that feels much more like the man who watches you sleep with predatory tenderness.

Sylus: I'll be at your door in twenty minutes. Let's not bother with the protocore I think we've found something much more interesting to bid on.

🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛

You’ve been at this for thirty minutes and your already obsessed.

There is something intoxicating about the power you hold right now. You never realized that teasing a man like Sylus could be this much of a rush. His entire frame shudders, his muscles coiling like a spring about to snap. He’s right on the edge, his breath hitching and just when you think he’s about to break, you pull away.

Your leg is hooked firmly over one of his heavy thighs, a grounding weight that keeps his legs spread wide for you, exposing him completely to your whims. He’s using his Evol to wrap around his own wrists, binding his hands so he can’t reach out and grab you. He’s forcing himself to endure the torture you’re inflicting, all because he wants this. He wants to feel every second of the ache.

He also looks wrecked. It’s a sight you don't get to see often. Fine beads of sweat are beginning to glisten along his hairline and his eye is glowing a dangerous crimson, tracking your every move.

You lean forward, your hair brushing against his stomach, and as your mouth latches onto one of his nipples he throws his head back against the pillows, his entire body vibrating with the force of his loud groan.

You lift your hand, slowly, dragging your tongue across your entire palm in a long lick just to make him watch, just to make him feel the anticipation. Then, you slide your hand down, finally wrapping your fingers around his cock again.

His eyes roll back into his head when you return your mouth to his nipple, sucking with punishing pressure.

“Please... fuck... Please, kitten. Put me out of my misery.

You feel him tense again, his muscles turning to granite beneath your touch. You stop again.

The sudden absence of your warmth makes him let out a frustrated sound, but you aren't done playing yet. Instead of a full stroke, you just use your five fingers to tease the very tip of him, dragging your fingertips over the sensitive head, over and over again.

“You’ve been so good, Sy,” you coo, your voice a honeyed purr against his skin. “Do you think you deserve to cum?”

“Please, sweetie,” he chokes out. You can see his knuckles turning white as his fingernails dig deep into the palms of his hands “I’ve been... so good...”

He’s lost. The great Sylus, the man who sees everyone's deepest desires, is currently a slave to his own. He probably doesn't even realize he's begging.

"Should I keep you like this all night?" you ask, watching his eyes widen, pupils blown so large they swallow the iris. "It's what you wanted, after all, wasn't it?"

He opens his mouth, the words of a fresh plea already forming on his lips, but you don't give him the chance to speak. Your hand suddenly drops, gripping the thick base of his cock with a firm hold, and you begin to stroke him fast, hard, and relentless.

“I won’t, though,” you whisper, leaning in close so your breath fans over his ear, your voice dripping with a playful, dominant heat. “Because you've been such a good boy.”

The moment the praise leaves your lips, something in him snaps, his entire body arching off the bed in a violent, beautiful spasm.

Even when his muscles quiver with the aftershocks, you keep your hand moving, stroking him to overstimulation, pushing him right past the edge of pleasure.

The energy bindings that were holding his wrists apart simply vanish, dissolving into thin air when his willpower finally snaps.

The air is knocked from your lungs as your back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and suddenly, the man who was just begging is the man who is commanding.

He’s over you, his large hands pinning your wrists to the pillows on either side of your head.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" his nose brushes against yours, his breath smelling faintly of the cherry wine he loves so much. "Playing with me like a toy. Testing how much a man can take before he loses his mind."

His heavy, still sensitive cock slides between your thighs, a blunt reminder of exactly how much you just put him through. He looks absolutely lethal.

"You've had your fun, kitten," he murmurs, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to let you know he's in total control now. "Now its my turn to see just how much you can take."

Zayne had been obsessing over that new bakery just a few blocks from your place, the kind of place that smells like heaven and costs way too much. He was mid text, rambling about the sourdough starter and the specific crumb structure of their croissants (of course he was), but he mentioned he’d send over the full menu link so you could decide on a weekend treat.

"Wait, let me send the link. They have a seasonal pastry list you'll love"

LINK

You tapped the blue link eagerly, expecting pictures of glazed danishes or maybe a list of gluten free muffins.

It was not a muffin.

It was a very loud, very explicit video of a man wrecking a woman with backshots, pulling out only for her to rip the condom off his cock so he could fuck her raw.

You: Zayne, there are no pastries in that link! There is only... a man. And a girl. And a very missing condom!

Zayne: ...

Zayne: Oh.

You: “Oh”? That’s all? You just sent me a full blown porn video in the middle of the afternoon!

Zayne: Stop. Please. I am currently in the middle of a ward round. A nurse just tried to look at my phone.

You: [Sends a laughing emoji]

Zayne: I'm coming over later. We are going to that bakery. And we are not talking about that "menu" until we have had at least two espressos. To settle my nerves.

You: Are you bringing the condom? Just kidding! Don't kill me!

Zayne: 🙄

🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺🩺

The bakery was a lost cause. The sourdough was forgotten, the espresso was unbrewed, and the only thing "rising" in your apartment was Zayne's cock the moment he walked in and saw the way you were looking at him, flushed, eyes hazy, and, quite frankly, a mess.

Now, you were bent over the edge of your bed, your fingers digging into the mattress as he held you from behind.

"Zaynie, please!" you whimpered, your voice cracking. You were desperate, begging him to just stop being so careful, to just let go and give you what that video had promised. "Just... Take it off, Please!"

His hands gripped your hips with a strength that promised bruises. "Just because you’re on the pill doesn't mean the statistical probability of a mishap is zero. It’s... fuck... it's about risk management."

"Even in a committed relationship," he continued, his words punctuated by the rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin, "one must account for... ah, god... hormonal fluctuations and the ... the unpredictability of the human reproductive system. It's not just about pregnancy, it's about...shit...it's about hygiene, and the prevention of... of unnecessary... fuck, you feel so good."

He was losing it. The doctor was losing the battle against the man. He was supposed to be lecturing you on biological safeguards, but the way he was cursing under his breath low, dirty words that he’d never say in the hospital halls told a different story.

"You're being... so difficult," he groaned, his fingers moving to your waist, pulling you back harder against him. "Trying to... to bypass all the... damn it... the precautions. Do you have any idea what you're doing to my concentration?."

He leaned forward, his teeth grazing the nape of your neck, his voice dropping to a commanding whisper. "Stay still. Let me... let me take care of this properly. Fuck, if you keep making those sounds, the condom is going to be the least of our worries."

"Who cares about the... the statistics, Zayne!" you gasped, your forehead pressed against the cool sheets. "Just... fuck, just give it to me! It’s just us, isn't it?

You were rambling, throwing out half baked excuses about how you will feel "more connected" or how the latex was a "distracting from the sensory input" basically using his own medical vocabulary against him just to get what you wanted. You were cursing, too, your language losing all its usual politeness as the friction and the heat drove you toward a breaking point.

Then, suddenly, the fullness vanished.

"Why did you stop?" you demanded, your voice small and wounded, eyes searching his. "Zayne, why did you... "

He was hovering over you, his chest heaving, his hair mussed in a way that was entirely uncharacteristic of the composed man you knew. He looked down at you with an expression that was almost exasperated, that specific, "are you actually serious right now?" look he gave you when you forgot your keys or ignored his health advice.

He didn't need to say the words. You lunged for it, your fingers trembling as you gripped him, ripping the condom off.

The moment he slid back into you, skin on skin, the sensation was nothing short of transcendental.

" Fuck!" you breathed out.

"God, finally," he growled back.

The sight of your cunt clinging to his cock was enough to shatter even the most disciplined mind. Zayne, the man who could maintain a steady hand while repairing a human heart, lost his grip on reality. The friction, the warmth, and the intimacy of being inside you without any barrier sent him over the edge far faster than he ever thought possible.

He stiffened and with a few deep thrusts that felt like they were reaching your throat he broke. A sound between a moan and a curse escaped him as he collapsed against you, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck.

When he pulled out Zayne wasn't looking at your face. He was staring, almost hypnotically, downward. His gaze was fixed on the junction of your thighs, watching with a quiet, intense fascination as the evidence of his release, thick and pearly, slowly leaked from your plump pussy, tracing a slow path down your skin. He looked mesmerized.

"You know," you said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "for a man so obsessed with 'risk management' and 'preventative measures'..." You paused looking at his flushed face. "Your breeding kink is really showing, Doctor."

Even mentioning Xavier.

"Looking like this? Don't you think he deserves someone skinnier?"

Tears pricked your eyes dangerously. You needed to hide it from Xavier. From not just worrying him, but also for the life of this person, despite the cruel words.

"Just leave me alone...." They eventually would. Found yourself in the corner waiting for Xavier. You felt so uncomfortable now. So conscious of how each curve and pudginess poked out.

What on earth made you so attractive to the man you called your boyfriend? The love your life?

When Xavier did come back, you asked him for the hoodie he wore.

"I'm just cold." It was spring, so it wasn't so strange that you asked. Like a bright puppy, Xavier gladly gave you his hoodie to wear. Although he was a little concerned watching you completely covering up the outfit you so proudly showed him.

He didn't want to believe you felt some bad feelings about your body.

For the entirety of the date you kept the hoodie on, even if the sun was out and making you feel warm.

Even if you were sweaty or hot you just kept the hoodie on to hide your body from the world. Even from Xavier. How could he love you when you looked like this?

He deserved better than you.

"Starlight, aren't you hot?"

"Xavi, you asked me that already!"

The heat was getting to you. The frown on Xavier's face made you sure your flock was falling.

Xavier softly sighed and grabbed your hand. "Hey, did something happen?"

He perked his head watching your expression turn into something he could only describe as panic.

"No."

"Starlight, i know when your lying."

Xavier smiled softly. His thumb caressed your knuckles gently.

"We can talk about it when we get home."

"Huh?" He dropped it right then, but then again you'd be alone with him. Face with taking off the hoodie in front of him to reveal a body you were less than happy with.

"Okay, sounds good."

You acted as if Xavier couldn't see the obvious strain in both your voice but also the tension in your entire body.

When you did get home it would be an understatement to say walked to the bathroom. No, you ran to it.

Xavier didn't say a thing and just followed you. Knocking on the door lightly.

"Starlight," he paused and sighing. "Come out of there. I want to see you."

From behind the door you pulled at the hoodie to reveal the outfit underneath. Just from sitting the pudginess poking out more than ever. Your mouth trembled in response.

"No! I can't." You broke easily for him. You could accept that he knew you weren't feeling okay.

"Can you tell me why?" Xavier's voice was softer than ever. No doubt his hand on the door awaiting for you to unlock the door so he could come in.

"Y'know," Xavier's voice made you know he was smiling. "I thought you were very pretty today. You looked so happy but when I got back from the bathroom you were upset."

He was frowning again. "Let me in please. To see you."

How could you refuse him when he asked like that? Curse his bunny-looking face.

Opening the door with the hoodie zipper up again. Xavier's face flickered with emotion.

"I-" Before you could utter another word Xavier's arms were around you with a firm grip. Speechless at his actions and even sooner his words.

"Your the most beautiful thing on this planet, no in this entire universe you are the most beautiful thing to ever exist."

"You can't possibly me that. Look at me-"

"I am looking." His fingers moved to the zipper and tugged it down. You made no movement to stop him. "And all I see is the darling Starlight that I love."

You broke down in tears, and he allowed you to settle your face inside his chest. Xavier held you dearly, like fragile glass, like you would go away.

"Don't listen to anyone else's opinions, not even mine. You're the most beautiful creature in this universe, and never forget that."

ZAYNE

It wasn't strange for Zayne to see you naked, not only your boyfriend but also your doctor.

Your own shame over your body persisted despite his words about how he looked was completely fine, but for you, it never would be.

Especially, when before sex, which you two planned tonight, you felt you couldn't now. Not with the new mark on your body that ruined everything. Making you feel more ugly than you already are.

A body part with a long stretch of skin that was stretched.

It looked utterly disgusting in your eyes.

The lingerie you chose to wear tonight feels so ugly to wear now. Soiled by your own body.

Tears were forming in your eyes, covering your mouth at the feeling in your throat, and burning in your eyes. Everything was blurry as you sat on the bathroom floor, crying silently.

Trying so hard to hide your cries from Zayne.

He didn't need to worry. This was on you, and he didn't deserve to see you when you looked like this. Zayne deserved better than this.

"Darling, are you alright? You've been in there for quite a while." Zayne knocked on the door gently. Even from behind the door, he could hear the way your voice hitched.

"May I come in?"

There was no point in keeping him out. He'd see your body anyway, no matter the circumstance. He's a doctor, he'd have to. You just let out a soft okay, stepping out of the way so he could enter the bathroom.

The door opened to reveal Zayne with worry evident in his eyes. He surveyed you and how you stood in the corner. His eyes tightened at the sight.

Your hands moved to hide the stretch mark on your body. Tears were brimming in your eyes and were threatening to spill out.

Nothing needed to be said for Zayne to get what was happening.

"Darling, come here." He opened a hand to you.

Rejection came with the swerve of your head. Your face deepened with disgust towards yourself. Such filth shouldn't be touched by someone so beautiful and graceful.

Zayne took a step forward. You let him and didn't avoid him.

Unexpectedly, he lowered himself onto his knees.

"Zayne, what are you doing? Get up!" Frantically, you pulled at his forearm, but he stood still like a marble statue.

"I will not. Not before I cherish and show just how much I love you, all of you." His arm wrapped around your thighs with firm fingers around flesh. His thumb was caressing the stretch mark so gently and sweetly.

Your voice hitched with an oncoming sob. "Zayne, stop. Please."

"That is one request I'll have to deny you, my dear." His cheek against your thigh, and once again, tracing the stretch mark with his finger.

"This is normal. You know that, don't you?" He spoke methodically. Zayne kept his grip and traced your skin. "These marks are normal, and to me they are the most gorgeous thing in the world to me."

Looking up at you with complete adortion in his eyes. A soft smile upon his lips, kissing your naked hipbone so sweetly, treating you like you were glass. Something beautiful to be taken care of.

"No matter how many times you forget that I'll remind you over and over."

Tears dropped from your eyes. Arms wrapped around his neck as Zayne stood up to embrace you into his arms. Kissing your forehead and stroking your back.

RAFAYEL

"Cutie! Are you done?" Rafayel called out loudly from his studio. Sounds of things being moved around in the studio for you to model for him.

He was the artist, and you were his muse, his inspiration.

In moments like this, you could never understand how on earth you could be his muse, his inspiration. Not when you looked like...well, you.

Rafayel had given you a form-fitting dress that was flowy and beautiful. Silky pink looked nice against your skin tone. It was a pretty dress. It's just that to you, it looked wrong on you.

You knew how Rafayel could be.

His eyes were smart in catching what he found was beautiful. In part, you felt his eyes may be lying to him when he looked at you. What about you was so beautiful to him? Surely those eyes of his were lying.

"Cutie?" His voice was more confused. His hand knocked against the door softly. "Does the dress not fit?"

"No," Your voice was shaky. "It fits fine."

Maybe too well.

To well that every insecurity was peaking out.

It was silent for a moment before a soft noise came closer to the bathroom door. "Cutie, what's wrong?"

Rafayel knocked on the door with his voice uncharacteristically soft and worried. It sounded off, and you didn't like it one bit.

"It's nothing.." Your eyes were beginning to well up with tears. You settled on the floor, holding the curves that showed through the silky dress.

"Baby, Cutie, come on, let me in." His voice was too soft for you.

You couldn't leave him out there when he sounded like that. Rafayel was too sweet for you to do that to him. So you unlocked the door hearing it click open. Sitting on the toilet lid with a somber expression.

Rafayel's expressed was down, but you saw how his eyes sparkled when finally laying eyes on you,

"Absolutely glamorous."

"Don't lie." Bitterly, you grumbled.

A loud noise followed; Rafayel falling to his knees and crawling to you. Almost immediately your face erupted with heat.

"What are you doing?!" You exclaimed as his fingers pushed onto your plush thighs and gripping. Kissing both of your knees sweetly.

"Worshipping my reason, my beautiful muse...and it's quite insulting you'd think I'd lie about finding you beautiful." Rafayel's cheek rubbed against your knee, pressing another kiss to it. "Utterly insulting, Cutie."

Your lips wobbled in response to his words.

"This part, and this..." Rafayel pointed to every curve and body part. On his knees giving a kiss to each part of naked skin. His hands curved over every part that was covered by silk.

"Look at me cutie."

Nervously you raised your head eyes meeting his.

"Does it look like I would ever lie to you, Cutie." In between your legs looking up at you like a goddess statue. "Never in my life would I ever do that to you."

"The eyes of Lemuria will always be able to see beauty, and one of the most beautiful things in the world is right in front of me."

Tears bursted out from your eyes. Rafayel kissed them away holding you in his lap on the bathroom floor. In that silk dress feeling his hands move throughout your body and up it.

Clinging to him and listening to his artistic words that only aimed to praise you like you were pretty pearls.

You've never felt so very loved in your life.

SYLUS

At an auction with him always brought the anxieties to you, always going down to your stomach and up to your throat.

If Sylus saw it he never mentioned it.

You knew he knew. In little ways he comforted you, like gripping your waist, or linking your fingers. A soft kiss to your forehead or rubbing small circles into your back.

It felt too good for you, as in Sylus was too good for you. Like a man like Sylus deserved someone that wasn't, well, you.

You felt like all eyes were on you.

"I'll be back, Kitten. This will just be a moment." Sylus patted your head softly before moving to a meeting room with other high standing officials, especially those who lived in the 109 Zone.

You were left alone by yourself in a crowd of people.

Sitting alone awaiting for him as to not feeling comfortable amongst these people who were way more confident, and in your words, more desirable than you.

"Are you sure you belong here?" A woman's voice spoke with inquiry and malice. A true look for a model she was. You weren't, because of course you weren't.

You didn't say a word. In your hand was Sylus's card and you just kept it to your person.

"I don't want to be rude, but I think that dress doesn't fit you. In fact, it's really fitted for someone with your...uh, stature."

You wish you could be a duck. A duck that lets things slip off your back, but it seems that won't happen, and it won't ever happen. You simply ignored her.

"Hey, listen when I'm talking to you." Your arm was pulled from the chair. A sound echoed in the darkness, but no one seemed to notice or care for the disturbance.

"Leave me alone!" You whisked her hand off your arm. The woman scoffed and pinched you. Glaring hard at the woman, just as she went grab a hold of your waist. Instincts called; hand going to the slit in your dress to acquire you gun.

Straight into her face.

"Get the hell away from me."

She listened, disturbance on her face, but none of that erased the swelling of anxiety and hurt in your tummy. Words running through your head wildly.

Luckily for you there was an outside area away from everyone. There was very few people out there, just two people very spaced out for you talking to one another. They made no distinction that they knew you were there.

You were left to sit on a marble bench, watching how your stomach was pushed out as you sat. Your tummy hurts at the sight. Hand still on that black card, shaking still.

Then you heard your phone ring. Shuffling out of your bag, you found Sylus texting you to ask where you were. You quickly texted him and went back to brooding.

It was a few more moments before hearing his heavy footsteps on the grass. You avoided eye contact with him finding the grass somehow more interesting.

"Sweetie," His voice deep and velvety, like it always is, "It's rather cold out here."

His jacket is on your shoulders. Sylus sat with you, and his gaze caught your arm. It looked swollen. He took hold of it gently.

"What happened, my sweetness?"

Leveling your gaze had told him it all. The way you positioned your body, angling it so he couldn't see how your body rolled. Sylus softly sighed, eyes hardened.

"Would you like me to get rid of the person who both hurt your skin, but also your heart? Putting all those thoughts into that pretty brain of yours." Sylus whispered into your ear. Thumb caressed the swollen skin gently, pressing a soft kiss to it.

"No, Sylus, you don't need to do that!"

"Hm, I ask you why, sweetie, especially when you look so distressed. No such thoughts about your person should wake in your mind." Right then, you found yourself in his lap. A small squeak erupted from your throat, seeing how his hands drifted across your waist and settling his open palms on your tummy.

Flushed hot on your cheeks. Sylus nuzzled his head into the back of your neck.

"Sweetie, do let me show you how much those people's words do not matter."

"Sylus, please, my body isn't-"

"Do listen to me. I'm a man who knows what he wants, and it's you that I want, Sweetie."

Tears erupted from your eyes. Body turned around to hug his neck. His warm hands rubbing up the skirt of your dress. A small noise came from your throat.

"Sylus, we're in public."

"Shush, sweetness. Let the world examine my choice and see the gem that I see."

Dear lord, you've felt loved in his arms. Crimson eyes watching everything look upon you and him. His glare was looking for the people who had scornful looks at you, but shied away because no one would dare to defy him.

CALEB

You've watched Caleb grow up into the man he is today. It made sense that Caleb was surrounded with people who were just as hot, and just as worthy as him. To have him that is.

You on the other hand, in your opinion, didn't deserve to be with Caleb.

With the way your body has developed you didn't feel worthy of a beauty that was Caleb. It didn't help that Caleb didn't waste his talent of cooking, because he loved doing so for you.

His very way of life, and that was taking care of you.

With him away, you were able to enact a way to make yourself worthy of him. However, you still ached for his cooking, him taking care of you. Whether or not you'd like to deny it, you enjoyed his touch and care.

And it being Caleb he always knew.

Grandma Josephine probably told him. She would see how you avoided food. Overworking yourself. Heart always in the possibility of overriding itself because of your carelessness.

Being Caleb he would always confront you with it.

"Pips, what's going on with you?"

His voice is soft when coming into your room. Place devoid of a mess, and you are sitting on the floor looking drained. You opened your mouth but Caleb beat you to saying anything.

"Don't try to hide from me, Pops. C'mon, tell me what's wrong." He sat with you on the floor. His eyes were full of worry. Large hand taking yours gently and holding it.

You couldn't hide anything from him, and most likely, Caleb wouldn't let this one go.

"Granny says you aren't eating. You need to eat Pips." His eyes sparkled in a way that told you he had an idea. Since growing and maturing into a young woman you've gained a certain perception of your body.

Even if you didn't say anything it didn't mean that Caleb didn't know.

Because of course he did.

You pulled your knees up and glared at the floor. "My body...it isn't pretty enough..." For you.

Caleb sighed before turning to his side and pulling you into him. Your breath hitched in response. Holding on to his clothes as his hands rubbed your shoulders, drawing small circles into your back.

"Baby," You shivered at that name. How long had it been since you two came to the conclusion of these feelings? How long would you two ignore them? "Don't say things like that."

His fingers overlapped with yours. The palms of his fingers gently pressed into your skin.

"Look at me."

You looked at him with hesitation. Caleb made no qualms about it and just went on the merry way of holding you. Thank the gods the door was closed. Who knows what Josephine would say with him holding you like this.

"Caleb, what are you doing?"

"Holding you."

"Hm."

You hummed to yourself. Indulging in his beloved touch like a puppy wanting to be noticed by its new owner. Hoping they are it's only owner.

"You're pretty, baby. So very pretty to me, Baby. It kills me that you think you aren't pretty. Can I show that you are?"

You nodded; you never could say no to him when he looked at you like that. You acted like a puppy. Right now, his eyes were literal puppy eyes. Like an anaconda he gripped tight onto you. His hands curving down every curve.

"I love touching you, Pips. Always."

You liked it when he touched you, too. But you'd never admit now, at least not yet.

"No matter where or who I'll always go for you. No matter what you look like, Pips. So please, eat."

You hugged him, face in his chest.

A man, naked, wrists bound, and eyes covered with a blindfold. His hands cup his manhood in an attempt to provide himself with some form of dignity. That attempt is somewhat undercut by the thick leather collar around his throat, and the way his shoulders hunch closed.

The simple explanation for this is that he's found himself being forced to deal with a group of individuals who, had they held less power and influence, he would have had them all killed. As it is, the particular services they provide to the N109 zone are too valuable to simply erase overnight. No, it's easier to keep them under his thumb and allow them to operate within the confines of his jurisdiction.

The problem? These men know they are needed, and thus fairly impervious to the wrath of Onichynus. It makes them cocky, and demanding of him.

What Sylus needs to do with them is instill these cruel, vile men with fear. There is no other way to keep them docile, and it's only a matter of time before they begin to try and uproot his leadership. Really, by scaring them shitless, he's doing them both a favor, when the alternative for them is death, and for him is an inconvenience.

Their expressions range from curiosity, to disgust, to concern, to fear as they look between the always calm Sylus Qin and the captive in the doorway.

“Please, continue. I don't mean to interrupt your… riveting discussion.” Sylus says, almost like he's bored, and snaps his fingers.

The man in the doorway moves upon hearing the sound, dropping to his knees and crawling into the room, feeling around for the leg of the long conference table.

“Sylus,” one calls, the most foolish of the lot, “what is the meaning of this?” He watches with thinly veiled disgust as the man below him feels with blind fingers and finds the toe of his shoe. On instinct, seemingly, he pulls his foot away.

“Do you know who this is?” Sylus raises a brow, and rests a finger against his temple. Taps a few times.

The men around the table look at one another briefly, but no one seems to have an answer.

Beneath them, the nude captive begins to kiss the tips of their shoes, in some perverse display of submission.

He wouldn't expect them to recognize him either, when his most prominent feature is covered. Those pretty hazel eyes. None of them has any reason to be able to recognize that pale skin or feather-soft dark hair.

Sylus allows the silence to hold for another long moment, the only sound in the room the clumsy shuffling under the table, and lips meeting polished leather. It gradually grows closer to Sylus’ chair as he eyes them with expectation, and then sits back with a disappointed sigh.

“This is Doctor Zayne Li. World renowned cardiac surgeon and the genius behind evol technology advancements in medicine. Arguably the reason half of you are still alive today. Someone also highly sought after by our friends at Xander Sciences, an affiliate of EVER.”

The looks of horror he receives makes it all worth it.

Almost as if on cue, that's the moment Zayne finally makes his way to his rightful place at Sylus' feet, giving him the same soft kisses to the tip of his shoe, but instead of moving on, he simply stays there, head pressed to the ground right in front of him.

The doctor knows better than to disobey. He knows exactly what's expected of him in this meeting.

“This, gentlemen,” Sylus' voice drops deeper, more threatening as he grabs the soft hair on Zayne's head and uses the leverage to yank him up. To show them his face, covered by the fabric tied around his eyes, “is what happens when I decide I want something.”

Quiet outrage fills the room until one brave soul has the courage to speak up.

“Then what do you want from us?!”

Sylus doesn't reward him with an answer, or even a look. He keeps his eyes on his pretty toy, guiding Zayne to rest on his thigh. He notices that despite the cock ring designed to control Zayne's pleasure, he is growing plump between those milky white legs. Pervert. Who would have thought?

The better image is the way his perfect cupids bow trembles when Sylus drags a thumb across his lips.

“At the moment?” Sylus asks, entirely disinterested, “To be quiet.” He snaps, and so close to Zayne's ear it makes the man flinch. But he knows what is expected of him, and settles himself more comfortably between Sylus' legs, bound hands resting over the belt of his slacks. Waiting for further command.

Such a good boy he's turned out to be, despite his obvious fear. So docile. All of their training was very much worth it.

“And to listen to me.” Two taps to his thigh, and Zayne understands exactly what's being asked of him.

As those precise fingers work at his belt, and to tug his cock free, Sylus once more rests his head on a hand and eyes the room.

Their clear discomfort is delicious. It's exactly what they deserve, for all that they've done to society. Let them squirm.

Once Doctor Li has his cock free, he sucks it into his mouth, and it feels divine to rest on that warm, wet tongue. He swallows around it, and Sylus has to hold back an indulgent sigh. Doctor Li does nothing else, for now, holding it in his throat and sitting perfectly still, though the scratchy carpet can't be comfortable on his knees. Like a very good boy, he doesn't even shift in discomfort.

“So as it turns out, this is what it takes to get you all to shut up.” Sylus says with disdain, his free hand idly coming to rest on the back of Doctor Li’s head. For now, he just leaves it there. A silent command to stay put.

“I need you all to understand one thing. The only reason you aren't in the same position as Doctor Li here is because I have allowed it. You do not dictate what passes through my borders, and if you think you're capable of avoiding my eyes, you are mistaken.”

Sylus tilts his head and narrows his eyes. The desires of this man in particular disgust him. Women who are too young, those weak enough to be unable to fight back. He would have half a mind to put him in the same position as Doctor Li, were he not so repulsive. Better to hide this trash away from society. Lock him up somewhere dark and dank.

The same man as before, angry, with dark hair falling into bright eyes speaks up, “Why do you care if we sell drugs in the city? It's a good market, and the people there are going to find them if they want to anyway. You're just trying to suffocate good business, Sylus. What, are we a threat to your monopoly on the zone?”

“A threat?” Sylus gives him an empty laugh, “Don't flatter yourself. You are an annoyance, and your sloppy methods have the police hot on your trail. The only reason you haven't been caught yet is due to my own intervention. I think I deserve a thank you, don't you?”

Crimson eyes flick down and he yanks Doctor Li’s mouth off of his now half hard cock. “Isn't that what good boys say, Doctor?” He asks, as the man sucks in a breath and clenches his teeth.

His hands ball into fists on his lap, once more protectively cupping his own arousal, as if frightened it might be in danger. Smart man.

“Thank you, Sylus.” He says through gritted teeth. Insolent. The good doctor was told of the consequences of disobedience in this meeting. Sylus easily gets the toe of his shoe to press down on Doctor Li’s perky balls, enough to be painful.

He gets a pretty gasp of pain for it.

Not more than a moment later, that mouth is pulled right back onto his cock, but this time, Sylus begins to lead him up and down on it. Slow movements, letting him almost all the way off before pushing deep into his throat and holding there as he pleases. The choking that comes from his lap only makes it better.

“What do you want us to do then?” Another voice asks, and Sylus is pleased to see that the man has a difficult time removing his gaze from the sight of Doctor Li being used like a fleshlight right in front of him. “And what the hell do you think you're going to do with a kidnapped doctor? The authorities will come looking for him too, Sylus.”

That gets a smirk from Sylus, the first one of the evening, and he presses down hard on Doctor Li’s head. His gagging quickly fills the space, but with his hands bound, there isn't much leverage for him to try and get away. Save, that is, if he attempted to bite down on Sylus' cock. But he's not so foolish as to attempt a stunt such as that.

“You think I kidnapped him?” Sylus asks, while he relishes in the sensation of a hot throat constricting around his length. “Whatever gave you that impression? The good doctor is exactly where he wants to be, aren't you?” With his mouth so full, there isn't any way Doctor Li is capable of answering him, so all he gets in response is a rather pathetic whine.

That could also have something to do with the fact that Sylus’ shoe is still pressed between his legs, though it doesn't exactly seem to be pain the doctor is fearing, as his own cock sits heavy and hard between his legs, dressed up prettily in a thick metal cock ring wrapped around his shaft and balls. Poor thing won't be able to get any relief while it's still holding his pleasure hostage.

Those gathered around are all shifting in their seats, leather creaking beneath pressed slacks, and fingers tapping on the table.

“No one is going to come for the doctor. And you lot,” Sylus' eyes spare a moment for each of them, filled with disdain, “are going to take all of your business through me. Nothing enters or leaves without my signature. I have been lenient. I will not be any longer. The next smuggler crossing the border will be dealt with, and I will not be kind.”

He's getting close. There is something about the absolute power trip this is, and he thinks he ought to thank the doctor for coming up with the idea. It's a heady pleasure, with such a brilliant, powerful man on his knees, entirely debased for him, and with his lessers seeing the things Doctor Li is willing to do for him.

The things he is allowing to be done to him. All for Sylus' gratification.

“Hold still.” He groans, down to the head of black hair between his knees, and with a grunt, starts to guide the doctor's head faster on his cock. To his credit, this time he is entirely obedient.

It doesn't take long for Sylus to come down his throat with nothing more than a pleased sigh. The much louder sound is that of Doctor Li coughing and retching once he's let go, choking on the cum shot down his throat.

That's a pretty sight too. Lips shiny with spit and spend, hunched over, and yet not moving away. He even uses Sylus' knee to lean on as he catches his breath.

With the way Zayne has twisted away, though, and his bound hands preoccupied with covering his mouth through his fit, the rest of the men in the room can quite easily see that not only is Doctor Li hard, but he is leaking. A bead of precum oozing from the head of his reddening cock. They can see the thick ring that keeps him hard and aching.

How long has it been, now? He probably ought to let the poor thing out soon, but a Zayne who is so painfully aroused is much easier to keep under control. It clouds his thinking.

Sylus starts to fiddle with his cock, poking around at it with his shoe as if for nothing more than his own amusement. Which it is, to be clear. Once or twice he steps down on it, crushing it beneath his shoe just to hear that cute sound he makes when it hurts just a bit too much.

“Don't forget what I'm capable of when I put my mind to it. Isn't that right, doctor?” Sylus asks, and yanks his head up and turns him just as he steps down harder than before onto Zayne's cock, giving the room a good look at his pretty expression when he cries out.

If only they could see his face without the blindfold. Sylus knows from experience how much better he looks when you can see the pathetic expression in his eyes.

“You can speak, pet. Tell them.” He pulls harder on Zayne's hair. His reward is another delicious whimper.

“Yes, whatever you want.” He gasps.

“And if I decide something is mine… there's not a thing they can do to stop me, is there?”

“No sir.”

“Good boy. Now be quiet and maybe I'll let you come once our guests leave.”

He lets Zayne go, and relieves the pressure on his delicate bits, though his cock by now is rather red and leaking, painfully trapped at this point. It's cute, even cuter because at this angle, looking down on him, it appears rather small. It isn't, but Sylus can pretend if he likes.

Zayne cries out again, softer this time, when Sylus presses down on it just for fun, and all around the room there are flinches in sympathy. It's not hard to read the thoughts of those around him, Sylus already knows they're all wondering the same thing.

Just what did he do to get a man like Zayne Li so thoroughly under his boot? Quite literally, in this case. Because if Sylus is telling the truth, and this man truly hasn't been kidnapped, how could he have possibly coerced him to do such a thing as this? What information must Sylus have on him?

He knows that's what they're all wondering, and truthfully, he's counting on it.

“Now, you are boring me, and unless you'd like to join the good doctor here, I suggest you get out and reconsider how far you're willing to go for pride.” Really, Sylus barely gives them a glance before making it obvious that he has no more patience for their presence, and the message is taken almost immediately.

Zayne sits perfectly still, possibly not even breathing as he hears the sound of chairs moving back, and several footsteps making their way to the door.

Sylus finds it endlessly amusing that although he's the one sitting in this conference room with his cock out, he's the one entirely in control. He waits until he gets a nod from Kieran, indicating that they're all well on their way out of the building before he does anything else. Patiently, his perfect Zayne waits at his feet, quiet as a mouse.

Only once they're entirely alone does he give his pet a reprieve.

First, he reaches down and behind Zayne's head to undo the blindfold. As it slips to the floor, those pretty hazel eyes blink to readjust to the light, and find their way to Sylus.

He still looks soft around the edges. Vulnerable, and not quite in the right state of mind. As Sylus pulls him up and into his lap, Zayne is docile and obedient. Shivering a bit, from the cold of the room. His eyes sharpen as he watches Sylus untie the rope around his wrists and take them in hand, rubbing them gently.

“You did wonderfully, sweetheart. How do you feel?” Sylus asks, cupping his face in both hands and running a hand through his soft hair. Zayne sighs and leans into Sylus' shoulder.

“Take it off, please.” He asks, quiet, and Sylus knows that shiver isn't from the chill of the room.

“Ah, ah, ah, answer me first. Then you can have whatever you like.”

He can feel the way Zayne's lips turn into a pout as he shifts in Sylus' lap, uncomfortable.

“I feel fine. We can talk about it later.”

“Hmm… needy kitten.” Sylus hums, and flips the latch on the cock ring that's been suffocating him for the better part of an hour, and Zayne moans at the feeling of blood finally being able to rush down to his cock.

Normally, he'd take great pleasure in forcing Zayne to ask for what he wants, make him beg to come, but he's been so well behaved tonight that Sylus decides to spare him from further embarrassment. Instead, he wraps a careful hand around that pretty cock and starts to pump it with quick strokes around the head.

Poor Zayne is so sensitive by now that the stimulation has him panting and whimpering into Sylus' throat in no time.

And yet, he can tell that his good doctor is holding back.

“You don't have to wait for permission this time, kitten. Go on.” Sylus murmurs into his hair, and presses a kiss to the top of his head as Zayne twists and cries sharply once.

His body tenses and then the shivering starts all over again as he spills into Sylus' hand and lap, come dripping down onto his own soft cock. Zayne is always so beautiful when he comes, and the noises he makes are exquisite. It almost makes him want to never do anything like this again. Just for the sole reason that no one should get to see him like this.

Sylus holds him through his orgasm, until Zayne catches his breath, and holds him tight with both arms.

There's a silence for a long while as Sylus allows him the time he needs to come back to himself.

“You're not scared?”

Zayne's own arms slowly reach around him as well, “Of what?”

“You could be a target now.”

A tired chuckle sounds below his chin. “I thought I was under your protection.” Zayne says.

That makes something red hot and fierce burn in Sylus' chest, and he almost purrs when he answers, “That's right. You are.” They bask in their joined warmth for a moment, before Sylus speaks again, “You know what else you are?”

“Hmm?” Zayne sounds tired. While it may be morning for Sylus, it is high time he makes sure his doctor gets to bed.

“A pervert.” Sylus can't hide the teasing lilt in his voice, and Zayne huffs another small laugh.

“You're the one who made me this way.”

“I only coaxed it out of you, kitten.”

“Perhaps.” Zayne hums, unwilling to admit what they both know is the truth.

“Maybe next time we'll try something a little more intense, hmm? You should've seen the look on Caleb's face. He had all sorts of ideas that whole time.”

Zayne snorts, “I'm sure he does. He's always had a vivid imagination.”

“Come on, kitten, I'm sure everyone is waiting to see how you're doing.” Sylus tries to pick him up, but Zayne doesn't let him, using his weight to keep Sylus sitting right where he is.

“Later… let's just stay like this for a little longer.”

If MC is involved, it's even more complicated. They're probably the reason they all got together in the first place.

Sylus is the least opposed has absolutely no problem with the sharing, he's just happy to have more people to spoil with his massive fortune.

Shockingly Rafayel is next up. At first he's all giggly about the attention but then he actually falls in love with the rest of them.

Then it's Zayne. He is the anchor of this polycule. Him and MC are holding this shit down.

Second to last is Xavier. He's a sleepy boy, having five partners is alot of work

Caleb, at first, it's the most unhappy. MC and Zayne are his, why should he share his apples? He comes around though.

There's enough psycho gege for everyone!

The shared calendar is their best friend. With all of their busy schedules, a date night where they can all show up is a miracle.

Sex is no longer a spur of the moment thing. It requires planning and a degree in architecture to position everyone.

A California King bed is mandatory.

Sylus and his ungodly stamina has never been happier.

Everyone lives in fear of the time his aether core was acting up, mc was ovulating, and rafayel had an ebb day all at the same time.

Caleb adores being able to take care and cook for everyone.

Everyone is a hypocrite. They're all worried about everyone else drinking water, eating three meals a day, etc while they themselves are not.

Sometimes when they don't feel like arranging all of them, they'll split off into smaller groups to have sex.

Weirdly enough, it's usually Sylus who is content to just watch his partners enjoy eachother.

Often, after 18 hours of surgery, Zayne just completely ignores the orgy happening in the main bedroom and passes out on the couch

Speaking of Zayne, this man is watched watched 24/7 whenever he has a cavity. If he thought sneaking around Caleb and MC was hard...

They're all kind of stalking eachother and don't know it.

Caleb and Xavier are the worst of it while Sylus and Zayne are shockingly chill compared to the others

Smoke burned his lungs as he tried to gasp in air. His body hurt like hell, and he couldn’t feel his right arm. His head spun and his ears started to ring. Caleb struggled to his feet, vision blurring as he thought he saw people dressed in black approach the rubble he was trapped under. Before he could say anything, it all went dark. 

Caleb screamed in agony, fighting against the evol cancelling restraints. Scientists with tools fiddled with his right arm, making him metal braces and prosthetics. It hurt so much. Caleb screamed again, clawing at nothing. He tried to reach out for his evol but nothing happened. 

The chip was worse. They were cruel enough to keep him awake as they implanted it. A test of pain tolerance, they said. Caleb knew the truth. They just liked to hear people scream. EVER, the damned professor, the Fleet, Caleb didn’t know who to blame anymore. His throat was raw from screaming.

“Stop it!” Caleb jolted up, breathing fast and hard. He clawed at his hair, pulling and tugging. His heart pounded and cold sweat dripped down his back. It was dark, and he couldn’t recognize the sight of his room. His body wracked with shudders and quiet sobs. Theroom was too dark and too quiet, reminding him of dark isolation chambers. 

He reached under his pillow with his mostly numb right arm, relaxing slightly when his fingers curled around something hard—the handle of one of his guns. The other was hidden away in case of emergencies. Even though he could tell there was something in his fist, the lack of sensation in the heavily modified limb meant the familiar cold creeping from the metal of the gun was missing, so he switched it to his left hand. Caleb needed to feel something. He shivered and shuddered, his hands shaking. 

His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe properly. There was too little and too much noise all at once. The walls were closing in on him, and if he shut his eyes he’d be plunged into a deeper darkness. The chip sent pain through him as his emotions kept rising. 

Pain, pain, pain, pain…

Pain is all Caleb had ever been in. He grit his teeth. When would the pain end? He wanted it so stop! Why wouldn’t it stop!? He felt like he was drowning and he couldn’t swim. The gun fell to the floor as he ripped his night shirt off, clawing at his chest and where the metal merged with skin on his shoulder. More pain. 

At least it was him and not her. That thought alone was all that grounded him as the agony running through his body threatened to drag him back into that kaleidoscope of all the worst moments of his life. Another broken sob escaped him. He cursed EVER for taking him as a child. He cursed them for blowing him up and taking him back and turning him into this weapon. He hated it. He hated it. He hated it! 

The burden of it all—the pain, the horrors, the secrets—threatened to break him but there was nothing he could do but bear it. He couldn’t bother Pips,he made a promise not to. He was supposed to be the one to carry everything, to protect her from what she couldn’t fight against. Besides, Pips had just gotten home with Xavier from a long mission, and Caleb refused to wake her up. If she saw him like this, she’d panic and ask questions he didn’t want to answer. Caleb had always been the strong one, the one to shoulder the pain and burdens of the world for her. He’d never allow her to see him breaking down. It just couldn’t happen. 

Pain jolted through him, and his fingertips came back red. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to see the blood from scratching and pulling at the metal. He grimaced and angrily scratched harder. Pain was nothing anymore. It was so frequent he’d gotten good at ignoring it. More blood coated his fingers. 

Screams echoed in his mind, followed by flashes of electricity and those cruel, cruel bastards. The EVER logo ever present in the background. Caleb hated them. He wanted to crush them under the weight of his gravity, throw them into the deepest, darkest black hole he could muster. Or maybe he’d simply blow every EVER lab and building he could find. 

“y…ey…h’y…HEY!” A hand smacked him, his head jerking to the side. Purple eyes widened and locked onto blue-pink ones, reflecting his own sweat-drenched face back at him. Rafayel frowned, the arch of his eyebrows and the twist of his lip spoke of anger, likely at being woken up in the middle of the night, but there was a faint trace of concern in his eyes too. “Snap out of whatever crisis you’re going through. Some of us need to sleep.” 

“What are you—” Rafayel was cut off by Caleb lunging at him, hands wrapping around his throat, cutting off air supply. The Lemurian sea god coughed, eyes glowing a deep blue as scales formed on his face. Before he could summon a sea spirit or a rush of water, the room got cold, too cold, and Caleb was pulled off of him. 

“What the hell was that?” Rafayel spat, gasping for air and coughing. He rubbed his throat, already mourning the makeup he’d have to use to cover up finger shaped bruises. Hiscomplaints were cut off when he saw the state Caleb was in, eyes wild and panicked, body quivering and shaking, blood on his hands and shoulder. 

“Hey, hey,” Zayne soothed, holding Caleb tightly. “Calm down, they can’t hurt you anymore. You’re not there anymore.” He gently cupped Caleb’s face in his hands, the cold grounding Caleb. “You’re home. With me. With us. Breathe.” 

“Make it stop! Make it stop,” Caleb trembled violently, pain shooting through his arm and head. The more he got worked up, the more it hurt. Tears slid down his cheeks, his vision blurred as he tried to focus on Zayne and Rafayel. His chest hurt from hyperventilating.

Mephisto cawed, signalling Sylus’ return from Onychinus business. Caleb barely registered a fourth person in the room, too lost in scenes from years gone by and the feeling of a knife jamming its way through his brain. He vaguely heard Zayne tell Sylus to get the medical kit, a clean cloth, and some water. Gradually, the throbbing in his skull receded and he allowed his head to drop onto Zayne’s shoulder, all the while wishing he could disappear.

Caleb despised showing any kind of weakness, especially around Pips. He certainly didn’t want to have a literal god and a dragon watch him fall apart, the cracks he was usually so good at hiding, gaping open and leaking the ruined pieces of him all over the floor. Zayne was the only one he truly trusted he could break down in front of. Zayne wouldn’t hold his weaknesses over his head for blackmail or manipulations. No, Zayne would never do that to him. 

The doctor frowned when Caleb barely flinched as he cleaned his bloodied shoulder. He was still shuddering violently, his shaky exhales interrupted every so often by a faint sniffle. Zayne didn't have the heart to push Caleb's head from his shoulder,it would help with his visibility and mobility in cleaning his bloodied shoulder, but Caleb's comfort was more important right now. 

“You're safe,” Zayne murmured quietly, feeling cold anger in his chest as he looked at the scars littering Caleb's back and torso. He finished wrapping up Caleb's shoulder and wiping away the blood from his hands. 

“Don't go,” Caleb hissed, clinging to Zayne when the doctor moved to inspect Rafayel's bruised neck.  “Please,” he whispered quietly, the vulnerability in his voice making Zayne's heart clench. 

“I'm not going anywhere. I just need to check on Rafayel,” Zayne spoke gently yet firmly. “I'm right here.” 

Caleb winced as Zayne mentioned Rafayel, vague memories of his hand clenching around the Lemurian’s throat resurfacing. His grip on Zayne loosened, and he was stuck with the desire to sink into the floorboards and away from the watchful eyes in the room. It was a small miracle Pips hadn't woken up with the commotion. 

“What happened?” Sylus' deep timbre echoed in the small space. He sat down on the plush armchair in the corner of the room. The bed was a bit crowded, and the dragon knew Zayne would yell at him if he tried to join them. The doctor needed his space while he treated Rafayel and Caleb. 

Caleb clenched his jaw and looked away. “Just a nightmare,” he muttered bitterly. He didn't need Sylus worrying about him or worse, mocking him. Logically, he knew Sylus probably wouldn't mock him for having a nightmare, but Caleb's mind was too hectic to think logically at the moment. 

Sylus raised an eyebrow, sharing a glance with Rafayel and Zayne. Caleb never liked to talk about what he’d experienced at the hands of EVER and the Fleet. But they all knew where these night terrors originated. The first time Sylus had heard what EVER did to Caleb, he wanted to see the entire organisation reduced to naught but ash, a sentiment Rafayel had echoed.

“Try again, without lying this time,” Sylus drawled, giving Caleb a pointed look. 

Caleb’s frown deepened and he bit the inside of his cheek. If it were anyone else, he would have ignored them and changed the subject. But when it was Sylus or anyone in the polycule, the same rules didn’t apply, and the automatic dismissal died in his throat. Caleb looked down at his fingers, where Zayne was gently cleaning away the blood having already dabbed his shoulder with an antiseptic. 

“...it’s just night terrors. Sometimes it’s about my childhood or other times it’s after the explosion,” Caleb quietly spoke, taking deep breaths and avoiding eye contact. He hated how vulnerable he felt and looked. He was supposed to be the strong one. He…He had to shoulder everything. To keep her safe. To keep the others safe. If they knew everything then they’d…No, Caleb wouldn’t think about that. 

He didn’t notice Sylus and Rafayel sharing a look or the fact Zayne had finished cleaning and tending to his self inflicted wounds. Exhaustion crashed over Caleb, and he struggled to even keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to end up back there. 

“Don’t fight it,” someone murmured to him. “Sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up.” Caleb let them push him back into laying down, his shoulder twinging faintly in pain. Someone apologized, and then a warmth surrounded him. 

When Caleb woke up hours later, he couldn’t move. Not due to fear or anxiety, but from the fact he was at the bottom of a cuddle pile. Sylus was on his right and Zayne on his left. His head was on Sylus’ shoulder. Blinking away his grogginess, he lifted his head to see Rafayel and Pips on top of him and Xavier sprawled out over his legs. 

A small smile made its way on his face. 

He wasn’t alone anymore. 

For the first time in a long time, Caleb wasn’t afraid or in pain. 

caleb is 20 when he's about to leave for the DAA. there's an air of silence around the house. you've trapped yourself in your room more often, stressing over your senior finals. at least, that's what you've been telling him.

"i'm sorry caleb, i really need to study for this test."

"oh! i totally forgot about that project i had due tonight. shit, i'm sorry caleb. we'll have another movie night soon, okay?"

he doesn't know if you're actually this busy or if you're actually ignoring him. all he does know is that he misses you. he wonders about how he could miss someone who was in the room across from him. you were so close, but so far.

when you found out he was leaving—though you had a grin on your face while congratulating him—caleb knew you were devastated. he wondered if you were secretly mad at him for leaving.

two weeks before his departure, he practically forces you to be around him. he laid down next to you like before. he stroked your hair while you napped on the couch. he teased you and picked you up so you could hit him and grab him like you used to. he always chose to put his arm around you during a movie. he dragged you by the hand all around the neighborhood. he needed to all of that again, a thousand times more.

but at 24, it seems like there may have been a wedge between the two of you. calls are more and more infrequent.

"sorry, space signal sucks," he'd type.

"sorry, i was busy with training!" you'd reply, 2 days later.

he thinks that he would do anything to go back to before. he hasn't felt you in months. he sees you only twice a year.

it's hard. it was excruciating during the first few weeks. not only was he dealing with bootcamp, but he always found himself looking to his side, thinking you'd be there with him. at night, you were there, right next to him in bed.

he imagined that you would whisper words of reassurance in his ear. you'd hold onto him like you used to, when you had nightmares, and wrap your legs between his. there were days where we stroked his necklace, wishing that it was your hand instead. what he would give to have you next to him.

all he wants is to be able to feel you again. he chastises his 10-year-old self for taking you for granted back then. he wants to feel the apples of your cheeks when he caresses your face. once,—when he was 13 (you, 11)—he did that, and he thought you had a fever the way you warmed up. if he could, caleb would build a time machine to go back to that.

caleb is 25 when he is out of your life.

he thinks about you every day. it reminds him of when he was in bootcamp five years ago. it takes him back to when he was fifteen; you were on top of him, and his brain was fried to a crisp. caleb wonders if he's always been this way, because he can recall that at ten, you were still the only thing consuming his mind.

even during his arm repairs, you're there throughout all the pain.

when you discover his metal arm, all of caleb's instincts point to the door. he's spent so long trying to hide it from you: it's the constant long-sleeves (even though they made him incredibly uncomfortable), or making sure to only touch you with his left-hand (even though he wanted to pull you in with both hands).

but he stays. because it's you.

you freeze momentarily, listening to his writhes and moans of pain. caleb only notices you're there when he feels your hands brush his shoulder. he jolts back in surprise, and he sees you looming over him.

he stammers something, not even sure of what he said because you're here. you see him. you see it.

caleb's wanted this for so long. he wanted to see you again, in a state where you were both vulnerable, like old times. however, that moment probably wouldn't have come if he doesn't confess about this, so he relays the details.

you listen attentively, eyes wide with shock as caleb goes on. your hands wrap around his metal one, and he feels nothing. it's agonizing. he sees you examine him so gently. your fingers trace over bolts and plates of metal, lightly stroking up and down his arm. and caleb feels nothing.

how often has he dreamed of this? for you to be touching him again, so intimately and softly? he's stayed up countless nights wishing for you to be here, just so he can put his arms around you in a crushing embrace, only to be incapable of feeling you on one side of his body.

you pull away from his arm, asking if the fleet was accountable. when he doesn't say anything, he feels your weight lift off the bed and go towards the door.

whatever happens next is involuntary. he uses his flesh arm to pull you back, caging you between his forearm and his chest. there's no thought to it, no rationalization. it's just you and him. and he's been deprived of this for so long.

he breathes into the crevice of your neck, and he has half a mind to place his entire face there. he wants to breathe you in after being away from you for so long. no conversations, no contact, no touching. the last time he was this close to you was years ago. he needs this, caleb thinks.

the feel of you against his bare chest is something he cannot seem to describe. it's like he's his teenage (or even kid) self again, where he seems to short-circuit whenever he comes in contact with you. you're still small compared to him, but you fit perfectly like you did a decade ago.

he lets you go after he feels you trembling. you don't hesitate to place your hands on his waist and tackle him onto the bed. you catch him off-guard as you pin him beneath you, looking straight into his eyes.

"hold me," you plead, "with your right hand."

caleb lets out a shaky breath. there are voltages of electricity flowing through him—literally and figuratively. his skin sparks alive when he feels you. will it be the same with the metal arm?

slowly, caleb raises his mechanical arm. he wraps it around you, and feels the movement of your back shift downwards. you released a breath you didn't know you were holding. caleb held his.

you wait patiently before caleb starts running his metal hand up and down your back. you watch him exhale as he continues. you press your forehead on his, and you breathe in tandem with him.

caleb is 25 when he discovers that he loves physical touch.

wow like i didn't expect this to get so long... but like here we are???

i think we need to start embracing touch-starved caleb in all of our fics. this man hasn't seen the love of his life in YEARS (infrequently, anyway) so i think once she touches him (like INTIMATELY) for the first time in years he goes a little cray.