swirled you into all of my poems

Marc Spector’s psyche was a psychologist’s wet dream.

Three distinct personalities, completely separated from each other, all occupying the same host body. At one point, all mutually unaware of the others, but now living together in solidarity and (relative) cooperation.

Meeting Marc Spector was a happy accident—but meeting a man with a clearcut case of Dissociative Identity Disorder as a Professor of Psychology? Now that was just pure, dumb luck.

You had met Steven Grant first. You’d run into him at the British Museum during a university-sponsored visit. Your interaction had been brief, but it was memorable for you nonetheless—there was just something about those soft brown eyes and dopey, shy smile that melted your heart.

Imagine your surprise when you accidentally ran into that same man on the bus, only for him to introduce himself as Marc with a midwestern American accent and a cold, calculated gleam in his stare. He was forward and confident—very much unlike your previous encounter with him. When you called his bluff and swore you’d interacted with him under the guise of Steven, he pulled you aside and gently tried to justify the confusion.

“It’s—I have this...condition. It’s—have you ever heard of Dissociative Identity Disorder?”

You had tried hard to fight your smile.

“Yeah, I’m familiar with it.”

It was only revealed to him—after his winded and lengthy explanation—that you had a doctorate degree in clinical psychology and specialized in mental disorders.

Steven’s curiosity was piqued, and Marc silently hoped you’d be able to shed some insight into the functioning of his fragmented mind. You quickly established an easy friendship, somewhat reminiscent of a relationship between a client and therapist—although you knew and cared for each other on a much deeper and more intimate level.

Several months later, you were finally introduced to the most elusive alter within the system—Jake Lockley.

You began to spend the majority of your free time with the men—all three of them seemed to be relatively taken with you. Steven was sweet, Marc was shrewd, and Jake was steadfast. It was sometimes difficult to conceptualize that they all shared the same physical body with how differently they behaved.

It hadn’t started as a project—genuinely, truly, it hadn’t. It wasn’t your intention to be so captivated by those big brown puppy-dog eyes or the softness within his smile. And the feelings you had for him—for all of them—were real, and raw, and indisputable. You would never, ever, ever do anything to make them feel uncomfortable or jeopardize your relationships in any way.

Which is why this was such a bad fucking idea.

Your nails drummed against the side of your porcelain coffee mug as your nervously chewed on the cap of your red pen, making a futile attempt to focus on grading the research report in front of you, but your attention was clearly elsewhere. Your eyes kept darting to the clock on the wall across from you, watching the second hand tick away slowly. The coffee shop was playing gentle soothing acoustic songs, the smell of cinnamon lingering in the air, but even the coziness wasn’t enough to shake your nerves.

“Hey, there, Doc.”

Your head perked at the sound of a familiar voice, a warming hand clapping your shoulder as Marc Spector walked to the other side of the small table and sat down across from you. You groaned at his greeting, pulling your reading glasses from your nose and setting them on the table in front of you.

“Marc, I swear, if you call me that one more time, I’ll—”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, although he was smirking slyly at you.

“Alright, alright, jeez—what’s got you wound up so tight, huh?”

He reached for the paper on top of the stack in front of you, reading off the title aloud.

“An In-depth Investigation Into the Underlying Psychological Causes of Erectile Dysfunction in Men Under 50.”

His face contorted in a look of disgust.

“Jesus—that’s gotta be the most boring fuckin’ thing I’ve ever heard.”

You watched as his eyes fluttered briefly, his posture sinking and his features softening. When his eyes regained focus, he shook his head, huffing.

“Bugger off, Marc—I think it sounds plenty interestin’.”

Steven smiled graciously, offering the packet back to you. You accepted it tiredly, throwing it atop the pile of what seemed like an endless supply of mediocre student submissions that had yet to be graded.

“Thanks, Steven, but Marc’s right—my brain’s fried. I swear, if I have to read another shitty case study about men whose dicks don’t work, I’ll gouge my eyes out.”

The man chuckled at your confession as you shoved the stack of papers into your briefcase clumsily, snapping it shut without a second thought and letting it fall back to the floor beside your table. You carefully picked up your mug and took a long, slow sip—your coffee was barely lukewarm, at this point, as you’d be sitting at the cafe for hours, working quietly as you patiently waited on your friend’s arrival.

Although Steven was blissfully oblivious, Marc was observant. His consciousness pushed to the front, studying you carefully—your white-knuckled grip against your cup, your shifty eyes that were looking everywhere but at him, the tension in your shoulders and nervous bouncing of your leg.

“Alright—what’s wrong?”

Your gaze snapped over to him where he was sat with arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed in suspicion. You tried to force a smile in an effort to cover up your uncertainty.

“Nothing’s wrong, Marc. Promise.”

You held his gaze intently, trying to convince him with your half-hearted response. His stare didn't waver, and after a few brief moments, you had to look down, overwhelmed with the intensity of his scrutiny.

“Alright, let’s try that again. Y/N—what’s wrong?”

You let a long, exasperated sigh, running a tired hand down your face. This had been weighing on you for a few days, at this point, and you still weren’t sure if you could handle the emotional labor this conversation would require.

“It’s true, nothing’s—nothing’s wrong, per se, I just—I just need to talk to you. I’ve—I have this idea—”

“Like—a work-related, science-y idea? You want Steven? Or—I can try my best to help, but sometimes you get excited and start talking really fast and I can’t keep up, but—”

“No, Marc, it’s not—I mean, it’s not really science-y, but like, also—it kinda is? I don’t know how to explain it, but I really need to—”

“I mean, whatever it is, you seem pretty worried about it, so obviously it’s important, and—and I just wanna make sure we’re giving you whatever response you need, or, at least—”

“Jesus, Marc, if you’d let me finish.”

You clipped, and his jaw snapped shut instantaneously, somewhat taken aback by your outburst. You were normally so controlled, practiced with your expressions, so seeing any sign of emotional imbalance was startling.

Guilt immediately flooded your stomach after you lashed out—you buried your head in your hands, taking a few slow, deliberate breaths in an attempt to quell your rapid heartbeat.

“Shit—sorry, I didn’t mean—this is just... I’m not sure how to go about this.”

You felt the featherlight brush of calloused fingertips against your forearm, coaxing your face away from your palms. When you finally lifted your head, Steven had returned, his eyes soft and reassuring. He pulled your hand into his, squeezing briefly before rubbing his thumb comfortingly across your knuckles.

“S’alright, love, truly. Take as much time as you need, and—and if there’s anythin’ you need from us, it’s yours. Just—whenever you’re ready.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies flitting in your stomach at Steven’s gentle promise. You inhaled once more, before finding his eyes.

“This—I need to talk to all three of you. Can you—are you in a place where you can all be co-conscious?”

Steven’s lips turned up at the corners at your thoughtfulness. He received verbal responses from both Marc and Jake—a confirmation that they were both actively listening.

“’Course. We’re all here. Is—do you have a preference, as to who you’d like to speak with?”

You returned his smile, offering a slight squeeze to his hand.

“I mean—since you’re already fronting, might as well stay, huh?”

Steven blushed, trying to fight the giddiness that came from your validation. He quickly steeled himself, reminding himself that you were struggling to open up to him.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready, then, yeah?”

You cautiously pulled your hand away from his, mostly to keep yourself grounded and get out what you needed before you second-guessed yourself.

“So.”

You cautiously began.

“I had this—this idea. And it’s—it sounds crazy, and I get that, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, especially because—well, I just feel like this is something that could have damning effects on the entire field of psychology, with both practical and theoretical applications, but—that doesn’t mean—I don’t want you to feel obligated by any means to agree, or—or to feel pressured into anything, and I definitely don’t want you to think that—that I’m using you, because that couldn’t be farther from the truth, I swear, and—”

“Y/N.”

His tone was soft, a quiet interruption from your rambling, and your eyes widened in concern. However, he offered you a reassuring nod.

“Just tell us what it is, yeah? We’ll go from there.”

You nodded slowly, squeezing your eyes shut, before beginning again.

“There’s this huge debate in psychology. It’s pretty much the basis of a lot of our research—the whole nature versus nurture debate. Basically, it’s all about how much of our personalities can be attributed to genetics versus how much can be attributed to our life experiences.”

Steven was listening intently, leaning forward into your words.

“Well, it’s—it’s a concept that’s really difficult to research, because, well, we don’t really have a basis of comparison. The best thing we have to go off of is when identical twins get separated at birth and grow up in different places. Or, at least—that was the best we’ve had up until this point. Does—does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

He assured, nodding in acknowledgement. You only hoped the other two alters were keeping up.

“So, basically what I’m getting at here, is, well—you, and—and all three of you, really—Marc and Jake, you guys provide a really, really unique opportunity, because, well—you share a body. So, physiologically, you’re completely identical. The only thing that’s different about you is who you are, so—your life experiences and memories and things like that. You’re—you’re like the perfect example of how our experiences shape our beings.”

“Right. Right.”

Steven followed your train of thought carefully, brows furrowed. You took a deep breath. This is the part you were dreading.

“So, I had this thought... you three boys are so vastly different from each other. Like, really, really different, and—and you each have your own preferences, things like that, but—but you still have the same body. In my Abnormal Psych course, we’re studying intimacy and desire right now. So—so what I was wondering was about your—your sexuality. Like, to what extent are your sexual preferences due to your biology rather than your cognition.”

Steven blew out a shaky exhale, though he tried not to appear perturbed by your words. His mind was silent—he could feel the intense focus from his alters, now hanging on your every word.

“What if there was a way, to, you know, test, how different your sexual preferences are? And to test and see how your arousal is different, or the same, based on locations of stimulation and things like that?”

Bloody fucking hell.

In a split second, Marc was fronting, Steven slipping back into the headspace, completely overwhelmed and unsure of what to say or how to react. You noticed the abrupt switch, and after recovering from the brief whiplash, you felt panic spur within you. You’d scared him away.

Marc’s brows were furrowed, like he wasn’t completely picking up what you were putting down.

“So, what exactly are you suggesting?”

You closed your eyes.

“I guess—what I’m suggesting is that you—you help me research. You—you let me study you, each of you, independently, to see—to see how different your sexual behaviors and preferences are.”

“Like—like a questionnaire, or something?”

Marc questioned, but when you shook your head, eyes casting downwards, it suddenly dawned on him. Steven’s departure made sense. Everything made sense.

“So... so lemme get this straight.”

Marc made a stopping motion with his hand, gesturing for you to pause.

“You—want to have sex, with me—with us... for science?”

“Well, I mean, it—it doesn’t necessarily have to be with me, I could—we could find someone else, if you’re more comfortable, and—and I could just observe, or—”

“So you’re a voyeur, now?”

You jolted and Marc’s vulgarity, eyes quickly scanning your surroundings to make sure no one was listening in on your conversation. Luckily, the cafe was relatively deserted at that point.

“No! No, that’s not—I’m just saying, with what I’m suggesting, it—it would make the most sense for the researcher to—to be more hands-on, but that’s...”

Your voice trailed off, staring at a speck of grime on the table, trying to calm the rapid racing of your heart.

Yeah, seems she's interested in being real hands-on, huh?

Marc struggled to hold in his snickering at Jake’s internal dialogue, but after seeing the worry that was clinging to your features, his sympathy prevailed.

“Y/N.”

He spoke calmly, cool and collected. Your eyes flitted to his, where he was watching you intently. However, you could see the ghost of a smirk on his face.

“So what you’re saying is... you want to have sex, with me, for science.”

He reiterated, and you opened your mouth to protest, to defend your credibility, to rationalize your bizarre proposition, but instead, a long sigh escaped you as you admitted defeat.

“Yes. Yeah. That’s…exactly what I’m saying.”

A brief silence stagnated between you, and there was a tightness forming in your chest as every worst-case-scenario began coming to fruition in the forefront of your mind.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to overstep, or—or—”

“What, exactly, would this entail?”

Marc inquired, unable to deny his curiosity. You blinked once, then twice, processing his words.

“So—so you’ll do it?”

He held up his hands as if to tell you to slow down.

“Just—hang on. Hypothetically speaking, what—what would this even look like?”

Excitement zipped up your skin as you reached down into your briefcase, pulling out a manila folder full of several sheets of scribbled ideas and disorganized thoughts.

“Well, see, I’ve been brainstorming—”

Christ, she has the whole thing planned.

Steven’s voice sounded faint, breathless, winded. Marc ignored him, instead focusing in on your sudden enthusiasm.

“—and I came up with a research plan. So, the way it would go—we’d meet for the weekend, three weekends in a row, with a week break in between. Each alter will have their own weekend to be the subject of study. Day one, we—well, you would lead the sexual encounter. Do what you want, showcase what sex usually looks like for you, what you like, what you don’t like—”

Marc's mind was reeling. He shamelessly attempted to ignore the effect your words were having on him. Do what you want. What you like. To you.

You were still talking.

“—and then the second day, you’d let me take the reins. I’ll psychoanalyze your behavior from the first day, and synthesize that with all the information I already have about you, and I’ll try to—well, I don’t wanna say push your buttons, but—basically, as shitty as it sounds, I’d be trying to bring to light any vulnerabilities, prod at the soft spots, stuff like that. Try to see if I can find what it is each of you seeks out through sexual intimacy. Does that make sense?”

Marc shook his head, lost in thought, but he blinked away the fog in his mind and quickly corrected himself with a nod.

“Yeah, I mean—I think so? Would this—what would you do, once it’s over? Like, what’s the point?”

“It would never be published, or shared with anyone else, I can promise you that. It’s—it would mostly be for me. Kind of like a passion project, I guess. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and, well...”

Passion project?

What’s she mean, ‘she’s been thinkin’ about it for awhile?’

Marc almost shushed the voices in his head aloud, trying to clear his head of static so he could properly take all of this in.

He looked up at you, and you were staring up at him with eye round and hopeful, almost reverent as they passed over him. He blew out a slow breath.

“Do... can we have time to think about it? To talk about it?”

The fuck do you mean, jefe? I’m ready to start right now.

You nodded encouragingly, although Marc caught the brief glimmer of disappointment in your eyes.

“Of course, Marc. Take as long as you need. And—please don’t feel obligated to say yes. I mean it. I know—I know this kind of came out of left field, and—and I don’t want to violate any boundaries, or—or jeopardize our friendship in any way, I would never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable, just—”

You stalled your tangent with a slow breath.

“Just let me know, okay?”

Marc nodded at you, smiling softly and contemplatively as he rose from the table and exited the coffeeshop, leaving you to stew in anticipation and something adjacent to remorse.

The call came in the next day, at 11am on the dot. It was Steven on the other line when you answered, walking out of the lecture hall doors as your class adjourned.

“Hello?”

You answered.

“Mornin’, Y/N. It’s, uh—It’s Steven.”

You giggled.

“I know, Steven. I have caller ID, and believe it or not, your accent is kind of distinct.”

You could practically hear him blush on the other end.

“Right. Yeah. Well, I just—I was callin’ to, uh—Christ, of course they made me do this, I can’t even—”

“Steven.”

You interrupted gently, your calmness soothing his nerves to some degree. He took a breath.

“Sorry. I—We talked it over. The whole—your experiment. And—and I think we’re all up for it.”

You froze in your tracks, students continuing to rush around on either side of you in the hallway. Your hand was shaking.

“I—really? Are you sure?”

“Well, no—I mean, yeah, I just—of course, I’ve got some reservations, but, I mean—it’s for science, yeah?"

A smile was creeping up your face.

“Yeah. Yes. For—for research purposes.”

Yeah, solely research purposes, my ass.

Marc quipped internally, and Steven gulped.

“Right, then. Could we—shall we meet again today, or—whenever, to talk it over a bit more?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you.

“That’d be perfect. We can meet same time, same place as yesterday?”

He gave a hum of agreement, and you felt suddenly breathless as the reality of the situation began to set in.

“Right. I’ll—I’ll see you then, okay, Steven?”

“Yeah, ‘lright, cheers.”

“And, Steven?”

You called quickly, hoping to catch him before he ended the call.

He hummed in response. You smiled.

“Thank you. Really, thank you.”

→ the project proposal

→ case study: subject one

→ case study: subject two

→ case study: subject three

→ data analysis

Steven has always been attentive to his scent. Before buying perfume, he always checks the notes, carefully selecting them. Out of the boys, he’s the only one that shows a particular interest in perfumery though Marc and Jake also enjoy spraying their favorites on their necks.

However, to Steven—perfumery is personal.

You remember him smelling sweetly, yet fresh, like lavenders that were enriched with the notes of spices and coffee, merging with his love for books. Masculine in a way, but soft and old. A perfect description of his personality.

He has always been the most sensitive, concerning his identity. Marc and Jake were confident, recognising themselves for who they were, and saw each other as an extension of the body and the life they shared. However, Steven had a different opinion. Of course, he loved Marc and Jake, and couldn’t possibly imagine his life in another way, but he often felt as if he were in their shadow, or simply forgotten.

That’s why for as long as you could recall, Steven was attentive to every detail regarding him: to the way his messy hair sat, the way his clothing stood out, or the way he talked, expressed himself. Especially how he smelled.

To some it would seem natural as every person had a need to be themselves, but you knew— You knew that to him it was a way to feel himself as a separate person among the other identities.

Often in the calm evenings, as the two of you would cuddle in the bed after long shifts, he would lay his head on your chest, pleading you to play with his hair. Sometimes, when he would feel like opening up, you would hear him vent:

“I feel like nobody remembers my name. Even at work I’m a ‘Stevie’, but not Steven. It makes me feel so… I don’t know. I feel like a nobody. Like I’m not even there. I’m just this… Ghost, floating around. Kind of useless, really.”

A few nights before, you’ve made a crucial mistake. Accidentally, of course, but nonetheless you hate yourself for it, knowing how deeply it must have wounded him.

Unknowingly, in the middle of passionate kisses, you gasped a different name: Marc.

By the time you grasped the situation, Steven had grown cold. At least you sensed it, though he dismissively claimed that it meant nothing, smooching your hand before going back to his books.

He spent the rest of the night with them.

You knew how much it must have hurt him. He was distant for the past few days, keeping himself occupied with books and work, barely sparring you his attention. You didn’t blame him at all, giving him space to adjust with his personal dilemma, as you’ve apologised for too many times to count.

You wished you could make it up for him, maybe turn back the time. You could do anything, offer him anything, though maybe that would do even more damage.

That’s why you decided to keep it to yourself, patiently waiting for him to settle in his emotions and forgive you.

However, you never expected this to happen.

You woke up to darkness, though you are sure it was a bright Sunday morning.

Once your consciousness was fully awake and your senses returned, you felt a thin dark fabric blinding your vision. A belt tied your wrists together to the bed. The air gushing over your skin signalled that you were completely naked.

Immediately, anxiety overwhelmed you whole, fearing that an intruder might have done so.

Then you thought for a moment or two, evaluating all possibilities, and realising that most likely that’s not the case. Most likely Jake wants to freak you out as he had a tendency to play with bondages.

The unexpected morning was kind of exciting, kinky, making you nibble your lip in an attempt to suppress a giggle.

Regardless, you decided to stay quiet, fearing that maybe you were wrong and someone else was in the room, waiting for you to wake up.

Suddenly, you heard the bed creak, bending underneath you, as someone crawled towards your exposed body.

As you were about to open your mouth, almost whispering Jake, you stopped. That someone must have been hovering above you as a scent reached your nostrils.

Somehow it smelled familiar, though you couldn’t wrap your finger around it, trying your hardest to recognise the notes.

And you almost jumped out of your skin, as the unknown man placed a kiss behind your ear. It gave you an opportunity to lightly graze his neck with the tip of your nose, inhaling the perfume with your eager lungs.

He quickly retreated, kissing your neck instead, just above the pulsing arteries. The kisses were slow and sloppy, with a rough tongue caressing your sensitive skin. It felt intimate, loving, he must have been fully aware of the spots that formed goosebumps. Yet, he avoided using his teeth. It also seemed like he had fun teasing you while sucking your neck, causing you to accidentally exhale louder than intended from time to time.

You began connecting the dots. Jake? No, it couldn’t be Jake. He’s loving, of course, but vulgar and rough. He definitely would’ve bitten your neck by now, marking every inch of you—

The kisses moved to the other side of your neck, planting kisses in the exact manner as before. It was sensual and precise. The aroma drugged you, making you sigh softly and arch your back, aching for more. Touches, you wanted to be touched by the hands. Sadly, your desperation was heartlessly rejected by the executioner.

You guessed in your mind again, biting down your lip just to muffle your sounds. Marc? No, it couldn’t be Marc. Though he’s more careful than Jake, he would’ve run his hands over your body by now, occasionally slapping your ass with passion. No, he would’ve definitely wrapped your legs around his torso—

Then the mysterious man pushed his body on top of yours, humping against your core, seemingly realising that he can’t be as mysterious as he had intended. Only then did you realise that he was fully clothed, though in sweatwear.

He continued moving downwards, bringing his attention firstly to your collarbones, then your chestbone, then your nipples.

Steven? No, it couldn’t be Steven. He’s too sweet to be doing this, though he is very affectionate. He usually wants you to take the lead, guide him through the spectrum of your lust—

Then you inhaled the scent again, piecing the notes together.

Sweet, yet masculine, with a hint of softness, yet assertiveness. Rich and old.

The strong lavender and faint green tea plant, old books, coffee, and leather.

Then the realisation hit you, making you gasp out loud with guilt for not recognising sooner, “Steven?”

No response, though the friction between your bodies deepened, and you couldn’t help but grind yourself right against his hardness.

A silent whine escaped from his lips.

That’s him, surely.

How unexpected. How arousing!

“Steven,” you sighed again, rolling his name with your tongue so seductively.

His hands finally landed on your bare flesh, sweaty, yet so attentive to your anatomy. They ran along your figure, slowly rubbing the sides and finally your hips. His fingers couldn’t contain themselves, drawing circles on your thighs as he moved further down, finishing up with sloppy kisses on your abdomen before pulling away.

“Steven!” you called out, huffing from the desire coursing through your body. You couldn’t handle the sudden departure, especially in the state that you’re in. “Steven, I know it’s you, please… I’m sorry—”

Your prayers were heard as he mouthed over your sex.

Just like before, he knew exactly what you liked and where to place his attention with his tongue. What to suck, what to lick, where to show his appreciation. How to hold your shaky thighs, how to assist them from collapsing.

He loved you so much, more than himself, it was clear from how he managed to hold himself together up to this point. You understood how badly he was trying to impress you. To please you and to honor your sensuality. To show you that Steven can be as sexual as anyone else.

In a way, his busy mouth spelled ‘sorry’ without you knowing.

All of it made your head spin, as the blindfold aggravated your sensations, forcing your soft moans to come out of your mouth naturally. It motivated him further, preparing you for the inevitable not only by his mouth, but his fingers as well.

“Steven, I know it’s you,” you breathed out again, raising your hips so he could reach even sweeter spots. “I love you, Steven— Steven, I love you so much, so very—”

That made him pause again, but before you could register, you heard what sounded like clothing dropping down on the wooden floor.

A hot body pressed itself against you; rigid hands wrapped your legs around the waist. You tried your best to hold them in place though they were sliding off his sweaty flesh.

A sudden push inside of you, sense of fullness, overtook you. A foreign, warm and hard object soon sled in and out repeatedly, yet carefully, as if trying not to hurt you.

The unfamiliar world of senses.

The bodily sensations.

The tasty tension on your wrists while you would try to tug them down. The large hands roaming around your body. The gentle lips clashing against yours, a greedy tongue poking your mouth. The feeling of his sweat becoming your own. The close skin-to-skin contact, making you feel as though the flesh is merging into a singular mass. His cock lovingly pressing down on every nerve bud inside of you with passion.

The sounds.

Of slapping skin as his hips thrusted into you, angling differently just to notice your shifting voice and reactions. Wet pops, loud kisses. The clicks of teeth hitting one another. His whimpers and moans, grunts, combined with your own, as the pleasure overwhelmed you both.

The odor.

The reek of sweat mixing with Steven’s perfume. The smell of Steven, a strong lavender pushing through the others, making you dizzy.

Made for you, so you could recognise him without seeing him. That it’s Steven who’s making love to you.

You wanted to consume him, swallow him whole; he smelled too good, especially as the hot skin evaporated the scent quicklier.

“Steven,” you whispered into his ear again, once your lips separated.

“That’s right, love…” he grunted finally, thrusting faster, holding onto your fingers with one hand, while the other landed on your hip, securing you in place. He sounded so desperate, so close to crying. “Say my name. Please— Say it again, love!”

You fulfilled his wish by chanting his name outloud with lust. It drove him mad, you guessed, as you couldn’t see his expressions.

And you were right, feeling how his hips snapped right then. He kissed you while taking your breath away, absorbing everything you could give him.

“Love,” he moaned, pressing his nose against yours. “When did you know?”

“I—” You understood what he meant, though you couldn’t reply through pleasure, as he pressed gentle kisses all over your neck again. Somehow, you found the strength to speak onward, wishing to gaze into his eyes at such an intimate moment. “You smell like Steven. You kiss like Steven. You express yourself like Steven. You show your love to me like Steven. You embrace me like Stev—”

Your voice eventually broke down when he slammed himself into you a couple of times, whining out your name with a cry.

His cock twitched inside, creaming your insides, while you shook from the orgasm rippling through your whole body like a wave, overcoming the senses.

Finally, coming down from your high with loud breathing, he removed the blindfold from your eyes.

You were met by his flushed face, both from crying silently and experiencing something so bodily.

“Steven, why—” you began.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He tried to control his emotions, smiling down at you so sweetly. “I wanted to please you. I love you, you know that I can’t be mad at you. It’s just that I… God, I’m so silly, aren’t I? I just wanted you to know that it was me who was pleasing you. Without seeing me. I’m sorry if I went overboard—”

“Well, I’m down for a second round if you could…” you interrupted, tugging at your restraints with a sly smirk.

He laughed, following along, feeling brighter once you saw him for who he truly was.