𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮𝓳𝓳𝓲

“uneventful, since the supposedly diplomat i was meant to speak with mysteriously disappeared from their own hotel in the dead of the night.”

“hm, how unfortunate!”

“yes, how unfortunate.”

your hand thread through the hair at the back of his nape, before clutching at the strands in a firm grip and pulling harshly.

“oh my archons.”

lohen's groan was loud, echoing against the stone walls of your basement and he continued to whimper when you remained still, holding his head back steadily. each attempt to tug his head back into your neck was futile, but he still does so to feel the burn of his scalp and the pain of your grip. celestia, he looks so drunk and only from a simple pull on his head–face flushed crimson and eyes so intoxicated.

“explain yourself. why did you hold the diplomat hostage, hm?”

cold air exhales from lohen's mouth from the exhilaration of pain, his adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallows the spit gathering at the back of his throat from the tilt of his head. with a hoarse voice and maniacal smile, he giggles lightheartedly.

“it was their fault!”

“how so?” you tut, roughly shaking the hand gripping his hair and you relish at the moan that escaped his throat.

“they were staring at you so, so, so intently. they were undressing you with their eyes, my bun!”

“that's all?”

“they spoke badly of your reputation!” he whines, rough and croaky. “told their companions that you must have whored your way up in the ranks. i can't possibly let that slide, my bun! they weren't going to negotiate from the beginning!”

“and you thought it was a good idea to beat them up?”

“they'll only waste your precious time, my bun.” he purred, still tugging his head from your grip despite the pain and your exclamation for him to ‘stay still, you fussy thing.’

you can already hear the words echoing in his head over and over, like a broke record replaying the same lines.

me, it should be me, i'm here! be with me, stay–don't leave me! not them, not anyone else, just me! i love you!

with a sigh, you let go of his hair–already having braced yourself for him to plop onto your shoulder. the weight was as comforting as the situation allowed–you were uncomfortable, there's still an unconscious person in the middle of your basement, beaten to a pulp until their face is only a flesh with purple and red bruises. you feel bad for them, but what's done is done.

how you're going to face the questions of their whereabouts tomorrow, will be a problem for tomorrow.

the set of teeth leaving small red indents on the skin of your neck tore you away from your thoughts.

“lohen.”

“yes, bun?” he sings, humming against you.

“i better not see this in the morning. if someone questions you, do not, in any form or circumstances, give a hint about what happened here.”

“mhm-hm!” he nods, nuzzling his cheek on yours. “i wasn't planning on it!”

“good.”

reveling in your embrace, he sinks deeper into your arms, purr like sighs rumbling from his throat. your hand now gingerly brushes the part where you had pulled, nails scratching the tender spot and he moans into your ear. honestly, this could be the picture perfect of heaven in his eyes and he would never ask for more than just this–a moment of peace in your warmth, like a snow globe slowly melting from your touch.

until he remembers something quite important.

“bun.”

“hm?”

you press your lips against his ear and he shudders through the warmth of your lips, inhaling and exhaling your scent deeply. god, you're really good at redirecting and making a mess of his cerebrum. just a lingering feeling of your touch was enough to render him into a pool of goo.

“what about the body?”

your hand pauses its ministrations, humming quietly before you whisper right in his ear.

“do what you see fit, my love.”