for a second, you relax and let him handle you, awaiting his next move as he looks down at you with a watery, toothy smirk, sighing deeply into his chest and exhaling through his mouth, a tender sound you never grow tired of hearing before his palm holds one leg further apart, your hole spreading for him.

the swell of your pussy lips and the glistening arousal on top of it made the scribe feel like he was on cloud 9, drunken by your beauty and so hard working to please his sweet darling— never any less excited to receive his heavy bulk inside your warmth.

your lungs burn when he goes slow again, chillingly so, even more undemanding that your curves melt like dough beneath his hands.

he's got you now, pushing forward yet always alarmed that it wouldn't fit again as in this one single moment, it finally did, and alhaitham almost eclipsed by the roaring of his blood in his ears when he's got to hear your pretty moan for real now— not just the frustrated ones of you wanting to have him already, but that one particular sound you'd always make whenever you, yes, take him, all of him.

— wriothesley

"that good? you can take it?" hearing those words, it felt like the oxygen in your lungs was melting the moment you can hear wriothesley whisper once more, his wet lips ghosting over your ear shells and erecting goosebumps from your neck, "slowly baby, slowly, you don't wanna hurt yourself," he says, your body convulsing in both an ache and relief— and it's truly important for your health to keep breathing and stay content, even when you're fed up with his erection not fitting inside you that night.

"you're supposed to relax, okay? leave it to me, yeah?" he whispers, a slip of eminence soaring from his tongue to right beneath your trembling flesh— and ugh, it practically sparks all your excitement through your body and multiplies it by ten— your wet core and your puffy, little cunt waiting so patiently to be filled by him, only him forever and ever and ever on end.

"y-yeah.. that's it, baby, see.." nothing could ever prepare you for the feeling wriothesley manages to arouse from you each time, and you could certainly never get used to the feeling of his cock either, despite this not being the first time the two of you have been intimate together.

your back arches as your hole spreads around his erection pumping into your core when he manages to fit it inside, his massive shaft pulsing through your walls and sending shockwaves coursing into your veins, slick and sweat streaking on your skin.

his breath freezes on your wet lips with relief flaring through the watery gloss in your eyes as wriothesley kept his promise to you— starting out with experimental, little thrusts as his eyes closed of their own volition, his muscles tightening, his limbs moving while shifting back and forth a little, snapping his hips against your ass in all the right places.

he cannot even fathom as to why you're touching yourself alone, humping a pillow even when he’s right there, you see? it doesn't make sense, you must be playing tricks on him— sloppy, wet schemes of making your pussy so wet for him, so soaked, in fact, he must taste it the moment he sinks another finger in, his lips already pressed down on your achy, little clit.

"don't you ever do this again," he slurps and sucks against the thin hood protecting your pearl as your toes curl at his possessiveness and the dark look in his eyes, your back arched and legs resting against his shoulders. alhaitham's hands cannot get off your body— your tits, your curves or your soft thighs, you're irresistible, already slicking him up with your arousal when he decides to fuck his fingers deeper and deeper and better and oh so fucking ethereal on every single movement.

and just like that— your toothy smile turns to a frown, nose twitching as you anxiously toss your hair. “you'd better not be reading that chapter,” you mutter into the warm skin of his neck, lips curving into a weak, half-hearted kiss that you lay over his pulse.

it’s almost amusing to him, the prettiest pout on your lips and brows knitted taut as you try to hide your disappointment from him, turn your head away from his when he attempts to face you. “sweetheart, look at me.”

“no.”

“you child,” he huffs out a sigh, endeared to your petulance. shaking his head, he gently grasps your chin to hold you in place and lays an apologetic kiss atop the apple of your cheek. “i never said i’d be paying that part any mind, did i?”

"still..." bashfully, you pick at the jade of his breastbone, soft voice crackling with nerves that you forcefully keep lodged in your throat.

and al haitham can't deny that it's cute; it's very, very cute when you get like this.

he can't deny his heart leaping and stopping and leaping again until he feels the sweet burn of it at the back of his tongue, the strong pulse jumping into his head and the tips of his fingers and southbound of the waist of his pants.

it beats quickly, quickly, grows untamed.

such intense feelings are perhaps thought by most to be unnatural for someone like himself, but fitting, for someone madly in love.

so, al haitham does what his heart tells him to do— he sets the heavy leather-bound tome aside and leans over you, holding you down against the couch by the handles of your waist. hikes your thigh over his shoulder before lowering his face to the crotch of your panties, skirt pooling flimsily at your hips. “when a woman reproaches a man, but at the same time acts affectionately towards him, she should be made love to in every way,” he quotes from the kama sutra.

the warmth of his breath reaches through the thin cotton and your cunt begins to weep, clenching and oozing out slick in a silent plea for his fingers, his tongue— anything to relieve the weight of desperation that settles heavily on your stomach. and before your hips can involuntarily wiggle against his face in search of respite, al haitham is already tugging your panties to the side to place a sweet, lingering kiss on your clit. 

you tremble at the sudden warmth, soft features overcome with a dazed expression as if that alone is enough to knock all the thought out of your pretty little head. “‘h-haitham, what’re you doing…”

“putting theory into practice.”

and then he’s licking up the length of your slit, collecting your sugary slick in the dip of his tongue before letting it dribble past his lips in a mix of saliva onto your swollen clit— giving it another kiss, and another, and then some— until your chest begins to heave with pitchy whispers of his name, candied with a burning behind your eyes from how badly you need more, all of him.

“patience, darling,” lips are replaced with a growing bulge as his face levels to meet your own, sapphire-tinged emerald dancing across your features, from the delicate pinch of your brows to the flex of your neck. al haitham presses into you deeper, your bare and puffy folds moulding to the shape of his cock through his slacks, drenching the fabric with your milky cream. "all in due time, now..."

his crotch catches onto your clit and in an instant, you’re curling your fingers woefully into the linen of his shirt, puffing out hot air against his jaw as you keen sweetly— haithieee, f-feels nice, feels... o-ohh...

oh, what a pretty, tender, needy thing you are— clinging onto his bicep and painting his ivory skin with crescents of red, every slow grind of his clothed cock against your achy cunt drawing another eager, desperate whine from your throat. and you only fall more lightheaded as he nuzzles into your ankle dangling off his shoulder, kissing the bone before making quick work to remove the noisy anklet adorning it, because all he wants, needs to hear are the sounds he coaxes out of you; all the pitchy moans and cute little hums are the most dulcet sounds to grace the earth, he’s absolutely sure of it.

“w-wanna… kiss…”

“what’s that?” he whispers against the inside of your knee, the swell of your breast, the hollow of your clavicle as he travels lipwards— covering every inch except the place you need to feel him most.

“i wanna kiss, haitham! lots 'nd lots 'nd lots...” you throw a tiny fit, and it’s nothing short of adorable when your tongue does a poor job of biting back your impatience. the uneven pout of your lips and the twitch of your nose have his veins aching with such a strong need to dote on you, tend to you until he rids you of the pain of your burning desire and all you’re able to voice is fifty different whimpers of his name. "i want a kiss on my lips, please?"

“oh, but if i kiss you here,” your haitham teases as he runs a thumb over the dainty curve of your mouth, stopping it at the swell of your bottom lip before releasing a strained laugh, chest knotted up with half-pleasure and half-pain, for all he wants to do is kiss and suck and lick and nibble the soft flesh— feed on it, even— and with a generosity wherein you’re ready to offer anything, everything, he’s almost positive you’d let him. “i’m afraid i won’t be able to stop.”

“don’t want you to stop… never ever,” your eyes are hazy with the light of the stars and you’re looking up at him with so much ardour, busying your lips with soft suckles on his thumb while he hastily frees his cock from the confines of his slacks. his gaze stays on you all the while because you look so pretty like this and your words settle in the deepest depths of his soul and he thinks he could just devour you whole.

patience be damned.

“never ever, hm?” he muses, eyes swimming with a shimmery pool of silver mirth. you shiver and twitch under his gentle hold, where he kisses the corner of your parted lips, nosing along your cheek to place another on your brow, a final one against the hot lobe of your ear. his breath fans over your neck as he teases your little cunt open with his leaking tip, and you feel him smirk against your skin when you obediently spread your legs wider to accommodate his size. “you wouldn’t be able to eat or drink anything ever again.” 

it’s nearly tragic— the soft, dreamy lulls of your head, the cute whimpers of his name, the saliva that pools and spills around the thumb he pops out of your mouth— he’s barely gotten the flushed head of his cock past your tight ring of muscle and you’re already so complacent, pliable, perfect for him. 

“don’t care… s’long as i have you,” you sniffle, fingers grappling weakly at the tufts of platinum and sage that curl around his neck, trying to lean up and bump your nose against his. “please, kiss me?”

and it’s in the way you ask him: with dew clinging to your lashes and a timid quiver to your breath that makes him submit all at once, because what kind of a person would he be to deny his lover when she asks so sweetly?

and just as al haitham’s lips meet yours, he’s reprimanding himself for not giving you a kiss sooner. because on your tongue he tastes the spice carried through the sumeru wind and zaytun peaches and all the fluttering pieces of romantic prose you eat and gosh— al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet— but surely, he doesn’t need any kama sutra to teach him about the love he holds for you in his heart.

he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you some more— smirking against your lips when you sigh happily and melt into the palms that smooth up your waist, moulding and shaping you into the perfect princess of his that you are. “pretty little thing, aren’t you?"

“uh huhhh, wanna be everything for you,” you respond wetly through the spit bubbling at your mouth and the blood that flows straight to your brain as he begins to fuck you languidly with his tip, watching your slick drip and ooze around the red, bulbous head.

he shushes your sobs sweetly, the pads of his thumbs dipping just at the edges of your eyes to collect any tears before they have a chance to be shed. “shhh— f-fuck— s’okay, you’re doin’ so well— doing so well for me. oh you sweet girl.”

you begin to pant against the hollow of his neck as he eases his full length into you, all the ridges and veins decorating his cock that you’ve come to memorize over the past months perfectly snug against the warmth of your delicate walls. his head falls forwards and his forehead bumps against yours, a harsh, erotic groan escaping him when your little cunt begins to squeeze and clench around his cock, sucking him in further, further, all the way until he’s knocking at the sponge of your cervix and his pubic bone is flush against your clit.

your hips jerk at the sharp pulses of pain and pleasure that build in your abdomen as he grinds into your womb— the sweetest, breathiest whines of h-haithie, ‘haitham, s’biiiig flood his brain because he’s deeper than he’s ever been, with the backs of your knees sticky against the bridge of his shoulders and your body quivering under him from how full you feel.

he does all he can to wash away the aching pinpricks in your tummy— slipping a palm between the couch and the back of your head to cradle it, pressing hot kisses to your forehead as he continues drawing his hips back and forth, back and forth, maintaining a steady rhythm with his cockhead as it slides against the sponge of your most sensitive parts.

and he continues fucking into your womb like this, thumb sliding in the thin space between his crotch and your clit to rub sloppy stars on the puffy nub, and— oh, it feels like heaven.

“feels like heaven?” he’s asking, charmed by your guileless wonder as you wrap your arms around his neck and meekly tug his face closer to yours, rubbing your nose against his cheek like a pet endeared to her owner.

"mhmmm, feel you here, haithie… in my tummy,” you giggle in ecstasy, at the thought of his cock twitching wildly in you and his cum filling you up there, hot and sticky and oozing like sweet milk down your thighs— you want it so bad; you want it everywhere— in your womb, dousing your skin and in every crevice, in your brain. to have him mark you with his seed as a physical manifestation of his love makes you think you might cry.

and you do, because you want him— all of him so, so bad.

you sniffle when you feel the tears rush down your face and al haitham can only groan at how overwhelming everything is: the wild pounding of his heart against his ribs and the starry night reflected in your eyes and your walls hugging his cock so tight like it loves it. “h-hey now, ‘m gonna cum if you keep sucking me in like that— o-oh, fuckkk.” 

he’s worked you up to that soft, dreamy headspace— where you’re hiccupping on shallow breaths and your bambi eyes are glazed over with honey and the words come tumbling out of your pretty lips before you have a chance to think them through. “cum in me— pretty please, wan’ your cum in my tummy, wan’ it everywhereee—!"

it’s all so much, and it’s all too fast, because it’s only been a short while but your words send a glow of mind-numbing pleasure through his head, down his chest to his cock— and then he’s cumming— thrusts jerky before he plunges into you completely, spurt after spurt of thick white ribbon filling your womb, flushing your limbs full of warmth.

you’re right there with him as the head of his cock twitches and drags over that one spot nestled deep in your cunt and his thumb continues its assault on your clit, gravelly voice spewing sweet nothings into your hair while you mewl for him sweetly.

and it’s so pretty— you’re so pretty when you cry, so pretty when you cum— he tells you as he clears your face of any stray hairs before thumbing your tears away. the next few moments are silent and he takes them to admire you, the heave of your chest as your breath steadies, the almost doll-like pout of your lips, the precious way you suck your cheek in between your molars to defy the flustered grin that forms under the curious gaze of your lover.

“don’t hide from me,” he speaks to your lips as he gently tugs the skin free from between your teeth, the most tender smile gracing his face when you begin to giggle shyly, eyes beaming with starlight and mouth curved up like the most daintiest of petals. “so long as lips shall kiss, and eyes shall see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

another passage from the kama sutra, you presume. the delivery of the line, words thick and dripping affection like ginger molasses would’ve made you swoon if it weren’t for the mere fact that it was al haitham saying them. in a failed attempt to suppress the onslaught of laughter, you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, only for your lover to tut you with a playful roll of his eyes and a shake of his head.

“i... suppose such poetry is unbefitting for me, huh?”

your legs slot under his arms to wrap around his waist more comfortably, heels resting against his back dimples and fingers tracing hearts over the dips and grooves of his biceps. he’s picked it up as one of your habits— something you do when you feel particularly endeared to him. “you should leave the lovey-dovey stuff to me, haithie.”

perhaps you’re right, he tells you through bated breath— perhaps he’s the furthest thing from a poet, a romantic, but there’s no denying how you make him feel like he could compose the greatest love story in all the universe— and it’s silly, he thinks, how madly in love with you he is, how that love defies all sense of logic in his mind. 

perhaps al haitham is the furthest thing from a poet, but if you were to tell him he was your world, he would tell you that you’re everything that makes the world good and beautiful and pure. tell him you’d die without him, and he’d tell you that he could still exist without you, but that’s all he’d ever manage to do.

but al haitham is a scholar, not a romantic, and such poetry is unbefitting for him.

right?