Bee

“Isn’t this a bit… fast, Professor?”

“My dear, if you’re hesitant, I’ll not force you. That’s not what this is about, what we agreed upon.”

Heimerdinger, always thoughtful in ways that never quite made sense to you until situations had come to pass. Situations like this, where you’re in his lavish quarters and seated at the edge of his bed - the perfect height, he’d told you when he could see up your skirt before. His wording had startled you, until he’d made his desire known. 

You hadn’t known how to take it, especially when Yordles aren’t quite equipped to lay with a human, but the look in his eye as they’d flicked to the slip of your underwear between your thighs had been telling. Heimerdinger’s not looking for physical activity - he’s looking for a meal. 

That’s how you end up with your skirt rucked up and his fingers tugging at your underwear until they’re to your ankles. His fur is devastatingly soft against your inner thighs as he leans in, pausing only at your question about the speed at which things are moving. He has a point, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t already wet from the implications that he was only interested in gaining pleasure through your own. 

“You do look rather excited though. Wouldn’t you rather I take care of this for you?”

You absolutely would, and instead of objecting to him, you lean back on one hand and bury your fingers in the thick hair on the top of his head. What shampoo does he use, you wonder? Does he condition it? Perhaps blow dries-

Meandering thoughts are helpless in the wake of his tongue diving right in, dragging from hole to clit in one smooth, practiced motion - over three-hundred years old, he must have gathered some experience in that time. It’s not the motion that gets you though, it’s the texture of his tongue that drags a whining sound from you. A bit rough, but not uncomfortably so, and the dexterity of it when he pushes it inside you has your eyes rolling straight to the back of your head. 

“Gods, Professor, you feel amazing,” You breathe between the embarrassingly rough sounds of your pleasure. Heimerdinger can’t answer, not with his mouth full of your cunt, but his hands squeeze the bottoms of your thighs in a silent answer. He knows. 

When did he get so smug, you wonder? Likely between all the people he’s somehow lain with to get this good at eating women out. His eyes flick up to you, looking through the roughened fur that serves as his eyebrows, and you’re startled with the blown-out pupils, the half-lidded gaze of unfettered lust that’s being directed solely in your direction. 

On reflex, when his tongue curls inside you to hit your g-spot and his fingers circle wetly around your clit, you tighten your grip on his fur. Heimerdinger moans against you, doubling down on his efforts and sending the clear message that he’d liked that very much. So you tug on his hair and rock against his face, chasing your pleasure against his tongue and the wetness of his nose that could just as easily be dampened from your arousal instead of its natural state. 

“That’s it, my dear, take what you need from me,” Heimerdinger gasps quickly, only pulling away long enough to encourage you before going back in for more, intent on bringing you to that peak he’s been desiring from you. You’re more than happy to oblige, his fingers and tongue working ridiculous miracles that you’ve never felt before. 

You don’t last much longer, your release coating Heimerdinger’s facial fur as he backs away to breathe. You flop back on the bed, boneless and sated, but Heimerdinger is not. You get only a few beats of your heart to rest before he pushes his way back between your thighs and it all starts over again. 

Heimerdinger doesn’t stop until you’re sobbing, your thighs clamped together to prevent him from going back in for the sixth time. And he has the audacity to tut his tongue and wipe his face with a nearby towel - had he planned this, with how coincidental its placement was? You don’t want to think about it for too long, not when you’re buzzing from too many orgasms.