Chaotic Toes

“What a bad boy you are,” you crossed your arms over your chest. Sylus didn’t seem to let go, though, his soft ears rubbing against your pants. “I was watching something.”

He made a small sound showing his discontent and looked up at you, red eyes turning big, round, and twinkling, almost begging you to pay attention to him, to…

“Pet me.”

You huffed. “This is manipulative, you know.”

“What is?” he smirked, showing sharp fangs.

Oh, how unfair it was, to have a Sylus kitty snuggled up against you. “These… eyes of yours.” Not letting up, you averted your gaze to somewhere behind him. Damn him.

And it was quiet, just for a few seconds, before your startled gasp pierced the silence. It was his tail that surprised you – soft, dragging up and down your arm. “Sweetie. Pet me.”

“Sylus. Pick up my phone.”

His eyes narrowed. “What phone?”

“The one I dropped. Because of you. Because you decided to crush me with your–”

“Excuse me. I am hurt. You don’t pay any attention to me,” he almost whined, though there wasn’t any real hurt in his voice. 

“You are so unbelievably needy. You really are like a cat, Sy. You drop things to get my attention,” you said, biting back a quiet laugh. He didn’t seem too amused.

Nevertheless, he did turn around to pick your phone back up. You unlocked it, saved the video for later, and tried to put it back down when his tail gently smacked your arm again.

“Now, now, Sylus. Chocolate is not for kitties,” you tutted, finger wiggling in his face as you put the thoughts of cheesecake aside and focused on the overgrown cat in your lap. To his great content you finally put your hand in his soft hair, gently rubbing behind orange ears. And you could have sworn… “Did you just purr?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he whispered, voice almost drowned out by crispy purrs. You laughed softly at the sight; big bad Onychinus leader turned into a happy mess on your lap, eyes closed, lips turned into a content smile, tail buzzing excitedly.

“There. Better?” Your other hand reached for the tail, petting the furry length of it.

“Mhm.”

You bit your lip around a smirk forming on your face. “You’re so cute, kitten,” you teased.

Who could blame him for letting out a groan? You were right here. He could raise his hands and he could-

He was shoved out of that vision and was left back in the main operation room, skin flushed and trousers a little too tight.

"Colonel what-" X-02's voice petered out as he too, was likely bombarded by visions and sensations that Caleb had just experienced.

He ran his hands down his face, frustrated and so fucking riled up. He watched through the gaps of his fingers as your hands made plucking movements in thin air. As X-02 made a soft whimper. And as the Grand Marshal let a pleased sigh.

It was torturous to be pulled back into the vision again. To see you- feel you- on top of him.

But Caleb wouldn't exchange that for anything in the world. He only wished that you would keep doing that instead of moving to the other versions of himself or to the other love interests.

~♥~

Xavier felt something jealous curl inside of him as he watched you pluck at the air and as the Calebs seemed to shift and flush. He had felt ghostly hands brush against his skin, yes. But it was almost as though you were giving special treatment to them.

Jealousy curled inside of him. He wanted your attention too. You were clearly touching the Calebs in a much more... solid way. He wanted you to do the same to him.

And judging by the subtle shift in the other versions of himself- the way the King's grip on his chair tightened, and the way the Favourite's jaw clenched- he knew he wasn't the only one to feel that.

Besides, it wasn't like the other 'love interests' were faring any better. The Rafayels in particular were all but seething with envy.

He watched as you paused in your movements and turn your hand to another part of the air. You tilted your head to the side and made a nearly inaudible hum of curiosity.

With bated breath, he saw you pluck at the air and-

Xavier saw you. In a place reminiscent of the Philosian palace he had left 'you' in. But unlike the fracture that had only showed glimpses of who you were, the you sitting on the throne in front of him was... complete.

It was so easy for him to kneel in front of you. To reach at your thighs. To curl his fingers carefully into your flesh. It was so, so easy for him to gaze up at you.

You smiled down at him- a smile he had only truly seen through that gap- and carded your fingers through his hair, coaxing him closer. Coaxing his face closer to your hips.

You were his. His monarch. His love. The one he would ever want. You had always been within reach but untouchable. He carried your fractured humanoid form, yes, but he could never truly touch you. He knew that what he touched was not truly you.

Even as one of the Constellations watching over you, he couldn't touch you. All he could do was leave behind ghostly imprints.

You were here now, though. You were

He lurched forwards without your beckoning, eager to have his lips on you and taste you, but...

Xavier was forcefully pulled out of the vision with a stuttered groan.

"The Spider Strings," the Foreseer's voice said calmly, despite the uncharacteristically flustered note his tone took.

Xavier didn't care though. And from the soft sigh that came from the King as well as the nearly reverent moan from the Favourite, he knew that the other versions of himself were in very similar states. That they too, saw you.

A part of him bristled at that. You were his. Not any other version of him. Just his.

But before that possessiveness reared its head inside of him fully, he was pulled back into the vision, the vision of you so tantalisingly close and real.

~♥~

Zayne was intrinsically linked to Astra. He, of all of the others, knew the whims of his artifacts best. The Spider Strings must have allowed for you to see and manipulate the threads that made up the world. It must have allowed for you to see and touch the strings that linked them all to you.

He was the only one that could truly see the threads.

It was curious though, how your manipulation of the strings were so... soft. Seductive.

You had effectively rendered the Calebs and the Xaviers into nothing more than creatures of want and desire.

It was distinctly different from how Astra had utilised the threads. Zayne's own with the God of Cosmic Fate had been entangled with pain and sadistic glee on the god's part. It had been forceful, more than it had been kind. There might have been a time in which the bond had been kinder, but he held no memory of that.

He watched as you pulled your hands away completely from the Xaviers' bonds to reach for his own.

Anticipation thrummed inside of him. A foreign sensation, truly. You had been the first one to evoke any feeling of this sort from him. The day you- in your state of in between- came to the tower he was confined to, he had loved you. He had loved you, deeply. To the degree that he knew he would walk into devastation for you.

He closed his eyes, anticipating a feeling, a vision, something. But alas, nothing.

Slowly, he blinked his eyes open again and saw your hand hovering right above the thread that connected himself to you. He saw the slightly teasing smile on your lips.

Zayne had some sway- not much- with the threads of the universe. He had no other choice than to have it. His servitude to Astra may be over, but his imprint lingered. Frigid and harsh.

He swayed his thread into your fingers, and let the vision wash over him when you plucked it.

Zayne was sat at one of the chairs in the Fractal library. Nothing was out of the norm except for the added weight on his lap. Warm. Soft. Here.

His arms wrapped around your waist as he pressed your back closer to his chest. Never had he had you this close. And now that you were here, in his embrace, without the complication of the jagged tear in the shape of a human, he could...

He moved his arms so that his hands could grip at your thighs to pull them apart. Just a fraction. Just so he could be closer to you. Just to feel you settled on him like he was your home.

Zayne didn't make a sound when he was pulled out of the vision. He didn't make a sound even when Galen let out a half-strangled growl. He didn't make a sound when the Grand General let out a moan.

No. He simply stayed silent and welcomed the visions when you plucked at his thread again. It was only himself that knew that his eyes prickled at the sensation of what-could-have-been.

~♥~

Staryus watched in amusement as even the great Foreseer succumbed to whatever magic you were doing. The ever-calm and ever-composed former servant of Astra in the throes of desire and passion...

The Foreseer could pretend to not be affected, but Staryus was a Fiend. His Eye saw desires and wants.

He exchanged a glance with the other versions of himself. Tartarus smirked and leaned back in his chair, whilst the Archfiend simply hummed and turned his attention back to the screen that showed you.

It was a fifty-fifty chance for you to pick him or Abysswalker. He didn't mind waiting a little longer. Not when he knew that the fruit at the end would be so sweet.

Keenly, he watched as your hands brushed fondly over thin air- pulling soft pants from all the Zaynes- to pluck at another point in space.

Staryus grinned sharply when he found himself in a field of Daturas, you captured beneath him. He was on top of you, and your entire back was exposed to him. The back of your neck bare for him to bite.

And he was not one to refuse temptation.

He kissed at your flesh- finally, finally, finally- and sank his teeth into you. And he could finally feel it. His teeth clamping around warm flesh instead of whatever it was that had been you. Instead of the phantom flesh that wasn't quite real.

His tail coiled around your waist as you writhed. In pleasure, in pain, perhaps in both...

He didn't know how long this vision would last. But he was desperate for you. Had been, ever since you had come to him. Ever since you had traded in your soul- or a fragment of it, he didn't care- he had been desperate for you.

There was no shame in that. He had learnt that in this space between Time and Space. Because who wouldn't be desperate for you? To touch you, love you, and adore you in all the ways you deserve to be?

He dipped a clawed hand between your legs, hoping to-

Staryus was torn out of the vision with a snarl. His tail whipped around in barely constrained tension and frustration. And he understood why the others had all been reduced to a mess of lust.

He was no better than any of them, it seemed.

It wasn't surprising to hear Tartarus purr something incomprehensibly or to hear the Archfiend moan and snarl out your name.

Staryus wanted to be pulled back into the vision again. He needed to finish what he had started. So, he grinned sharply when he was pulled back in.

There were regrets, there was pain, and there was deep longing. But all of that was in the past. He was more concerned with the you now.

~♥~

Rafayel couldn't help it. The other love interests and their variants had responded to whatever it was that you were doing. They were all left wanting, and the scent of lust was not lost on his- or any of his versions'- nose.

He knew that whatever was happening was due to Astra's lost artifact. He knew that this was related to you. Because none of the other Constellations would react in such a way unless it concerned you.

He wanted you. He had always wanted you. You, the royal of Philos he had once been gifted to. You, the one that held the heart of the Deep Sea God. You, the one he had been ordered by destiny to kill and reclaim.

The moment your hands left the strings of the Fiends, he took his chance.

Rafayel was the tether to the Deep Sea God. He may not understand the threads as well as the Foreseer did, but he knew chains. He knew tendrils and tentacles.

He mustered up the chains of his fate- the very ones he had broken to rewrite Prophecy- and lashed it out, hooking it onto the one thing that directly connected the versions of himself to you.

He saw you- and felt you, in a convoluted way- stiffen. And he observed as you moved to pluck the bond between you and him.

And there you were. Him, under you as you crawled on top of his supine form. Your face looked down at him, a soft smile on your face. He truly couldn't help but smile back up at you. Helplessly.

When Rafayel had first encountered you, you had been more of a commodity than his kinsfolk were. To him, at least. To the others, you had appeared as merely human. Mortal. Useful in the way the Deep Sea's heart residing in you kept everyone else untouched by Time.

To him, you were something vast. A being that could only truly be seen through a human-shaped crack in Time and Space, that acted as though it was human.

Rafayel knew that you were unaware to the visions you had set upon him and the rest of the Constellations. You wouldn't know that in his vision of you, you were pressing your lips to his sweetly. You wouldn't know that in his vision of you, you were pressing up against all the areas that would drive him into base instincts.

He raised a hand and pressed his palm against your chest. Not to push you away, but to feel your heart.

The Deep Sea God didn't give you his heart. You didn't take it. For your heart would always, always, be grander. It was an offering to you. An offering that most likely meant nothing to you, but an offering nonetheless.

"I see you."

And with that said, the vision flickered. You- in the clothes you were wearing when you started messing with the artifact- standing across him.

He smiled as the vision washed away from him. Rafayel wondered if the Lemurian Sea God and the Sanctarch would be similar to him, or if they would be similar to the others.

The Lemurian Sea God hissed in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The Sanctarch panted roughly before laughing breathlessly. Almost unanimously, the three of them shared a look.

Ah. They were all the same, weren't they? They saw a glimpse of the real you. The you now. They held your power in their eyes. Cradled your song within a song of their own.

You’d know these idiots since freshman orientation. Two years of shared greasy takeout, late night study sessions, and brutal hungover Sundays. That messy stretch of friendship was the only reason you felt comfortable enough to let your filter slip.

"It's not just the third floor," you said, tracing a finger around the rim of your cup. "It's everybody. The nursing majors. The track team. Pretty much every girl I've talked to. They all said the same thing, that you guys look like you belong on a billboard, but fuck like clumsy horny dogs."

"A horny dog? Seriously?" Rafayel looked genuinely wounded. "I am an artist and a very attentive one."

"You think lighting candles counts as attentiveness."

"It contributes."

From across the room, Sylus remained focused on his phone.

"Let them talk," his thumb paused over the screen "The loudest complaints usually come from people who never say what they really want."

You laughed "That's what you're going with?"

Sylus shrugged.

"Fine. Caleb?" he immediately looked suspicious.

"What?"

"That girl from the lacrosse team you fucked last weekend..."

Caleb groaned. "Oh, come on."

"How do you know she actually finished?"

"Because she told me she did."

"And?"

"And she was loooooud."

You stared at him and saw his confidence falter slightly.

"Girls do that so you'll speed up and get it over with"

Caleb opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked toward the window, his jaw shifting. "She... she wrapped her legs around my waist the entire time. That means it was good, right?"

"That means she was trying to get more friction because you weren't hitting the right spots," you said turning your head towards Rafayel "What about you?"

Rafayel straightened. "What about me?"

"When was the last time you actually looked down to see what was happening instead of just listening to the noises she was making?"

Rafayel's face turned a bright pink that extended to the tips of his ears. "I can tell by the rhythm. The atmosphere shifts."

"The atmosphere doesn't make a girl cum, Raf," you laughed, the whiskey bubbling up in your chest.

Across the room Xavier finally lifted his head from the rug, his hair stuck out in every direction.

"I just do it until they tell me to stop."

The room went quiet.

"Xavi, that is not the reassuring answer you think it is."

"Oh." he considered that.

"See?" you said, pointing around the room. "None of you actually know how to make a girl cum, you just assume you did a great job because you're hot, and then leave them to finish the job themselves after you fall asleep."

"That's correct"

The words cut through the conversation.

Zayne didn't look up from his anatomy textbook, he just adjusted his glasses and continued reading for a few more second before lifting his eyes.

Caleb barked out a laugh. "Oh, here we go."

Zayne ignored him.

"Most guys operate on assumptions rather than observation."

"Listen to the expert," Caleb said. "A man whose dating life exists entirely in textbooks."

Zayne's expression didn't change. "I understand the theory better than you"

"Theory?" Caleb repeated.

"Anatomy, Caleb."

"That's a lot of confidence for someone talking in hypotheticals." Sylus teased.

Zayne hesitated "It isn't as complicated as people make it out to be. I can show you."

"Do it." the words left your mouth before you could calculate the weight of them. "Show them."

Caleb sat up straighter. Rafayel looked interested. Xavier was really awake now.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

Sylus finally dropped his phone into his lap, his gaze locking onto your face, heavy and unblinking.

​Zayne didn't blink either. A dark red flush crept from beneath the collar of his black sweater, staining his throat. He looked at your cup, then at the space between his own knees, his jaw working as he swallowed.

Shit Shit Shit

​"We're... we've known each other a long time, this feels like we're crossing a line."

​"She asked," Sylus stood, the leather chair groaning beneath him. He crossed the room to slide the deadbolt into place before he leaned against the door and folded his arms. "And the doctor says he has the answers. Let's see a demonstration."

------

​The floorboards felt cold under your bare feet. Taking your clothes off wasn't nearly as smooth as moments like this looked in movies. It was awkward, rushed, and far too real. Your jeans caught on your ankles as you kicked them off, your bra strap twisting before you cleared it from your arms.

​"Sit here," Zayne whispered. He was now sitting on the edge of the mattress, knees spread wide apart.

You moved into the gap between his thighs. His chest felt warm against your shoulder blades.

Caleb and Rafayel pulled two chairs forward and Xavier stayed on the floor, dragging himself closer until his knees almost touched your ankle.

Before moving anywhere else, Zayne clamped his hands around your waist. His palms felt warm against your skin, holding you steady between his thighs.

"The skin requires warming first, If you touch her when she's cold, the muscles contract. It closes the blood vessels."

​His hands slid higher, the friction of his palms catching against your ribcage. He paused when he reached your breasts, using his fingers to lift and shape them without any sudden squeezing. He kept his touch frustratingly light, his thumbs sweeping in slow arcs across the base before flicking directly over the tight tips.

​A gasp caught in your throat, slipping out as a sharp breath. You dug your fingers into his knees, squeezing just to keep from writhing away from his hands.

"Are those goosebumps?" Xavier asked from below before reaching out, his hand hovering an inch from your left knee before he dropped it back to the floor.

"Yes, but it's an involuntary reaction," Zayne leaned his head forward, his hair brushing against your earlobe. "It doesn't mean she's cold."

Caleb cleared his throat, looking down at his hands, then back at you.

The sudden loss of Zayne's touch on your breasts made you shiver, his hands already traveling down your abdomen to grip your inner thighs. He parted your legs wide, exposing you to the heavy stares of the room. Under the direct glow of the desk lamp, the skin of your inner thighs visibly trembled.

His knuckles dragged over your outer lips and he stalled there, his jaw tightening as he drew his hand back and stared down at the slight sheen—not nearly enough.

"She’s nervous and that's completely normal. Any friction here would just cause irritation."

"So you're stuck," Rafayel said. He was leaning so far forward his chest rested against his knees, his eyes wide and tracking every movement of Zayne’s hand.

"No."

Zayne brought his hand up to your face and pressed his middle and index finger against your bottom lip, forcing your mouth open. The scent of paper vanished under the wet heat of your mouth. "Wet them."

You took his fingers in, tongue curling around them. Zayne watched your lips close around his knuckles, his chest expanding against your back, before he pulled them out with a wet pop, a thin thread of saliva breaking between his hand and your mouth.

​"You only need to do this once to get things moving," Zayne explained guiding his wet fingers back down between your thighs. "If a man needs to re wet his fingers or use lube over and over, it means he’s doing something wrong."

He pressed his slick fingers directly against your clit, rubbing an agonizingly perfect circle.

A sharp cry broke from your lips and he rested the heel of his hand firmly against your pelvic bone, using that grounding weight to steady his touch while his index and middle fingers began a slow, testing exploration of the skin surrounding the swollen bud. He moved in light crescent shapes, mapping the outer edges first without touching the center directly.

Your hips moved, trying to force his hand to hit your favorite spots, but Zayne held your waist with his other hand, keeping you still.

"Not yet," his voice was losing its stiffness "Look at how she reacts when I go near it. She's so sensitive right here. Such a good girl for letting you all see." The bastard knew about your praise kink. Of course he knew.

He changed the strokes to a firm downward motion along the sides before gathering the slick that was beginning to coat his knuckles and smoothing it back up. He watched your skin change color under his fingers, his thumb finally making direct contact with your clit, pressing down and tracing a tight, clockwise circle.

Your thighs twitched, knees trying to clamp shut around his arm.

"Don't hide," his thumb switched direction, drawing slow figure eight that dragged across the very top of the bud before dipping into the soft groove underneath. "Let them watch how wet you get when someone actually takes their time with you. You look so pretty when you're dripping like this."

Across from you, Caleb's hands were gripping his own knees so hard the fabric of his sweatpants strained. His eyes were wide and fixed entirely on the gloss of your skin where Zayne’s thumb was slicking the fluid back and forth, finding the exact weight that made your head fall back against his shoulder "She’s... she’s shaking..." his voice sounded rough and uneven.

Rafayel moved to the edge of his seat, his fingers tangling in the hem of his shirt, his face had gone from pink to tomato red "And the color is different..."

"Because the blood is pooling exactly where it’s supposed to," Zayne told them increasing the pressure just a fraction until you let out a broken whimper. "If you change the rhythm too fast, you lose the progress, so find the pattern she responds to, and you stay there."

From the floor, Xavier stared at the small twitches of your hole "She’s pulling in, like she wants to wrap around something."

Sylus stepped away from the door, his hands were out of his pockets now, his knuckles white as he watched Zayne’s fingers spread your folds apart, exposing the wet, pink interior completely "She's begging for it."

​Zayne looked up at the four men watching.

​"The manual rhythm is only the baseline, the tissue is highly receptive to temperature and texture. Anything you can execute with your hands, you can replicate, and enhance, with your mouth.

​He brought his index finger directly to the very tip of your swollen clit, pressing with small, localized prods.

"If you use the tip of your tongue like this," Zayne explained, his finger mimicking the flicking motion against the sensitive bud, making your hips jump, "you target the isolated nerve clusters. It's high intensity and it forces the blood to the surface faster."

He then slid his index and middle fingers tightly together, flattening them against each other to create a wider, smoother surface. He pressed the flat length of both fingers firmly against your entire center, dragging them in a long upward stroke from your entrance all the way up to your clit.

"But when she gets overwhelmed, you switch," Zayne said as he repeated the stroke "You have to use the whole flat of your tongue like this. It dampens the sharp sting of the sensitivity while keeping the heat building. You alternate based on how much she's twitching."

He used his other hand to gently pull your lips apart "Look at the opening," Zayne's breath felt soooo hot against your neck. "When the nerves are active, the tissue swells. It opens on its own."

Behind you, something thick pressed firmly into the cleft of your ass. Zayne was completely hard. His glasses had slid down his nose, but he didn't take his hands away to fix them.

​"Zaynie..." you moaned, your head falling back against his shoulder again. The sight of the guys watching you was winding the coil in your belly tighter and tighter.

​"Tell them," Zayne ordered, his fingers digging harder into the top of your clit. "Tell them what it feels like."

​"It's... it's so good," you sobbed out "I... Zayne, I need...fuck...."

Sylus moved closer.

​"The internal contractions," Zayne told them, his words breaking as his thumb worked in a fast circle. "They will milk whatever is inside. Just one finger in. Now. Feel it."

​"Now?" Rafayel stammered, his hand shaking as he reached out.

"Now!" you ripped the word straight from your chest,

​They moved together, a crowded rush of limbs. Four fingers,all pushed into your wet pussy at once.

Your muscles clamped down in spasms. Caleb let out a low curse, his head dropping against your thigh as you squeezed his finger. "Fucking hell... tight little pussy."

"Keep your fingers still," Zayne's thumb was still holding pressure against your twitching clit while he kept your hips steady against his own shaking thighs. "Feel the rhythm. That's her release."

Rafayel didn't speak, his eyes were fixed on his finger buried inside you.

The silence returned slowly, punctuated only by the sound of you trying to catch your breath. One by one, the fingers withdrew, leaving your cunt open and drooling. You collapsed back into Zayne, your muscles humming with the aftershocks.

Four men stood around the bed, looking down at their wet hands. Zayne was breathing hard against your neck, one hand shaking visibly as he pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

He cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly "Are there... any other questions?"

Xavier raised his hand slowly to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste the wetness on his knuckle, his eyes completely dark as he stared at your open thighs.

"Yeah," he said "Can you teach us how to make her squirt?"

The air in his room felt like it was vibrating but you didn't look away. You kept your eyes locked on his, watching that smug, untouchable mask of his start to hairline fracture. He thought this was a performance. He thought he was the audience, sitting there in his kingly arrogance, just waiting to be entertained.

Oh, he had no idea.

The sound of your breath hitting the synthetic material felt unnervingly loud in the silence of the room. When you spat, a slick moisture pooling on the entrance, you saw it, the exact moment his predator persona slipped. His jaw tightened, a small muscle leaping in his cheek.

"Is that it?" he rasped, his confidence still there.

He was posturing. He was trying to regain the upper hand by acting unimpressed, but the way his hands gripped the silk sheets, knuckles turning white, veins popping along the backs of his hands betrayed him. He was bracing himself.

Determined to wipe that look off his face, you focused entirely on him first. You leaned over his lap and took just the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. He let out a low hum, fingers coming up to tangle in your hair, gently but firmly guiding your head, subtly forcing you to take him just a bit deeper than you intended, asserting his dominance.

When you pulled away, you did it slowly. Heavy, viscous strings of saliva stretched between your lips and his cock, bridging the small distance between you.

Sylus stared down at the wet trail connecting you to him, his thumb tracing his bottom lip. He didn't look broken at all, if anything, he looked incredibly amused. "Cocky," he muttered with a dark glint in his eyes. "You think a little spit is going to break me? You're going to have to try a lot harder than that, kitten."

"Let's find out"

The moment the silicone gripped him a sharp hiss escaped through his clenched teeth. You guided the opening over the crown, slowly, inch by inch, watching the material stretch as it swallowed his cock.

Before you could even start a proper rhythm, his hand shot out, wrapping firmly around your waist and with a sudden tug he pulled your body flush against his, trapping you close.

"If you're going to do this, do it right," he whispered darkly, intentionally rolling his hips up, forcing himself deep into the sleeve with a hard thrust that caught you off guard. The wet, loud suction echoed in the room, and he smirked at your startled gasp. "What's the matter? You're the one holding the reins. Act like it."

Pushing past the slight tremor in your hands you gripped the base of the toy and started moving it up and down until the silence of the bedroom vanished, replaced by the sound of wet plastic working against his slick skin. You leaned in closer, crowding his space until your nose brushed his, forcing him to look at you.

"Does it feel good, Sy?" you watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. "Does it squeeze you just right? Tell me..." you paused, letting the wet friction of the toy do the talking for a second. "Does it feel as good as the real thing? Does it feel as wet and tight as mine?"

His chest was rising and falling faster now, but he refused to give you the satisfaction of begging. His lips brushed against yours without actually kissing you, a torturous tease of his own.

"It's tight," he admitted "But it lacks your warmth. It lacks the way you moan when I'm inside you. If you want to compare, why don't you let me slide out of this plastic and into you right now?."

"No, I think you like watching me use this on you. Does it turn you on? knowing you're just lying there, taking it from me?" you tried to maintain your edge, but your heart was hammering against your ribs "I mean, look at you, you're practically shaking."

To punish your arrogance he stalled your hand, using his strength to freeze the toy right at his most sensitive spot, letting the suction squeeze him while he stared you down. "I'm letting you have your fun. There's a difference. But if you keep playing with your mouth like that, I might have to find another use for it."

"Oh...tsk...you look a little tense, Sylus. Is the big, bad leader of Onychinus getting overwhelmed by a plastic toy?"

That finally did it. His smugness was rapidly fracturing, melting away into a burning desire he could no longer hide behind sharp comebacks. His head fell back against the headboard for a brief second, a low groan ripping from his throat as you twisted the toy juuuust right at the base of his dick. When he looked back at you, the amusement was entirely gone, replaced by a needy hunger that made him look completely undone.

"Enough games," his hand tried to force yours to move faster "I'm done waiting."

You smiled, a slow, triumphant expression that perfectly mirrored his earlier arrogance. "Not yet."

While one hand kept the perfect friction with the toy, you brought the other one down. Using the sharp tips of your nails and the soft pads of your fingers, you lightly dragged them over his heavy balls, teasing the sensitive skin with feather light touches.

His eyes went wide. The contrast between the tight suction on his cock and the teasing scratches below pushed him right to the brink of his tolerance. His hips buckled, his entire body trembling as he fought the urge to spill over right then and there.

​"I'll let you cum, Sy, but only if you say please," you whispered, pressing a soft, mocking kiss to his jawline.

​He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, his teeth grinding together as you gave the pocket pussy a fast down stroke "You're...fuck... unbelievable"

​You kept him right on the edge, easing off the speed just enough to keep him from ruining himself. He held out for another thirty seconds of excruciating friction, his hips jerking helplessly against the toy, his pride fighting a losing battle against the sensation overloading his senses. Finally, his fingers dug into your thigh, his grip bruisingly tight as the last of his resistance broke.

​"Please," he looked up at you with completely surrendered eyes, every ounce of control stripped away. "Please, sweetie... let me cum."

​"Good boy," you murmured, giving him exactly what he wanted.

He came with a loud groan at the praise, his body shuddering beneath you in long waves as he emptied himself into the sleeve. The dominant, untouchable aura he usually carried was fractured, leaving him looking wrecked.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked down at the toy in your hand, then up at your face. A lazy smile began to return to his lips, though his voice was still a ruined rasp.

"You had your fun. You got me to beg. But if you think you're getting out of this bed without finding out exactly how much tighter you are than that piece of plastic... you're sorely mistaken. Toss the toy. It's my turn now."

Caleb shot you an offended look before cutting into his steak again. He'd finally stopped grumbling about the menu and settled into actually eating, looking far more relaxed than he had when you'd first arrived. His tie was loosened slightly, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, and for the first time all evening he seemed content to sit back and enjoy himself.

Which, in hindsight, was probably why your timing was so terrible.

You watched him take another bite before the thought that had been circling your head for weeks slipped out before you could overthink it.

"I want to stop using condoms."

His reaction was immediate.

The fork slipped from his hand and struck the edge of his plate with a loud metallic clang. A streak of dark sauce splattered across the front of his shirt as he coughed violently.

A waiter froze halfway across the room.

An elderly woman nearby nearly choked on her wine.

For a few horrible seconds, the only sound in the restaurant was Caleb trying not to die.

You covered your face. "Oh my God."

"Would you like to repeat that?"

"Maybe after you recover."

Caleb looked down at the stain spreading across his expensive shirt and then back at you, disbelief written all over his face.

"Do you know how many opportunities you had to bring this up today?"

"No?"

"There was breakfast," he continued. "There was lunch. There was the drive here. There was the entire first half of dinner, and you waited until I had my mouth full of food?."

"I didn't plan it."

"You looked across this table, saw me actively chewing, and thought, yes, this seems like the ideal moment for a life changing conversation."

The more serious he tried to sound, the harder it became not to laugh. His composure wasn't holding up much better, a faint flush had climbed all the way to the tips of his ears, and every time he glanced at you it got worse.

"You're serious." It wasn't a question.

You nodded.

"You've thought about it."

"A lot."

His shoulders eased and something in his expression softened so completely it made your chest ache.

"This is embarrassing to admit now, but I actually had a whole conversation planned for this."

Your eyes widened. "A conversation?"

"A very good one. It had structure..."

"Oh no."

"It had bullet points."

You burst out laughing while he groaned and dropped his head into one hand. "Don't laugh."

"You made bullet points?"

His smile finally broke through and the sight of it made your laughter fade into something gentler.

"You're telling me you see a future with me and that's more than enough for me right now"

Silence stretched comfortably between you until a waiter appeared beside the table carrying a clean napkin.

The man glanced at Caleb's stained shirt, then at the two of you holding hands, clearly unsure of what he'd interrupted.

"Sir," he said cautiously, "would you like some assistance with the stain?"

Caleb looked down at the mess on his shirt again, looked back at you, and let out a long sigh.

"Do you have anything for emotional shock?"

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

Caleb was the kind of man who brought home the exact chocolates you liked from the store near the station, who tucked your stray hairs behind your ear with a thumb so gentle it felt like an apology. He loved you with the cleanest, lightest parts of his soul.

But that Caleb stayed outside when your front door thudded shut behind you.

The man who moved you against the wall was heavier. Darker. His hands locked onto your hips with bruising leverage that shoved your lower back flush against the plaster. His breathing was uneven, smelling of the dry red wine he’d barely touched before you threw that sentence across the restaurant table.

"You don't get to say things like that out there" your knees shook, the silk of your dress bunching up around your thighs as his fingers tore at the fabric "You don't get to put those images in my head while I'm trapped in a room full of strangers and then expect me to hold back." you were trembling, and he looked down at the tremor in your thighs with cold satisfaction. A quieter shadow had taken him over—the part of him that didn't know how to possess you without wanting to ruin you. He’d been holding that part back for years, keeping it chained behind soft words and careful boundaries.

Now, the chain was gone.

He dropped his trousers, hooked his forearm under your left knee, hoisting your leg high over his hip, and drove himself inside you.

The entry was dry enough to sting, a stretching heat that caught the breath in your throat. You let out a small, fractured sound, your fingers clawing at the rough wool of his jacket, looking for the Caleb who always asked if you were okay.

This version didn't ask. He gripped the back of your skull, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold your head still, and buried his mouth over yours to catch the noises you were making. He tasted like wine and years of starvation.

His hips slammed forward in a brutal rhythm that used the wall behind you as support. Every time he went deep, the heel of his palm pressed harder into your hip bone, keeping you pinned, making sure you took the full length of his cock.

"Look at you," he rasped against your lips, his teeth grazing the tip of your tongue before he pulled back just far enough to look into your eyes. "Taking my cock so well"

He lifted your other leg until you were entirely dependent on his strength to stay off the floor. The tip of his dick, in one unyielding thrust that went past the usual limits, pushed hard against your cervix.

​"Caleb—wait," you cried out, your fingers tearing two buttons from his shirt as your head banged lightly against the plaster. " 'S too deep, baby. Ah, god..."

"How do you expect me to breed this tight little pussy, uh?" he leaned his full weight into you, pinning you immovably against the wall as his breath came hot against your ear. "I need to reach that spot so it takes."

To prove his point, he withdrew slowly, leaving you empty before bottoming out inside you again, harder this time. "Take it," he whispered, burying his face into the crook of your neck where he bit the soft skin over your collarbone. "Stay right here and take it."

He was turning your thighs into a collection of dark, finger shaped bruises as his control fractured under the tight clenches of your body.

The weight of his body, combined with the deep thrusts of his cock against your womb, broke something open inside you. Your walls spasmed, clamping down on him with an involuntary tightness.

That tight clench broke him. He let out a ragged groan, thrusting into you so hard the frame of the hallway mirror rattled. His whole body going rigid as he started to come.

​But while his lower body held you trapped his hands softened. His fingers moved to cradle your face and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

​The kiss was remarkably soft, tender and lingering— just the way he kissed you when you wake up on Sunday mornings. Below your waist, he was ruining you, his cock twitching and pumping you full of his cum. Against your skin, his lips were gentle, brushing over your damp hairline while he whispered "You're going to hold every single drop of me inside you tonight..."

​He pressed another soft kiss between your eyebrows, his chest heaving as the final pulses shuddered through him "Think I can get you pregnant by morning?"