Feeling: Ovaries are hungry

He stared at you without responding, and there was a long pause of silence before your smile dropped into something smaller.

“Wait? Do you not sell?” You covered your mouth, “Oh my gosh that’s so embarrassing, they told me they bought from you before!”

“Relax, bird. I do.”

“Oh! Great, that’s great. Um, how much for an eighth?”

“On the house.” He smirked, digging through the back of his car.

“What?”

“First time buyer, gotta guarantee you like it.”

You caught the bag he tossed you with a shy smile on your face, humming. “Okay, thank you!”

Ghost watched you jog to your friends after that, holding the bag out to them with a proud smirk.

The next time you bought from him, you were all by yourself, jean shorts showing off your pretty legs.

“Hi.”

He chuckled, “You’re back.”

You leaned into the window, low-cut shirt clinging to the swell of your breasts.

“I am.” You smiled, “How much for an eighth this time, for real?’

“Already have some pre-rolls, you can just have ‘em.”

“Huh? No, I didn’t pay you last time!”

“No one ever wants the pre-rolls anyway,” He shrugs, he lies. “They’re cherry flavored.”

That sparks your interest, “Really? I didn’t know they did that.”

You hand him your phone then, “Put your number in, yeah? So, I don’t have to hope to randomly run into you to buy more.”

When he hands the phone back you laugh after reading the contact name, “Ghost? That’s your drug dealer name? Really?”

“Do you want free weed or not?”

You laugh louder this time, “Yes! Yes! I was just teasing. Thank you!”

You text him two weeks later, a stupid meme at that with beady eyes, ‘more, please sir?’

He hates the way it makes the corners of his lips twitch.

He’s mobile that day, and you send him your address with one too many exclamation marks tagged on the end. You run out in leggings and slippers, a giddy smile on your lips.

“Hi.”

He laughs, “Hi, bird.”

“I liked the pre-rolls!” You say excitedly, leaning into the window, “Never had those before.”

“Yeah? What you need today?”

“You have any more?”

He frowns a little, “Get in with me, I’ll roll you some.”

You open his passenger side door too willingly, “Oh good. I don’t know how to roll,” You confess, “My friends usually do it for me.”

His mouth dips into a smirk, “Yeah? ‘Ts not that hard, watch.”

You lean closer, eyes wide like he’s actually teaching you valuable information and not how to roll a joint.

“Gotta make sure to take out all the seeds and stems before you grind it.” You watch him grind it enraptured. “Gotta roll up the tip first, then, wrap the paper tight.”

You nod eagerly.

“Fill it with your flower, roll it upwards with your thumb to make your shape. Then,” He licks across the paper, “Seal it with the glued edge, and twist the tip.”

He holds it out to you, “There you go.”

You take it between your fingers with a soft smile, “Thank you.”

You text him three days later, a picture of a lopsided joint that he definitely didn’t sell you.

‘How’d I do?’

‘Looks like shit.’

‘That’s mean :(‘

‘Come over, let me help.’

‘On my way!’

You show up an hour later, the crooked joint in your hands. You sit on his couch with a frown.

“You know, I didn’t think it came out that bad.”

“Give it here.” He laughs, “You packed it up wayyy too much. Got too much at the end here too, didn’t tap it out.”

Still, he lights it, holding it out for you to smoke. You take it between your fingers, inhaling a small amount before coughing slightly. He smirks at your watery eyes, taking the joint from you to smoke it.

“Sorry,” You say, “I got my lip gloss on it.”

He chuckles, the tip glistening with the gloss, placing it in the corner of his lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

It tastes like your lip gloss. Strawberries and weed.

You take turns smoking it. Simon watches you the whole time, with lidded eyes, focused on the way your pretty lips curl around the joint. The way your chest rises with each inhale, your eyes becoming heavier and heavier, a lazy smile smeared across your lips as you lean closer to him on his old couch.

All he can think about is those lips wrapped around his cock and not the tip of the joint. And he’s definitely rock hard in his sweats, but he doesn’t care if you notice, not when you keep giggling at every bad joke he cracks.

He jerks himself off when you leave, promising you’ll be safe and text him when you get home. He finishes when your message pops at the top of his screen ‘made it safe :)’

He invites you over himself a week later because he’s got random inventory, he ordered them himself, of strawberry wraps and he’s certain you’ll like them.

You do like them. You’re melted into his couch, blinking lazily at him.

“How come you never charge me?” It’s a whisper.

He looks at you, the room dizzy with smoke and your pretty gaze.

“Never make pretty girls pay.”

“Oh?” You sound disappointed, “So, you give it free to other girls?”

He shakes his head, “Just you.”

You squint, “Are you only giving me free weed so you can get a lay?”

He smirks, “Is it working?”

You scoff, smacking him in the shoulder, “Unbelievable.”

He catches your wrist.

“You giving it to my friends for free too?”

“Careful,” He smirks, “You’re starting to sound jealous.”

You roll your eyes, trying to pull away from him. He keeps you close, tugging you into his lap so fast you have no choice but to slip onto his thighs. You don’t look at him, eyes focused to the side.

“Just you.”

You peer down at him then, “Huh?”

His fingers find your cheek, still burning from the embers of the joint, “You’re the only one I don’t charge.”

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“C’mere already.” He murmurs, pulling you down to kiss him.

You make a noise of surprise, like you hadn’t expected your smoke sessions to lead to this, with his cock pressed between your thighs eagerly, grip on your chin and hip to keep you close to him.

You kiss him back earnestly, smaller hands finding his shoulders. He loves it, fuck he loves the way your hands shake against his skin, the vibrations that leave your chest and fill his. He’s been dreaming about this since the moment you walked over in your tiny skirt.

Your bottom lip pops away from his, glistening with his saliva and not the lip gloss you insist on wearing.

“Wanted you to do that for ages.”

He chuckles against your lips, “Yeah?”

Your hips grind against his then, “Only reason my friends made me go was because I wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”

He presses his teeth against your neck, fingers making quick work of your belt and pants. “Came over with your ass and tits out, been jerking off to the memory ever since.”

You inhale sharply, “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter when his fingers find your cunt, squelching with the sound of your arousal. He dips one finger in, drawing a whimper from you, and god you’re so fucking warm. The weeds got you nice and lax, a small grin on your lips as he coaxes you with one thick finger and he's sure he's never wanted to fuck someone more.

Your grin turns into a broken cry when he adds another, lips quivering around the shape of his name. Ghost. Ghost?

His thumbs already on your lips, gaze strong on you, “Simon.”

You nod in quiet understanding, “Simon.”

There’s a sticky strip of arousal that clings to your panties when he slides them off your thighs and it takes everything in him not to bury his face below and smell.

You scramble to his sweats, tugging them down impatiently. He lifts his hips willingly, lets his strained cock smack against his abdomen angrily. You lick your lips when you see it, eyes wide at the sight.

He grips it by the base, thumb coming up to wipe at the precum spilling from the tip.

“Oh my god.” You groan, “Let me ride you, please.”

He slides lower on the couch, tapping your hips casually in agreement like he hadn’t been picturing you on top of him for weeks, “Go on.”

You rise to your knees above him, shaking hand grabbing his cock so lightly it makes his eyes flutter. You glide his tip along your seams until it snags at your entrance, and you make a soft noise when he pops through. You slide down eagerly as much as he holds your hips and grits through his teeth to take it slow.

Your head falls to his shoulder when you sink to the base, his head rolling to the back of the couch because you’re so fucking warm and tight, and the weed definitely isn’t helping because he’s feeling everything ten times worse.

And when you lift your hips, he swears he sees heaven between your thighs when you drop back down and your pussy makes an obscene squelch.

You bury your face in his neck, arms around his shoulders and just fucking go at it. Ass slamming against his so fast the room echoes with each slap. You whine high-pitched with each thrust like you aren’t the one setting the pace, like you aren’t the fucking yourself raw around his cock.

“Jesus, bird, slow down.” He grunts, fingers dimpling your skin.

He says it because your legs are shaking and there’s sweat beading on your chest, whimpers falling from your lips endlessly, but more so because he doesn’t want it to end this soon. When he hasn’t even laid you back properly to fuck you the way he had hoped.

You don’t listen well.

You just keep sloppily fucking yourself onto his cock because you’ve found the sweet spot, the one that has you on the brink of an orgasm.

His lips on your neck do it for you, your toes curling into his shitty ass couch when you break. You soak his balls then, pussy clenching so tight around him he has to bite down on his cheek so he doesn’t bust.

He’s already moving you to your back, finding a home between your thighs when you come back down. You don’t even argue, like the perfect thing you are, folding your own legs to his shoulders, and arching into the couch.

He slides in slow, and your pussy spreads for him so prettily.

“Fuck,” he drawls, “Listen to her, just fuckin dying for me to fuck her.”

You whine loud at that, hips bucking to get him to move. He doesn’t wait a second longer, thrusts so hard into you, you feel it in your toes and your legs straighten out in shock.

He fucks you slow and hard, pace languid from the weed pulsing in his veins. You like it, at least he thinks you do from the way you keep writhing under him, the beginning syllables of his name broken on your lips between every thrust.

When he leans forward, pressing your knees to your shoulders, you gasp in shock from the stretch, but then his tip snags against that spot in your cunt that melts your brain into mush, and your eyes just roll into the back of your head.

He smirks proudly, bullying his length against that spot until you’re pushing at hips, murmuring something along the lines that it’s too much.

He doesn’t stop.

You pulse around him when you cum a second time, sweet voice ripped from your throat, and turned into blinded pleasure when he stamps his thumb against your swollen clit. Your feet tense at his shoulders, fingers tight against the cushions.

He finishes inside of you then, head falling to your shoulder with a deep groan, hips fucking into you with each pump.

Konig opened the door to your shared room, stretching his limbs and sighing. "Scheiße, it's good to be back." he strode inside, heading straight to the small coffee pot the both of you had stolen from the mess hall. He started making coffee, stretching out his left hip, then his right.

You trudged into the room, bags under your eyes, muscles sore, and shoulders slumped. Your feet dragged underneath you as you closed the door behind you. Tired was an understatement - you were exhausted to the point that you were perfectly content to pass out on the cold ground and call it a night.

The mission had gone smoothly, almost as perfect as one could ask for. Konig had been positioned near the outskirts of the field, obediently waiting for the hostages to be delivered to the pick up point. You, on the other hand, had been involved in clearing the way to the hostages, as well as the path to Konig's group. You had shot, stabbed, kicked, and punched so many enemy soldiers, sometimes fighting two at once. Your mind was overworked as well as your body, and you had a few sore spots from the occasional soldier that had landed a hit on you. You never got the chance to sleep on the way back - and your body was about to make that happen, whether you were in a bed or standing up.

Konig pulled off his sniper hood, watching with a smile as you dragged yourself to the bed and flopped onto it. He chuckled. "Schatz, aren't you ecstatic? You did a great job out there!"

"M-hmph..." you muttered, your face smushed into the pillows. You sank your muscles into the mattress, groaning in both relief and pain. If only KorTac hadn't deemed the massage therapist unnecessary...

You heard the coffee dripping into the pot, followed by Konig's heavy footsteps. He crouched down, gently turning your head so he could look at your face. You kept your eyes closed.

"Engel, are you tired?" he asked sarcastically, caressing the side of your face. His head was slightly tilted to match your eye level.

You huffed sarcastically. "Just a 'lil bit." you mumbled. You opened your eyes, meeting Konig's piercing blue ones. He had a small pout on his lips.

He ran his large hand down your shoulders, squeezing the muscle gently. You whined squeezed your eyes shut at the painful relief, furring your brow as he kneaded away. He moved down to your arm, skillfully massaging it with his calloused hands. He landed on your hand, taking it between both of his and flexing your fingers, rubbing each knuckle tenderly. You hummed in appreciation.

You opened your eyes again, noticing Konig's pupils had widened the slightest bit. Oh no... nope, nope nope. You thought. You were WAY too tired to give him what he needed right now. Not that you were ever unwilling to be his fuck toy when he wanted it - you just didn't know if you could stay awake for it.

"So schön, meine Liebe..." So beautiful, my love... He muttered. You felt his breath on your face as he planted a kiss to your forehead.

"You think this is beautiful?" You asked with a smirk. "You're a simple man, Konig." You smushed your face back into the pillow, ignoring the desperation in his eyes.

"Why don't you go get a shower, hmm?" He said, rubbing the palm of your hand. "I can grab us food from the mess hall - you can stay here and unwind."

You hummed and nodded in response. Konig pulled your hips to sit you upright, kneeling himself between your legs. Your head rolled to the side, unable to even hold it upright for long from the soreness. Konig gazed up at you lustfully. You pretended to ignore it and yawned instead.

He squeezed your hips once before moving away, letting you stand up. "I'll have some coffee first, then I'll go. You wash up."

You slipped off your boots and haphazardly dropped them by the edge of the bed. As you made your way to the bathroom, you heard Konig scoff, as he moved your shoes and placed them next to his, perfectly aligned and neat. You chuckled.

-----

The entire bathroom was filled with steam. You had the water as hot as it could possibly be. It beat fiercely against your muscles - exactly what you needed. Your braced your hands against the wall in front of you, savoring every sting and ache of the hot water against your skin. You didn't even have the energy to actually bathe yourself at the moment. You would attempt that in a little bit. For now, you soaked up the heat from the shower, letting it seep into your bones.

You heard the bathroom door creak open, then it shut. Konig hummed as he moved on the other side of the curtain. You assumed he just needed something and would leave in a moment. He rustled around for a bit, the sound of fabric hitting the ground, followed by his feet quietly slapping against the tile floor.

Moments later, he threw the shower curtain back.

"Holy shit!!" you exclaimed, jumping further into the shower, startled. "The hell - I thought you went to the mess hall?!"

Konig casually stepped into the shower with you, his eyes flickering over your naked body. "I was going to, but I probably need a shower too." He closed the curtain behind him. "Why waste the water, since you're getting one already?" He smirked mischievously.

"Konig, there's hardly any room in here for both of us." You stated. You were crammed against the shower wall, purposefully avoiding looking at his obvious hard-on. It rested against your stomach as he stared down at you, eyes half-lidded in lust. Your hands rested on his chest as you tried to create space between the two of you, although you didn't mind his muscular body being pressed into yours.

He ignored your protest. "Liebling, you haven't even bathed yourself." He said, running his hands down your back. "Let me help you, bitte? You just relax, I'll wash you."

You wanted to say no, since you knew where it would lead, and you were too drained to even think of it. But it was hard to deny Konig, especially as he ran his soap-lathered hands over your arms, delicately massaging the muscles under your skin. You let out a long sigh, leaning into his touch as he masterfully worked the knots out of your shoulders, your flanks, and then your hips, lingering there a while longer. His hands combined with the hot water and the smell of the soap... your mind was practically numb under his touch. You felt yourself relax more and more as he worked the tension from your body.

Konig stared down at you, pupils blown wide. You were the kind of person to get all shy when you were naked, even though the two of you had been together for a while now. But here, in your tired state, you wordlessly submitted to him. You had come back from the mission as a hard, cracked, and dry wad of clay, and Konig was using his large hands and the hot water to mold you into what he wanted. His cock was painfully hard at the thought of you, too tired to fully push him away from you, forced to give in to his advances as he fucked you in the shower wall. You're muscles were too sore for you to fight back - he would slam himself into you until you passed out from exhaustion, your overworked little body trembling and twitching as he held you against the tiles. Your little throat would barely be able to whimper his name out.

Just the thought of him fucking you to sleep was making precum drip from his cock. It rested heavily against your back as he was running his hands down lower, squeezing out the tension from your muscles. You involuntarily let out a soft moan - the feeling of his hands was soothing, comforting... and also getting you aroused. As tired as you were, every grip from his fingers sent pleasure shooting from your core to your chest. You felt his cock twitch at your moan.

You lazily tilted your head back against his chest, looking at him through your lashes with a soft smile. He smiled back, desire settling in his lower abdomen. He leaned down and kissed the crown of your head. Slowly, he snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest.

"Mein süßes mädchen..." My sweet girl... whispered, lips pressed to your head. "How about I make you feel good, yes?" His free arm climbed up your abdomen until it reached your breasts, grabbing the left one and massaging it between his fingers. "You did so well earlier - I want to reward you for it." He rolled your nipple between his fingers and tugged at it.

You arched your back against him, mewling and whining. His fingers were massaging the flesh of your stomach and pinching and pulling at your nipple... it felt so good, you would have let him take you then and there. But the more aroused you felt, the more you noticed how tired you were. "Konig, baby, can - can we please do this in the m-morning?" You whimpered out.

Konig groaned, half aroused, half frustrated. "I promise I can be gentle, schatz. I won't make you cum too much." He started grinding his cock along your ass, his arm squeezing tightly around your waist. His dick throbbed, aching to feel your cunt squeezing him tight.

You exhaled a shaky breath, before gathering your resolve and turning to face him. He let out a soft moan as your skin dragged along his cock as you spun. He gripped your shoulders tightly as you looked him in his eyes.

"Tomorrow morning, love." You gently held his face between your hands, smiling. "I promise. I'm just too tired tonight." You pulled his head down to plant a long kiss on his lips. He groaned against your mouth, before a sigh escaped through his nose.

He pulled back, caressing your face with his thumb. "Alright. Tomorrow then. Let's get you cleaned for now, and then some dinner, yes?"

The both of you continued to shower, Konig insisting on washing your hair. You stood with your eyes closed, basking in the feeling of his fingers massaging your scalp. You were starting to get frustrated yourself, between feeling both aroused and sleepy. But you focused on the feeling of his hands on your hair and the water hitting your skin (or whatever skin it could reach - Konig took up most of the stream).

Konig did his best to focus on washing your hair and body. His eyes kept wandering over your silhouette from above, cock throbbing as he watched the water running down your breasts, to your pussy, and then trailing off down your thighs. He pushed his desires away, concentrating on taking care of you.

-----

After your shower, Konig had left to grab some food, while you dried your hair and slipped into your night clothes - which consisted of your underwear and one of Konig's army-green t shirts. When he returned with some protein bars and bananas (the mess hall's only options since it was after hours), he faltered as he caught a glimpse of you. You were seated at the edge of the bed, practically swallowed in his shirt, nipples threatening to poke holes in it. You smiled gratefully at him. Despite having his sniper hood back on, you could see the tinge of pink in his face, as he quickly looked away.

The two of you ate your food, Konig splayed out in a chair across the room, sniper hood on the desk next to him, you still sitting on the edge of the bed. You talked about the mission, it's faults and it's victories, Konig saying that he would have preferred that you were the one to stay at the pick up point, and he should have gone to retrieve the hostages.

He always did that - he would complain after the fact that your team's captain would consistently put you in the more dangerous situations, rather than having you on the safer end of things. Konig would have even preferred if he could have been there with you, but that's never how it was. Either you were both in dangerous situations on opposite sides of the field, or it was just you, and he was forced to wait on the sidelines, far away from the danger. He never doubted your skill, and he would never try to hold you back. But he wished that you could be closer to him than the danger. You found it sweet, but preferred it this way. Better you close to the danger than Konig - you would never live if something had happened to him.

And if something happened to you, neither could he.

After dinner, Konig changed into sweatpants, opting to sleep shirtless. ("You're wearing my shirt, after all.") You climbed onto the bed, feeling Konig settle in behind you, wrapping a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You held it tightly and intertwined your legs with his. His warm breath fell against the back of your head as he nuzzled into your hair, which still smelled like your shampoo.

You felt safe. Finally home, finally in your bed, with your Konig. His hold on your body felt protective, something you didn't have the luxury of feeling for the entire mission. You were finally able to relax. You sighed contentedly... the cool sheets, Konig's strong arms, the rise and fall of his chest, the fact that you could sleep in tomorrow morning... It soothed you, and you let the wave of sleep slowly begin to pull you under, bit by bit.

Konig let out the smallest, quietest whine. He knew you were tired. He didn't want to disturb you. But he was still hard from earlier. His cock was so swollen and painful, he was going insane. He couldn't hold himself back any longer, especially not with your pussy just a few pieces of fabric away. He pawed at the flesh of your abdomen, using his other hand to rub down your thigh. Slowly, he began pushing his clothed cock against your ass.

You stirred; you had been on the brink of sleep, when you felt Konig kneading your stomach and grinding against you. You recognized the heat pooling in your pelvis, letting out a small whimper. "Konig, please..." you begged - not entirely sure if it was for him to stop, or to move faster.

"I'm sorry, prinzessin..." he said desperately... "I can't help it, I... mph, I'm going insane... I need to feel you around me, please?" He was now pathetically humping your ass, already pulling down his sweats until he was just in his boxers. You felt his pulsing, warm cock pressed up against you. "Bitte, liebe..." he began kissing your neck, right in your sweet spot.

You moaned lazily. "I'm just too tired, I'm sorry-"

"Schatz, you don't need to do anything." he cut you off with desperation in his voice. "Let me take care of you, bitte... you don't have to lift a finger. I just need to be inside of you right now... please, please..."

His hands groping your waist, his breath on your neck, his lips sucking at your skin... and his pathetic begging, won over your better judgement. You knew you wouldn't be able to hold him off in your current state, and he would end up taking what he wanted anyways. And despite being so tired, you were still aroused... Would you really be able to fall asleep if you deprived yourself? "Alright, love."

"You sure?" he answered immediately, whining needily.

"I'm sure."

And that was all he needed. Placing a kiss to the back of your head, Konig carefully removed your panties, letting them hang off of one of your ankles. With one hand, he pulled the waistband of his boxers down, freeing his cock and letting it slap against your ass. He moved his hand from your stomach down to your pussy, prodding at your clit with two fingers. You rubbed your thighs together, feeling a mix of soreness and wetness, as he rubbed your swollen bundle of nerves between his fingertips.

"So fucking wet for me..." he groaned in your ear, "... even when you're tired, you're so needy." He slipped a finger past your clit, running it along your lips. You didn't have the energy to buck against him - instead, you tilted your hips back, trying to angle yourself to feel as much pleasure as possible. He teased you, prodding the tip of his finger just past your lips, before pulling it back. You whined, your juices spilling over his hand as your arousal grew even more.

"Please, Konig..." you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. Despite the desire settling in your stomach, you could feel yourself being pulled back into sleep. Your moans were lazy and low, and your body was limp in his arms.

"I know, love, I know..." he whispered in your ear. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked your wetness that coated his fingers. He groaned, savoring the taste, his erection twitching painfully. "I'm going to fuck you to sleep, liebling. You deserve it, you worked so hard... Just let me take care of you, alright?" He dipped his fingers back down to your pussy, rubbing your clit in slow circles with the pad of this thumb.

You couldn't answer him. Instead, weak, soft whimpers fell from your lips, followed by the quiet clicking sounds of his fingers teasing your cunt, finally dipping inside. A pang of pleasure shot from your core, and your walls instinctively clenched around him, sucking him deeper into you. You pathetically mumbled in pleasure as he slowly dragged his fingers in, and out, and in, and out...

Konig kissed the side of your neck as your moans enticed him, making his length drip with precum as he continued to grind against your ass. He felt your walls tightening around his fingers, greedily sucking on him. He spread his fingers and pushed them against your walls, curving one of them just right to hit your sweet spot. You whimpered and rocked your hips lazily, trying to push him deeper into you.

"Hmm, look at you..." he whispered low in your ear, followed by a soft kiss on your temple. "I thought you were sleepy, mein engel..." he teased. You whined, barely audible, as more and more of your juices dripped onto his palm. "So helpless, so fucking small in my hands..." he pumped his fingers faster, flicking his thumb back and forth over your clit.

You felt the familiar coil tightening in your lower abdomen, and at the same time, you knew you were drifting off to sleep. You moaned as he continued to finger-fuck your cunt, unable to produce more than a high-pitched cry. Your thighs weakly rubbed together as your impending orgasm built in your core.

"Konig, please, bitte, bitte, bitte..." you babbled quietly, your consciousness drifting as your walls began fluttering around his fingers.

Your pleading in German stirred a fire in Konig's abdomen. He growled low, "Gutes verdammtes mädchen, das ist es..." Good fucking girl, that's it... He flicked your clit harder, relishing in the small, high whimpers that sent an electric shock through his core. He snaked his other hand under your side, coming around to gently squeeze at your throat. "Komm für mich, meine müde Prinzessin..." Cum for me, my tired princess... he grunted as he drove his digits into your pussy, curling them to prod against your g-spot. "That's it... yes, yes, yes..."

Your hips instinctively rocked against his fingers, mind going numb as your orgasm ripped through your body. Your one hand grabbed the one of Konig's that was deep in your cunt, pawing helplessly at his forearm. Your legs began to shake as the pleasure overtook you, making you mewl and whine. Your slick flowed freely over his fingers and into his palm, and you heard him growl and felt his cock twitch against your ass. You closed your heavy eyelids, his hand still firm around your throat, feeling yourself drift into the ecstasy...

Konig continued to flick your clit, hoping to overstimulate you for a while longer, until he felt your body go limp in his arms. Your legs were still shaking from your orgasm, but the rest of your muscles were slack against him. He smiled proudly to himself, pulling his fingers out of you slowly. He felt your walls clench one more time around him, as if they didn't want to let him go. He brought his fingers up and once more licked your cum off of his hand, making sure none of it was wasted. He softly moaned at your taste.

"Oh, liebling..." he said lowly, "I'm not finished with you yet." He used his wet hand to pump himself a few times - his cock ached under his touch, red and hot and desperately needing relief. "I said I was going to fuck you, and you're going to take every inch..." he pulled himself down the bed slightly, so that your dripping pussy was positioned right above his swollen member. "... even in your dreams."

With both hands on your hips, he slowly guided himself into your cunt. He stopped halfway, hearing you whimper in your sleep, your brow furrowed in pleasure. Your eyes remained closed, but your mouth parted slightly, sucking in a short breath.

Konig absentmindedly shushed you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "I know, schatz..." he said shakily, "I know, I know... you can take it, you're such a good girl, I know you can." He groaned lazily, feeling your walls stretch slightly around him, and he pushed the rest of his length into your cunt. His exhale caught in his throat, and his fingers gripped the flesh at your hips, sure to leave marks in the morning.

Your hips bucked slightly as your pussy squelched, trying to make room for all of him as Konig was balls deep inside of you. He panted, sweat covering his entire body. Your wetness felt so good as he twitched inside of you. Slowly, as he was trying to be considerate of your sleeping form, he ground his hips into you. He moved one hand to the front of your abdomen, feeling around until he found the buldge pressing forward in your stomach. He growled when he touched it, imagining his big cock barely fitting into your tight cunt. He pressed his hand down onto the bump, and your body reacted, shivering around him.

He stuttered in pleasure, biting his lip to keep his moans at a low volume. The quiet sounds of his balls slapping against your pussy echoed through the room, accompanied by his rhythmic grunting and your weak whimpers. His cock throbbed inside of you, sending jolts of pleasure through his lower abdomen with each thrust. His face was flushed and his pupils were blown wide as he huffed, burying his face into the crook of your neck, mumbling sweet nothings in German into your ear.

He felt himself teetering closer to his orgasm - the sounds of him fucking you to sleep, the feeling of the mixed juices coating his cock and his thighs, your high whines and mewls, the lingering taste of your cum on his tongue... He was so close to the edge, desperately trying to hold himself back as to not disturb you, and to last a few moments longer...

"I'm gonna fucking breed you, liebe..." he mumbled, whimpering as his orgasm approached quickly. "... gonna fucking fill you up, and there's not a damn thing you can do... Scheiße, so fucking tight... You take my cock so well, meine gute kleine Schlampe..." My good little slut... He felt your walls clenching rhythmically around his member, and your whimpers got higher and higher, your back arching against his as a second orgasm overcame you.

He felt his cock twitching, and a cord in his lower abdomen snapped. "Fuuuck, liebe, take it, take it, fucking take it, Scheiße..."

His thrusts became shallow and sloppy - he sank his teeth into your neck as an attempt to quiet his grunts and whimpers as he pounded into you, his cum spurting through his cock, filling up your cunt. "Mph, scheisse!" he whined into your neck. He rode out his orgasm, the room filling with sloppy squelching as his cum seeped out of you, dripping onto his thighs and the sheets.

He felt your body relax once more, his own muscles going limp around you. He lazily ground his hips into your ass, his cock still embedded in your cunt, now going soft. He gently thumbed his cum back into your pussy, pushing it in between his member and your lips. He sighed contentedly, wrapping both of his arms around your waist and pulling you closer onto him. He nestled his face in the crook of your neck, feeling the layer of sweat that covered you both.

"Du bist mein perfektes Mädchen..." You are my perfect girl... he mumbled into your ear, planting a kiss on the top of it. You stirred gently, your hips briefly moving away from his. He gently held you down on his cock. "No, schatz..." he hummed, eyes closing, "... I want to stay in this warm, sweet pussy of yours... oh, verdammt, I've missed you... I'll never let you go for so long again..."

You stood slowly, stepping closer. “Is he wrong?” Your voice dipped watching the man.

Ryland’s brain shut down. “W-what?”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his arm“Is he wrong,” you repeated softly, “about the… mating readiness?”

His breath hitched. “Oh,” he said faintly. “Oh. That’s—that’s where we’re going with this."

You stepped into his space.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“You’ve been talking all day,” you murmured. “Explaining. Thinking. Overthinking."

He laughed nervously. “That’s….uh—yeah, that’s kind of my brand.”

You placed your hand on his chest.

His heart was racing, pounding against your palm fast. “Maybe,” you whispered, “you should stop thinking for a minute.”

Ryland blinked at you. “…I have literally no idea how to do that.”

So you kissed him, soft at first.

Testing.

His entire body locked up for half a second then he melted. “Oh,” he breathed against your lips. “Oh wow—that….okay..that’s—”

You kissed him again, hard grabbing a fistfull of his shirt.

His hands came up, hesitant, hovering, before finally settling on your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he held too tight.

“Is this…are we..?” he stammered between kisses. “Because I need verbal confirmation…I am so bad at reading signals—”

You grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. “That’s your confirmation.”

“Oh thank god.”

He kissed you back properly then, messy, eager, a little clumsy, but so full of want it made your chest tighten as his tongue glided over yours.

His hands slid, curious, exploring, down your sides, over your hips.

“Okay,” he muttered breathlessly, “I am officially not thinking anymore.”

“Good.”

You pushed him back until he hit the wall.“Whoa—okay!!!this is…this is new,” he laughed nervously. “I am being pinned by a very attractive woman and I am not emotionally prepared—”

You dropped to your knees.

Ryland stopped speaking, completely.His mouth opened, closed then opened again.

“…oh.”

You looked up at him, smiling. “Still want to overthink?”

“Nope,” he said immediately. “No thoughts. Head empty.”

You unfastened his pants, tugging them down just enough to free his cock, already hard, already flushed.

Ryland made a small, broken noise.

“Oh my god!! that’s…wow, that’s happening, this is happening—”

You wrapped your hand around him and he nearly folded.

“Okay!!okay, if you keep doing that I’m going to…like!! immediately, just so you know, full transparency—”

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the tip as Ryland gasped.

“OH!! okay, that’s!! oh wow, that’s—”

You then took him into your mouth. It was slow, warm and messy.

Ryland’s head hit the wall with a soft thunk as his glasses started to slide down the bridge of his nose, mind racing. “Oh my god….oh my god, this is, this is the best day of my entire life—"

You laughed around him, the vibration making him choke on a moan.

“Don’t!!! don’t do that! no wait, do that!!!keep doing that—”

His hands hovered above your head, unsure, before gently settling into your hair, fingers trembling.

“Are you? are you okay with this?” he asked breathlessly. “Because I don’t want to!!oh god—”

You answered by taking him deeper,Ryland’s entire body shuddered.

“Okay!! yep!! that’s my answer, thank you—understood!! continuing—”

You bobbed your head, messy and eager, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t take, saliva slicking his cock as you worked him.

He was losing it, completely.“Oh!! oh wow, okay, if Rocky comes back right now I’m going to die!! just—die instantly—”

You pulled back with a wet pop. “Focus, Ryland.”

He looked down at you, flushed, wide-eyed and absolutely wrecked. “I am focusing,” he said weakly. “I am focusing so hard right now.”

You smiled and took him back into your mouth.

That was it.

Ryland groaned loudly, hips jerking forward before he caught himself. “Sorry, sorry!! I didn’t mean to—oh god, this is—”

He lasted maybe another thirty seconds, his breath broke. “Okay!! okay, I’m….yep. I’m done, this is happening—”

He came with a choked, overwhelmed groan, hand tightening in your hair as he tried not to completely fall apart"

You swallowed everything.

Ryland slid down the wall, landing in a sitting position, staring at nothing. “…I have transcended,” he whispered.

You laughed, settling beside him, wiping the edge of your lips as he turned his head slowly.

“…did Rocky know this was going to happen?”

You smirked. “Oh, absolutely."

Ryland groaned, covering his face. “I’m never going to emotionally recover from this.”

The door clicked softly.

Rocky’s voice filtered in. “Is mating complete?”

Ryland screamed internally but out loud he tilted his head back. “…I’m going back to space.”

You kissed his cheek. “No you’re not.”

He leaned into you anyway, utterly ruined until Rocky chimed in again. "Silence…Question?!…you are not compete? Rocky will come back."

The bio-dome fell silent after that. Grace was still sitting on the floor where he’d practically collapsed, one hand covering his face, the other loosely resting on your knee like he needed to make sure you were still there.

“…I think I just had a religious experience,” he muttered.

You laughed softly, leaning into his shoulder. “You’ll survive.”

“I don’t know,” he said, peeking at you through his fingers. “I’ve survived space, astrophage, and probable death. This might be the thing that finally takes me out.”

You nudged him. “Dork.”

“Your dork,” he corrected automatically.

You smiled and then you kissed him again, slower, deeper.

Ryland felt it instantly.

His hand tightened on your knee, breath hitching as your lips moved against his. He kissed you back—hesitant at first, then more sure, more present, like he was finally letting himself feel everything instead of analyzing it.

“Hey,” he whispered when you pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours. “We don’t have to rush anything. I mean…we’ve got time, right? Like, actual time. Not ‘dying alone in space’ time.”

Your chest softened. “We do.”

He swallowed. “…okay.”

Your hand slid to his chest, then lower, fingers brushing the edge of his shirt.

Ryland froze then he exhaled shakily letting out a soft laugh. “Oh. Oh we’re, okay. We’re doing that now.”

You smiled gently. “Only if you want to.”

He laughed again, soft and disbelieving.“Want to? I—” he ran a hand through his hair, already flustered again, “….I have wanted to since approximately the moment you smiled at me like an actual human being and not a floating corpse.”

You leaned in, kissing his jaw. “That’s romantic.”

“I try.”

He didn’t stop you when you tugged his shirt up.Didn’t stop you when you pushed it off his shoulders.His skin was warm, real, solid beneath your hands, and he shivered when your fingers traced down his chest.

“Okay,” he whispered, “I’m…uh..I’m trying very hard not to narrate this like a science experiment.”

"Don’t.”

“Right. Not doing that."

Your hands slid lower, over his stomach, down to where his cock was already half-hard again, reacting instantly to your touch.

Ryland sucked in a breath.“Oh!! okay, yep, body is responding, good to know—”

You kissed him again, his hands found your waist—firmer now, less hesitant, pulling you closer as your bodies pressed together.

“You’re warm,” he murmured against your lips, like he was still amazed by it. “God, you’re so warm…”

You guided him back, gently pushing him onto the bed-like surface in the bio-dome. He went easily, eyes never leaving yours, trust written all over his face.

When you climbed over him, straddling his hips, Ryland let out a soft, stunned sound.

“Oh wow.”His hands hovered then settled on your thighs. “…you’re on top of me.”

“Observant.”

“I’m trying not to pass out.”

You laughed, leaning down to kiss him again.

His hands moved slowly, curiously, exploring your body with growing confidence. Your hips. Your sides. The softness of your stomach. Your chest.

When he cupped your breasts, he froze.

“…okay,” he whispered, eyes wide. “I understand why people like this now.”

You snorted. “Ryland—”

“I mean, scientifically speaking—”

You kissed him again and he melted instantly.When you shifted, lining yourself up over him, he tensed slightly.

“Hey,” he said softly, hand coming to your hip. “Are you? are you okay? We can stop. Or go slower. Or—uh…pause and discuss feelings—”

You brushed your fingers through his hair. “I’m okay. Are you?”

He nodded, his head quickly.“Yeah. I just—” he swallowed, voice quieter, more vulnerable, “—I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.” You sank down slowly.

Ryland’s breath stopped.His hands gripped your hips—tight, almost desperate as you took him in inch by inch.

“Oh!! oh my god—” he gasped, head falling back. “That’s, this is, this is real—”

You stilled once you were fully seated, both of you catching your breath.

He looked up at you, eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, softer this time.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He let out a shaky laugh.“I think I forgot how gravity works.”

You smiled and moved, slowly, gentle.Your hips rolled against his, the motion pulling a broken sound from his throat.

“Oh…okay, yep, that’s…oh wow—"

His hands tightened on your hips, guiding you slightly, like he was learning your rhythm, your pace.

“You feel—” he swallowed, words catching, “—you feel amazing. I don’t, I don’t have better vocabulary than that right now.”

“That’s okay.” You leaned down, kissing him as you moved together.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, chest to chest, holding you like he needed the contact.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he murmured against your lips.

“I’m right here.”

He kissed you again, messy, earnest, while your movements grew a little faster, a little deeper.His breath broke.“Okay, okay, I’m…uh..I’m getting close..this is happening, very quickly—”

You laughed softly, brushing your lips against his gently.“It’s okay.”

He groaned. “You’re being way too nice about this.”

You rolled your hips again, deeper and that did it for him.

Ryland gasped, hands tightening as he bucked up into you once, twice then came with a soft, overwhelmed sound, burying his face against your shoulder as his body trembled beneath you.

You held him through it.Stroked his hair, waited until his breathing slowed.

“…I think I blacked out for a second,” he admitted weakly.

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple.

He looked up at you, soft, dazed, completely gone for you.

“…that was,” he paused, searching for words, “—statistically the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

You smiled.“Even better than saving humanity?”

He considered. “…close second.”

You smacked his chest lightly, playfully.

“For science!” Adrian chimes in, “you are first humans we’ve known, we want to study everything.”

“You watch Rocky eat, this seems like fair trade,” Rocky states, tapping a claw against the sand. You choke out a laugh, willing the heat in your cheeks to dissipate. “Sorry,” you start, glancing at Ryland to see the pink dusting his cheeks, “you want to watch us… have sex?”

“Yes, observe sex,” Adrian settles a little further down, tilting their carapace toward Rocky. “I know is private ritual,” he hums, “but could be good data to have.”

Ryland nods slowly, staring at his knees while he thinks. Finally, he sighs and faces you, “we would ask the same thing if we were in their position.” He purses his lips, biting back a grin at the shocked look you shoot him. “You’re thinking about it?” You ask, disbelief coating your words. 

He laughs, throwing himself back to lay in the sand. “I’m just saying I don’t think it’s such a crazy thing to ask.” He gestures to the aliens next to him, “like, they’re hundreds of years old, they’re intelligent beings, they’ve got a brand new species of equally intelligent life living in a terrarium on their planet, surely they’d want to know.” He lifts his head just enough to look at you, trying to gauge your reaction to his thoughts. 

Before you can form a response, Rocky stands proudly. “Rocky already heard all noises on ship, human mating very loud.”

You groan, kicking Ryland’s leg when he lets out a belly laugh at that. “Can’t you just like, watch porn on your laptop?” You’re grasping at straws at this point. “No,” Rocky says immediately, “Grace said porn isn’t realistic. Rocky want to see real thing.” Ryland laughs again, covering his face with his hands, “I did say that.” He peeks at you over his fingers, snorting when you roll your eyes and flop into the sand beside him. 

“Hey,” he turns his head to you, “only if you’re comfortable with it.” You think for a moment, trying to find a reason to deny the advancement of science other than sheer embarrassment. “It does feel a little like we’re zoo animals,” you sigh.

“We are zoo animals,” he whispers, hand finding yours, “but we have a choice.” His thumb strokes over your knuckles, “besides, they could learn so much about our biology, think of the studies they’ll be able to do with a few samples from us.” 

“Samples?!” Your eyes go wide, “you’re already thinking about jerking off in a cup for them?” He turns away with a cackle, “they’re already studying our bodies,” a quick point to a bruise on his arm from the most recent blood draw, “why wouldn’t they want to learn about reproduction? They already know how it works, we tag-teamed so many of those conversations on Mary.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut like you can make the conversation end if you can’t see any of them. “Come on,” Ryland whispers against your cheek, “let’s be guinea pigs.” The grin he cracks is thrilling, like he’s finally living out a fantasy he didn’t know he had. “You’re a fucking nerd,” you breathe quietly, smiling when he buries his face in your neck. “Is that a yes?” 

“Yes, fine, we can do it,” you mumble, laughing when he throws a fist in the air and turns to Rocky and Adrian, still sitting quietly beside him. “Okay, we’re in,” he’s all business suddenly, “how do you want this to work?” 

“Just want to watch, we go now?” Rocky stands and starts heading in the direction of your little house. “Wha - now, now?” You stammer out, eyes flying to Ryland when he stands and offers a hand to help you up. “Yes, now,” Adrian answers, launching into a list of positions they researched and ranking which ones they wanted to see the most. 

—-------

The house is quiet, late afternoon light filling the space with a nice glow. You stand nervously in the bedroom, watching as Rocky and Adrian make themselves comfortable on a bench Ryland dragged in. You set your boundaries on the walk back: the Eridians wouldn’t talk, if either of you were uncomfortable at any point you’d stop, Ryland wasn’t allowed to teach while actively fucking you. All the normal stuff.

He sidles up to you slowly, hands coming to rest on your waist. “Really? A cuck bench?” You laugh, gesturing to the other side of the room. He laughs too, winking while he draws closer, “a scientific, observational cuck bench.” He stops before he kisses you, “just focus on me,” he breathes against your lips, feeling your body release a little tension at his proximity. 

You melt into him when he finally presses his lips to yours, trying to push your nerves to the back of your mind. Ryland takes his time, kisses you slowly, passionately, like he’s trying to draw out every insecurity from your body, like he wants you to enjoy it with him. Gentle fingers slide under your shirt, spreading over the warm expanse of your back. He pulls you against him tighter, groaning quietly when you roll your hips against his. 

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers in your ear, teeth nipping the sensitive skin below it. You tilt your head to give him more access, breath hitching at the way he sucks marks on your neck. You can already feel his erection against you, pressing insistently as he sinks his hands under the waistband of your pants, fingers squeezing the plush flesh of your ass. You palm him through his sweatpants, feeling him shiver against you when you get the pressure just right. 

He chokes on a whine, pulling away from your neck just long enough to get his shirt off. Your hands trace over the expanse of his stomach, you can’t help but admire the extra weight he’s put on. He grins against your lips, big hands cupping your face before he’s moving to pull your shirt off too. 

The cool air against your skin suddenly reminds you that you’re not alone. Ryland feels the tension return to your frame, shifting so your back is to the aliens in the corner. He strokes your arms and kisses you soundly, his tongue claiming yours in an attempt to keep you in the moment with him. 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs under his breath, feeling the goosebumps that raise under his fingers. “Cold, sweetheart?” His smile makes your heart skip again, he looks at you like you hung the moon. You nod and he twists his mouth like he’s thinking of the best way to warm you up. “Want me to help?” He’s teasing now, clearly getting a thrill out of making you grin despite yourself. 

“Lay down for me,” he kisses you again for good measure. You climb on the bed, laying against the pillows while he sheds his pants with a wink. “Love you,” he whispers into your skin as he works his way up your body. You arch enough to let him unhook your bra, accepting the deep kisses he gives you when he throws it to the ground. 

A soft moan makes its way out of your throat when he licks down your neck and chest, slowly working his way to your breasts. He looks up at you from under his lashes when he takes a nipple in his mouth, eyelids fluttering when you stroke a hand through his hair. He sucks on your breasts like it’s his job, drawing out sounds from you that are almost embarrassing in current company. 

When you tug his hair with a murmur of his name, he groans, tongue vibrating against your sensitive nub and pulling a whimper from you. He pulls off with a pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your nipple. The sight sends a shock to your core, your hips rolling against him and head tilting back. He smirks to himself, shifting so he can get your pants and underwear off. 

He sits back on his knees and takes you in. Soft hands lift your leg, his lips leaving sweet kisses from your ankle to your knee. He lays flat, dark eyes locked on your pussy, not even trying to hide the growl that claws its way out of him. Seconds tick by with no additional contact, you reach for him, tugging his hair again. 

“Please, Ry,” you whisper, moaning when he licks a stripe up your core like that’s all he was waiting for. The first taste has him groaning against you, his eyes rolling back and fingers flexing on your thighs. “S’ good,” he whines into you, pressing your legs further apart.

You throw your head back, grinding your hips when he bumps your clit with his nose. It’s a little exhilarating knowing that you’re being watched in such a vulnerable position. Ryland between your legs, slowly taking you apart with his tongue, encouraging you to take what you need. And it doesn’t help that Ryland seems to be working twice as hard as normal, like he’s trying to show off to aliens who don’t know any different.

You feel a hand leave your leg and soft fingers prod your entrance. He looks up at you without breaking his rhythm, waiting for permission that you give quickly, willingly. You feel more than see the smile that pulls at his lips, then he pushes in and squeezes his eyes shut. “Oh, baby,” he groans into your skin, “so tight, so warm. This all for me?” Your breath hitches, you love his mouth in these moments. 

“Just for you, Ryland,” you moan, back arching when he slides a second finger in. He growls again, speeding up his movements and chasing your release like it already belongs to him. A curl of his fingers has you bucking into his hand, spreading your slick against his chin and cheek. You clench down, guiding his head to exactly where you need him to tighten the coil in your stomach. 

He flicks his tongue and sucks just right, staring up at you with wide eyes as he feels you building. Little groans of, “mhm, mhm,” fall from his lips, spurring you towards the edge. A gasp pulls from your throat and your whole body tenses, heat rolling through you in waves. You grind against his face, feel him lick up your release as it spills around his fingers still nudging that spot inside you. 

You flop down in the bed, breath coming in harsh pants, and take a second to assess your body. Your legs were tingling, vision a little fuzzy, core spasming as Ryland slowly pulls out. He stays where he is, pressing kisses to your thighs and hips, whispering praise until he sees your face relax fully. When you reach for him, he moves quickly. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling when you let out a small sound. “Doing okay?” He asks against your jaw, fingers intertwining with yours and lifting above your head. “Yeah,” you breathe, “I could go for another one.” It’s your turn to wink at him.

“I can get back down there if you want,” he teases, licking into your mouth when you laugh. “Mm, Ry, I wanna come with you,” you hold his face with your free hand, thumb swiping against his cheek gently. That sweet pink shows itself on his skin again, making you giggle as he drops his weight into you. 

“I think we can make that happen,” he groans, shoving his boxers off with one hand and kneeing your legs farther apart. You spread easily, so wrapped up in the man above you that you forget there’s been an audience here the whole time. 

He wastes no time, slotting his tip against your entrance with a whimper against your shoulder. You roll your hips just right, feeling him slip in. He shudders above you, “sl-slow baby,” he begs, “y’ got me so worked up.” A sharp nip lands on your neck, causing your head to drop back again with a moan.

“Love those noises you make, so sexy,” he’s talking to distract from the fact that he’s not moving. “Can feel you squeezing me already, god, you’re amazing,” he slides in another inch, gasping and groaning when he feels your walls give way for him. “Oh- oh baby, fuck.”

You try to relax, try to make it easier for him, but the sounds falling from him are so hot, you can’t help the occasional clench that rocks you both. It takes him a while to push all the way in, he does everything he can to keep it together when he bottoms out and you gasp right in his ear. He’s not usually so sensitive, you briefly wonder if being watched is doing it for him that much. He did agree to it pretty quickly, after all. 

He gives a testing thrust, panting above you with the effort. You roll your hips when he finds a rhythm, feeling how he squeezes your hand still in his above your head. He builds speed, practically fucking you into the mattress with the depth of each thrust. You’re a mess beneath him, moaning and gasping, head tossing and turning, free hand sinking nails into his back and neck. 

A steady string of “yes, yes, yes,” punches out of him, like he couldn’t keep the words in if he tried. Without breaking his pace, his big hand grabs the back of your thigh, heaving it up towards your chest. The new angle makes your eyes roll back, his cock reaching deeper and deeper. A growl rips from his throat, low tones vibrating against your chest. You hug him to you tighter, taking everything he gave you with barely concealed elation. 

He feels you clench around him particularly hard, feels how close you’re getting. He releases your hand to grab your other leg, pushing it up to match the other one. The position pushes the air out of your lungs, your legs shaking under his hold. “Give it to me, sweet girl,” he rumbles, “come on my cock, baby.”

You slip a hand down to where you’re connected, gathering some slick and rubbing your clit in rough circles. Your fingers brushing against his length almost makes him cum, he whimpers into the air and grits hit teeth to stave it off. 

The sensations build, your body going taut as you finally crest the wave. A broken cry rips from your throat, legs shaking against his strong hold. It shatters through your whole body, heat and sparks for what feels like an eternity before you can suck in a breath. You clamp down on him and it tips him right over, a loud groan signalling his end before you feel warmth flood your walls. 

He fucks you through it, dropping your legs in favor of leaning forward and kissing you messily. It's all teeth and tongue, he’s practically drooling into your open mouth. Your body relaxes against the sheets again, letting him press you into the mattress with grounding weight. He places sloppy kisses all over your face and neck, eyes half lidded in his own daze. 

“Jesus, okay,” he laughs with his face hidden, “I was really into that.” A surprised laugh bubbles out of you, your hands cupping his cheeks to lift him up where you can see him. “I could tell,” you smile at his blush, “it’s been a while since you went for a mating press.” He grins into your palm, “Adrian mentioned it and I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he sighs, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip of your thumb.

He rubs your side soothingly, turning his head to Rocky and Adrian, “you guys, uh - you got what you needed?” You look over to see them stand, stepping off the bench like normal. “Rocky has questions, statement.” 

You and Ryland burst into giggles, “yeah, of course. Just give us a few minutes to clean up?” They amble towards the door, “Rocky, Adrian wait on beach, have much to discuss.”

You don’t have a chance to ask what that means before they’re gone. Ryland turns back to you slowly, “I know they don’t have anything to compare that to, but is it weird I wanted to impress them?” He looks shy, like he can’t believe that just happened. “They’re actually talking right now about how much of a beast Grace is in bed,” you laugh, squeezing his cheeks when he goes bright red. 

He groans and rolls off of you, covering his face with a pillow. “You’re never gonna let me live this down,” it comes out muffled but you hear it anyway. You shift to lay against his side, “hey, I was as much of an eager participant as you were.”

“Besides,” you skim your fingers over his chest, “it was kinda hot, seeing you so lost in it.”

“Lost in it?” He snorts, pulling the pillow away. “Mhm,” you hum, “like you were drunk on me.” He grips you tightly with both hands, sliding you up his body until he can kiss you properly. 

“We should ask them to make alcohol so we can do that again tipsy,” he whispers against your lips, smiling when you push his head away with a laugh. “Adrian’s got more positions they want to see, anyway.”

-------------

Adrian shuffles a little, tilting to get more comfortable. “Grace was in charge last time, is always like that?” Their chiming voice is deeper than Rocky’s rumbling against the carpet. Ryland smiles, “no,” he pinches your side to make you laugh, “she takes charge all the time.” They seem to think about it. “Is same positions when she leads?” Rocky asks, curling his legs in front of him. 

Ryland looks at you, an invitation for you to answer, not wanting to speak for you. “I like to be on top,” you murmur, suddenly feeling embarrassed by the conversation. Adrian gives their equivalent of a nod, their whole carapace shifting. “Would like to see,” Adrian states easily. “Does Grace enjoy it as well?”

“Oh, very much,” he answers quickly, his ears turning red. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, biting his lip to hide the smiling threatening to break through. His shyness gives you a little confidence boost, you slide your hand along his thigh just to hear his breath hitch. He doesn’t stop you, realizing how much trouble he was in for. “Is already starting?” Rocky chirps, standing to his full height. 

You chuckle, tilting Ryland’s face to yours with a hand under his chin. His pupils are blown, his chest rising a little quicker. “Bedroom?” You whisper, smirking when he nods without hesitating, standing and waving Rocky and Adrian along. 

You walk him straight to the bed, leaning up to kiss him deeply, letting your hands wander over his torso teasingly. He only looks away to check that the Eridians have made themselves comfortable, making sure they have a good view of whatever you have in mind. 

When you lick into his mouth with a quiet moan, he pulls back and smiles. “Someone’s excited,” he laughs, cupping your cheek with a soft hand. You hum, pressing against him firmly. “You just really liked it last time,” you whisper, “maybe being on the receiving end will be even better for you.” It rips a moan from his throat, like he already knows what you intend to do. “Baby,” he breathes, slipping a hand under your shirt to feel your skin. “I don’t deserve you,” his voice is low, almost a growl. You just give him one more smile, placing a sweet kiss to his lips and stroking his hair, “clothes off, Ry.”

He disrobes with shaky hands, his shirt and pants landing in a heap on the floor. He reaches for your shirt, eyes asking for permission before pulling it over your head. Soft hands ghost up your sides, over your chest, tracing the edge of your bra before dipping under. You can’t help the sigh you let out when his fingers find your nipple, you reach back to unhook the garment and throw it away. 

“Sexy,” he whispers, leaning down to suck a mark on your breast, whining when you pull him off by his hair and push him to the bed. He lands with a huff, eyes fluttering closed when you skirt your hands from his neck all the way to the waistband of his boxers. “Off, baby,” you snap the elastic, watching as he lifts up and shucks them down quickly. You reward him with a kiss, your hand holding his chin, fingers squeezing his cheeks. 

You take a second to look at him, naked under you, eyes heavy and chest heaving. The sight sends a flood of warmth through you, making the next movement the easiest thing in the world. You sink to your knees, tilting his head down so he can hold your eye contact. The softest whine slips from his lips, his brows furrowing as he takes you in. 

You’ve got him in the perfect spot, you know that Rocky and Adrian have a good view from the side. “You gonna let me suck you off, Ry?” You give him the sweetest look, smirking when he nods enthusiastically and threads a hand through your hair. It’s all you need, leaning forward to press a light kiss to the tip of his hard cock. He groans immediately, letting his head fall, his chin practically touching his chest. 

A few more kisses have him panting, a swipe of your tongue over his slit making his stomach tense. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans, eyes locked on your perfect mouth. You shift a little lower, licking a line up his shaft, trying to get him to keep making those pretty sounds. You lick your palm, wrapping it around his base and giving him slow, firm strokes. His eyes roll, fingers tightening in your hair when you get the pressure just right. 

You get your mouth back around his tip, working him with your hand and your tongue in tandem. He chokes out praise, stuttering around pleas and whines. “Ba-baby, so good,” he sighs, fighting to get in a breath. “God, your mouth.” You hum, letting your tongue vibrate against him. It shakes him to his core, his hips lifting off the bed with a cry. Your hand around him keeps him from pushing too far down your throat, saving you the gag you know he would have just made you fight back. 

You hollow your cheeks, sucking just enough, letting your tongue twirl around him until he puffs out his chest and throws his head back. The sight sends a bolt of pride through you, knowing that you get him so riled up making your hips shift on their own accord. He breathes through his nose, trying to find a way to ground himself when it feels like your warm tongue is taking him apart piece by piece. 

“Okay, okay,” he whimpers, pulling your hair until you ease off of him, your hand slowing its rhythm but not stopping. He has to grab your wrist and lift you away, laughing when you just lay your cheek against his thigh and smile up at him. “You don’t want to come?” You ask, tracing shapes on his skin. “I do,” he helps you stand, pulling you onto the bed with him as he shifts back so he can lay down, “but not in your mouth.” He spares a glance at your audience, almost looking like he wants to explain something but deciding against it.

He wraps his arms around you, rolling so you’re under him. Big hands work your pants and underwear off, teasing fingers tickling over your legs when he has you bare. “Thought I was supposed to be in charge,” you give him a look, giggling when he slots his shoulders between your thighs and glares at you. “If you try to sit on my dick right now I’d blow immediately,” he grumbles, slapping the side of your ass when you laugh. “Too good with your mouth,” he groans, nipping at the inside of your leg. 

“They’ve already seen this,” you murmur, watching him think it over while you play with his hair. “Fine,” he presses a quick kiss to your clit and slides back, laying alongside you with a sigh. “But I have to warm you up,” he kisses you, slipping his hand down to your center, smiling when you whine against his mouth. He circles your clit, fingers dipping down to play with your wetness. When he pushes two fingers in, he’s the one who groans. 

“You this wet just from having me in your mouth?” He bites at your lip, head falling to your shoulder when you nod and scrunch your face up. He fingers you slowly, stretching you open while he rubs your clit with his thumb. His movements only speed up when he feels you clenching down on him, his mouth suctioning to your neck and leaving marks. You tilt your head to give him more room, your moans encouraging him on.

A whine slips out when he stops his movements, your eyes flying open to see why he pulled away. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto your side, one hand lifting your leg over his waist. He returns his hand to your dripping core, laughing quietly when you jolt and grip his shoulders tightly. 

“Gonna make you come like this,” he kisses you, “then you can be in charge again.” The words make you warm all over, your arms looping around his neck while you melt into him. “Please,” you whisper, feeling that warmth pool low in your stomach. “Don’t have to beg me, sweet girl,” he winks, finding the pace that always makes you lose it, “love getting to have you like this.” 

Everything feels so intimate, he holds you so close, spreads you open on his fingers so tenderly, and you realize he’s showing off again like he did last time you had an audience. He knows how to get you there quickly, he’s taking his time because he wants to stretch this out. You know your pussy is on display, know he’s giving them a perfect view of how he touches you, how he uses your slick as lube when he rubs your clit. 

And the way your legs shake tells him that he’s doing as good of a job as he thinks, egging on his showboating. He whispers to you between kisses, tells you how beautiful you are, how he can’t wait to be inside you, his voice low and sweet and driving you absolutely insane. 

You feel your peak approaching, your moans rising in pitch his warning. “Go ahead,” he breathes, “give it to me.” And you do, shaking through the high, rolling your hips against him as the waves pulse through you. You bury your head in his neck, panting and groaning when he doesn’t stop his movements on your oversensitive core. You whine and push him over, rolling on top of him with a sigh when he finally pulls his fingers out. 

He brings his hand to his mouth, looking you in the eye as he licks your slick off his fingers. The way his tongue laves over his skin makes you bite your lip, your eyes locked on the little show he’s giving you. He sees how affected you are, smirks when you push his hand away and drop your lips to his, tasting yourself on his tongue. “So sweet,” he whispers, cupping your cheek and smiling when you get a little bashful. 

You take a moment to steel yourself, reaching for the part of you that wants to be in control again. He can tell the switch has flipped back when you lick into his mouth and tug at his hair, your lips working down his neck with harsh sucks. And he gives up the power so easily, whining when you bite the spot where his shoulder starts, his hips jerking and rubbing his hard length against you. 

It takes you no time to get yourself settled over him, your legs sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips, your slick staining his skin where you rest. You lift enough to get your hand around him, smirking when he groans and grips your thighs tightly. The way he slides between your folds and bumps your clit makes you moan, and when you notch him against your entrance and drop down just a little he throws his head back with a whimper. 

“Baby, baby please,” he whines, a red flush spreading down his neck and chest. You take pity on him, lowering yourself until you’re stuffed to the brim, grinding against him until you feel dizzy. You lean forward, caging his head in with your forearms, and give a testing bounce. He rewards you with a moan, a quiet, “mhm,” slipping out when he nods. 

You keep your face right above his, watching every reaction as you set a steady rhythm, dropping down on him and squeezing on the way back up. His eyes roll back when you thread your fingers through his hair, his mouth dropping open and hands roaming your body like he can’t stay still. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes, grabbing your ass and helping you bounce with a little more force. It’s your turn to praise him, your voice strained and words forcing their way out around your heavy pants. “So big, Ry,” you whisper, “always fill me so perfectly.” If he looked wrecked before, the sweet words send him to the moon. 

And then you remember the aliens in the room, your walls clenching at the thought. You get an idea, one hand sliding to his throat, not squeezing, just resting there - a show of dominance. “You gonna show them how hard I make you come?” You mutter in his ear, smiling when he lets out the loudest groan yet, his hips jerking up into you harshly. 

“Yeah?” You kiss his cheek, watch the desperation work its way into his eyes as he nods. You feel your own orgasm approaching and you chase it, knowing he’s holding off because he always wants you to go first. It doesn’t take long for the crest to break, heat flooding your body, your hips stuttering and your walls clamping down so hard he can barely keep up his thrusts. 

It doesn’t matter, because he was shaking through his high the second you let go. He whimpers and whines, tossing his head back and gripping your ass to keep you right where he wants you. You grind against him a few times, prolonging your pleasure and overwhelming him with his. Broken gasps fall from his lips, his chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon. 

You lay down on top of him, burying your face in his neck and stroking his hair tenderly. His hands slide up your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. The moment is pure affection, just two people basking in the safety of each other’s touch, coming back to the moment hand in hand. He presses a soft kiss to your head, you land a kiss to his jaw, both of you giving the other the gentle love you know you need. 

Neither of you are in a hurry to move, he holds you tight enough to let you know that he’s going to be a little clingy for a bit. 

Rocky stands from the bench and ushers Adrian out of the room, like he understands the need for quiet and he’s trying to be respectful of how you both are feeling. It makes you giggle, Ryland lets out a small chuckle, closing his eyes and relaxing into the pillow even more. “They’re so polite,” he whispers, fingers dancing along your spine slowly. 

You just hum, shivering at the light touch. When you have your wits about you again, you lift your head and look at him with a mischievous smile. “You’re quite the exhibitionist,” you murmur, laughing when he groans and covers his eyes. “Knew you wouldn’t let that go,” he grumbles, pinching your ass. 

When you settle against him again, he sighs. “That was - um,” he thinks for a second, “I just love you,” he settles on. “And I love having really fucking intense sex with you,” he adds on, smiling when you giggle into his shoulder. “I love you too,” you whisper, leaning into a kiss when he tilts his head and puckers his lips. 

“You think they’re waiting on us?” You ask, peeking at the closed door like you expect them to be standing there. “Probably,” he pouts, “we can get up but I’m holding you for the rest of the night.” You just nod, letting him soak in a few more minutes in bed before you have to go have another incredibly strange post-sex scientific discussion. 

And when you’re both dressed and curled up on the couch, opening the floor to questions, Rocky takes a gentle approach. “Tonight was more serious, is normal?” And you let Ryland explain the different ways intimacy can influence things like mood and needs, how more intense emotions can come up sometimes and that’s why it’s important to trust your partner. 

“That’s why you haven’t let go of her?” Adrian asks, making you smile. He just huffs, adjusting like he’s trying to crawl into your skin, “yeah, just need to be close now.” You pet his hair, twirling the strands between your fingers. “I’m surprised he’s still awake,” you whisper to Adrian, laughing when Ryland hides his face, his red ears betraying him. “So mean to me,” he grumbles, shooting you a smile and a wink.

----------------------

You hadn’t made up an excuse, or had a fake emergency phone call at any point that got you out of dinner. But Ryland knew he’d fucked it up tonight. He was genuinely surprised that you stayed till the end. It was a simple date, nothing too fancy. And yet he believed he had ruined your night by yapping your ears off. He talked about everything and nothing all at once. His kids at school, his classes, his new research, all of it and more. 

He was a little embarrassed now upon realising that he’d been talking so much the whole night, rarely ever stopping. And he was so certain you’d never want to talk or even text him again. But then you asked him if he wanted to walk you home. 

Ryland agreed a little too quickly. Then he felt embarrassed again. But you just laughed at his awkward little mumbles as he tried to play it cool. 

The whole walk he promised himself he’d finally ask you questions and let you do the talking. But he ended up going off on yet another random tangent about why physical laws even exist at all. In his defense, your follow-up questions were so engaging that he felt like he could keep this conversation going forever. 

Before Ryland knew it, you were both standing on the steps leading to your front porch. With the soft golden light like a halo all around you, Ryland knew in that moment that you were the most stunning woman he had ever and will ever meet. And he felt even worse about the evening. 

He couldn’t keep it in anymore. So he rambled on. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, followed quickly by, “I know I’ve been a– a mess. I am a mess.” He repeated and carried on talking. “I really wanted tonight to go well and I ruined everything by talking so much. About school, about my research, about my students and work and– and I didn’t even ask you anything about yourself, or where you are from. I barely even let you speak. Or tell me anything about yourself. On top of that I’m wearing this stupid shirt. That’s not even the worst part. I didn’t let you speak. Can you believe that? I went on a date with the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met and I didn’t even ask her where she was born. All I know is that you moved here, but I mean–,” 

You cut him off by gently grabbing him by the collars of his blazer and pulling him in for a kiss. He wasn’t expecting it so Ryland was stunned for a second or two. Then he finally kissed you back, his arms instinctively finding themselves around your waist, pulling you into his warm chest. 

Fuck, he thought to himself, it felt nice to have his arms around you. 

When you pulled away, Ryland was still a little stunned. All he did was blink at you with his clear blue ocean eyes. He quickly reached up and adjusted his glasses which slid down his nose. But he said nothing. He just stared down at you. 

You kept your hands around his shoulders, looking down quickly and noticed that some type of nerdy t-shirt peeked through the blazer. It only made him even more attractive. What a nerd, you thought, sighing with adoration. 

“Listen here, Dr. Grace.” You teased him playfully, “I wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you if I didn’t like a passionate, awkward, kind of nerdy, incredibly handsome, and talkative man. Okay?” You smiled up at him. 

“Okay?” He sounded just a little confused. Poor thing. 

You leaned in and gave him yet another sweet kiss on the cheek. His rough stubble tickling your mouth as you did. Ryland spoke then, yet again apologising, “I’m sorry. I know that was a terrible first date. But I would really like a second one. Please, I’ll be better. I promise.” He said, giving you those sad puppy eyes. The depths of which one could write endless poems about. 

“You wanna come in for a bit?” You suggested. “And maybe we can talk about that second date?” You spoke, your hands deliberately trailing down his body. From his shoulders to his chest. He was nice and tall, the right amount of lean and muscular. Lots and lots of terrain to explore. 

Ryland was quiet, apparently captivated by the way your hands delicately roamed down his chest. His breathing deepened. His brain was short circuiting. All he could do was silently follow your hands and fingers as they drew random shapes all over his chest. He was certain you’d be able to feel his heart thundering inside his chest by now. 

“Ryland?” 

“Yeah. Yes? I’m listening.” He said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t been listening. 

Fuck he was so adorable when nervous. 

“Do you plan on lingering out on my front porch, or will you please come inside so I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to all night?” 

— 

Stumbling into bed with Ryland crashing into you as you fell made you feel like you were floating. Like you were on a cloud and everything was perfect. Ryland was almost as giddy as you were. His touch was gentle, and a little hesitant. He waited for a greenlight from you each time his touch and kisses got more and more heated. He’d do that thing where he’d reach for you, but then look at you over his glasses to see if it was okay, then he’d proceed enthusiastically. 

It made you all warm and fuzzy inside each time he did that. 

Contrary to what Ryland thought, you would say you had a great night. Nice food with a gorgeous, intelligent man who was gentle and kind and cared about his job and the environment. Who also happened to be a passionate speaker, and who spent the whole night entertaining you with his silly stories and elaborate scientific theories and more. What bliss! 

“We can slow down,” Ryland said, in between steamy kisses, “If you want.” Another quick kiss. “We can watch a movie, or–,” He cut himself off by kissing you harder, pulling you closer. “We don’t have to, I mean I want to, but it’s not like I’m expecting you to–,” 

“Ryland. Shut up and kiss me.” 

“Okay.” 

When you finally got him out of his blazer, you had to take a moment and giggle over his dorky t-shirt. One with a giant cat sitting on the Golden Gate Bridge. He looked down and let out a dramatic sigh. 

“Please tell me you have another one of these.” You said, already working to get him out of the t-shirt. 

“I… I do.” He sounded defeated as he tossed his shirt over his head, messing up his glasses. 

“Good,” You fixed his glasses for him before you climbed onto his lap as he sat on the edge of your bed. Looking glorious, even more so than before now that he was shirtless, just in his jeans. “Because you’re leaving this one right here. For me.” You laughed when he tried to hide his face into the crook of your neck. 

“You can keep it.” His voice sounded all muffled as he spoke into your neck. Then he pulled away and looked up, his rough cheek tickling your skin in the process again. “As long as I get to take you out on another date.” 

When you smiled and nodded at him, before leaning in and kissing him deeply, Ryland felt like the world around him had gotten a little brighter. 

And he kissed you back with equal excitement, flipping you around and laying you down in bed as he hovered above you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“It is a ‘yes’, Dr. Grace.” You confirmed, reaching to touch his face. 

Ryland smiled and said, “Well then I better make up for tonight’s disaster.” He leaned down and kissed your neck. “I’m sorry again, I keep rambling anytime I have the chance.” He kissed further down your neck as he spoke. “Shut me up next time. Tell me to shut up. Please.” 

You giggled as he kissed and carefully bit your skin along your collarbones, making you arch your back, pressing your body further into him. “I will.” You spoke, then gasped in pleasure and surprise when you felt Ryland’s warm hands on your inner thighs. 

He pulled away from your neck and looked down at you, “Are you okay, baby? Is this okay?” He asked in a hushed tone, keeping his hands right where they were on your skin. 

“Yes.” You whispered, then gasped again when he dove back in to kiss your neck while his hands caressed your thighs, massaging them gently. Almost lovingly. His touch was so slow in fact that you were getting more and more desperate the longer he took to touch you where you craved him the most. “Ryland?” You couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t even gotten you out of your dress yet. Meanwhile he was shirtless, all that body on display and torturing you. 

“Hmm?” He looked up at you. Mouth mere inches off your skin. 

You almost groaned at how he genuinely seemed to have no idea how badly you wanted him. “Please stop teasing me.” You began lowering the shoulder straps of your dress all by yourself. You needed him. Now. 

But Ryland stopped you by carefully seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He did it so smoothly too. “Now, when did I say you could do that?” He whispered against your open mouth. “Hmm? Did I ask you to do that?” 

You shook your head, looking up into his gorgeous eyes and wondering where that dominant tone came from. You weren’t complaining. Quite the contrary. “No. You didn’t.” 

He nodded slowly. “That’s right. I said I was gonna make it up to you, didn’t I? Well, I am. So let me take my time. Okay, baby? I know you want it. I can feel it. You think I can’t tell how wet you are by the way you’re drenching my hand.” For emphasis, he pressed his fingers in between your legs, pressing against your very wet, very thin underwear. “Hmm? You think I can’t tell?” 

“Ryland, please…” You whimpered when you realised he was purposely messing with you. And who knows for how long he intended to do that. 

“Oh poor you.” He teased, leaning closer until your warm breaths mingled. “I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you worry. Just let me take my time. I’ve got you. I know what you want, and I’m gonna give it to you. Just… let me. Can you do that for me, baby?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, making you whimper again, “Can you let me take my time with you?” 

“Fuck…” You mumbled. “Yes. Yes, please. Just… I need you to touch me, Ryland. Please.” You begged. 

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” 

He took his time in sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders, dragging the soft fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked and exposed under him. 

“So beautiful.” He mumbled to himself as his kisses followed the fabric of the dress lowering down your torso. 

You shivered once he left your dress bunched around your waist carelessly, not fully undressing you. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air that you shivered. It was because of how intensely Ryland was staring at you. His glasses had slid down that perfect nose yet again, he didn’t adjust it this time. And somehow it made him look even hotter. 

Fuck. Being so attracted to a man’s glasses’ placement has to be a more worrying issue. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was needing his hands on you. 

By the time Ryland finally got to actually touching you, you were a whimpering, panting, needy mess. Just writhing under him. Your brain all foggy. Your body aching with desire. 

But he was such a fucking tease it was driving you insane. 

He kissed down your exposed torso, your hips, your thighs, whispering, “Look at you, huh? So needy.” He kissed right above your clit, his warm breath making your body come alive. “Is this what you want? You want me to make you feel good? Huh, baby? Talk to me, come on. Use your words.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d sound coherent if you spoke but you tried your best. “Yes, please. Ryland… make it feel good.” 

“I will.” He whispered, as his hands spread your legs and you felt his mouth right on top of you. Hungry. Seeking. Wanting. His warm tongue licked along your slit, his hands spreading your thighs even further apart to give him better access. 

It was rare to find a man who knew what he was doing down there. Especially with his mouth. But Ryland surprised you yet again with that skilled tongue of his. Your hand moved lazily, fingers sliding easily into his luscious, silky soft hair, messing it up even more than it already was. 

You felt like your body was melting under his touch. His hands rubbing your thighs adoringly while his mouth drove you insane. He was good at making you cry out in pleasure. His tongue, skilled and soft against your wet folds. His lips with the right amount of suction on your clit. 

You held yourself up for a moment, your elbows digging into your mattress as you looked down at him. All that golden skin, that faint layer of sweat all over him… he looked divine. 

Then there were those eyes… 

Even through his glasses you could see the spark in them. You saw how they lit up each time you let out a higher pitch moan, or each time your fingers tugged on his hair, scratching his scalp so good he even let out a moan himself while he ate you out. 

“Fuck. Ryland.” You cried out, writhing under him as he pushed his tongue deeper into you. Teasing you with the softest, deliberate licks. You couldn’t look away then. His stare was intense, giving you chills despite the heat inside you rising like never before. 

He smirked then. The sound of his name leaving your mouth so desperately gave him such a rush. It drove him crazy. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He whispered, his rough stubble brushing against your skin, rough against your inner thighs. He slowly brought a finger up to your clit, sliding it agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds. “What about this? You like this? You sound like you do.” He paused for a second, slid a finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit for a taste and said, “You sure taste like you do.” His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, then down, parting your wet folds with ease.  

Ryland had you coming undone all over his tongue in no time. His deep blue eyes watched you in awe and how you lost control under his touch, legs shaking as he teased your clit and finger-fucked your ever so gently.  

With his arms keeping you pinned to the mattress and unable to escape, he was so quick to figure out what worked and what didn’t. What made you squeeze his head in between your thighs and what made your back arch. What made you tug on his hair harder because he loved that and what made you breathless. 

“Come for me.” He whispered, before latching his mouth onto your pussy. Devouring you. His tongue moved in a way that made you lose control. 

You were gasping for air, moaning his name, wanting more, and more, and more… You came hard, all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger, your moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room. 

Ryland finally let go of your shaky legs and kissed his way up your body, hovering above you again. He stared deep into your eyes. You couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried, look away from his pink, glistening lips. His hair was definitely messier now that you’d been so rough with it. You slid your hands back into his hair, massaging his scalp a little. 

Ryland closed his eyes for a moment, savouring your touch. Then opened his eyes again and asked, “Are you okay?” 

You nodded, looking up at him. “I liked that.” You murmured, giddy with pleasure. 

Ryland smiled down at you. “I know you did. Pretty sure I have scratches all over my neck. Gonna have to wear some turtlenecks to work for a day or two.” 

You both laughed. 

Then you asked, “Can I touch you now?” Your hands were already reaching down for his belt. He nodded, but you were already undoing his buckle as you pushed Ryland down on the bed next to you and got on top of him, straddling his lap. The rough denim brushing against your bare thighs. 

Ryland reached out to touch your face, caressing your cheek tenderly. “You can do whatever you want.” 

So you did. In no time you were in between his legs, ass up in the air, with his cock in your mouth. 

Ryland had that pleading look on his face, groaning as you took him into your mouth as much as you could. “Fuck, look at you.” He whispered, still caressing your face lovingly as your tongue teased him in the best ways. “Keep your eyes on me, baby. I like how you look at me.” 

He held your head gently, in that same adoring manner you were starting to get used to, and watched you intently with parted pink lips, gasping in pleasure, as you took him. “There we go.” He said, “You’re so good at this, aren’t you?” His voice was so gentle. “You’ve been wanting to do that for a while, huh?” 

You held his stare and nodded. 

Ryland was so gentle with you. Even as his gasps and moans got louder and louder. 

“Fuck.” He swore. “You want more, baby?” He lifted his hips up slowly, he held your head gently and pushed himself deeper into your mouth. “Yeah? Is that what you wanted?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through your nose, taking him in until he hit the back of your throat. You felt all of him, his smooth skin, his raw taste, and you couldn’t get enough. Your fingers clawed at his thighs through his jeans as he groaned and grunted, filling your mouth. 

“Oh fuck.” He swore again. “God damn it, baby, slow down.” His voice cracked as he grunted while also moving his hips, shoving his cock deeper into your mouth and helping you swallow more and more of him. His head tilted back, his lips parted as he gasped for air while you moved your mouth up and down his cock. And he looked glorious while he lost control. Those damn glasses almost falling off his face. 

You teased him as much as you could, but he soon began begging for you to stop. 

“Come on,” He pleaded. “I can’t come yet, baby please.” 

Followed by more pleas. 

“Please, I really wanna fuck you.” 

“Oh my god, please slow down.” 

“Please don’t make me come yet.” 

“Slow down, baby.” 

All said in a desperate hiss. 

You weren’t ready for the whimpers that followed his pleas. And you almost gave in and made him come because his moans and whimpers were so damn hot, but then you slowed to a stop. Pulling away and straddling him again. 

Ryland did his best to catch his breath before flipping you two around, pinning you into the mattress again. Yet he was still panting as he looked down at you, his warm breath mingling with yours. “Had your fun?” He asked, using that playful, stern tone from earlier again. 

He sounded so different from the man who was whimpering just a minute earlier. 

You nodded, giggling, and clearly still riding that high from earlier. “You’re so hot when you beg.” 

Ryland let out a little laugh as he leaned in to kiss your nose. Then the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, and down your neck. “Can I make you feel good again now? Hmm? Can I please fuck you, baby?” 

You whined before answering, your back arching already. “Yes, Ryland.” 

“Well spread your legs then,” He made you laugh again with his sudden, straightforward demand. 

But you obeyed quickly. Ryland cradled your head in his hands, holding you so tenderly as if he thought you were fragile. 

“I’ve got you.” He said, as he held your stare, slowly sliding inside of you, both of you moaning softly as he went. 

“Ryland…” You hissed in pleasure, unable to look away from his gorgeous blue eyes. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He whispered, nothing but desire and love in his eyes. He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Where have you been all my life, huh?” 

You felt his cock stretching you, filling you up. Every thick inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. “Oh fuck, Ryland…” You gasped. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours. He held you close as he moved his hips.

“You… you feel so good.” You could feel your eyes tearing up at how snug he felt inside you. 

“I know.” He almost whimpered again. 

He pulled away to watch you. Ryland held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He looked down to where your bodies connected, he watched his cock slowly moving in and out of you then leaned down to give you a messy kiss, swallowing your desperate moans in the process. 

“That’s it, baby. Let me in.” He whispered. 

You couldn’t help your loud moans as he moved his hips expertly. You thanked whoever or whatever taught him how to do that. You could feel your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you. 

You felt all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. His eyes remained fixed on yours. Ocean blue, now familiar. 

“You feel so good…” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, his hand instinctively wrapping around your throat as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “So perfect for me. My pretty girl.” 

His voice was driving you insane. You moaned at how perfect his lean body felt against yours, his weight pressing down on you. His slight stubble tickled your skin as he moved. And you slid your fingers into his hair, tugging on it even more now that you knew he liked it. He probably liked it a little too much since he wouldn’t stop letting out discreet whimpers each time you gave his hair a slightly hard pull. 

Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.

Ryland looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. “Hey,” He spoke softly, his thumb toying with your lower lip. “Look at me.” When you did, he whispered, “Just hold on, okay? Don’t come yet. Just a little longer, baby.” 

You nodded, eyes half closed, but unsure if you could. He felt so fucking good and you were right on the edge… right on that fucking edge…

He must have noticed your eyes rolling back because he spoke again. 

“Come on, baby.” He pleaded again, pressing his warm forehead against yours. “I know, I know.” He reassured you. “But just hold it for me, okay? Just a minute longer, baby. I know you can do it.” He murmured. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

The tenderness and care in his voice only made you clench around him again. 

“Oh look at you. You can’t even hold it a little longer.” He gave you a lazy, cocky smile, “Are you gonna come for me now?” His hand squeezed your throat just a little, making you moan even louder. He gave you a messy kiss. “Come all over my cock then, come on.” 

You whimpered, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core and you whined again when his hand let go of your throat and his eager fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.

“That’s it.” He cooed when your moans got louder. “You’re doing so well for me, look at you. Now come, come all over me,” He whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him. 

Ryland kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. You felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls violently. “Fuck.” He hissed again, then groaned as he quickly pulled out just in time and came all over your thighs.  

You whined and whimpered as you felt his cum drip down your thighs. 

“Fuck…” You whined as you caught your breath. 

“Come here,” He whispered as pulled out and he laid down beside you, pulling you into his damp, but warm chest for a cuddle. You curled up against him in no time. 

He panted, still catching his breath. “I think you deserve the t-shirt.”

ryland didn’t even look up. “option one: we open it and potentially discover advanced human knowledge. option two: we don’t open it and i slowly lose my mind wondering what’s inside.”

“option three,” you added, “we don’t open it and you will forever be curious about the content but hey, at least you'd still be alive!”

he glanced up at you with a grin that immediately told you he was not going to pick option three.

“ryland last time you said ‘this’ll probably be fine,’ we almost suffocated.”

“counterpoint,” he said, straightening and placing a hand on the latch, “almost.”

you sighed.

“i just don’t like it,” you said for what was probably the fifth time.

ryland made a thoughtful humming sound that meant the exact opposite.

“you don’t like anything that comes from rocky.”

you crossed your arms without taking your eyes off the object. “that is objectively untrue. i like the parts that don’t explode, corrode, or attempt to rewrite the laws of physics.”

“so.... none of it?”

“exactly.”

pause.

just when ryland reached for the cylinder, you spoke out again.

“and just for the record....” you said, voice flat, “i am deeply against whatever you’re about to do.”

“come on. what’s the worst that could happen?”

you dragged a hand down your face, already bracing for disaster. “okay, i need you to understand that that phrase is cursed. like, historically cursed. civilizations have fallen after someone said that.”

he ignored you.

of course he ignored you.

the seal popped before you could argue more. the cylinder hissed open with a soft, pressurized sound.

for a second, nothing happened.

you leaned forward slightly, squinting, peering into the opening, expecting.... something. a device. a sample. anything.

“okay.... maybe it’s empty—”

poof!

a burst of fine gold dust shot out of the container in slow motion, catching the light as it drifted upward and outward, directly into both your faces before either of you could react.

“oh— come on—!” you coughed immediately, stumbling back and waving your hands uselessly through the air. “why is it always airborne—”

“i didn’t—” ryland coughed too, turning his head and blinking rapidly. “i didn’t know it was going to do that!”

“it’s a mysterious alien container, of course it was going to do that!”

the dust settled almost as quickly as it appeared, vanishing into nothing. no residue, no smell, no visible trace that anything had even happened.

you both stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other.

“....okay,” you said slowly. “status report.”

he blinked a few more times, then patted his arms, his torso, like he might find damage. “uhhh.... lungs: functioning. skin: not melting. vision: normal.”

“define normal.”

“i can see you glaring at me, so, yeah. normal.”

you exhaled. “great. fantastic. we inhaled space dust and survived. love that for us.”

“see?” he said, already relaxing. “nothing to worry about.”

you pointed at him sharply. “you do not get to say that. you lost that privilege the moment you opened it.”

“fair.”

then there was a beat.

“so.... that’s it?” you asked.

he peered into the cylinder, turning it upside down. only the residue of the dust fell, nothing else was inside.

“that’s it.” he confirmed.

“okay,” you said finally, though your voice carried a thin edge of disbelief. “either that was completely harmless, or we just inhaled something that’s going to kill us slowly and mysteriously.”

“statistically,” ryland said, already turning back toward the console, “it’s probably the second one.”

“great,” you muttered.

“yep.” he clicked his tongue and made a double finger gun. “nailed it.”

only for a while.

only for a while, it actually seemed like he was right.

you two ran scans, double-checked the air composition, monitored your vitals like you were waiting for them to spike into something dramatic and undeniable. everything came back normal. no toxins, no foreign pathogens, no radiation spikes, nothing that explained the golden dust or what it was supposed to do.

it should have been reassuring.

it wasn’t.

because about an hour in, you noticed something off.

not dramatic. not alarming. but subtle enough.

you shifted in your seat, tugging slightly at the collar of your yellow jumpsuit. the fabric suddenly felt too close, too warm against your skin.

“hey,” you said, not looking up from your screen. you were in your station in the lab, your back facing ryland. “did the temperature go up?”

ryland glanced at the panel beside him. “nope. holding steady.”

“huh.” you leaned back, frowning. “feels warmer.”

“maybe you’re just stressed.”

you snorted. “yeah, because inhaling unknown alien particles was such a relaxing experience.”

you tried to ignore it.

it didn’t work.

because by the second hour, it got worse. worse enough that it distracted you from doing your job.

you were restless now, shifting every few minutes, hyper-aware of your own body in a way that was getting increasingly distracting.

“okay, nope. something’s happening.” you said, standing up. you zipped down your suit. it pooled around your waist and left you in nothing but a dark green tank top you wore underneath. now you looked like a formula 1 driver walking around the garage in the middle of a malaysian heat.

except you were pretty sure that the heat in malaysia was tolerable enough and the drivers were used to it.

this, whatever this was however, was far from it.

“i'm sure it's nothing—” ryland finally turned but then paused.

“what?” you asked as you tied your hair into a ponytail.

he was sitting still. too still. his posture was stiff, shoulders slightly tense, like he was holding himself in place. his jaw tightened and his eyes that were currently fixated on you slightly dilated.

“....ryland?”

he flinched, snapping back to the present. he fixed his glasses while his eyes withdrew, focusing on somewhere else but you.

“yeah?” his voice came out a little too quick. a little too tight.

you narrowed your eyes. “you okay?”

“fine. totally fine.”

“you don’t look fine.”

he let out a short laugh that didn’t sound entirely natural. “well, looks can be deceiving.”

“you’re flushed.”

“it’s warm,” he said immediately. “i’m…. internally warm.”

“....that’s not a thing.”

“it is now.”

you crossed your arms, studying him.

“you’re acting weird.”

ryland scratched the back of his neck. you did not miss the way he licked his lips. and there was a faint flush creeping across his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears, subtle but unmistakable once you saw it.

“nothing. nothing. um—”

you frowned. “are you okay?”

“yes, yes,” he cleared his throat while still staring at a very specific spot on the floor, like he was avoiding your eyes.

“okay....” you turned, walking back to your station, trying to not let his sudden weird behaviour get to you. it's ryland. he was always a bit odd, even back on earth when you first met him on the ship.

by hour three, thankfully you finished your work quickly because the heat was no longer tolerable.

“fuck....” you muttered under your breath, standing up and started pacing around.

ryland was still busy with his duct-taped-computers, probably working on the algorithm to translate rocky's melodic language.

he stopped typing on the keyboard and grabbed his notebook, writing something there now.

your paces halted. and unfortunately your brain decided that right now was the perfect time to let your eyes wander to his arms out of all places.

you didn’t know why but it just happened.

you didn't get to stop yourself. you brain drifted, catching on the absolute ridiculous size of his biceps. since when did he work out? the thought of middle school science teacher ryland grace going to the gym and working out during the weekends got more ridiculous the more you think of it.

you should have stopped. should have sat back down and worked or went to take a nap or— oh my god his veins—

you flinched.

jesus, what the fuck?

since when the fuck did you notice that?

nope. absolutely not.

you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose like that might reset your brain.

it didn't.

you sighed, audible enough just to your ears. your gaze flicked, just for a second, and then immediately snapped back to somewhere else.

that was a mistake.

because now you knew, and knowing made it harder not to look again.

your brain, completely unhelpful, decided to supply additional commentary. since when does he have arms like that? it asked, again, like this was new information, like you hadn’t been working side by side with him for months.

you squeezed your eyes shut briefly, exhaling through your nose. get it together. this was ryland. your crew mate. your friend. the only other human being alive within literal light-years.

and yet—

“oh, for fuck's sake,” you cursed under your breath.

“what?” ryland immediately turned, ears sharp enough to hear you. he looked concerned for a bit.

“nothing,” you said quickly. too quickly.

he adjusted his glasses. “that did not sound like nothing.”

“it’s nothing.”

ryland tilted his head. a hint of amusement decorating his face.

“you were staring at me,” he pointed out.

you jerked your gaze away. “i was not.”

“you absolutely were.”

“i was not,” you insisted sharper, which would have been more convincing if you hadn’t immediately glanced back at him again.

he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “wow. okay. so it’s not just me. good to know.”

you pressed a hand to your forehead, giving up on your pretenses. “no, it is definitely not just you.”

you paced again a few more steps, trying to shake it off, but it didn’t help. if anything, it made you even more hyperaware of everything. your breathing, the air, him.

and by the fourth hour, denial was no longer an option.

“okay, that's it.” you said, pacing now because sitting still felt impossible, “we need to figure out whatever the hell this is.”

“yep,” ryland said, standing up simultaneously.

“define what you’re feeling,” you asked.

he hesitated. “uh, okay. so, scientifically?”

“obviously.”

“i feel.... distracted,” he started, frowning slightly as he tried to articulate it. “like my brain keeps derailing. and also—” he stopped.

he looked at you and held his gaze for a second too long.

“ryland.”

“....also very aware of you,” he finished.

pause.

“define 'aware'. like when you were staring at me?”

“i wasn't—” he stopped, then frowned, like he was trying to catch his own thoughts mid-escape. “okay, maybe i was.”

you crossed your arms. “why?”

“i don’t know,” he said immediately, which somehow felt worse than any actual answer. “i just— looked up and— there you were.”

“i’m always here!”

“yes,” he said, a little too quickly. “i am aware of that. conceptually. but right now it’s.... more noticeable.”

you stared at him.

“more noticeable.” you repeated.

he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “that sounded weird.”

“it sounded very weird.”

“i meant it in a normal, non-weird way!”

“there is no version of that sentence that is normal, ryland!”

“you were staring at me too!” he reminded.

you opened your mouth, then shut it again, abandoning whatever argument you were about to attempt. he got you there.

then you sighed. you realized that you both seem to be doing that a lot today.

“you know what? nevermind. just— are there any other symptoms? like what, hormones? perception? impulse control?”

“all of the above, probably.”

you exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think. maybe it was—

“the dust,” you said suddenly, stopping in your tracks.

he went still. “what?”

you pointed at the cylinder. “it has to be that.”

“yeah,” he said, nodding slowly like he just pieced all the puzzles together now. “yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, that makes sense. mysterious alien substance, unknown effects, sudden onset of—” he gestured vaguely between you “—this.”

you raised an eyebrow. “'this?'”

“i don’t have a better word!”

“well, find one!”

“i’m a scientist, not emily brontë!”

you dragged both hands down your face. “oh my god.”

“okay,” you continued. “let's not panic. let us all calm down. so, we agreed we got exposed to an unknown particulate substance.”

“yep.”

“we’re experiencing.... thermal dysregulation.”

“yep.”

“and—” you hesitated, “—behavioral anomalies.”

he made a small, distressed noise. “that is a very scientific way to say that i cannot stop staring at your lips.”

you frowned. “you were staring at my lips?”

“and you were staring at my arms! we can do this all night!” he said defensively.

“did you just quote the sequels— nevermind. not important.”

you pressed your lips together. which, unfortunately, made his eyes drop there again.

you both noticed, and you both looked away at the same time.

“okay,” he said, pacing once, like movement might fix this. “okay, okay, okay, okay, we can figure this out. we always figure things out.”

“right,” you said, latching onto that. “we analyze.”

“we observe.”

“we hypothesize.”

“we do not panic.”

“we are absolutely not panicking.”

you were both very clearly panicking.

“let’s list everything again.” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “all symptoms. no judgment.”

“no judgment,” you agreed.

“elevated body temperature.” he started.

“check.”

“heightened sensory awareness.”

“check.”

“uh....” he hesitated, visibly struggling. “increased.... focus on.... specific.... features?”

you folded your arms tighter. “check.”

“compulsive attention,” he added weakly.

“check.”

he swallowed. “and a— a noticeable shift in, uh—”

“attraction?” you said bluntly.

he closed his eyes. “yeah. that.”

the word hung there, heavy but accurate.

you both went very still. because once it was said like that, clean, clinical, undeniable, something in your brain clicked into place.

not just the symptoms.

the pattern.

your mind started pulling threads together, faster now. the dust. the delivery method. the lack of any visible organism. the immediate onset being minimal, then escalating over time.

you frowned, thinking harder.

“okay,” you said slowly. “if this were any known terrestrial system, particulate exposure with delayed onset behavioral changes would suggest—”

“toxins,” he said automatically.

“but there’s no impairment,” you countered.

“cognitive function is intact. motor function is intact. we’re not disoriented.”

“right,” he said, catching up. “so not a neurotoxin.”

“and not a pathogen,” you added. “no immune response. no inflammation.”

“so it’s not attacking us.”

“it’s affecting us.”

you both went quiet again, thinking.

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing again, faster this time. “okay, so— delivery system: aerosolized particulate. effect: behavioral modification. targeted toward—”

he stopped.

you watched it happen. the exact moment the realization hit him.

his entire posture went rigid.

“....no,” he said.

your stomach dropped. “what?” you asked, even though something in you already knew but refused to acknowledge it.

he looked at you. then away. then back again, like he wished reality would swap out for a better option.

“no, no, no, no, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “that’s— that’s not—”

“ryland,” you said, sharper now. “what.”

he gestured helplessly toward the empty cylinder. “there were no organisms. no plant matter. nothing visible. which means whatever this is, it doesn’t rely on traditional biological structures.”

“okay....?”

“which means,” he continued, words picking up speed like he couldn’t stop them now, “it could be a synthetic analog. or an alien biochemical system that doesn’t follow earth-based taxonomy. something that mimics a known function without the same physical form—”

“ryland.”

he stopped and looked at you.

you held his gaze.

“say it.”

he hesitated. like if he didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be real.

“....on earth,” he started, carefully, “there are airborne particulates that influence behavior in very specific ways.”

your chest tightened.

“they’re typically produced by plants,” he went on. “released into the air. inhaled. they trigger physiological responses that.... alter attraction. increase reproductive drive. reduce inhibition—”

your breath caught.

he exhaled, defeated.

“....pollen,” he finished.

silence.

thick.

absolute.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

“that’s not possible,” you said, even as your brain was already connecting it. "that's not fucking possible. what the fu—”

“i know,” he said quickly. “i know. there were no plants. there’s no visible biological structure. it doesn’t make sense.”

“so it’s not pollen.”

“it’s not plant pollen,” he corrected weakly.

you both paused.

“but it’s doing the same thing,” you said.

“yeah.”

another silence. longer this time.

he let out a hollow laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “that’s— wow. okay. that’s just— fantastic. amazing. incredible. we got hit with alien.... pseudo-pollen that—”

he stopped himself.

you finished it for him. “that makes people.... like this.”

he nodded, looking like he wanted to walk directly into space.

you swallowed. your skin still felt too warm. thoughts still kept drifting back to him.

to his hands. arms. the way he was looking at you right now.

you dropped your hands. wanna know the worst part of this? it's that now that you understood it, it didn’t make it stop. it just made it clearer.

“we’re in trouble,” you said quietly.

he nodded, equally quiet.

“yeah,” he said. “we really are.”

“and rocky just gave it to us with no warning?”

“to be fair,” ryland said, “he might not have known humans would react like this.”

you stopped pacing. “react like what, exactly?”

“like this,” he said weakly. “he probably thinks this is how humans reproduce. like, 'here, have some breeding dust, make more crew for the mission!'” ryland continued.

“oh, jesus.”

another pause.

longer this time.

he shifted his weight. “okay. solution-oriented thinking. we just.... wait it out.”

“wait it out,” you repeated.

“yep. it’s a chemical thing, right? it’ll metabolize, wear off, we go back to normal, and we never speak of this again.”

“not even a little bit.” you agreed quickly.

“not even in a funny anecdote way.”

“especially not in a funny anecdote way.”

he removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut tight while his other hand was gripping the edge of his desk for dear life. firm, almost rigid, like it was the only thing anchoring him in place. “good plan. great plan. love that plan.”

you stopped pacing and looked at him properly.

really looked.

the flush hadn’t faded, it had deepened. his breathing was just slightly off, not enough to be obvious unless you were paying attention, but you were paying attention now. and the way he was holding himself. tense, contained, like he was actively stopping himself from—

“ryland,” you said slowly.

“yeah.” he did not look at you.

“why are you holding onto the table like it’s about to float away?”

he let out a short, strained laugh.

“because if i don’t,” he said, voice tight in a way that made something in your chest twist, “i might do something incredibly stupid.”

your stomach dropped. “define 'stupid.'”

his eyes flicked up to yours, and whatever you saw there made your breath catch.

“i think,” he said quietly, “you already know.”

pause.

you stole a look at him. ryland had gone very still, hands braced on the edge of the console, head bowed like he was trying to think his way out of this. he looked just as wrecked as you are. tense, flushed, jaw tight like he was grinding through it.

the lab suddenly felt too small, like the walls had inched closer, like the air had thickened into something you had to push through just to breathe. you were still standing too close to each other. close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. close enough that every tiny shift felt amplified. and neither of you seemed able to take that one simple step back.

you both pretended to think. which would’ve been easier if your thoughts weren’t constantly derailing.

“okay,” ryland said finally, too quickly, like he’d been holding the word in his mouth for a while. he wasn’t looking at you. he hadn’t been looking at you for a solid minute now, which somehow made it worse. “solution. we need a solution.”

you nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “yeah. yeah, obviously.”

he paced once, twice, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “we don’t know the duration of the effect. could be hours, could be longer.”

“right,” you said, your voice coming out tighter than you meant.

“it might not get worse,” he said quickly.

you both paused.

“it’s definitely getting worse,” you said.

“yeah,” he admitted. “yeah, that’s fair.”

another stretch of silence followed, thick and charged and deeply unhelpful.

another beat. he stopped mid-pace, suddenly locking eyes on your lips again as you bit the lower one in concentration. a visible shiver ran through him.

you, meanwhile, were transfixed by the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he breathed. arms. shoulders. that stupid little strand of hair falling over his forehead.

it was ridiculous. you were both adults. professionals. stuck on a ship light-years from home with an entire species depending on you not screwing this up.

and yet.

both of you looked away at the same time.

he continued pacing, then he straightened slightly, like he’d latched onto something solid. “okay. i’ve got it.”

you perked up. “yeah?”

“isolation.”

silence.

“what?” your voice came out small.

“we isolate,” he repeated, more firmly now, like saying it again would make it more reasonable. “separate areas of the ship. minimal contact. we wait for the effects to wear off.”

you stared at him. “you’re kidding.”

“i’m not kidding.”

“ryland, that’s not a solution. t-that’s— what if it gets worse? what if it doesn’t wear off?”

“then we reassess,” he said, easy. “but right now, the safest option is distance.”

you laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “distance? on this ship? we share literally everything. systems, controls, workload—”

“yeah,” he said, gaining momentum, talking faster now. “we separate. different sections of the ship. minimal contact. we only communicate over comms when absolutely necessary. reduce exposure to.... stimuli.”

“stimuli,” you repeated flatly.

he made a small, helpless gesture. “i’m trying to keep this clinical.”

you stared at him. really stared this time.

“ryland,” you said slowly, “we are on a single-crew mission with two people.”

“yes.”

“yao and ilyukhina are—”

“i’m aware.” his voice was tighter this time, jaw clenched.

“we barely manage everything together on a good day.”

“we’ll adjust.”

“adjust?” you let out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking your head. “we’re already compromised. you said it yourself. attention issues, cognitive interference. you think splitting up is going to make that better?”

his jaw tightened. “it removes the trigger.”

“it removes the only person who can help when something goes wrong,” you shot back. “we don’t have backup. we don’t have a third crew member to pick up the slack. if something breaks, and something will break, we need both of us functional.”

“we are functional,” he insisted, but it came out strained, like he didn’t fully believe it.

you took a step closer without thinking.

his entire body reacted.

it was subtle. so subtle you almost missed it. but it was there: the way his shoulders went rigid, the way his breath hitched just slightly, the way his hands curled like he was holding himself in place.

that alone made your point for you.

you gestured between the two of you. “this is not functional.”

he didn’t answer.

you softened your voice, just a little. “we don’t know how long this is going to last.”

“it could wear off in a few hours,” he said, but it sounded more like hope than certainty.

“or it could be days,” you said quietly.

he didn’t argue.

“or weeks or never at all!” you added, pushing it, because you needed him to really think about it, not just cling to the best-case scenario.

“it’s the only plan that doesn’t make things worse. it’s better than the alternative.” he replied.

you stilled. “what alternative?”

he didn’t say anything.

which, unfortunately, was an answer.

you exhaled slowly, your chest tight. “okay. no. we’re not doing this vague shit. we need to actually say it.”

“we really don’t,” he said quickly.

“we do,” you insisted. “because if we don’t, we’re just going to keep circling around it and nothing gets solved.”

he dragged a hand down his face. “no.”

“ryland—”

“no,” he repeated, firmer this time. “we are not— no. that is not the solution.”

you stared at him. you've never heard his voice went that rough. that low. “it’s the only solution that makes sense.”

“it’s not a solution,” he shot back. “it’s—” he stopped, jaw tightening. “it’s not something we should even consider.”

“we both know what this is doing to us,” you pressed, voice low but steady now. “it’s not just going to fade if we sit in separate rooms pretending we’re fine. it’s getting worse.”

“i said no,” he repeated, sharper this time.

“and what happens if it peaks while we’re in the middle of something critical?” you continued anyway. “a maneuver, a repair, a calculation— what then? we just hope we can think straight?”

“we will think straight,” he snapped. “we’re not animals.”

“no, we’re worse,” you shot back. “we’re aware of it and still can’t stop it.”

he looked away first, jaw flexing, like he was trying to clamp down on something.

“we are not going to make a decision like that under the influence of alien—” he gestured helplessly, “—whatever this is.”

“we might not have a choice,” you said.

“we always have a choice.”

“do we?” you asked. “because right now it feels like we’re both in agony and pretending that distance is going to fix it.”

he flinched. barely, but enough.

“you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said, quieter now. steadier. like he was forcing the words into place. “okay? whatever this is, it doesn't make that decision for us. you don’t—” he stopped, swallowing. “you don’t owe me anything. not for survival, not for the mission. nothing.”

your expression softened for half a second, before hardening again.

“this isn’t about owing anyone anything,” you said. “this is about reality. about what’s actually happening. we can’t function like this, ryland.”

“we can,” he insisted. “we will.”

“you don’t believe that.”

he didn’t answer.

you stepped closer without thinking. his shoulders tensed immediately, like proximity itself was dangerous.

“look at me,” you said.

he did.

“you’re telling me to isolate,” you said, softer now, but more intense. “to stay away from you, to fight this out on our own, when we both know exactly what would make it stop.”

his breath hitched. just slightly, but he held his ground. “knowing something doesn’t mean we should do it.”

“why not?” you asked. “if it works, if it stabilizes us, if it lets us actually do our jobs.... why not?”

“because that’s not a choice,” he said, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to. “that’s a reaction. that’s the pollen making the decision for us.”

“or it’s us making the best decision with the situation we have,” you countered.

“no,” he said, shaking his head, stepping back now like he needed the space. “no, that’s not the same thing.”

you followed without realizing.

“then what is?” you demanded. “we wait it out and risk compromising the mission? we split up and hope nothing goes wrong? how is that better?”

“because at least it’s ours,” he snapped.

the words hung there. then he froze, like he hadn’t meant to say it that way.

you frowned slightly. “what?”

he dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “if we— if we do this, it shouldn’t be because we’re backed into a corner. it shouldn’t be because some alien dust messed with our heads and left us with one option.”

“it’s still us,” you said. “it’s still our choice.”

“is it?” he asked quietly.

that got you. because there was something in his voice now. something deeper than just logic. something personal.

“i don’t want that,” he went on, more quietly now, but more intense for it. “i don’t want.... something like that to happen because we had no other way out. because we were trying to survive it. i don’t want it to be something we look back on and think, ‘we didn’t really choose that.’”

you stared at him.

he looked away again, jaw tight.

“that’s not—” you started, then faltered. “that’s not what this is about.”

“it is for me,” he said.

there was a beat.

“we don’t have the luxury of waiting for perfect conditions,” you said, more gently now. “we have a mission. we need each other functioning.”

“i know,” he said. “i know that.”

“then stop pretending this is something we can just outlast.”

“i’m not pretending,” he said, voice rougher now. “i’m choosing the option where you don’t wake up later and regret it.”

pause.

you blinked at him. your voice came out quieter than you intended. “you think i’d regret it.”

“i think,” he said carefully, “that this isn’t exactly a clear-headed situation.”

you opened your mouth but no argument came out. because he wasn’t wrong.

“i’m just saying that it might fix the problem.”

“at what cost?”

a beat.

he stepped closer. just one step, but it closed the gap enough that the heat surged again, sharp and immediate, both of you feeling it.

his hands flexed at his sides like he was actively resisting the instinct to do something else with them.

“you think you won’t regret that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “you think we won’t look back at this later and realize we only did it because we didn’t have a choice?”

you didn’t answer right away.

he shook his head, almost to himself. “that’s not…. that’s not how that should happen.”

there was something else in his voice then, something quieter, buried under all the logic and resistance. something that didn’t quite belong to the situation at hand.

“if we’re going to—” he stopped, jaw tightening, then tried again. “if something like that ever happens, it shouldn’t be because we’re trying to survive some alien.... whatever this is. it should be because we actually—”

you watched him cutting himself off. the way his shoulders were locked, the way his whole body looked like it was braced against something internal, something he was refusing to let slip.

“isolating wouldn't work,” you said quietly. “we can’t do this alone. not here. not now.”

“maybe not,” he admitted.

“then—”

“i’m still not doing that,” he cut in.

you blinked. “ryland—”

“i’m not,” he repeated, firmer now. “we’ll figure something else out. we’ll manage it. we have to.”

“even if it makes things harder?”

“yeah,” he said. “even then.”

you searched his face. trying to understand. trying to find the line he wouldn’t cross.

“you’re really that set on this,” you said.

“yeah,” he said quietly.

another pause.

“fine,” you said at last, though it didn’t sound like agreement so much as reluctant acceptance. “we do it your way.”

he nodded once.

“we isolate,” you added. “but if it gets worse—”

“we reassess,” he said immediately.

neither of you moved.

just stood there, separated by a few steps and a whole lot of tension, both of you very aware of how fragile that distance felt.

like it could disappear in a second.

like he might cross it.

like you might let him.

his jaw tightened.

his shoulders went rigid again.

and for a split second, he looked like he might—

but then he turned away.

“i’ll take the lab first,” he said, voice a little rough. “you can have the cockpit.”

you swallowed. “okay.”

“we’ll.... check in. over comms.”

“right.”

—

you weren't sure what time it was, but two things for certain: you were going crazy because sleep refused to come and the ceiling was mocking you.

you had been lying in bed, tangled in your sheets for what felt like hours but was probably just twenty minutes, staring at the ceiling, flipping from one side to the other like a rotisserie chicken. the gold dust still simmered under your skin, turning every shift of fabric into slow torture. your tank top clung to your damp chest. your shorts felt too tight, too rough, too everything. you rolled onto your stomach, then flopped onto your back again, kicking the blanket off with a dramatic groan.

“this is stupid,” you muttered into the dark, dragging a pillow over your face like that might solve anything. “this is so fucking stupid. i am the pilot of the hail mary. i’ve navigated black holes in simulations. i should not be this horny because of some stupid alien dust.”

another wave of heat rolled through you, settling low and insistent between your legs. you whimpered softly, pressing your thighs together, but that only made it worse.

your brain refused to calm, looping the same thoughts over and over again.

ryland’s voice.

ryland’s face.

ryland's arms.

ryland's hair.

just him in general. the way he’d looked at you before you separated. the way his voice had tightened. the way his shoulders had gone rigid like he was holding himself together by sheer force.

you groaned softly into your pillow, pressing your face into it like that might smother the thoughts.

with a frustrated sigh, you shoved the covers off and swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor a brief relief against overheated skin. you sat there for a second, breathing, trying to steady yourself before started pacing.

“isolation,” you scoffed under your breath, pacing faster. “yeah, great plan, ryland. fantastic plan, ryland. terrific plan! it was never gonna fucking work.”

you sighed again before stopping to take a deep breath.

“okay,” you said to yourself. “it's fine. it's fine! you're okay. you're doing good. just— breathe. it’ll pass.”

you closed your eyes and tried to focus.

in.

out.

in—

“mhmmph—”

pause.

you blinked an eye open.

what—

“mhmphhh— fuckk—”

—the hell was that?

you tilted your head slightly, listening.

at first, nothing. just the low hum of the ship, steady and familiar. long enough you were starting to think that your brain was playing tricks on you.

but then—

“oh, please— please—”

it was soft and faint. slightly uneven. and came from the other side of the wall.

and the other side of the wall was ryland's room.

you froze. you heard it again. a low, muffled whimper drifted through the thin wall

unmistakenably ryland.

he was in the room next to yours.

awake.

and very clearly not handling this any better than you were.

he was trying so hard to stay quiet, really committing to the bit, but failing miserably. another whimper followed, shaky and desperate, quickly bitten off. the faint, rhythmic sound of skin on skin. a muttered curse. your name, whispered like he was cursing the universe for putting him in this position.

heat flooded your face so fast you probably matched the emergency lighting. you stood there, mouth slightly open, ears straining despite yourself.

is he—

no.

no way.

no fucking way.

another moan, softer this time, but unmistakably him. he was doing a terrible job at being stealthy. the wall might as well have been paper.

you paced faster, hands flapping uselessly at your sides like a malfunctioning robot.

dilemma time. big, stupid, pollen-fueled dilemma.

option #1: stay in your room. be responsible. respect the isolation plan he’d suggested earlier like the noble scientist he was. suffer in dignified silence until the dust wore off. maybe meditate. or count rivets in the ceiling. very professional.

option #2: march over there, bang on his door, and finally deal with whatever this is, together.

you stopped, pressing your ear against the cool wall, right where the sounds were loudest. another whimper from his side. your stomach flipped. your body voted very enthusiastically for option two.

“but he said isolate,” you argued with yourself in a harsh whisper. “he was all ‘we’re professionals, we can handle this.’ what if i go over there and he freaks out? what if it gets awkward? what if he opens the door with his dick in his hand and we both just scream?”

you frowned at the mental image. not very flattering thing to think about.

“fuck, no. i’m strong. i’m a pilot. i’ve done evasive maneuvers in asteroid fields. i'm on a mission to save earth. i can handle one night of alien-induced horniness without climbing my crewmate like a tree.”

you resumed pacing, arms crossed tight over your chest like that would somehow contain the fire. three steps. turn. three steps. the sounds from his room continued. another low moan, a bitten-off “shit” that sounded way too sexy for your sanity.

you stopped again, staring at your door like it was the airlock to certain doom.

your hand hovered near the door panel. you yanked it back like the button burned.

“no. professional boundaries. we have a mission. we have dignity. we—”

a particularly broken moan cut through the wall, followed by a muffled thump like he’d smacked his head against something.

you groaned, dragging both hands down your face. “okay, fuck it. i’m weak. i’m so fucking weak. if he doesn’t want this he can yell at me tomorrow when the pollen wears off.”

a beat.

“if.... it ever wears off.” you added.

before you could talk yourself out of it again, you marched to the door, heart hammering like a faulty thruster. you raised your fist and banged on his door, loud, impatient.

no turning back now.

inside, everything went dead silent. then frantic shuffling. something clattered to the floor. then the door finally slid open.

ryland stood there, flushed crimson, hair a disaster, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. his glasses were crooked. shorts wrinkled, barely even on, one hand still guiltily hovering near his waist. his eyes widened comically when he saw you.

you didn’t give him time to speak.

you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him forward, and kissed him hard.

he made a surprised noise that got immediately swallowed when you kissed him, the door sliding open the rest of the way as he stumbled back into the room.

for a second, he didn’t move. just froze, like his brain had short-circuited.

then his hands came up instinctively, one landing on your waist, the other tangling in your hair as he kissed you back with pent-up desperation. you stumbled forward into his room, mouths still locked, and kicked the door shut behind you with your heel.

the kiss was messy at first. noses bumping, tongues fighting. but neither of you cared. you poured every ounce of frustration and heat into it. his back hit the wall and he pulled you closer, hips pressing against yours so you could feel exactly how affected he still was.

after a long, dizzying minute you forced yourself to pull back just enough to breathe.

“wait, wait,” you said, out of air. “you were the one who wanted to isolate. if you want me to stop.... say it. we can pretend this never happened—”

“no— no, no, no, no. don’t you dare,” he said immediately.

you blinked. “what?”

“don’t say we can stop and then actually mean it,” he said, like that was a personal attack. “that’s— no. absolutely not.”

you huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “you were literally the one arguing against doing this.”

“i know,” he said. “i was wrong. past me was— misguided. naive. deeply out of touch with current events.”

“current events,” you repeated.

“yes,” he said, nodding once, very serious about this. “new data has come to light.”

“and that data is?”

“i need you.”

a beat.

“please.” he stared at you, eyes dark and glassy, lips swollen. his hands flexed on your hips like he was scared you’d vanish. for a heartbeat the only sound was your ragged breathing and the low hum of the ship.

“i tried— i really fucking tried to be good. but this dust is evil and you were just right next door and you look too good in that tank top and i’ve been losing my mind for hours. please.”

you raised an eyebrow, smirking. “oh, so that's what the staring was for earlier?”

“i.... well, i mean— yeah.” he stammered, realizing there is no point of pretending anymore.

you couldn't help but chuckled. “yeah, okay. the feeling's mutual.”

“yeah?” he laughed too.

“yeah.”

“can i kiss you again then?”

you smiled. “thought you'd never asked.”

this time it was him who surged forward, kissing you slower this time, deeper, letting the burn build deliberately. his glasses fogged up immediately, the lenses clouding over from the combined heat of your breaths. he didn’t take them off. didn’t even reach for them. just kept kissing you through the haze, like the fog made it somehow hotter. your fingers traced his jaw, his neck, the rapid flutter of his pulse. he shivered under your touch.

you walked him backward toward the bunk without breaking the kiss. when his knees hit the edge he sat down heavily, pulling you with him so you straddled his lap. the new position pressed you right against the hard line of him, making you both gasp into each other’s mouths.

slowly, you started undressing each other. your hands slid under his shirt, palms mapping the warm, flushed skin of his chest. he lifted his arms so you could tug it off. you tossed it somewhere behind you, leaving him in only his glasses. he returned the favor, peeling your tank top up inch by inch, kissing every new strip of skin he revealed. your stomach, the underside of your breast, your collarbone, until the fabric was gone.

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts. you rose up on your knees so he could slide them down your thighs along with your underwear. you kicked them away. then you focused on his shorts, tugging them down slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched when you freed him.

naked now, you settled back onto his lap, skin to skin. the contact was electric. you took your time, rocking gently against him without taking him inside yet, just feeling the slide and heat while you kissed him lazily, tongues tangling in slow, filthy strokes.

you reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around him. he groaned loud, head tipping back, the sound vibrating through his chest. “fuck— your hand feels so good,” he breathed, hips twitching up into your grip. “please don’t tease me— been dying for this.”

“you sure about this?” you murmured against his lips between kisses, giving him one last out even as your hips rolled in a slow, teasing circle.

“never been more sure of anything in my life,” he breathed, hands gripping your thighs.

you laughed softly into his mouth, the sound turning into a moan when he shifted his hips just right. one of his hands slid between your bodies, fingers exploring with gentle, curious touches until you were trembling.

only then did you reach down, wrap your hand around him, and guide him to your entrance. you sank down inch by torturous inch, both of you moaning at the slow, perfect stretch. when you were fully seated you stayed there for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in while your bodies adjusted.

then you started to move.

slow rolls of your hips at first, savoring every drag and press. ryland’s head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat. you leaned in to kiss along his jaw, his neck, sucking lightly at his pulse point while you rode him with deliberate, unhurried patience. his hands roamed your back, your sides, your breasts, learning every curve like it was new data he needed to memorize.

gradually the rhythm built. your movements grew deeper, harder. the bunk creaked steadily. soft gasps and moans filled the small room. his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your rhythm falter and your breath catch.

“ryland— fuck, just like that—”

“you feel so good,” he panted, voice breaking on the words. “oh, baby— don’t stop, please—”

it hit you like a solar flare. you cried out his name loud, clenching around him hard, hips stuttering through the waves. he followed right after, burying himself deep with a broken, guttural moan.

“yes— fuck— coming— inside you— god, you’re perfect— take it all—”

you collapsed against his chest, both of you trembling, hearts hammering in sync. his arms wrapped around you tight, holding you close while the aftershocks rolled through, glasses still fogged and slightly askew on his nose.

for a long moment, neither of you said anything.

you were half sprawled across him, one leg tangled with his, your arm draped somewhere over his chest like you’d both simply.... collapsed and decided to stay that way. the room was quiet except for your breathing, slowly evening out, though not nearly fast enough to feel normal.

ryland was staring at the ceiling.

very intently.

like it had just revealed the meaning of life and he was still processing it.

“....so,” you said eventually.

“so,” he echoed.

another pause.

you shifted slightly, propping your chin on his chest so you could look at him. “on a scale from one to ‘we should never speak of this again,’ where are you at?”

he didn’t look at you.

“....i’m considering faking amnesia.”

you snorted. “wow. rude.”

“i’m kidding,” he said quickly, then paused. “mostly.”

“mostly,” you repeated.

“okay, no, that sounded worse than i meant it,” he said, finally turning his head toward you, eyes wide like he was trying to fix it in real time. “i don’t regret it. i do not regret it. i just—” he gestured vaguely with one hand, which was difficult considering you were partially pinning him down, “—need a second to emotionally catch up with my own life choices.”

you raised an eyebrow. “your life choices led you to space.”

“for the record, i did not consent to that.”

fair, but you ignored him. “and then to alien pollen.”

“unfortunately, yes.”

“and then to me.”

he hesitated.

“that part i’m less willing to categorize as a mistake.”

you stared at him for a second.

then narrowed your eyes. “that was almost smooth.”

“thank you,” he said. “i panicked halfway through it.”

“i could tell.”

another stretch of quiet settled in, but it was different now. looser. like the tension that had been buzzing under your skin all day had finally burned itself out, leaving something softer in its place.

“....for the record,” you added after a moment, “your ‘being quiet’ plan earlier? terrible.”

he made a strangled noise. “oh my god.”

“like, impressively bad,” you continued. “i heard everything.”

“you did not hear everything.”

“ryland.”

he covered his face with both hands, cheeks heated up. “i would like to be ejected into space now.”

“denied,” you said immediately. “we need you for the mission.”

“please, just kill me already.”

“also,” you added, very seriously, “for future reference, the wall is not soundproof.”

“i have gathered that,” he said into his hands.

“just making sure.”

he peeked at you through his fingers. “....are you going to bring this up again later?”

“oh, constantly.”

“i walked into that one.”

“you really did.”

another quiet moment passed.

you could feel his breathing steady under you now, less uneven, less strained.

“....hey,” he said after a while.

“yeah?”

there was a small pause before he spoke again, like he was choosing his words more carefully this time. “are you okay?”

it caught you off guard.

not the question itself, but the way he asked it. steady. grounded, like he needed the answer to mean something.

you blinked, then nodded. “yeah,” you said, softer. “i am.”

he turned his head then, just enough to look at you properly, like he needed the visual confirmation to go with it.

“okay,” he said finally, the word carrying more weight than it should have. “i'm glad.”

you nudged him lightly with your shoulder, a small, grounding kind of contact. “you?”

he let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck somewhere in his chest for a while. “yeah. i think so. which is honestly surprising, given.... everything.”

another quiet stretch settled over you, but it wasn’t awkward. not really. just calm, in a slightly surreal, post haze kind of way.

eventually, the exhaustion caught up with you. real, actual exhaustion this time. not the restless, jittery kind from before.

you shifted closer without thinking, your head settling more comfortably against him.

he stilled for half a second then relaxed. his arm tightening just slightly around you.

“also,” he added, voice softer now, almost drowsy, “for the record…. i don’t regret it.”

your chest tightened. you didn’t lift your head, didn’t look at him. just let the words settle somewhere quiet inside you.

“…me neither,” you murmured.

that was the last coherent thing either of you said.

Cutlery clinked delicately against plates as the three of you ate. "This is delicious, Bonnie. A man can get fat and happy with cooking like this!" Johnny grinned over a bite of chicken.

"I'm glad you like it! My mom used to make this when I was a kid, so I'm glad I can do it justice." You smiled back, glancing at Simon in his usual spot next to you.

"A skilled woman taught by another skilled woman!" He continued, looking at Simon. "You're a lucky man, Si, got a Bonnie lass that makes amazing food." He said it like he was teasing his friend, but he was serious.

Simon's calm gaze turned to you as he took your free hand in his. "I know." Then he pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

The room fell into a calm silence for a few moments before you broke it. "How're things going with that girl? The one you met at that bar. Didn't she kick your ass at pool?" You asked, giggling, sending him a cheeky smirk.

Johnny chuckled. "She did, and it didn't work out. She said she's not built for a military man, too much worrying. Can't blame her." He shrugged before leveling a meaningful look at you and Simon, blue eyes burning. "Takes a special kind of person."

"It's certainly not for everyone." You nodded slowly. It took a lot to get used to Simon coming and going, the classified information that you know keeps him up at night that he can't share with you, the wounds you can't help with. "I'm sure you'll find the right person! You're a catch, Johnny, anyone would be lucky to have you."

"Ah, you're a peach, Lass." He sighed, shaking his head.

After dinner you stood over the sink rinsing remnants of the chocolate cake you'd made for dessert from a plate, while the two men sat in the living room reminiscing over some whiskey.

Or you thought they were both in the living room, till you felt a large, solid, warm presence at your back, large hands gripping your hips.

You can't help but grin as you lean back into the form for a moment. "He's in the other room..." You warned weakly as you turned and were met with Johnny looking down at you like you're a feast.

Before you can say anything, or even think, there’s movement in your periphery and you turn to find Simon leaning against the door frame, nonchalant as can be, like he's not watching his best friend grind his half hard dick against his wife.

Once more words lose the race to someone else's actions as a warm hand leaves your hip to instead take you by the chin, guiding your gaze back to the Scotsman, who leaned in to press his lips to yours.

A shock of heat filled your body. Your face flushed, your chest burned, your pussy clenched, all at the same time as you fell into the kiss, letting Johnny lead. The whole time you could feel Simon's eyes on you, watching every movement and listening to every sound.

It was only when he was sure he'd kissed you dizzy that Johnny parted, looking down at you appraisingly while you looked back with glassy eyes, lids heavy.

He huffed a pleased chuckle at the state of you before bending down and scooping you up over his shoulder.

Johnny wasted no time walking down the hallway to the bedroom, Simon silently following the whole way, his gaze never leaving you.

You lost track of him when you reached the bedroom and Johnny tossed you on the bed, following you immediately, his mass pressing you into the mattress as his muscular form caged you in, he felt like a living furnace the way his heat sank under your skin.

Johnny stayed there for a moment, taking in your breathless form under him, before leaning down to claim your lips once more, his hands maneuvering your legs around his hips, allowing him to grind down against you, the barely contained line of his cock pressing against your clothes clit, making you wish both you were naked.

A pleased sound rumbled in his chest as you gasped into the kiss, body arching to meet his movements.

Just when you thought you might just drown in his kisses, Johnny kissed his way down your neck, teeth grazing like he was going to leave a mark only to move on instead.

When your shirt became an obstacle, he pulled it up over your head, and when the cute skirt you'd chosen for dinner got in the way it got the same treatment, forming the foundations of a pile on the floor.

Johnny sighed dreamily as he kissed along the swell of your breasts. "Prettier than I could have imagined..." Then he was unclasping your bra, slipping it away delicately, like he was unwrapping a present.

As he reached your nipples it was obvious how much effort it was taking not to leave marks on your soft skin, teats peaked in the cool air of the bedroom.

Your legs shook with anticipation as his lips continued their path down your body, his beard tickling as it scratches over your tummy. He grins when you softly giggle.

Reaching the final barrier between him and your fully nude body, your panties were slowly, almost reverently, slid down your legs to be dropped at the top of the pile. The silky cherry on top.

Johnny stayed upright for a long moment just looking at you, it was like he was taking mental pictures. Would he think about these moments during his quiet moments in the field? A quiet part of you hoped so.

As if hearing something Johnny glanced over his shoulder for a moment before leaning back over you, one hand holding your cheek sweetly. "C'mon, Bonnie, we're not putting on a very good show." He said before he was maneuvering you onto your stomach and facing the foot of the bed.

A shock of heat flared through your body as you found where Simon had vanished to.

There, seated in the chair next to his dresser that you'd only ever seen him use to put on his shoes, was Simon, your husband, watching intently as his teammate and best friend pleasured his wife.

Before you can even try to think any further Johnny is pushing his thick cock into you, not as big as Simon, but certainly still leaving you gloriously full, the angle ensuring that he would be pressed right up against your G-spot.

A high moan punched out of you as he bottomed out, hands gripping the blankets as you held eye contact with Simon, his arms crossed over his chest but a prevalent bulge in the front of the pants, made more obvious by the man-spread he was sporting.

His eyes burned with desire.

Johnny set a solid pace, slow hard thrusts that had your ass cheeks smacking against his thighs, his hands gripping your hips to pull you back into each thrust. Each "Smack" accompanied by an airy "Huh" and the quiet groan from the Scotsman behind you, it was like both of them wanted to hear you more than anything else.

You hadn't noticed that your front half had come to rest on the bed till you felt Johnny's scalding hot hand trail down your spine till he could wrap it around your upper half, pulling you up onto your knees, back to chest with him and giving Simon a beautiful view of your naked body and where Johnny's cock is stretching you open.

"There, now he can see everything." He crooned in your ear before pressing his lips on a line along your neck, his hips picking up a deep and fast rhythm, the new angle making you feel even fuller than before.

All you could do was hold on for dear life.

When your gaze returned to Simon, you found his arms no longer crossed as one of his hands palmed his cock over his trousers. His eyes setting your very being ablaze.

Your body seized when you came, legs shaking and back arching, your little airy sounds turning to cries as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through you, triggering Johnny's orgasm, his rasping groans filling your ears as he filled you, little rivulets dripping down as he kept thrusting.

You went limp after that, body gone completely lax as Johnny held you up.

With gentle care he pulled out and maneuvered you once more on the bed, so you were laid on the pillows properly, holding you to his chest as you came down from your high, eyes heavy as you look up at him.

Across the room Simon stands from his perch and climbs into the bed behind you. Your eyes rolled closed as the Brit settled into place, like you were waiting for him to join you. Quiet little snores trickled from between your lips minutes later.

"Thanks for doing this, Mate. She's been talking about it non-stop since you agreed." Simon whispered over your sleeping form.

"No problem, LT. She's beautiful and who can say no to that sweet face?" The Scotsman whispered back with a smirk.

Simon huffed a chuckle. "So, same time next week?"

You hum to yourself as you portion out the last of the cookies you're making, arranging them carefully on the baking tray in front of you.

Oh sugar!

Come on V, I thought the plan was to surprise her

I got excited!

You giggle at the deep rumble in your head. Venom and Eddie must be on their way over.

Open your balcony door sweetness

You place your cookies in the oven and quickly wash your hands, setting the timer as you scramble over to your balcony door. Just as you pull the door open Venom comes swinging into your apartment.

"SURPRISE!"

It's not a surprise if you warn her before we get here!

"Hello my loves," you smile at them.

"Hello!" Venom flashes a huge smile as you scoops you into his arms.

"Hi Venom," you can barely contain your laughter as he hugs you against him. You kiss him on the cheek before he sets you down. He winks at you as he disappears, revealing Eddie who's mild annoyance at Venom's antics clearly disappears upon seeing you.

"Hi princess," Eddie says, irritation melting into a smile.

"Hi baby," you drape your arms over his shoulders.

"Clearly, Venom is still very amused by your mind reading capabilities," his hands settling on your waist. You've been seeing Eddie, and Venom, for a few months now and things are on the verge of getting serious you think.

Hey! I was excited to see her! Is that a crime?!

"I think it's very cute," you giggle.

"It's not a crime dude but it can't be a surprise if you start thinking at her," he explains.

"Unfortunately Venom your voice is too distinct to hide amongst others, it is how I found you two in the first place."

Well I like thinking at you. HMPH.

"Well I don't mind, but it might make it tricky if you wanna surprise me ever."

Just then, your oven timer rings loudly. You gasp, already forgetting the cookies with Eddie and Venom here.

What is that dreadful noise?!

"I was making cookies before you got here, it's just the timer that they're done," you say. You stop the timer and grab your oven mitt, pulling the cookies out and placing them on the counter.

What kind?

A rogue tentacle comes slithering across your kitchen island and you barely manage to smack it away before he reaches the cookies.

"Wait a second you bottomless pit, I just took them out, they're too hot. But they're lemon sugar cookies," you say.

"What's the occasion?" Eddie asks.

"Just had a craving for them," you say with a shrug.

We had a craving too

"For what?"

"He just means we missed you."

"Oh! Well I missed you boys too,"

How long must we wait for the cookies to be eating temperature?

"Not long, 10-15 minutes should be plenty."

THAT'S FOREVER!

"V come on," Eddie scoffs.

"Did you come here to see me or eat cookies that you had no idea I was making?"

"To see you of course," Eddie answers immediately.

I can equally want both things

"Well, I'm sure we can find a way to entertain you in the agonizing 15 minutes you're being forced to endure, as cruel as I may be," you say, each word practically drowning in sarcasm. You drape your arms over Eddie's shoulders again.

"You don't need to indulge his theatrics you know," Eddie says, putting his hands on your waist, like second nature.

"I think you'll like my indulgence," you hum pulling him into a slow kiss.

Okay, I do like this

Me too!

You giggle against his lips, wrapping your arms tighter, pressing yourself closer to him. Tentacles wrap around you, slipping underneath your shirt, dancing over your skin.

So soft

Venom practically purrs internally as he touches you, his tentacles curling around your breasts and toying with your nipples. A soft, breathy moan slightly breaks your kiss, but Eddie chases your mouth with his, pushing his tongue past your parted lips, swallowing the sound. Venom lifts you by the waist and you lock your legs around Eddie's middle as he walks you over to your couch, still kissing you fiercely. Only once he lowers you to the couch does he finally pull away, turning his attention to your throat, kissing, nipping, and marking the skin there as if he can't get enough. With your kiss bruised lips free from his kiss, more whimpers and gasps leave you with press of his mouth against your neck.

God I love those little noises

Eddie tugs your shirt over your head, since you were just enjoying your evening at home you're not wearing a bra, giving Eddie immediate access to your already hardened nipples. He kisses down until his lips close around your nipple. You gasp at the feeling, shuddering when a tentacle sneaks up to toy with the other the combination tugging deep in your abdomen.

"Oh god," you sigh.

So pretty

Eddie's mouth continue's lower pulling your shorts and panties down as he goes, and you practically melt when he finally drags his tongue slowly over your wet slit. Eddie licks you like something he can't get enough of. Every stroke of tongue feels as though he's savoring you like his last meal, a quiet desparation laced through his actions.

Fuck she tastes so fucking good

Eddie buries his face further into your heat.

"Ugh, don't stop!" you moan, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging at the strands. He growls against you and the vibrations pull a sharp cry from you as you arch into his eager mouth. You feel a tentacle join Eddie's mouth between your legs, and you moan when it enters you. With Venom now thrusting a tentacle in and out of you, Eddie focuses his attention on your clit. His tongue draws wicked circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves while Venom's tentacle dances along your inner walls pulling a beautiful melody of whines and moans from your parted lips.

"You make the most amazing noises when we play with you gumdrop,"

Venom's voice no longer echos in your head and the shift in how he sounds snaps your eyes open to see his floating head staring down at you.

"You're both so good at making me feel good," you say, your words practically falling on top of each other because of the sounds their torture continues to bring out of you. Venom flashes a smile at you before his head dips down. His tongue finds itself wrapped around one of your hardened nipples and the additional stimulation sends you over the edge immediately. You grind your hips against Venom's tentacle and Eddie's mouth as your orgasm washes over you with a high pitched whine. Eddie continues to eat you out while his hands hold your squirming body in place.

"Oh my God! Please!"

You don't even know what you're asking for, more, less, faster, slower, your head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. You can't focus on anything except the feel of mouths and hands on you, it's all you can manage just to remember to breathe. You groan as you feel another orgasm building.

Mmm I felt that, sugar

Another one princess? Already?

She's so reactive

Perfect, isn't she?

Oh absolutely

Give us another baby, we can tell you're close, let go

Their conversation and coaxing makes you whimper as they relentlessly push you towards a second high. Eddie wraps his lips tightly around your clit, sucking the button harshly while his tongue caresses the tip of it. Your body tenses and Venom's tentacle responds in kind, pumping in and out of you faster, harder, forcing you over the edge. You twitch and mewl as they continue to toy with you through your orgasm.

"H-holy shit,"

My turn!

Venom suddenly swallows Eddie, his head replacing Eddie's between your legs, long tongue lavishing your pussy.

Dude! I wasn't done?!

Too bad! You got her first two, I want one of my own

You didn't even ask

You get so drunk on her taste you'd have tried to stop me

As if you're any better. You crave her more than I do

Exactly.

Venom's tongue moves against you in a way that can only be described as reverential. He savors every drop from your leaking hole as he explores your walls thoroughly. You're still so sensitive, you're entire body feels like it's buzzing, small sounds all you can manage as Venom all but swallows you whole. Before you even realize another orgasm is crawling up your spine.

"MY GOD!" you gasp out, body bowing forward off of the couch as you cum for the third time.

Yeeeessss! Man I love it when you soak us like this sugar, so fucking sweet

It's Venom's words reverberating in your head that make you even aware of the fact that you must've squirted this time. It's not a first, but it's not frequent enough that Venom or Eddie expect it to happen regularly. You honestly think they're making a concerted effort to increase how often they can make it happen.

Venom's tongue hasn't stopped either, and you know he won't, not until you've screamed yourself hoarse and you've cum so many times you've lost count- and despite your sensitivity you're tempted to let him. So drunk on the pleasure they're giving you that the idea of it stopping for any reason sounds torturous. Except you can feel your hole throbbing, clenching around nothing, silently begging to be filled and now the need to have Eddie buried inside you practically consumes you.

"W-wait- oh my god-"

I think you can handle more than that little one, don't you think she can take more Eddie?

Oh I know she can, she's so good for us, I'm sure she'll take everything we give her

"No I'm no-t not asking for a break, I just- fuck I need Eddie's cock inside me so bad if fucking hurts!"

Aw poor baby, not satisfied cumming so much on our tongues alone, huh, need to be properly split open, fucked stupid like the pretty little slut you are?

"God yes! Please Eddie, need you so fucking bad," you say. Venom stands suddenly and the loss of his hot mouth against you does pull a sound of discontent from you. You watch him disappear into Eddie, who makes quick work of shedding his chothing. You take the opportunity to admire him, pupils blown, chest heaving with the effort it takes to control himself, muscles so obviously tense, but the best part of it all is the sight of his dick. Rock hard, swollen tip an angry red, leaking profusely, you want a taste but you want him in you so bad even that has to wait. Eddie leans over you, one hand holds him up while the other grabs hold of your chin, pulling your eyes up to his.

"You really are so sweet with the way you beg to be fucked," he says.

"Please," you say. You pout up at him.

"I couldn't possibly say no to you when you're so desperate for me,"

 His finger traces your jaw once before his hand leaves your face entirely. He takes hold of himself and lines up with your entrance. You feel him push forward slowly, rocking his hips into you until he bottoms out, groaning deep in his chest once he does. 

God she's so fucking-

"You feel so fucking good baby," he says, words breathy and gruff. You bring a hand up to stroke his face.

"Fuck me Eddie, show me how good it feels being inside me," you say. Eddie closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He shifts to grab your hips before he sets a brutal pace. Your back arches towards him as he fucks you, deep heavy thrusts that stretch you perfectly.

So fucking good so fucking good so fucking hot and wet and fuck she sounds so hot

"God you're so pretty baby," Eddie says. His voice gruff and breathless and only further turning you on.

"Don't stop baby, fuck it feels so good," you moan.

"Feels good huh? This what you wanted princess? Split open on my dick like that sweet little slut you are?"

"Oh my god, yes, yes, please, fuck I love the way you feel stuffing me."

So pretty

Venom's deep rumble is accompanied by tentacles winding around you all over. Two tentacles take to toying with your hard nipples while a third settles hard against your clit. The added stimulation makes you cry out, and other tentacles restrict your movement- giving you no escape from the overwhelming pleasure. 

You're close peach, I can smell it on you, let go for us

With his tentacles caressing your body you have no choice but to follow their coaxing, another orgasm hitting you with a shuddering moan.

"That's our girl," Eddie hums.

"Wanna feel you fill me up Eddie, cum for me baby, need you to," you drag your nails viscously down his back as you push him towards his own orgasm. He clutches you tightly as his hips stutter against yours. He stills and you feel the heat of his release as it coats your inner walls. Eddie slowly kneels and you slide down with him, not wanting to separate from him just yet, you're propped up between his body and the couch. You gently stroke his hair, his face buried in your neck as he catches his breath.

"See? Plenty to do while waiting on the cookies to cool," you joke. Eddie chuckles against you.

"Can I have one now?" Venom pops out to look at you.

"Yes Venom, you can have one now," you giggle. Venom grabs a cookie from the counter and drops it into his mouth dramatically.

"Yummy!" Venom smiles, "Eddie you try it!" Venom grabs another cookie and lifts Eddie's head just enough to feed him a cookie.

"Good right?"

"Yeah buddy, they're great," Eddie hums.

"One for you too y/n," Venom hands you a cookie.

"Thank you Venom. I'm glad you like them," you chuckle. You take a bite of your cookie and nod in approval. They turned out perfect. Even after cooling for much longer than necessary.

Oh, so it's that kind of morning. Happy shivers run down your spine as you nervously chew on your lower lip, eager to find out what's to come. You're not really used to Thor being anything but gentle, tender and soft when you make love. But sometimes, when he comes back from a dangerous mission, he will absolutely ravish you.

Thor has reached the foot of the bed, his intense gaze pinning you to your spot. Ever so slowly he starts to undress himself, shedding the layers of red robes, not stopping until he's fully naked. Your eyes inadvertently shoot down as Thor wraps his hand around his thick cock and strokes himself as he longingly watches you.

"Get over here, Y/n." Thor breathes. "On the floor, on your knees."

You rapidly blink several times at his words, confusion rolling over you. Thor has never ordered you to do anything before. Let alone in the bedroom.

His eyes narrow and something stirs deep within you. He looks absolutely feral, ready to pounce on you at any time like a big jungle cat. Hesitantly you get out from under the covers, your naked form immediately taken in by your boyfriend. Something about his gaze makes you want to cover yourself, but you choose against it.

"That's it, my good girl." Thor praises as you make your way over to him, stopping right before his broad figure. "Now, kneel for me."

Not breaking eye-contact, you sink to your knees in front of the tall God, your head perfectly leveled with his pelvis. Thor stares down at you with lustful blue eyes, still slowly moving his hand up and down his shaft.

"Open your mouth for me, darling." He commands, his voice gravely.

Once again you comply, shivering in anticipation. You could get used to this side of him.

Steadily Thor guides the tip of his cock to your lips, sinking himself into your mouth. He lets out a deep groan when you swirl your tongue around his head, then lower yourself down on him inch by inch. He's big, and he's thick, so it's not easy to get a whole lot of his length into your mouth. But you try your best anyways, feeling him hit the back of your throat when you're about two-thirds down.

Thor's hands twist into your hair and he pushes himself further into you, down your throat. You gag around him when your nose hits his pubic bone, but he doesn't relent. With his head thrown back, he keeps you pushed tightly against himself, hearing your choking sounds as his dick fills your throat.

"Just like that, my darling. Just like that." He breathes before he finally lets go of your head, leaving you coughing on your knees in front of him.

After giving you a short moment to catch your breath, he shoves himself inside again, watching as his long shaft disappears into your mouth. Tears well in the corner of your eyes and silently make their way down your cheeks as he fucks your throat with deep thrusts.

"That's it, my sweetling. You look so pretty when you cry." He coos.

Not knowing what else to do than oblige, you let the muscled God abuse your throat. Drool escapes your mouth and stains your face together with fresh tears, until he finally pulls your head off of him.

"Doing so well for me, my good girl." He praises from above you, sending fluttering feelings to your core. "I love it when you let me defile you like this."

His eyes are dark with lust when Thor offers you his hand. You lay your shaking palm in his, letting him pull you up. His mouth catches yours for a hungry kiss, and you let him walk the two of you back towards the bed. The strong man lays himself down and pulls you over him, your legs straddling his hips. Two fingers run through your folds, spreading your lips for him as he feels the pool of wetness that has gathered.

"Did sucking my cock turn you on, little one?" He muses as he sinks both digits into your core, his thumb lazily rubbing your clit.

"Y-yes, Thor." You reply between staggered breaths, relishing in the feeling of his fingers stretching you. "Got me so wet."

"Be good for me and ride my cock, my little concubine. Worship your God." He groans as he removes his hands from you.

His rumbling words travel through your body, making you shiver in anticipation. With one hand you guide his cock towards your entrance, the other splayed on his broad chest to steady yourself. Bit by bit you sink down on him, letting him stretch your walls, sending your eyes back in your head when he's buried inside you to the hilt.

A loud moan escapes your lips when he sharply thrusts up.

"Fuck, Thor…" You cry out.

You snap your hips down against his own, both your hands now clawing into his pecs to keep yourself from toppling over. As instructed, you ride him, up and down, back and forth, feeling every delicious inch of him inside of you. After a little while Thor seems to get impatient, grabbing onto your hips and fucking up into you.

"Oh my, Thor! Yes! Thor!" You scream as you ride him while he slams into your needy pussy from his position under you. Every thrust of his hips gets accentuated with a new cry. "Thor! Thor! Thor…"

Suddenly the brawny man stops his movements, roughly shoving you off him and slamming you on your back. Both his strong hands land next to your head, caging you in. There's fury in his eyes as he glowers at you.

"Would you shut up?" He spits at you.

You're too stunned to speak at his sudden change of demeanor. Normally he loves it when you scream his name over and over again. This time, you didn't even have to fake your pleasurable cries. What's gotten into him?

"I- I'm sorry…" You stammer.

His eyes seem to lose somewhat of their intensity, but he's not yet back to his normal self.

"I thought you liked it when I call out your name." You hesitantly continue.

At this, Thor drops his head, letting out a humourless laugh.

"Oh my sweet, darling girl… You have no idea how much I long to hear you moan my name in that lovely voice of yours." He hoarsly whispers.

You knit your brows. "Then what's wrong?"

"It is my name I need to hear." The man growls as he roughly thrusts back into you.

A shimmer of green light washes over him and Loki's exasperated face appears before you, his unruly dark hair falling around his ears. Your eyes widen in disgusted astonishment as you realise everything so far has been an intricate illusion created by the God of Lies himself.

"What the fuck! Get away from me!" You scream as you try to push Loki away, but he's not having it.

Loki wraps his hand around your throat and pushes two fingers inside your mouth, pressing on your tongue, pulling your jaw down and leaving you unable to scream. His other hand captures both your wrists, pinning them firmly to your chest.

"Do you really think my brother could make you feel this good, pet?" Loki hisses as he retakes his brutal pace. "He could never make you scream and writhe in pleasure the way I do. He will never be able to make you feel like this."

Panick is set in your eyes as you stare at the raging man on top of you. You try to turn your head from him and pull your hands free, but he is far too strong. You try to kick him away, but it's no use. If anything, your fight seems to spur him on further.

"Try your hardest, little dove. Give me your worst." Loki groans with a wicked grin.

He lays his chest down on yours, crushing you with the weight of his body as he keeps slamming into your wet core. Wait, wet?

Loki releases your throat and pulls the fingers from your mouth, immediately clamping his hand over your lips to muffle any sounds. He pushes your head to the side to expose your neck to him, which he eagerly latches onto. His smart mouth nibbles and sucks at the tender skin, setting your body aflame. When he softly bites in that one sweet spot on your neck, you involuntarily moan into the hand that holds you in an iron grip.

"That's it, there's a good girl." Loki breathes in a mocking tone. "Give yourself to me, darling. Let yourself experience what it's like to be fucked by a God that actually knows what he's doing."

You still try to defy him. You can't let him win. But there's something about the way his cock is hitting just the right spots, his tongue licking the right places, and his hands squeezing the right flesh that turns you on more than ever. You had loved the rough fucking when you still thought it was Thor hammering you senseless. Knowing it's Loki…

No. You can't let him win. Not like this. So, after deciding this is the only thing you can try to get him off you, you sink your teeth into the soft palm of his hand over your mouth.

"Fuck!" Loki yells as he pulls his hand away from your face.

There's no time to celebrate your small victory, a flick of his wrist making a tight gag appear that's tied at the back of your head. Muted once again. Though he seems to be seething with rage, Loki's eyes also hold a spark of mischief and his mouth is set in a wide grin.

"Who would've thought?" He hisses with a low voice. "My little pet bites."

Loki leans in closer, his lips so near to your ear you can practically feel the heat radiating off them when he speaks again.

"You're going to regret that."

Before you can even think of trying to get away, Loki has roughly flipped you on your stomach. Your gagged face plants into the mattress, and you quickly move your head sideways enough so you can still breathe. Loki doesn't seem all too concerned with your oxygen intake at the moment, both of your hands now tightly pressed into the pillows above you. More green light appears and you feel rope circling your wrists, binding them together. An experimental tug proves the rope is attached to the head of the bed. Your legs are yanked apart and two new pieces of rope appear around your ankles, wrapping around the two posts at the foot of the bed. You're gagged, tied down to the bed, completely at his mercy. And mercy is not exactly something Loki is known for.

Two rough hands land om your arse, kneading the soft flesh vigorously. Loki thrusts himself inside of you again, making long, deep movements that feel like they're going all the way down to your stomach. You whine as well as you can with the gag still in your mouth, silently pleading with him to stop.

"What's that, darling?" Loki coos. "If you want something, you're going to have to speak up for me."

He picks up his pace and starts pounding into you once more. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and leveraging himself to get even deeper into your cunt.

"If only you knew how many times I've used you exactly like this, pet." Loki groans. "You're always reluctant at first, but you've never bit me before. That's new."

What? Has he disguised himself as Thor before without you knowing? The thought sends shivers through your body, but you're not sure of their nature. You let out an involuntary moan when he reaches one hand between your body and the silky sheets, groping at your breasts and tugging at your nipples.

"All those times you forgot where you were headed? When you suddenly seemed to be in a place you weren't before? Taking my hand and letting me graciously lead you back to your beloved?" Loki continues to whisper in your ear as he rams his cock into you.

There have been a lot of times lately where you felt like you were going crazy. You could've sworn to be headed for the garden for some fresh air, to find yourself in a random room several metres down moments after, with Loki kindly helping you find your way again. Or when you suddenly lost Thor at a party and found yourself wandering some random hallway of the Palace, and Loki had been there to guide you back.

"That's when I fucked you full of my cum and dumped you right back into my brother's overgrown arms. I have wiped your memory so many times I've lost count." He spits.

His confession makes your blood boil. How dare he use you like that? You start to trash against your bindings, only to feel Loki's grip on your hair tighten. He's relishing in your response to his words.

"I think I'll reveal myself to you sooner next time." He continues to taunt you. "You get so tight for me when you try to fight me off."

It takes you by surprise when the gag vanishes from your mouth, leaving you able to take in a deep breath again. The bindings fall away as well. If it wasn't for the man on top of you pounding you into the mattress, you might have been able to move.

"Missed your pretty little cries, darling." Loki mocks as he pulls himself out of you, eliciting a deep moan from your lips. "That mouth of yours pleases me in so many ways."

Strong hands flip you around, so you're laying on your back beneath him.

"Fuck you, Loki." You spit at the man at the same time he impales you on his cock. It comes out more like a whimper than a threat, and you internally curse yourself.

Loki's fingers find your clit while his tongue licks across your neck, making more pleasurable sounds escape you.

"I'm going to make you cum, pet." Loki hisses. "And you're going to scream my name as I do."

"Never." You groan, not so sure of your own words.

One of your hands swats at his face, striking him. He runs his tongue along the inside of his hurt cheek, smirking down at you. You try your luck again, but he captures your wrist mid-air and gives you a wicked grin, his eyes dark and angry. He drops your wrist and grabs onto your hip tightly.

"So fiesty today, Y/n. Do you need some more persuasion?"

The feeling of cold metal against your hip makes you shut up and retract your hands. Loki's dagger dangerously presses into your soft flesh.

"There you go. My good girl knows how to keep her hands to herself, doesn't she?" He taunts.

Then Loki stalls his movements abruptly, grinning down on you, holding his lower lip between his teeth for a brief moment. His mischievous eyes search yours and hold your gaze.

"Oh, my darling Y/n…. Does it turn you on to be threatened by me?" He muses, quirking up his eyebrows.

You silently curse your body for betraying you, but you can't deny the arousal that is escaping you where yours and Loki's bodies meet. You feel your walls clench around his cock tightly when he trails the dagger along your hip and side, still rubbing your clit with his other hand. His eyes now show amazement more than anything.

"N-No." You stammer, a desperate attempt.

"You should know better than to lie to the God of Lies, my sweet pet." Loki hums, resuming his thrusting movements. "Let me not deny you of your pleasure any longer."

The dagger now presses to your throat, making you whimper and whrite under the strong man. His fingers work your clit expertly as he keeps slamming into you, the undeniable coil of pleasure starting to form in your abdomen. Loki feels it too, your walls clenching around him as he fucks you into yours and Thor's bed.

It's when he bends down to kiss you that you can no longer abstain from letting out your pleasurable cries. His tongue enters your willing mouth with ease and he hungrily swallows your moans. It's a deep, passionate kiss which sends goosebumps across your blazing hot skin.

Loki's hand travels down from your throat to your pubic bone, where he presses both his fist and the dagger into the soft spot on your belly. The added pressure makes you buck your hips into his, loud groans escaping you.

Loki breaks the kiss to press his forehead against yours, eyes closed, whispering: "Say my name for me, darling. Please, give yourself to me."

Your eyes scan his face as well as they can from your position. His expression is almost tender. You've never heard Loki say 'please' before. You hear your own soft, hoarse voice before you are fully aware of the words leaving your lips.

"Loki… Please, Loki. Take me. I'm yours."

Tears roll down your cheeks as Loki grunts, thrusting his hips against yours and rubbing your clit while you finally topple over the edge of your orgasm. It's insane how you convulse under him, wave after wave crashing into you like a sea of desperate release. Your body has turned limp, only registering the feeling of his cock inside your sensitive core and his whispered words of praise.

"Did so well for me, darling. My beautiful pet. My darling Y/n."

The dagger vanishes from your abdomen. Loki smiles before kissing you again, following your orgasm with his own release, filling you with his hot cum. You arch your back into him, desperate not to miss a single sensation he's bestowing on you. The kiss you share is needy, as if you've both missed out on something for so long you can't get enough now it's finally presented to you.

Finally, Loki rolls away from you, immediately pulling you to his chest. Your head nuzzles against him, drawing in his scent. His hand draws lazy circles on your back as he cradles your body against his own.

You lay together for who knows how long, enjoying each other's sweaty presence.

"Will you erase my memory again?" You hesitantly ask after a little while.

Loki looks down at you. "Yes. I must."

"What if I don't want you to?"

"I can't risk you telling Thor, darling."

"I won't tell him. He won't hurt you." You argue.

"It's not me I'm afraid will get hurt." Loki says as he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Does it always end like this? I mean, with us… With this feeling?"

He shakes his head, his face no longer betraying any hint of emotion. He squeezes you closer to him though.

"Sometimes. But more often you can't wait to get away from me."

"Oh. I'm sorry." You offer, your brows furrowed.

"My darling Y/n, I am not worthy of your sympathy." He says with a humourless smile. "You are one of the only inhabitants of this forsaken place that treats me like a normal person. And time and time again I defile you by disguising myself as someone you trust and taking advantage of you."

"You don't have to disguise yourself to turn into someone I trust, Loki."

Loki swallows, the hand that was gently caressing your back now stalling. With a shimmer of green light, you're both fully clothed, no traces of him left on your body.

Realising what's about to happen, you look up at him, pleading with your eyes not to make you forget. Loki gives you a small smile and places a kiss on top of your head before untangling himself from the golden sheets.

"Until next time, my love." He whispers.

Green light washes over you, and you open your eyes to your empty, yet stuffy bedroom. There's a knock on the door and you get out of the warm bed, for some reason fully clothed. You must have been so tired, you had fallen asleep with your clothes on yesterday night.

"Loki, what are you doing here?" You frown when the God appears before you as you open the door.

"Just checking in on you, darling. Has my brother not returned yet?" Loki says with a kind smile that doesn't seem to fully reach his eyes.

"Not yet. He won't return for another two days." You tell the dark-haired man.

"I see." Loki replies. "Well, if you are in need of anything, please come find me."

"Thank you Loki, I will."

"Any time, pet. Any time."

_____

A/N: So that was... a ride! Hope you enjoyed this second work in the series. Third might follow if you guys like it :) I have some ideas. Please lmk what you think!!

Series overview • Masterlist

Link to AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/87351376

Please do not copy and post my work under your own name (reblogging is welcome of course!)

Taglist: @littletigerspeaks2, @mischiefmaker615

“Oh hells!”

Your high-heeled foot snagged on the hem of your dress, and you neatly tumbled into the ornately carved door in front of you.

Your hands slammed into the wall with a dull thud as you regained your balance, muttering curses under your breath all the while.

Frantic, you scanned down the vast, empty halls, and you were assured no one heard you.

Thank gods that Thor, in his delirious birthday drunkenness, had given the night off to the palace guards. You were certain they were happily drowning themselves in kegs and kegs of drink in the servants’ quarters below.

Trying not to lose your nerve, you creaked open the door. The sound of your own breath was deafening in your ears.

In the slit of torch light from the hall, you could just make out a lone sleeping figure in the bed, dark hair messily splayed out on a pillow. One pale, toned arm slung behind his head. A slight rise and fall of his chest told you he hadn’t been awoken by your little tumble.

Or he was just pretending to be asleep.

He was Loki after all.

The trickster god.

Brother of Thor, son of Odin.

Second prince of Asgard.

And your best friend in all of the 9 realms.

At least he was. Nowadays, you weren’t so sure what exactly, was the nature of your relationship.

A rustling of the sheets made you flinch, shaking you out of your thoughts.

Immediately, you regretted everything. You turned too quickly, tangling yourself on your ridiculous emerald gown again. The clumsy stomp of you saving yourself from falling flat on your ass, rang out loudly. If he wasn’t awake before, he certainly was now.

Your shoulders braced against the sleepy drawl of his voice.

”Well. I’ve imagined you in my bedroom many times my dear, but certainly not out of your own volition.”

Your ears flushed hotly at the thought of what in the worlds Loki had fantasized would happen with you.

Here.

In his bed.

How little did he know that your own traitorous mind could not stop thinking about the very same thing. It’s what brought you here, practically against your own will, and definitely against your better judgement, to his door in the middle of the night.

“I’ve thought of many a method to convince you. Dragging you kicking and screaming was an appealing one. Or perhaps a love potion. A persuasive spell was another.” He rambled on leisurely. “I hadn’t quite decided and yet—“

“I want you.”

At your interruption, Loki paused mid-sentence. He took in your face as a multitude of emotions flashed across it. Regret, and apprehension. But there was desire there too. Determination. A desperation and openness he hasn’t seen since the two of you were much younger.

Since before tragedy had hardened your heart.

“Come here, my love.”

Your heart practically melted at the endearment. Loki has flirted with you constantly for years, feeding all sorts of wild rumors in the court.

But somehow, tonight, in the quiet darkness of his bedroom, you finally believed him.

That underneath all the joking and teasing, he really did love you.

With a flick of his wrist, Loki lit the lamps, bathing the room in a soft amber glow.

He rose from the bed and the sheets gracefully fell away, revealing a shirtless Loki in a pair of loose fitting pants.

Not much was left to the imagination and seeing him like this, in this context, made your face heat up like a furnace.

Slowly, Loki took one of your hands in both of his. His green eyes studied your expression with an intensity that made you want to look away. But you didn’t. You held his gaze steadily and met it with the same intensity.

The same passion.

“You’re serious about this.” His words came out in a whisper. All the humor left his tone as he regarded you with awe.

Not trusting your own voice, you took the smallest step closer to him, closing the gap between your bodies.

Loki was utterly baffled. He’d spent his whole life watching you. Observing you. Studying you.

He knew every expression, every nervous habit—like how you cracked your knuckles right before you had to talk to someone you hated (which was everyone at court). Or how your eyes crinkled in affection and sadness anytime you saw your father with Odin.

The way you rolled your eyes at his idiot brother’s boasting.

And your raised eyebrows and slight smirk whenever Loki pulled yet another prank on him.

Loki knew what you looked like when you steeled yourself for battle. How your shoulders drew back, your hands gripped your sword, and your eyes sharpened with a predatory focus.

He knew that your jaw would clench in pain, and your face fall into an impassive mask at the mere mention of your fallen Valkyrie mother.

Only for him to find you in silent tears in your favorite hidden corner of the library that only he knew about.

He knew that any romantic advance he would make towards you would be met with a laugh, a painful shove to the floor, or a condescending pat on the head. Along with a decisive declaration that he was “like a brother” to you, and nothing more.

But tonight, in this moment, Loki was struck with two things that went directly against everything he thought he knew about you.

One.

Ever since your mother was slain in battle, you hated being touched. By anyone. Even your own father.

Two.

You never, ever allowed yourself to be commanded by anyone other than Odin, your father, or your Valkyrie generals. Loki couldn’t tell you to do a goddamn thing. Nor Thor for that matter.

And yet, when he asked for you, you approached him willingly.

You let him hold your hand.

And now, you were looking at him expectantly. As if you were asking to be kissed.

“If this is a dream, don’t wake me.” Loki breathed into your mouth right as he sealed his lips over yours.

At the first taste of him, your body relaxed all the tension you didn’t realize you were holding. He tasted of spiced wine and smelled of parchment and evergreen wood like the palace library. You inhaled deeply and unconsciously pulled him closer to you by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

“You smell like the library.” You smiled. Of course he would smell like your safe place.

“Where do you think I spend all my time hiding from my family?” Loki joked, his hands held your waist as if this was an everyday occurance.

“And with me.” You retorted playfully. You were a battle strategist before you were a warrior. People called you calculating, and ruthless in war, but Loki saw you as brilliant and under appreciated by the Valkyrie’s and his father. Where your mother was a fearsome, powerful commander, you were just as fierce, in intellect instead.

It’s what drew the two of you together to be fast friends since you were young. And formidable partners on the battlefield. Thor would dive headfirst into the enemy, relying on brute force. But you and Loki stood back, observed, made a plan, and vanquished the opponent by outsmarting them.

So Loki knew your actions weren’t a spur of the moment, brash decision of lust. It was meticulously decided. Every possible outcome had been weighed and mulled over. And somehow, you had landed on finally coming to his side.

He kissed you again, softly, as if to reassure himself you were really there. Really letting him hold you and kiss you.

He led you to the bed and sat you down and knelt before you in full surrender. He looked up at you, emerald eyes shining with emotion.

“I have not an inkling as to what caused your change of heart, but I will do anything in my power to please you. Anything to make you happy. I am yours, and I’ve been yours for years.” Loki confessed with reverence, and he brought your hand to his lips.

You stilled the slight tremor of his hand by holding it in your warm palms. A rush of power, and thrill, raced up your spine as you gazed down at Loki, a prince of Asgard, prone at your feet, professing his loyalty and love to you, a mere woman. Well, a formidable, intelligent, warrior-woman, but not by any means a goddess nor princess.

“Loki.” You breathed out his name with a clear realization. This man, no, this god, was truly, deeply, and undoubtedly in love with you.

You decided to be fully transparent with him. He deserved to know how you truly felt about him.

“Loki, you know I trust you. I trust you with my life on the battlefield, with my position in this court of snakes, with the well-being of my father and myself, especially after Mother died.” Your voice started to tremble with emotion.

You thought back to sleepless nights as a teenager, where you were awake with grief. And Loki, lonely Loki, was the only one who could understand your loss. In a land that professed to be paradise, and buried pain, Loki relished in it, understood it, harnessed its power.

He was an orphan, an outcast in his own kingdom, in his own family. He knew grief. He knew suffering.

But when he saw it in you, all his selfish ambition faded away into wanting to protect you from ever hurting like that again.

”I remember.” Loki murmured, looking at your intertwined hands.

“You cared for me Loki. You always have. You were the one who sat with me in my grief until the sun rose in the library. You were the one who vouched for my abilities in battle and saved me from death countless times. You were the one who drove away unwanted suitors who were after my power, not my heart.”

“By courting you myself instead.” Loki chuckled. He thought back to the first time he cracked a half-hearted joke about proposing to you and you, in full shock and embarrassment, kicked his feet out from under him, knocked the wind out of his lungs, and threatened him at sword point to never make a joke like that again.

So of course his flirting has been unrelentless ever since.

“You know, I didn’t believe you at first.” You laughed with him, and the sound was as beautiful as the most talented Asgardian musicians could play.

“I was serious the whole time. And still am.” Loki confirmed.

“I knew you loved me. I never doubted it. And I knew as we grew older that that love had become more than friendship. More than family. But…” You hesitated, unsure how to form into words what you were feeling.

“But what, my dear? You still haven’t answered me. Why the change of heart if you knew I loved you for all this time?” Loki pressed gently.

”I—I knew I loved you as well.” You confessed, and Loki inhaled sharply. “Like a brother! Like a best friend.” You clarified, but continued on.

“I’ve been thinking over for a long time if I’d ever want to be with someone. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think it was in my future. I’m too cold, too hardened for love.”

Loki opened his mouth to refute this but you held up a palm to stay his words.

“But my heart changed. I don’t know when it began, but I started missing you. I found myself wandering around the palace, looking for you. And when we weren’t in the library together, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, wanting you to be by my side at every boring council meeting, every court function where I had to show up alone, yet again. And in the evenings, when the weight of my grief and loneliness felt too much to bear, I longed for you, Loki.” You felt another flush creep up your chest. It was beyond embarrassing to be this honest with Loki right in front of you.

“So tonight, watching women fawn over your brother, the court in drunken lust from wine, and everyone sneaking into beds that were not those of their wives, I just kept wondering…” You trailed off, definitely too shy to say what you really thought.

”Who was in mine?” Loki finished for you.

You buried your face in your hands and nodded, your own cheeks hot to the touch. At that, Loki rose up and sat next to you on the mattress.

Gently, he pried apart your fingers and was shocked to see tears lining your eyes, making them sparkle in the lamplight.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else sharing your bed and I don’t know what I was thinking, barging in here to—I don’t know—spy on you? Confront you?” You babbled, feeling like a fool, and utterly overwhelmed with emotion. You wanted to curse whoever invented love; you felt awash at sea, and totally out of control.

“There was never anyone, my love.” Loki wanted to laugh at how ridiculous the idea was that he wanted anyone other than you.

But instead, he leaned in and kissed the tears away from your eyes.

“It has always been you. Only you.”

You let yourself be caressed by his kisses, by his touch. His fingers danced across your collarbone and pulled down the soft fabric covering your shoulders.

“Do you still want me?” Loki murmured against your shoulder. His eyes flicked up to meet yours. In them you could see for yourself, his love, his loyalty. His deep, yearning want for you and you alone.

“Yes.” You breathed out the single syllable with all the love, all the desire in your heart.

“Let me show you how the only person I could ever want, could ever love, is you, my dear.”

This time, it was you who initiated the kiss. Cupping under his chin, you drew Loki’s beautiful face to yours and pressed your lips to his waiting ones.

An unseemly moan escaped from your throat and Loki startled, but didn’t let you pull back.

Instead, his deft fingers found the tightly knotted ribbons on the back of your gown and tugged them free. Your dress fell in swaths of fabric at your waist, revealing soft breasts with nipples that pebbled in the nightly breeze.

Loki brushed his fingers across the tops of your breasts until he found your sensitive nubs and pinched them softly.

You’ve never had a lover, and so the only touch your body knew was your own.

But Loki, sweet, sensual Loki—his touch. His touch was magical. Your body immediately reacted and you were under his spell.

“Loki—what are you—!” You failed to form coherent phrases as you gripped his shoulders, your head buried in his neck.

“You are beautiful, my love.” He swooped your hair across your shoulder and kissed the hot skin of your exposed neck. His lips trailed further down until he reached your nipples and swiftly sucked them into his mouth.

“Ah!”

“And very, very sensitive.” Loki grinned and clamped a hand on the other breast, pinching harder while his tongue swirled circles.

Getting overwhelmed, you couldn’t decide whether to pull his face away from your chest, or bury him deeper. But when you felt teeth on your flesh, you drew back, startled.

“Loki!” You gasped in shock. “You bit me!”

“A love bite,” Loki bit down on the other nipple. “Do you like it?” He teased you, mischievously.

“L-Loki!” You sputtered out, unsure what to say.

“I love it when you’re speechless.” Loki laughed. “It’s a rare occurrence.”

At that, he finally released your breasts and gripped the back of your head. He crushed his lips to yours with so much force, you were certain it would bruise.

But you kissed him back just as forcefully, relishing how soft, how hot, how wet his mouth was. You’ve seen lovers practically eat each other when they kissed and it always made you want to throw up in disgust.

But when Loki kissed you, all you could think was this:

Kissing Loki was lighting you on fire.

“I want that sharp tongue of yours.” Loki suddenly panted out.

“What?” You sucked in some air, still figuring out when to breathe while making out.

“Put your tongue in my mouth. I want to taste you.”

“Oh my gods, you can’t just say that—!”

He interrupted your embarrassment by devouring your mouth, forcing it open, and you hesitantly obeyed by sticking your tongue out.

His firm, wet muscle somehow tangled with yours, sliding across with certainty. The feeling was foreign but not unpleasant.

Far from it.

In fact, his tongue was sending vibrations of lust straight to your core. You could feel your innermost muscles contract and release in desire.

You were practically humming with want.

“Mmm!” You moaned, “L-Loki!”

“How was that for you, my dear?” Loki swiped his tongue along his lips, making a show of savoring your taste.

“G-good.” You stuttered, swollen lips making it hard to speak.

“Just ‘good’? I was hoping for higher praise.” Loki teased you, his arrogant side appearing. “No matter. I’ll show you what else this tongue can do.”

He pulled your dress off your hips and was met with a welcome surprise.

“Nothing underneath?” He stared at you in lustful awe and a grin split his face.

You couldn’t meet his eyes and resisted the urge to cover your body. So you simply shook your head.

“Well then. Let’s see how you taste.” With that, Loki dove headfirst between your legs. His firm grip pulled each of your thighs up to give him clear access to your dripping center.

You twisted the bedsheets in your fists when you felt it.

When you felt him.

Gods, Loki’s tongue worked wonders on your pussy. His tongue explored every fold while your center gushed and throbbed uncontrollably. He kissed, stroked, and invaded your flesh as deep as he could go.

The most sinful, wet, squelching sounds came from where Loki’s face was buried in you and you found it impossible to keep from moaning continuously.

“Ohhh!” You cried out. “It’s too much!”

“That’s it, my darling.” Loki encouraged you. “Let go.”

He returned back to your pussy, finding your clit this time and swiping his tongue rhythmically across it.

“Oh my gods!” You screamed. “I can’t—!”

You inadvertently clamped your strong thighs against Loki’s head, holding him against your clit as the orgasm ripped through your body.

You had always kept a tight reign on yourself and Loki unraveled every ounce of self-control you ever had. The sounds that ripped from your throat could not have been you. The whimpers, the erotic moans, the ragged gasps.

Where was the Valkyrie? The strategist? The warrior?

At his touch, you melted under Loki’s command for the first time. How quickly the tables had turned the instant you fell in love.

These thoughts ran rampant in your head as you gathered your wits post-orgasm. Now feeling boneless, your knees dropped to the side and Loki freed himself.

You looked down and wanted to laugh. His hair was plastered to ruddy, sweaty cheeks. Dribbles of your juices were smeared all over his chin. His chest and neck flushed red with the exertion that was eating you out within an inch of your life.

He was a mess. And you made him that way.

“Come here.” Now it was your turn to command him. You swiped the juices off his face and smoothed his hair back with your fingers.

“Make love to me.” You locked eyes with him, letting him see your conviction. ”Be mine.”

Loki stared at you, robbed of words. He tugged himself free of his clothing and sat back on his heels. You couldn’t help but stare at his cock. It was a soft, fleshy pink, engorged with veins protruding on the shaft. A small drop of liquid formed on the bulbous, angry looking head. And, unsurprisingly, it was sizable in length and girth.

It was the cock of a god—that you weren’t sure you could handle.

“I have been yours from the beginning.” Loki replied with awe in his voice. “But if I fuck you…if I take your virgin pussy tonight…”

“Loki!” Your eyebrows shot up as you exclaimed at how dirty his words were.

“You belong to me as well.” Loki’s voice grew serious. His green eyes darkened in desire and he crawled across your body until he caged you in his arms. You held your breath, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable underneath him.

Loki had never been intimidating to you. In fact, as children, you often bested him in both duels and in lessons. But now, your eyes were glued to the muscles of his chest, to the ripple of his abs. He drew back, kneeling on the bed with your hips between his knees. Your gaze viewed him completely differently now that you saw him as a man. As a lover.

For Loki, it was a sight he burned into his memory. Your flushed skin, the sharp rise and fall of your beautiful breasts betraying your desire for him. Eyes awash in lust and love that had once only regarded him with equal parts familial affection and sisterly impatience.

“I’m not letting you go.” Truer words had never been spoken from his lips. You belonged to him and him alone.

A shiver of excitement shuddered through your body. You knew you were growing wet just from his words. A flirtatious jest in the past, but now? His possessiveness made your body sing with want.

Your next words came easily. You had surrendered your control, your desire, the whole of your being to Loki the moment you found yourself in his bedroom and confessed “I want you.”

“Do it.” You challenged him with a sinful smile. “Fuck me, Loki.”

Loki released a growl from clenched teeth and threw himself on you. A sharp grip enclosed on your jaw, fingers dangerously close to your throat as he kissed you like a man possessed.

“Mmm, more! L-Loki!” You managed to cry out between breaths.

Loki could sense your need because he pulled that bothersome green dress over your head and continued to kiss you all over your hot, tortured skin.

”Did you wear my favorite color on purpose, my love?” Loki teased you, sucking your earlobe into his mouth.

The sensation was ticklish, and made you squirm.

“Perhaps,” you giggled. You never giggled like this. Who was this woman who was so quickly undone by the touch of a man?

“You looked ravishing in it.” Loki whispered hotly into your ear. “I couldn’t stop staring at you all night.”

He kissed down your body once again, hands holding your wrists above your head so that you couldn’t escape his grip.

“It made my mind wander, my love.” Loki confessed to you now. “To a dark and hungry place. You don’t know how long you’ve tortured my mind,” another kiss, “and my heart.”

“How many times have you thought about…” a groan of pleasure broke through your lips, “a-about having me, Loki?” You strained out the question as your back arched from Loki’s teeth on your nipples.

Loki spread your thighs now, looking down at the glistening sheen of your core. You were more than prepared for him to enter. His mind seemed far away as he stared down at you.

“Beyond counting.” His answer came out in a whisper.

He couldn’t believe this was finally happening. All the years of watching, of longing for your glance. Searching for your attention, your affection. And you would give it to him, in your laughter at his sarcastic remarks, in the comfortable silence of reading side by side in the library. In your knowing eye contact across a crowded room, or a confident nod on the battlefield. He had your trust, he had your friendship, but now, at long last…

He had your love.

You mistook Loki’s hesitation for uncertainty on your part.

But you felt a certainty deep in your soul. You had never been more sure of your decision in your life. You and Loki—there could never have been any other.

This was right.

This was good.

This was love.

“You need not wait any longer, my love.” You spoke with a softness you have not been able to voice in years. Loki was bringing out sides of you that you didn’t know you had.

At your words, Loki pushed into you for the first time, his ears ringing with your endearment over and over.

My Love.

“Ah!” A gasp wrenched from your throat. The initial breach—painful and sharp— was immediately soothed with throbbing waves of pleasure. “L-Loki! It feels—!”

He thrust forward, harder, deeper into you. His hands pulled the back of your knees into himself so he could gain even more access to your wettened, clenching core.

My Love.

You could feel the stretch, the penetration. The sensation teetered on the edge of pleasure and pain unlike anything you had known before. Your body responded, molded to his size, as if it were made for sex. Made for his cock. Made for him.

My Love.

Loki’s arms wrapped around you now, and he pressed his chest to yours. His hips slammed down, pulling out only to push in once again. Ravenous. Hungry. Passionate. Your hands found his hair and held on, your bodies twisted and tangled like only lovers could.

A keening whine released from your lungs. It was overwhelming being fucked by Loki. It was so sinfully good and you didn’t know how much more you could take. And yet, at the same time, you felt utterly insatiable.

“Mmmh! S-so much! It’s so much!” You whimpered.

Sweat dripped down the side of his face from the exertion. On impulse, you licked it. Salty and tangy. A taste that belonged solely to your lover.

Loki whipped his head back to look at you in surprise. A smile lit up his whole face and he looked like the carefree boy from your youth.

And it made you fall for him all over again.

Somehow, in each other's arms, you could forget the pain, forget the sufferings the both of you had endured.

Tonight, with Loki’s body wrapped in yours, as close as any two people could be, you felt a serenity and a fullness that could only be found in a soulmate.

“Ah!” You squealed. “My love, slow down a moment.” You panted out after a particularly rough thrust.

You kissed his flushed face. “I want to savor this.”

Loki paused, his face scrunched up from passion, now relaxed into affection. You had a feeling he could keep going for hours without tiring. You, on the other hand, had already come once.

“Of course, my dear.”

He carefully eased out of you, and your core clamped down, unwilling to let go. The slow stretch and pull was an encaptivating sensation, well-lubricated by your juices.

“Ohhhh my gods!” You mewled, a high-pitched, desperate sound. Loki, for his part, gasped at the sudden pressure on his cock. Then he groaned as he felt you throb into another orgasm.

Twice. Now he had made you come twice. After the peak of your high passed, your core finally released him and Loki fell back heavily on the bed.

He stared at you with the most gobsmacked expression. “T-that was incredible.”

You slowly sat up, legs shaking, chest heaving. You reached for him and Loki scrambled to hold you. You rested your spinning head on his shoulder, trying to calm down.

“One more,” you murmured into his skin once you had recovered your senses. “I want one more.”

“Anything for you, my love.” Loki obeyed you without question, but this time, he let you set the pace.

Gingerly, now suddenly aware of how sore your pussy was becoming, you climbed into his lap and held his cock in your right hand. The weight surprised you, and you squeezed it gently, feeling how firm he still was.

“C-careful my darling!” Loki gasped out. “I don’t want to come before you do.”

“Is that so?” You teased, a mischievous twinkle in your eye. Loki recognized that look. It was the look you had right before you bested him. Right before you knew victory was imminent.

Before he could react, you brought your lips down to his cock and sucked him in fervently.

“Oh hells!” Loki growled. He almost crushed your head in his hands, and you couldn’t tell if he was trying to pull you off, or push you down further.

Regardless, you pulled his cock in as deep as it could go. Your tongue wrapped around the shaft, sliding and slipping along his generous length. Somehow the taste of him made you hungrier for more.

You slowly released him and kissed all around his member. You gave particular attention to the head, running your tongue along its smooth, sensitive surface. His cock started to tremble, and you could tell Loki was almost at his limit.

“P-please my dear!” Loki’s voice broke out in a hoarse gasp. “P-please—I want to come inside you, for our first time.”

The god of mischief had resorted to begging. Another thrill of power licked through you.

A woman's lips on his cock — a noteworthy weak point that you will definitely use against him later.

“Alright, alright.” You acquiesced with another cheeky kiss to his cock. “Come inside me.”

With shaky hands, Loki guided you on top of his lap, his knees fallen to the wayside to make space for your curvaceous bottom. He firmly grasped his cock to let you slowly sink down.

Your core split and stretched for him once more, and you couldn’t help but cry out again. You knew you would never tire of the pleasure that was Loki’s cock fucking your pussy wide open.

“L-Loki!” You whined, nails digging into his shoulders, trying to control the descent and being pushed into so deeply.

“I know my love,” Loki comforted you, “you can do this. You can take me.”

With another moan, finally, you bottomed out and Loki kissed you soundly. You were so full, so utterly complete with him inside you.

“You did so good,” Loki breathed into your mouth. “So good for me.”

He continued to murmur sweet nothings as his lips pressed gentle kisses all over your face. You naturally began to roll your hips into his, and you could feel the press of his cock inside your core with every motion.

“You feel so—!”

“Incredible.” Loki finished for you in a low voice. “You’re incredible.”

Loki pressed his face into your bosom as you continued to undulate in his lap in a sensual slow dance chasing your pleasure. Each rock of your pelvis was enough to make Loki—and yourself—vocalize just how good you felt around his cock.

“Mmm!” Loki groaned into your chest for the umpteenth time. “Can you take more, my love?”

At this point, your own movements were not hitting how you wanted it to. You could feel the build up to your third orgasm was coming, but you couldn’t quite get the sweet spot you were itching for.

“Y-yes!” You mewled greedily. “More—I want more!”

With your consent, Loki grabbed his arm behind your back, locking you into himself. The air was squeezed out of your lungs from the strength of his grasp.

Then he slammed his hips up.

Fast.

Hard.

And without stopping.

“L-Loki! Oh my gods!” You screamed out. The pace was unlike anything Loki had done earlier in the night. This was what it was like to have sex with a god. And you knew Loki wouldn’t rest until he made you both cum.

He bounced you on his cock incessantly as if you were weightless. Your core, a flood of wetness you didn’t know your body was capable of. The smell of sweat, sex, and the intermingling of your scents filled the air.

Cries of lust, of pleasure, of unfettered desire echoed off the high-ceilings of his bedchamber.

“My love!” You gasped, your voice broken into pieces. “I can’t anymore!”

“Yes, you can!” Loki gritted out, “Take it! Take all of me!”

All at once, the world spun to a stop and you fixed your gaze on the emerald eyes of your lover, ablaze with arousal.

You loved him.

You wanted him.

So much that your body ached, trembled, practically vibrated for him.

At once, an electric current sparked through your every nerve and the orgasm hit you like lightening.

A pleasure so strong, it robbed your lungs of air, your eyes of sight, your ears of sound.

But you could feel.

You felt the hot, slickness of his cock eject into your core. The throb of his member as he thrust into you one more time.

You felt his body shaking from the power of his own orgasm, his arms rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

Eventually, you slumped down into him, and you registered his gentle encouragements in your ear.

“You did so good for me. You were amazing, my love.” Loki murmured into your hair, holding you with a softness you knew he only showed to you and no other.

The two of you fell into familiar stillness. You, soothed into slumber from the rise and fall of his breath and the relaxation that only comes from orgasmic bliss.

Loki, on the other hand, stared out into the stars outside his window, wondering if tonight was truly real, or just a dream.

Did you really profess your love to him? Did he really spend the night making love to you? And you not only let him, but you wanted it?

You wanted him?

He must have spoken that last bit aloud because he heard a sleepy whisper from you.

“I want you, my love.” You sighed into his chest as you fell asleep. “Always.”

“Always.” He echoed in awe.

Meanwhile, the rest of his team is still as geared up as their Captain—all waiting for orders or further instructions, scattered around the room and listening with bated breath while Price grows more agitated with each shaky exhale he can hear coming from you.

You're currently sitting on one of the tables, boot-clad feet dangling off the edge as you stare at the ceiling, right into the fluorescent lights above, ignoring the way your eyes begin to sting from their brightness.

You've been putting on a brave face since getting stabbed with the needle a few hours ago and you've kept the façade up since hopping off the helo back on base, but it's getting harder to mask the panic rising inside you as your body starts to feel funny.

You swipe the back of your gloved hand over your sweaty forehead, catching the cold perspiration on your feverish skin with the rough fabric, and out of your peripherals, you notice the way your teammates' heads snap in your direction—different-coloured pairs of eyes assessing you with worry, concern, and a hint of curiosity.

Soap and Gaz are standing to your left and right respectively, sneaking glances at you whenever you shift on your spot, while the Lieutenant is still as a marble statue a little offside, arms crossed over his bulky tac vest.

Laswell begins to explain calmly, clutching a thick folder to her chest.

"We're still waiting on anything concrete, John, but the research papers your team managed to extract have offered a great insight on that—whatever that bioweapon is."

Bioweapon.

Your eyes widen as you sit up straight, the word making your heart race and your skin crawl with fear. Both Soap and Gaz take a step closer—two strong pairs of arms outstretched and ready to catch you if you faint.

"Nothing concrete yet?" Price snaps incredulously. "Goddammit, Kate!"

"Easy there, John—" Laswell says firmly, unbothered by his tone as she takes a step towards the captain and gestures at the two scientists watching the scene unfold with wide eyes from behind their laptops.

"They said she won't die. The amount of injection was too low… apparently."

Apparently?!

You inhale sharply and open your mouth to announce your imminent panic, but you're interrupted when one of the scientists speaks up first.

"That is correct, sir. She won't die."

Professor Doctor Boswel, as the name badge on his white lab coat states, chimes in. Price stops pacing at once, though his sharp eyes scream you better start explaining now, or one of you will be made responsible for this.

"Bringing the syringe back to base was the decisive factor. Our team at the lab is still working to decipher and translate the medical reports and research papers your team recovered, but we can confirm that this bioweapon is most likely a toxin."

A low murmur of various curses goes through the briefing room as you try to ignore the odd tingles in your limbs—like they're going numb from sitting in a bad position for too long—and process the doctor's words instead.

"You're saying I've been poisoned, doc?" You butt in crudely, letting out a humourless laugh as you begin fidgeting with your hands, clenching and unclenching them to get rid of those tingles while a cold drop of sweat trickles down your left temple and is swiftly wiped away by Soap's gloved thumb.

"Fuckin’ hell, lass. Ye dinnae look too good," Soap mutters under his breath, exchanging a concerned glance with Gaz, who then looks to the captain for guidance with a serious frown.

When Gaz turns around abruptly, you get a whiff of his scent, and you're ashamed to admit to yourself that you inhale it deeply—musk and sweat and gunpowder smoke, a hint of his fancy body wash lingering underneath all the grime. A perfect concoction of what is entirely Gaz.

It's intoxicating. Mouth-watering.

And absolutely inappropriate, because he's one of your best friends and a comrade.

What the hell is happening?

Of all the injuries and wounds you've already acquired during missions and deployments, this must be the fucking worst. You'd rather get shot or stabbed than sit here, feel strange as hell and be ogled like a failed science experiment.

Price's eyes flicker to Ghost, who hasn't said a word since sitting you down on the table with a gruff order to stay seated, and then to his three sergeants, lingering on you heavily before he turns back.

"What kind of bloody toxin?"

"It seems to be some sort of aphrodisiac, but… uh, well—about fifty times worse than that."

The other scientist, Professor Doctor Adebayo, answers tentatively, as if explaining it out loud makes him uncomfortable.

"The reports say it turns men—"

Dr. Adebayo hesitates, clearing his throat and looking between Laswell and Captain Price, until the latter lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Turns them what, doc?"

It's Laswell who says it eventually, "Turns them aggressive, John. Feral with lust, as ridiculous as that might sound."

The CIA agent finally looks in your direction before approaching you slowly while Dr. Adebayo seems to heave a sigh of relief as soon as she takes over.

"A high dose of it can be used to lower one's inhibition levels to a point where even the most honourable man would resort to sexual assault to ease his urges."

Her factual yet grim explanation makes the tension inside the briefing room spike tenfold. Every man present tenses up, visibly uncomfortable—Ghost especially, who's practically vibrating with strain.

Using a toxin like that—a bioweapon—on soldiers in the field could lead to even more and worse war crimes, and everyone here is aware of that.

"Wait—what? What the fuck?" Gaz utters, bristling next to you while you grip the edge of the table, gritting your teeth as the tingles intensify and wreck through your body in waves that leave you shuddering with each one.

"'Scuse me, what now?" You scoff. "Does that mean I'm gonna turn into a fuckin' nympho any second?"

Multiple pairs of eyes snap towards you at your choice of words. Some look intense and laced with worry. Price scolds you with one glance. Others look mildly amused—the latter being Soap, who lets out a snort but tries to cover it up with a fake cough into his fist.

Laswell surveys you intently, though her voice softens when she addresses you directly.

"How are you feeling, Sergeant? Are you in pain? Nauseous?"

A beat of silence follows. Your eyes flutter briefly as you meet Kate's blue gaze, and you exhale a long breath through your nostrils before you answer curtly.

"I feel weird."

You feel like you're about to get your period, but you keep that information to yourself for now and try not to wrap your arms around yourself self-soothingly.

Your lower abdomen is starting to tighten and cramp. Your gut twists like you just chugged a steaming bowl of soup and your limbs keep tingling—from your toes to your fingertips, and up to the tip of your nose. Tiny vibrations along with hot and cold flushes that make you quake and squirm in your seat on the table.

Kate squints at you, though she doesn't press further.

"What kind of effect will this stuff have on her?" Price enquires gruffly, more level-headed this time, his gaze shifting from the two scientists over to you and then back.

Meanwhile, as you crank your sore neck from left to right to get a good crack in, your eyes catch sight of Soap's muscular forearms and—to your horror—they linger.

The sleeves of his combat fatigues are rolled up to his elbows, exposing dark coarse hair and thick veins and that damn SAS insignia tattoo.

You want to trace the black lines with your tongue and imagine the salt of his skin on your parched taste buds.

And your eyes widen when a sudden rush of mind-numbing, pulsating heat makes you squeeze your thighs together as you clench your jaw to keep the lewd sound bubbling up in your throat from escaping.

Soap shoots you a quizzical look, one eyebrow raising as you avert your eyes from him swiftly, heat crawling up your neck and prickling beneath your skin.

"Fuck," you breathe, doubling over with a groan as the muscles in your thighs and lower abdomen begin to cramp up painfully while you can practically feel your pussy start convulsing around nothing, leaking with arousal and soaking into your underwear.

In a matter of seconds, your team—Ghost included, like a solid wall of quiet reassurance—are by your side, keeping you upright, asking questions, though their deep, accented voices are muffled as your quickening heartbeat begins to thud in your ears.

Their every touch seems to burn through the thick layers of your kit.

"Kate—Kate," Price is by her side in a few long strides, ducking his head to get on eye-level with her as he points at the two scientists accusingly, though Kate is already on her smartphone, contacting the lab again.

Price huffs like an angry bull trying to protect his herd as he turns his attention back to Dr. Boswel and Dr. Adebayo, who seem to be in a frenzied discussion, watching the way you're cramping and writhing.

"What the fuck is happening to her?" He barks at them, demanding an answer yesterday.

"It's—it's the toxin," Dr. Boswel stammers obviously, blinking up at Captain Price from behind his glasses. "She didn't get the full dose, but it's still—" He pauses, eyes flickering nervously under the captain's glare. "—bad."

Another gut-wrenching moan from you echoes through the briefing room as you squirm in Gaz's embrace, and Price must restrain himself from directing his wrath towards the two men in front of him—it's not their fault, after all.

It's his.

"Oxytocin might help… neutralize the toxin in her body," Dr. Adebayo remarks, clicking his pen nervously as he stares at his laptop screen before meeting Dr. Boswel's eyes, who is waiting for an elucidation.

"The hormone," Dr. Adebayo clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable, "—not the drug." He clarifies, clicking his pen a few more times.

Laswell lowers her phone and shares a look with Price, holding an entire conversation with one long, meaningful glance, the one learned and perfected over more than a decade of working together, when Gaz's voice breaks through the chaos, calling for attention.

"Cap'n! What do we do?!"

You're not brought back to the barracks but Captain Price's private quarters.

Your squad makes sure to keep you out of sight in your condition; away from prying eyes while Ghost sneaks through the shadows with your quivering form cradled against his chest, carrying you bridal style like you're something fragile, something vulnerable he must protect.

Once safely inside the captain's flat, the curtains are drawn before your heavy gear is stripped from you, all while you don't even bother paying attention to who is grabbing or holding you at this point.

All that matters is someone touching you.

Your brain is mush, reduced to your most simple and carnal desires. No shame nor worry about the needy noises you're making whenever one of their big, strong hands strips another layer of clothing.

"Shit, I think she has a fever," Gaz mutters, cupping your face with both hands as he investigates your hazy, unfocused eyes while you let out another pathetic whimper. "She's completely out of it."

"Get her into the guest bedroom. Down the hall, first door on the left," Price orders gruffly, trying to keep his eyes from wandering up and down the length of your trembling, half-naked body.

"I'll call the senior consultant."

Ghost grumbles a low curse under his breath when your hand brushes over the front of his crotch—by accident or voluntarily this time, he doesn't dare imagine—and leaves the guest bedroom while Gaz and Soap manoeuvre you onto the king-sized bed.

Meanwhile, you don't care about the effect your uncharacteristic behaviour has on your teammates and superiors.

Whenever they try to make you drink or take an easy bite of food—whether it's a chewy protein bar or an overripe banana, because Price has no proper groceries at his place—you twist in whoever's embrace you're in, turning your scrunched-up face away like a petulant toddler.

"I don't wanna," you whine and hiccup, protesting each time Gaz tries to lift the rim of the water bottle to your lips, your speech now slightly slurred, glossy eyes averting their gaze as you breathe shallowly, squirming while Soap keeps you propped up with your back resting against his chest on the bed.

Gaz, who has been trying again to make you drink a sip of water for the past twenty minutes, looks back at his Lieutenant and Captain helplessly.

"Doc said we need to keep her hydrated," Price announces, rubbing his bare hand over his tired face. "Keep flushing that bloody poison outta her system and—"

Suddenly, Ghost's deep, gravelly voice interrupts the captain's speech with a harsh bite to it. "Johnny."

Soap, who has been trying his best to ignore the way you keep grinding your arse against his crotch in this position, ducks his head at the sharp and sudden warning.

"What? 'M not doin' anythin'," he grunts before sucking in a sharp breath as his cock keeps stirring and twitching in his combat trousers, "Fuck, lass, please—"

Soap tries to keep you from moving; his ungloved hands get a firm hold of your hips, but you're practically panting and mewling in his lap, making it harder for him not to crumble under the pressure building up in his dick.

Then Gaz is swift to pluck you out of the Scot's embrace with a disdainful frown, like you're some toy that was stolen from him.

"Don't be a fuckin' perv, Soap," Gaz snaps, cradling you into his arms, where you immediately begin pawing at his black compression shirt, determined to get your palms under it and on his bare skin.

"She can't consent!"

It's Price who approaches the bed then, while Ghost stays leaning against the doorframe, keeping a keen eye on the situation.

"Enough! Both of you," Price barks, eyes flashing before his shoulders drop with a rough sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Doc said it might help if—"

John stops mid-sentence, clenching his strong jaw. He can't believe what he is about to say, and he crosses his arms over his chest again, feigning control while he internally braces himself for his next words.

"Those doctors said it might help if she… climaxes."

His words hang in the air like a thick fog that no one can quite see through nor think in, and everyone seems to be holding their breath while you finally manage to tug Gaz's shirt out of his waistband, making him cuss under his breath when you go on to lick a long, wet stripe over his exposed abs like some feral lioness, utterly hungry for a taste.

"Shit—Babygirl, no, d-don't—" Gaz stammers helplessly while a rush of heat goes straight to his neck and cock simultaneously, overwhelmingly so.

He pushes you away by your shoulders—and hates himself for how reluctant he is at it—and he winces when your blunt nails claw into his bulging biceps, digging into his skin even through his shirt with another whimper.

"Please, Kyle… Let me—" you mewl, batting your eyelashes up at him. "It—It fuckin’ hurts."

Soap pushes his fists into his eye sockets, heaving a deep breath that turns into a frustrated groan. "Steamin' Jesus, lass, ye’re fuckin’ killin' us here."

"Take a bloody walk, MacTavish," Price orders, pointing his thumb at the door over his shoulder, and while Soap climbs off the mattress, grumbling to himself with an obvious erection pressing against the seam of his zipper, Price addresses Gaz.

"And you, Garrick, take—" He hesitates again, balling his hands into fists at his sides, trying to keep his own body in check at the sight and sounds of you, before he nudges his chin towards the door of the bathroom.

"Take her to the shower to get the fever down and… help her."

The captain's last words are nothing more than a strained grumble.

Gaz gapes at his superior. Soap freezes in his steps at the end of the bed, openly gawking and blinking like he didn't just hear right. Ghost visibly stiffens and shifts his stance, still leaning against the doorframe of the guest bedroom. No one can see the way he grits his teeth so hard he might chip a tooth behind his balaclava.

"But sir—"

Price shakes his head; brows set in a stern frown as he holds Gaz's widened gaze.

"She'd want you to take care of her if she could actually consent to it. And that's an order, Sergeant."

Ghost wants to disagree, but keeps his mouth shut and exhales a sharp huff of contempt instead.

The rest of the men try to distract themselves around Captain Price's flat while Gaz takes you to the en-suite bathroom like he was ordered to.

Not asked, ordered to.

He keeps repeating that in his head as he walks you towards the bathroom door with his arm around your waist, your body listing into his side like you've forgotten how to hold yourself upright. His jaw is set so tight his molars ache.

He's been ordered to do a lot of things in his career. Clear rooms. Hold positions under fire. Drag wounded men through mud while rounds cracked overhead. He's followed every order without hesitation, because that's what good soldiers do—they trust the chain of command and they execute.

This doesn't feel like any of those things.

He keeps the bathroom door unlocked—just in case you faint and he needs help—and lets out a huff when you fling yourself into his body suddenly and the air is knocked from his lungs.

"Easy," he pleads with you while his head dips down, and he inhales your familiar scent before he can stop himself. Sweat and the remnants of whatever lotion you put on this morning underneath your gear before the mission, something warm and sweet that he's caught whiffs of a hundred times before in passing and never let himself think about for longer than a second.

"Easy there, love," he tries again, his trembling hands wrapping around your midriff tentatively.

Gaz hates these circumstances. Hates how the mission ended in such a bloody mess. Hates how excited he is to undress you to your underwear, and he despises that this is how he'll get to have you for the first time.

This is not how he'd imagined it.

He never imagined it. Not in any concrete, detailed way. Not like he'd planned it in his head, step by step—the restaurant he'd take you to first, somewhere nice but not so nice you'd take the piss out of him for it. The way he'd tell you after the second drink, maybe the third, that he'd been thinking about you. Casually. Like it hadn't been eating him alive for months.

He hadn't planned any of that.

Fucking liar.

You make a sound against his chest, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and your fingers twist into the wet fabric of his compression shirt, tugging weakly.

"Kyle… Kyle, I need—"

"I know," he murmurs, and his voice comes out rougher than he intends. "I know, love. C'mon."

He manoeuvres you towards the shower, reaching past you to turn the dial to lukewarm. The water sputters, then hisses to life against the tile, and steam begins to curl at the edges of the glass.

You're still in your underwear—plain, standard issue, nothing designed to be sexy—and it doesn't matter, because the sight of you trembling and desperate in front of him with water beginning to mist across your skin is doing things to his head that no amount of mental discipline can counter.

He starts to dismantle his assault rifle in his head.

Upper receiver. Charging handle. Bolt carrier group.

You stumble into the shower cabin and he follows, still fully clothed. The water hits his chest and soaks through his compression shirt in seconds, plastering the fabric to his skin, and the cold shock of it helps. Briefly.

Bolt. Firing pin. Cam pin.

"C'mon, Babygirl," he coos at you as he turns your quivering body in his embrace until your back is flush against his chest. One arm wraps tightly below your breasts, forearm pushing up against the swell of them through the soaked fabric of your bra, and he tries, and fails miserably, not to take a long look over your shoulder.

Buffer tube. Buffer spring. Buffer.

You melt against his body and his cock throbs in his combat trousers, straining against his briefs uncomfortably. The water is doing nothing for the heat radiating off your skin. If anything, you're burning hotter, pressing back into him with small, involuntary rolls of your hips that make his breath stutter.

Lower receiver. Trigger assembly. Trigger—

"Please," you whimper, and his entire train of thought derails.

Your head lolls back against his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat, and he can see the way your pulse hammers beneath the surface, rapid and frantic. Your hips buck against his hand when he finally—finally—lets it trail down over your lower belly, his calloused fingers dragging across the wet skin, feeling the muscles jump and twitch beneath his touch.

"Yes—yes—yes—" you chant breathlessly, and your hips cant forward, chasing his hand with a desperation that makes something crack open in his chest.

Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck.

He cups your pussy through your knickers and the heat of you against his palm nearly makes his knees buckle. He can feel you through the thin, soaked fabric and he's not sure if the wetness is from the shower stream or if it's all you.

His chest is heaving when he finally gathers enough courage to dip his long fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear. His jaw clenches and his mind grasps desperately for the drills again—clear left, clear right, move to the next room, check your corners—anything to stay anchored while you let out a moan that echoes off the tile walls and punches straight through him.

You're so wet, so swollen, it's obscene. His fingers slide through your folds with zero resistance and the groan that rips from deep within his chest is involuntary, guttural, ashamed. He can feel your arousal ooze from your entrance, slick and hot, and he can already tell how tight you'd feel clenching around his fingers, how you'd—

No. He's not going there.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, more to himself than to you. "I'm only doin' this for you, Babygirl. This is only about you."

He says it like a prayer. Like if he repeats it enough, it'll be true.

His fingers press on your clit, pulsing and twitching already, and he starts rubbing small, firm circles over it, adjusting the pressure when your breath hitches or your thighs clamp around his wrist. He reads your body like he reads a room. Methodically, attentive, and cataloguing every reaction.

You writhe and squirm in his tight grip, your nails digging into the arm he has banded around your ribs, and every sound you make, every whimper, and stuttered gasp of his name, chips away at the wall he's trying to keep standing between following an order and wanting this.

"M-more, Kyle, please!"

Gaz curses himself, but he gives you more.

Two fingers pressing into you, slow and careful despite every instinct screaming at him to give you what you're begging for. You clench around him immediately, hot and tight and silky, and his cock kicks in his trousers so hard he must bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning.

He curls his fingers, searching for the spot that makes your thighs shake, and when he finds it, you keen so loudly the sound bounces off every hard surface in the small bathroom.

"That's it," he murmurs against your temple, his lips brushing your skin without quite kissing. "That's it, love. Let go for me."

He's not sure when he started talking to you like this. Somewhere between the first touch and the second, the clinical detachment he'd been clinging to crumbled and something else took its place—something tender and fierce and terrifyingly honest.

Your first orgasm hits you hard enough to make your entire body seize in his arms, your back arching away from his chest as a strangled cry tears from your throat. He holds you through it, fingers still working, still pressing and giving, because even as the tremors wrack through you and your legs give out, he can feel your body already winding up again, the toxin refusing to let you rest.

"Shh, shh, I've got you," he breathes, adjusting his grip to take your full weight when your knees buckle entirely. "I've got you."

You cum again two minutes later, and then again after that, and again, and Gaz loses count somewhere around the fifth or sixth time, when his fingers are cramping and his arm is trembling from holding you upright and the water has long since turned cold.

Each time, he thinks it'll be enough, and each time, your body coils tight again within minutes, the toxin driving you right back to the edge with a cruelty that makes him want to put his fist through the tile.

He doesn’t want to imagine what a full dose would have done to you. To anyone.

When you tell him that you're hurting—repeatedly, begging him to make you cum in that desperate, broken tone of yours—the young Sergeant is sure something dies inside him on the spot.

"Kyle—Kyle, I need more, I need you to—please—Fuck, please!"

He knows what you're asking for. You're grinding back against his cock, which has been rock-hard and aching for what feels like hours, and every roll of your hips sends a jolt of white-hot arousal through him that he must physically brace against.

"I can't," he grits out, and it takes everything in him. "Christ. I can't do that to you. Not like this."

"Please—"

"No, Babygirl." His voice cracks on the word, and he presses his forehead against the back of your head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Not like this."

He drops to his knees instead.

The tile is hard and unforgiving under his kneecaps and the now cold water from the shower hits the back of his neck, but he barely registers any of it as he turns you to face him and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder.

He looks up at you once—your hazy, unfocused eyes, the way your chest heaves, the water running in rivulets down your body—and then he leans forward and drags his tongue through your folds in one long, broad stroke.

The sound you make is devastating.

Your hands fly to his head, fingers scrabbling for purchase on his wet hair, and your hips jerk forward so violently he must grip your thigh to keep you steady. He groans against you, he can't help it, and the vibration makes you cry out again, blunt nails raking over his scalp.

Gaz eats you like he's starving for it, because the truth he can't say out loud is that he is.

He's thought about this. Dreamed about it. Wanked to the idea of it in the dark of his bunk with his fist shoved against his mouth to keep quiet. And now he's here, on his knees in his Captain's shower with cold water running down his back and your taste flooding his mouth, and it's everything and nothing like what he imagined because you're not choosing this—you're not choosing him—and that knowledge sits in his chest like a brick.

But he doesn't stop.

Gaz licks and sucks and fucks you with his tongue until his jaw aches and your thighs are shaking so badly you can barely stand, even with his hands gripping your hips. He makes you cum on his mouth twice, then thrice, pressing his face into you each time your body locks up, working you through it with relentless, single-minded focus because if he stops to think about what this means, about what happens after, he'll fall apart.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, his chin is slick and his cock is so hard it genuinely hurts. You're still whimpering, still reaching for him, still not done, and the toxin is still pumping through your veins with no sign of stopping.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and exhales a shaky breath, pressing his forehead against your hip.

"I need—" His voice is wrecked. He swallows hard, then tries again. "I need a minute."

Not because he's tired, or his fingers are cramped and his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised from the tile. No.

But if he stays on his knees in front of you for one more second, he's going to give you what you're begging for, and he will never forgive himself for it.

He stands on unsteady legs, turns the shower off, and reaches for the towel hanging on the rack outside the cabin. His hands are shaking as he wraps it around, and you cling to it loosely, swaying on your feet.

"C'mon," he says, guiding you towards the door with one hand on the small of your back. His voice has steadied, but his eyes haven't. "Let's get you dried off."

You're protesting. He's cursing under his breath. There's shuffling, a stumble, and then he grabs the door handle and swings it open—

And Soap nearly falls backwards into the bathroom.

"Soap!"

The Scotsman catches himself on the doorway, one hand gripping the frame as he glances over his shoulder with a look that's not even remotely sheepish enough for a man who was clearly pressing his ear to the door thirty seconds ago.

Gaz is still wearing his clothes, though they're completely drenched—his compression shirt is a second skin, his combat trousers heavy with water, boots squelching on the tile. He's holding you by the forearm as you stand next to him, loose towel wrapped around your body, still trembling, still making those small, desperate sounds in the back of your throat.

"The fuck, mate? Did you eavesdrop on us?"

Soap shrugs as he straightens up, adjusting his stance in a way that's clearly meant to disguise the state of his trousers. "Was jus' checkin' on ye."

"Checking on—" Gaz's jaw works, nostrils flaring. He wants to snap, wants to shove Soap back into the hallway and slam the door, but he's running on fumes and you're leaning into him again, your face pressed against his soaked chest, mumbling incoherently.

"She needs—" Gaz starts, then stops. Looks down at you, back up at Soap. Something heavy passes between the two men, unspoken but understood.

"She needs more than I can give her right now," he finishes quietly, and the admission costs him more than any of them will ever know.

Soap's expression shifts. The boyish smirk drops, replaced by something sobered, and he gives Gaz a short nod—the kind they exchange in the field when one of them is spent and the other takes point.

"A'right," Soap answers, surprisingly steady, rolling his broad shoulders. "Ah’ve got 'er."

Gaz transfers you into Soap's waiting arms with a gentleness that borders on reverent—one hand on the back of your head, the other guiding your shoulders—and he doesn't let go until he's sure Soap has you secure.

Then he walks past them both, water dripping from every inch of him, and doesn't look back.

He makes it to the kitchen before his hands start shaking badly enough that he has to brace them flat on the counter. He stands there, head bowed, water pooling on the linoleum beneath him, and breathes.

Ghost is leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, and he doesn't say a word.

There is no need to.

Soap carries you back to the bed like you weigh nothing to him; one arm under your knees, the other around your back, the towel slipping loose and neither of you caring, and he lays you down with a surprising gentleness that contradicts every tightly coiled muscle in his body.

He's been hard since the briefing room, balls throbbing uncomfortably. Over two hours of it. The kind of persistent, throbbing ache that sits low in his gut and pulses in time with his heartbeat, and he's been dealing with it the way he deals with most discomfort.

By ignoring it aggressively and hoping it fucks off on its own.

It has not fucked off unfortunately. Truth be told, he’d be worried about himself if it did.

"Right then," he mutters, kneeling on the mattress beside you as he cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders again like he's about to breach a door. "Let's sort ye out, hen."

And that's the thing about Johnny MacTavish—he doesn't agonise. Not the way Gaz does, all quiet guilt and moral calculus. Soap's moral framework is simpler, blunter, built from different materials. You're his teammate, you're hurting, and he can help. Everything else is noise.

That doesn't mean he's unaffected; doesn't mean his hands aren't shaking when he settles between your legs and pushes the towel fully away from your body, or that his breath doesn't hitch hard enough to hear when he gets his first proper look at you fully naked, spread out on the white sheets with your chest heaving and your thighs trembling and your eyes half-lidded, glassy, barely tracking him.

Christ, you're beautiful.

He's thought about this. Fuck. Of course he has. He's not a bloody monk, and you're you.

He's thought about it in the gym when you spot him on the bench press and your face hovers above his, upside down and grinning. He's thought about it on long transports when you fall asleep against his shoulder and he stays perfectly still for hours so you won't wake up. Or when you laugh at his shite jokes that no one else finds funny, when you steal chips off his plate in the mess, when you call him Johnny instead of Soap and don't even notice you've done it.

He's thought about it a lot.

But not like this.

"You with me?" he asks, tapping your cheek lightly with two fingers. Your eyes roll towards him, struggling to focus, and you make a sound that's part whimper, part plea.

Close enough.

"A'right, sweetheart. I've got ye."

He doesn't ease into it the way Gaz did. Where Gaz was methodical, with careful touches, measured pressure, and constant checking, Soap is instinct. He reads you through vibration and sound, adjusts on the fly, follows the frequency of your moans like he's tuning into a signal.

He dips his head between your thighs and licks into you without preamble, broad and hot and greedy, and the noise that tears out of you rattles something loose in his chest.

"Fuck—tha's it," he groans against you, the vibration making your hips jolt, and his big hands grip the backs of your thighs to keep you spread open and steady. "Tha's my bonnie girl."

He's not quiet about it, either. Soap eats pussy the way he does most things. With enthusiasm, commitment, and absolutely zero self-consciousness. Wet, filthy sounds fill the bedroom, punctuated by his own groans and your increasingly incoherent cries, and he doesn't give a single shit that the door is open, and his team can hear every obscene noise he's wringing out of you.

Let them hear.

His tongue works over your clit in fast, tight circles, then broad, flat strokes, alternating rhythm and pressure every time he feels your thighs start to shake. When you try to close your legs, he pins them open with his forearms. When you try to squirm away—overstimulated, oversensitive, too much and not enough at the same time—he follows relentlessly, dragging you back by the hips with a growl that rumbles against your soaked flesh.

"Nuh-uh. Stay still f'me."

He makes you cum with his mouth in under five minutes and then doesn't stop.

Your fingers twist into the sheets, into his mohawk, clawing at his scalp as your back arches off the mattress and a wrecked sob punches out of your lungs. Soap groans in response, the sound reverential, like your pleasure is a hymn and he's on his knees in church.

He keeps going. Lapping at you through the aftershocks, sucking your clit between his lips until you're keening, pressing his tongue inside you just to feel you clench around it, and when you cum again with his name breaking apart on your lips—Johnny, Johnny, fuck yes, Johnny—he nearly blacks out from how hard his cock throbs in response.

His hips have started moving on their own. Small, involuntary rolls against the mattress, his aching cock grinding against the sheets through his combat trousers, and he knows he should fucking stop, should pull his hips back, should focus on you and not the desperate friction building between his body and the bed.

But he doesn't stop.

He is physically incapable.

You taste like honey and salt and something almost medicinal underneath—the toxin, probably, working its way out of your system through your sweat and your slick—and he's drunk on it. Drunk on the way you say his name, how your thighs tremble against the sides of his head, drunk on the wet sounds of his tongue on your cunt and the way you keep pulling his face closer, harder, more.

"God—fuck—lass, ye taste so fuckin' good—"

He's rutting against the mattress in earnest now, his hips snapping in sharp, desperate little thrusts, and the friction is nowhere near enough and exactly too much at the same time.

The sheets are going to be ruined. He doesn't care. Can't. He’s a weak man, and his entire world has narrowed to the taste of you on his tongue and the ache in his junk and the way your body keeps arching into him like he's the only thing keeping you alive.

"Please—please, Johnny, I need—I can't—"

"I know, hen, I know—" he pants against your inner thigh, pressing a biting kiss there that makes you yelp, "—jus' one more, c'mon, give me one more, aye?"

He flickers his tongue, seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, hard, and you shatter. Your thighs clamp around his head, your hands fist in his hair so tightly it stings, and the scream that rips from your throat is ragged and raw and so fucking beautiful that he comes.

Inside his combat pants.

His hips stutter against the mattress and a guttural, muffled groan vibrates against your pussy as his cock pulses and spills, hot and wet, soaking through his briefs and into his trousers. His arms shake, his vision whites out for a second, and he has to press his forehead against your inner thigh and just breathe through it, chest heaving, while you whimper above him, still trembling from your own orgasm.

He pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and the reality of what just happened settles over him like a cloth soaked in ice water. He stares down at himself, at the damp patch darkening the front of his trousers, and lets out a long, defeated exhale.

"MacTavish."

Ghost's voice comes from the doorway; flat and sharp, dripping with contempt.

Soap closes his eyes, disappointed in himself, exhaling through his nose. "Aye. I know."

"You know?" Price's voice joins Ghost's, closer, much heavier. The captain is standing just inside the bedroom now, arms folded, jaw set. He looks at Soap the way a father looks at a teenage son caught doing something monumentally stupid.

"Get yourself sorted. Now."

Soap doesn't argue. He climbs off the bed on unsteady legs, not meeting anyone's eyes, and adjusts his trousers with a grimace as he shuffles past Ghost in the doorway.

Ghost doesn't move to let him pass. Makes him squeeze by, shoulder to shoulder, just to make it uncomfortable.

"Disgusting," Ghost mutters, low enough that only Soap hears it.

"Fuck off, LT," Soap mutters back, and there's no heat in it. Just shame.

You don't notice the shift at first.

One moment there are hands and mouths on you, voices and pressure and friction. The next, everything is quieter. Stiller. The mattress dips on one side and stays dipped, a solid weight settling beside you but not on you, not against you, not close enough to touch.

You whine at the loss of contact, of heat, of anything, and reach blindly for whoever is there.

A large hand catches your wrist. Gentle and firm, holding it in place.

"Don't."

One word. Low and gravelly, scraped raw like it was dragged over broken glass and wire mesh on its way out of his throat.

Ghost.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed with his back straight and his boots still on, because taking his boots off would mean he's staying, and staying would mean—he doesn't finish the thought.

Price asked him to sit with you while Gaz and Soap pulled themselves together. Asked this time, not ordered, because Price knows that ordering Ghost to do something he doesn't want to do is about as effective as ordering the tide to turn. Ghost agreed with a single nod, and now here he is, and every muscle in his body is locked so tight he might snap a tendon.

You're lying on your side, curled in on yourself, wearing nothing but your sodden underwear again and the ghost of everyone else's touch on your skin. The towel is long gone. Your body is still trembling, still feverish, still caught in the grip of the toxin, and the soft, pained sounds you keep making are doing things to him that he absolutely cannot allow.

He's hard. Has been since you doubled over and moaned and he had to watch your body betray you in front of everyone. His cock is straining against his trousers, thick and heavy and insistent.

Ghost pretends it isn’t. He's very good at pretending things don't exist.

"Simon…"

His jaw clenches beneath the balaclava. You rarely use his first name—none of them do—and hearing it now, in that voice, breathy and desperate and small, is a kind of cruelty he wasn't prepared for.

"You need to drink something," he murmurs, and reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand without looking at you.

"Don't want—"

"Wasn't bloody askin’."

He unscrews the cap and turns to you, and the mistake—the critical, tactical, unforgivable mistake—is that he looks at your face next.

Your eyes are glassy and wet, your lips parted around shallow little breaths, and you're looking up at him like he's the only solid thing in a world that's been spinning for hours.

Not with lust—not the way you looked at Gaz and Soap—but with something quieter. Something that reaches past the toxin and grabs hold of something deeper.

Trust.

You trust him. Even now, reduced to your basest instincts, your intoxicated, unhinged brain still recognises him as safe.

Something fractures behind his ribs, and he shuts it down immediately, brutally, the way he shuts down everything that threatens to breach the walls.

"Sit up," he orders, and his voice is soft yet steady even if the rest of him isn't. He slides one hand behind your head—just his palm, just enough to support your neck—and lifts the bottle to your lips.

You drink. Slowly, reluctantly, with small sips that dribble down your chin, but you drink. He holds the bottle still and watches the column of your throat move with each swallow, and when a drop of water runs from the corner of your mouth and trails down your neck, dark eyes track it all the way to your collarbone before catching himself and looking away.

"More," he says curtly, bringing the bottle back.

You manage a few more sips before turning your head away with a pitiful sound, and he lets you, setting the bottle aside. His hand lingers on the back of your head a moment too long—his thumb brushing once against the nape of your neck—before he pulls it back like he's been burned.

You reach for him again. Fingers closing around the fabric of his sleeve, tugging weakly.

"Stay. Please. Don't—Don't go."

"'M not goin’ anywhere." The words come out before he can vet them, gruff and low, and he immediately resents himself for saying them so quickly, so easily, like a confession slipped out under duress.

He lets you hold onto his sleeve. That much he can allow. That much won't cross a line he cannot uncross.

You shift closer, seeking warmth, and your body curls towards him until your forehead is pressed against his thigh. He goes completely rigid, every muscle locking and nerve firing, and his hands hover in the air on either side of you, not touching, not pulling away, suspended in the unbearable middle ground of a man who wants desperately but won't take.

Another small whimper from you. Not desire this time but pain. The cramps rolling through your body in waves, the toxin still doing its vicious work even after everything Gaz and Soap wrung from you. You're shaking, and not just from arousal. You're exhausted. Dehydrated. Your body is at war with itself.

Ghost is not a gentle man. He knows this about himself the way he knows his blood type and his boot size. It's a fact, unalterable, built into the architecture. He doesn't comfort. He doesn't soothe. He handles.

But.

His hand comes down on the back of your head, and it stays.

Heavy and warm through the leather of his glove. Not stroking just resting, a solid weight against your skull, and you let out a breath that sounds like it's been trapped in your lungs for hours.

You stop shaking. Not entirely. The tremors are still there, running through you in small aftershocks, but the worst of it eases under the steady pressure of his palm, like he's an anchor and you've been drifting.

"Ghost?" Your voice is small, barely a whisper.

"Yeah."

"It hurts."

He closes his eyes behind the mask. His hand presses down just slightly—a fraction more weight, a fraction more warmth—and his throat works around words that don't come.

He knows it hurts. He knows Gaz and Soap's efforts weren't enough. He knows what the doctors said—what Price said—and he knows what would fix it, and he can't.

Not because he doesn't want to. Because he wants it too fucking much.

Simon Riley is not a man who trusts himself with things he wants.

Wanting, in his experience, is the first step towards destroying, and he has destroyed enough for one lifetime. Touching you now the way his body is screaming at him to would not be careful or measured or controlled or gentle.

It would be all consuming, and he would take too much, and he would never be able to look you in the eyes again.

So he sits on the edge of the bed with his boots on and his cock aching and his hand on the back of your head, and he holds himself perfectly, agonisingly still. Just a solid shadow in a bedroom.

You press your face harder against his thigh and he lets you. Your fingers tighten on his sleeve and he lets you. Your breath evens out incrementally but still too fast, still too shallow, though calmer now, and he lets that happen too, guarding it like a perimeter, daring anything to disturb it.

He doesn't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light under the curtains to shift and for his leg to go numb beneath the pressure of your head. Long enough for Gaz to appear in the doorway, freshly changed into borrowed civvies, and stop dead at the sight of them.

Ghost meets his eyes over the top of your head. His expression is unreadable behind the mask, but his hand doesn't move from your hair, and that says more than his face ever could.

Gaz nods once and backs out without a word.

In the kitchen, Price is pouring two fingers of whisky into a tumbler and staring at the far wall like it owes him money. Soap is sitting at the table in a pair of Price's joggers, his soiled trousers balled up in a plastic bag at his feet, looking like a scolded dog.

"She's calmer," Gaz says quietly as he enters, and both men look up. "Ghost's with her."

Price takes a long drink. Sets the glass down. Rubs a hand over his beard.

"It's not enough, is it."

It's not a question and Gaz doesn't answer it.

"She's still in pain. She keeps—" He stops and swallows thickly. "She keeps asking. Saying she’s in pain."

The captain stares at the whisky in his glass. The silence stretches, tense and heavy, pressing in on the walls of the small kitchen.

"She needs more than fingers and a mouth," Soap says bluntly, because someone fucking has to, and delicacy has never been his strong suit. Gaz shoots him a look, but Soap holds it, unapologetic.

"He's right," Price agrees suddenly, and the words taste like bile. He pushes away from the counter and stands to his full height, shoulders squared, and for a moment he looks every inch the officer. Burdened, resolute, carrying a decision he'll second-guess for the rest of his life.

"Gentlemen's agreement," he says. His voice is low, steady, absolute. "What happens tonight stays in this flat. No one treats her differently when this is over. No one brings it up unless she does. No one holds it over anyone, including himself."

He looks at each of them in turn—Gaz, then Soap—and holds until he gets a nod from both.

"And we tell Ghost."

Ghost doesn't agree.

He listens to the terms of the gentlemen's agreement from the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, stance wide, radiating the kind of stillness that makes lesser men instinctively check their exits. When Price finishes, Ghost holds the silence for a long, loaded beat.

And then: "No."

Price doesn't flinch. "No to which part?"

"All of it. My part." Ghost's voice is flat and final, stripped of everything except the decision itself. "I'll stay with her. I won't fuck her."

Soap opens his mouth—probably to say something spectacularly unhelpful—and Gaz kicks him under the table without looking.

Price studies his Lieutenant for a moment. Then he nods once, heavy with an understanding that doesn't need to be spoken.

"Fair enough." He rolls his sleeves up to his forearms. The mechanical motion of a man preparing for something he cannot delegate. "I'll go first."

No one dares to argue.

Unlike Soap, Price closes the guest bedroom door behind him and stands there for a moment with his hand still on the knob, just breathing. It smells of sex and pheromones, but wrong.

The room is dim. Someone turned off the overhead and left only the bedside lamp, casting everything in low amber light that softens the edges of the furniture and the shape of you on the bed. You're curled on your side, knees drawn up, one hand clutching the pillow beneath your head. The sheets are wrecked; damp and twisted, pulled loose from two corners, and your skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat.

You look small.

That's the thing that hits him first and hits him hardest.

You're one of his soldiers. He's seen you clear buildings, haul wounded men twice your size to extraction, take a round to the vest and get back up swearing. You are not small. You have never been small or fragile.

But you look it now, trembling and fever-damp and reduced to a version of yourself that he never should have had to witness, and the weight of that sits on his shoulders like a ruck full of stones.

He crosses the room in a few strides and sits on the edge of the mattress. The frame groans under his weight.

"Sergeant."

You stir, your head lifting, and your eyes find his face. They're glassy and unfocused, but there's a flicker of recognition—Captain—before it's swallowed by the next wave rolling through your body. You let out a sound that's half sob, half moan, your thighs pressing together, and your hand reaches out blindly until your fingers catch the fabric of his shirt.

"It hurts," you whisper. "Still hurts. Why does it still—"

"I know." He catches your wrist, holds it. His thumb presses against your pulse point to check, and it’s rapid, thready, way too fast for simply lying on a bed. "I'm going to help you."

He says it the way he says we're moving on that compound at 0300 or I need eyes on that ridgeline. Leaving no room for ambiguity, because if he allows ambiguity into this room, he'll start thinking about what he's doing, and if he starts thinking, he'll stop, and if he stops.

You'll keep hurting. Under his command.

He stands long enough to strip his shirt over his head and remove his belt, and then he's back on the bed, propped against the headboard with you between his legs, your back against his bare chest; coarse salt and pepper hair rasping against your tacky skin. One arm wraps around your midsection, heavy and secure, anchoring you.

"Easy," he murmurs against the top of your head. "I've got you, love."

His free hand trails down your stomach, and your muscles jump and twitch beneath his rough palm. He catalogues every reaction. The hitch in your breathing, the way your hips tilt up to meet him, the small, desperate noise you make when his fingers dip below your navel. The same way he catalogues threat patterns and exit routes.

This is a mission. He is completing the objective. He is taking care of his wounded soldier.

He keeps telling himself that as he peels your underwear down your thighs and off, tossing them aside. As he runs his hand up the inside of your thigh and feels you shake. As he finally cups you and discovers just how wet and swollen you are, dripping on his fingers, he has to close his eyes and clench his jaw against the visceral punch of arousal that knocks through him.

This is the job. You gave the order. See it through.

He works you with his fingers first, because he needs to know what you can take. Two thick fingers pressing into you slowly, carefully, and the sounds you make guts him.

"That's it." His voice is lower now, rougher. "There you go, sweetheart."

He doesn't call his soldiers sweetheart. He has never, in twenty-odd years of service, called anyone under his command sweetheart. The word falls out of him like a loose round, and he can't take it back.

Your sopping hole clenches around his fingers and his cock, already hard and straining against the front of his trousers, jerks so violently he must bite back a groan. He curls his fingers inside you, finds the swollen spot that makes your spine arch and your breath stutter, and works it with a patient, devastating precision.

You cum and gush on his fingers with a broken cry, your body locking up in his arms, and the aftershocks roll through you in long, shuddering waves that he holds you through without a word.

It's still not enough. He knows it won't be for a while longer.

Price reaches for the condom on the nightstand—Gaz found them in Price's bathroom cabinet, a half-empty box, almost expired, shoved behind the toiletries like an afterthought—and tears the foil with his teeth while you keen and squirm against him, already spiralling back up.

He undoes his trousers and pushes them down just enough to free himself, because keeping them on feels like maintaining some essential boundary, some last scrap of separation between Captain Price doing what needs to be done and John wanting what he shouldn't want.

Rolling the condom on is a particular exercise in self-control. His cock is thick, flushed dark when his foreskin slides back, weeping pre at the tip, and every brush of his own fingers against the oversensitive skin makes his abs clench.

He lifts you with ease, one hand on your hip, the other gripping himself, and positions you above his lap.

"Sergeant," he grunts through gritted teeth, "look at me."

Your head lolls back against his shoulder, eyes half-open, and you meet his gaze as best you can. He searches for something in your expression—recognition, maybe awareness, you—and finds enough of it to quiet the loudest of the voices screaming in his head.

"If it's too much, y’tell me. That's a bloody order."

You nod hazily. He doesn't know if you actually processed the words, but he needed to say them. Needed that on the record, if only between himself and God.

He lowers you onto him slowly.

The sound that comes out of him is not one he's ever made before.

You're scorching hot and soaked. Your body takes him inch by inch, clenching and fluttering around him as gravity and his guiding hand ease you down, and by the time you're fully seated in his lap, he's seeing stars and his fingers have left dents in the flesh of your hip.

"Fuck," he breathes, and the word is ragged at the edges, torn from somewhere deeper than his chest.

You moan shamelessly, and the relief in the sound nearly undoes him. Like something that's been wound unbearably tight has finally been given slack. Your body relaxes against his, tension draining from your muscles for the first time in hours, and the change is so visible, so immediate, that it almost justifies this.

Almost.

He starts to move. Rolling his hips up into you, slow and deep, both hands gripping your waist to control the pace. He keeps it measured; long and deliberate strokes that drag against your inner walls and make you whimper with each one, because if he lets himself go, if he fucks you the way his body is begging him to, he'll lose himself entirely.

And he hates—Christ, he hates—how fucking good you feel.

He hates the way you fit around him like you were made for it, and the way your head falls back against his shoulder, how your lips part and you breathe his name—not his rank, not Captain, but John—and the sound of it rushes through him hot and electric and wrong. Hates the wet, obscene sound of your body taking him repeatedly; that his hips are moving faster now, snapping up into you with a force that makes the headboard knock against the wall.

Hates that he doesn't want to stop.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your head tips back as you cry out. "John—John—oh god—"

His arm tightens around your ribs, crushing you back against his chest, and his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder—not kissing, just pressing there, teeth grazing skin, breathing you in. His other hand slides down between your thighs and rubs tight circles on your clit in counterpoint to each thrust, and you come apart so violently in his arms that he has to hold you through it with every ounce of strength he has.

You clench around him like a vice and he follows you over the edge with a bitten-off groan, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing deep inside you as the orgasm tears through him with a ferocity that whites out his vision.

For a few suspended seconds, there's nothing left. No rank, no mission, no guilt. Just the pounding of his heart and the aftershocks rippling through both your bodies and the impossible, terrible warmth of you around him.

Then reality seeps back in, cold and unforgiving, and Captain John Price opens his eyes and begins the long process of hating himself for every second of the last twenty minutes.

He pulls out carefully, disposes of the condom, and fixes his trousers. When he leans you back against the pillows, your eyes are already glazing over again, your body winding up for more, and the sight of it makes something weary and furious crack behind his chest cavity

He cups your jaw, tilting your face up. "Stay with me, Sergeant. Stay with me."

You whimper, and your hips shift restlessly against the sheets.

Price stands and walks to the door on legs that feel like they belong to someone else.

"Garrick. You're up."

Gaz and Soap take you in turns after that, and it's different this time.

Where the first round was clinical in its own way—Gaz with his careful guilt, Soap with his missionary zeal, Price bearing the weight of command—this his round is rawer.

The boundaries have been breached, and the gentlemen's agreement hangs over the room like a ceasefire that everyone knows is temporary.

Gaz is gentler than Price was. He lays you on your back and settles between your thighs with a tenderness that borders on devotion, pressing his forehead against yours as he pushes inside you.

He goes slow and gentle, and whispers things against your temple that no one else can hear, private things meant only for the space between your mouth and his.

"I've got you," he murmurs repeatedly. "I've got you, Babygirl, I'm right here. I will be here."

He comes inside the condom with a shudder and your name bitten into the skin of your shoulder, and when he pulls out and rolls onto his back beside you, he stares at the ceiling for a long time without blinking, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Soap goes after. He's not gentle—can't be, doesn't know how to be, not with the way you claw at his back and wrap your legs around his waist and beg him harder, please, harder—but he's present.

He hooks your knee over his broad shoulders and fucks you deep, watching your face with a focused intensity that's almost clinical in its own right, cataloguing every reaction, every gasp, adjusting angle and depth and rhythm like he's zeroing a scope.

"Tha's it, sweetheart, take it—fuck, yer so—fuck—"

The condoms run out after Soap's first round.

Gaz discovers this when he reaches for the box on the nightstand and finds it empty, and the look on his face—the quiet oh, shit—would be funny in any other context.

"Cap'n," he calls, voice strained. "We've got a problem."

Price, who has been standing in the hallway staring at nothing, appears in the doorway. Gaz holds up the empty box. Price closes his eyes.

"Then pull out," the captain says flatly. "That's an order."

It should be simple, and it’s anything but.

Gaz tries. He genuinely, sincerely tries, but you're clenching around him so tightly and making those sounds, those desperate and wrecked, grateful sounds, and when your orgasm hits and your walls contract around his cock in rhythmic, milking pulses, his hips stutter and he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you with a choked groan before his brain even registers what his body has done.

"Shit—shit, I'm sorry, I—fuck—"

He pulls out too late, watches his cum leak from you onto the sheets, and drops his head against your sternum with a devastated exhale.

Soap doesn't even pretend he's going to manage it.

"'M not gonna be able to pull out," he announces with a frankness that makes Gaz want to strangle him. "Jus' bein' honest, Cap."

"You'll pull out or I'll pull you out myself, MacTavish."

And yet Soap does not, in fact, pull out in time.

Price has to physically haul him back by the shoulder, and even then, Soap's cock jerks and pulses as it slips free, painting your inner thighs and lower belly with hot, thick ropes of cum while the Scotsman lets out a string of Gaelic curses that would make his mother disown him.

The room smells like multiple people fucking and sweating and something medicinal—the toxin, working its way out of your pores at last—and you're finally, finally, starting to slow down.

The desperate edge has dulled. Your whimpers are quieter now, tired rather than urgent, and your body has stopped arching off the bed every few minutes.

You're still reaching, though. Still searching for contact, for warmth, for a body against yours.

Ghost enters the room without being asked.

He's stripped down to his black t-shirt and trousers. The balaclava is still on, but his gloves are off, and the sight of his bare, scarred hands is somehow more intimate than anything else that's happened in this room tonight.

He doesn't look at the other men or acknowledge the state of the sheets or the smell or the heavy, post-coital guilt saturating the air.

He simply moves to the bed, sits down, and gathers you against his chest with a practised efficiency that suggests he's been rehearsing this moment in his head for the last two hours.

You go willingly. Boneless, exhausted, trembling with the last dregs of the toxin and the cumulative aftermath of more orgasms than your body was designed to handle in one night. Your face presses into the crook of his neck, your fingers curl loosely in the front of his shirt, and you let out a breath that sounds like surrender.

Ghost pulls the duvet up over both of you. One arm settles around your back securely. His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair, and he holds you against him like he's shielding you from blast radius.

"Go to sleep," he says quietly. An order and a request and a plea all compressed into three words.

You make a small, incoherent sound against his throat.

"I know." His hand moves over your hair, slowly and gentle. "Sleep."

Price watches from the doorway for a moment. Then he pulls the door halfway closed and leaves the Lieutenant to his vigil.

In the kitchen, the captain pours himself another whisky—three fingers this time—and drinks it standing up, staring at the drawn curtains. Gaz is in the shower. Soap is sprawled on the sofa in the living room, one arm over his eyes, dead to the world.

Price's phone buzzes. Laswell.

How is she?

He stares at the screen for a long time. Types and deletes three different responses before finally settling on one.

Handled. Debrief in the morning.

He sets the phone face-down on the counter and finishes his drink.

Hours later, you wake up slowly, like surfacing from deep water.

The first thing you register is warmth. A wall of it, solid and breathing, pressed against your back. An arm draped over your waist, heavy with sleep. Fingers loosely tangled in yours against your sternum.

The second thing you register is that you are naked, sore in places you don't want to think about, and your mouth tastes like the inside of a boot.

The third thing is the balaclava.

You can feel it, the knitted fabric against the back of your neck, and the slow, even exhale of breath warming your skin through the cloth. The chest behind you rises and falls in the deep, steady rhythm of genuine sleep, which means the Lieutenant trusts this room enough to have let himself go under.

Which means something, though you're too foggy to figure out what.

You shift slightly, testing your body. Everything aches. Your thighs, your hips, your abs, your jaw for some reason, and there's a deep, bone-level exhaustion settled into your muscles that reminds you of the tail end of a bad flu.

The cramps are gone, though. The tingling, the feverish heat, the desperate, clawing need—all of it has receded, leaving behind a hollow, wrung-out emptiness.

And memory. Fragments of it. Arriving in pieces like delayed radio transmissions.

Kyle's hands shaking as he touched you. I'm only doin' this for you, babygirl. Johnny's mouth on you, hot and relentless. The sound he made against your thighs.

The shower. The water. Voices.

John.

Your eyes open wide and your body goes rigid, and the arm around your waist tightens reflexively. Ghost pulling you closer in his sleep, an unconscious response to a perceived threat, even though the threat is just you waking up and remembering.

You lie very still.

The flat is quiet. Early morning light edges around the curtains, pale and grey, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the muffled sounds of the base waking up—vehicles, a distant shout, the rhythmic thud of boots on tarmac.

You don't move, don't speak. You stare at the wall and breathe and try to organise the wreckage in your head into something you can process.

Behind you, Ghost's breathing changes. Shifts from deep and even to something shallower, more aware. His arm tenses around you, a brief contraction of muscle, there and gone, and you know the exact moment he wakes up, because his entire body goes perfectly, absolutely still.

Neither of you says a word.

His hand is still tangled with yours against your bare chest. His thumb rests against your knuckle. But he doesn't pull away.

The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Heavy. Full of things that need to be said and won't be. Not now, certainly not yet, and maybe not ever. And there is a fragile, terrified understanding that what happened in this room changed the molecular structure of something that can never be unchanged.

Finally, after what feels like an hour but is probably two minutes, Ghost speaks.

"How do you feel?"

You consider the question. Really consider it, not the reflexive I'm fine that sits on your tongue out of habit.

"Like shit," you answer honestly. Your voice is wrecked, raspy, and it hurts to talk.

Then, so quietly you almost miss it, he answers, "Yeah."

His thumb moves once. A single, slow stroke across your knuckle.

Then he lets go of your hand, carefully disentangles himself from around you, and gets up without another word. You hear his boots being pulled back on. The soft click of the door.

You lie in the bed that smells like all four of them and none of yourself, and you stare at the wall, and you breathe.