Mint Tea

you held out the tupperware container filled to the brim with recently baked chocolate chip cookies—the sweet, warm scent wafting through the plastic. "i did, yes. though i wasn't sure if you had any allergies, so don't feel any pressure to eat them or anything. i just thought it'd be rude to come over without bringing anything."

oh great. less than five minutes into this conversation and you were already rambling.

suguru took the container of baked goods from your hands with a wary look, bringing it up to his nose. "you're not a serial killer by any chance, are you?"

you blinked. "if i was, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of telling you now?" not very reassuring.

regardless, he gestured for you to come inside. you stepped inside the apartment and slid your shoes off at the door, taking in the sight of his living room.

the space was bathed in a dark red light accompanied by sonder’s one night only playing in the background and a couple candles flickering from the coffee table—the warm richness of sandalwood permeating through the air.

“you.. uh.. you really planned this out, huh?” why couldn’t you just have said it looked nice and moved on?

now it was just plain awkward.

well, awkward-er.

sure, you knew the concept of sex and how it was supposed to work, but what every hookup guide always forgot to cover was the before. even if you'd talked before this, the two of you were just strangers. what were you supposed to talk about with him?

how were you supposed to skip this part and go to where you were riding him like a pony?

suguru shrugged, padding over to the kitchen to leave the container of cookies on the counter. “did i do too much?”

“it’s just your apartment’s nice and all, but the lights seem a little.. excessive.” that was putting it as nicely as possible.

he took the criticism in stride, grabbing a remote from the counter and turning them off before flicking a lamp on, painting the room in a dim orange light. the room was immediately much more warm and welcoming than what’d you first walked into.

you stood at the door, taking a look at the little bits of decoration that you could now see more clearly. a couple figurines, expensive, if you had to guess, a couple books strewn around his coffee table, and a cat tree perched up near the window.

you remembered the small bag in your pocket. digging it out of your pocket, you held it up in between your fingers. “i saw your cat on that one thirst trap,” he didn’t bother protesting—it was a thirst trap, “so i got some treats on the way here. i hope you don’t mind.”

either you were a psychic or you just naturally had a knack for this sort of thing. “they’re her favorite, thanks. take a seat, we don’t bite.”

the previous girls that came over to his apartment usually just gave the cat a little coo or downright ignored her, but you seemed like you wanted to get to know her more than you did him.

suguru wasn't sure if he was amused or if his ego was slightly bruised. (hint: both.)

you took a seat on the black leather couch like you owned the place, patting your lap. “what’s your cat’s name?” you questioned, the cat peering up from her paw at the noise before going back to grooming herself.

“that’s sage.”

you lightly shook the bag of treats, trying to beckon the very uninterested cat with the promise of food and an unconvincing baby voice. your efforts were working. somewhat.

sage lazily trotted her way down from the top of the cat tree before making her way over to you, sitting at your feet. her eyes were calculating, analyzing if you were worth her time. you didn't dare move a muscle when she leaned in to sniff at your socked feet and legs.

just when you were convinced that you'd gotten a big fat F on her evaluation, sage seemed to decide that you were harmless enough. she hopped up on your lap and settled down like the self proclaimed royalty she was, nudging her head against your hand in demand for head pats. you complied.

your fingers ran through the soft black fur while the cat purred like a lawn mower underneath your touch.

"she normally doesn't like strangers," suguru noted, plopping down on the couch cushion next to you.

"do you use that line on everybody that steps foot in here?" well.... yes!

and it usually worked like a charm, thank you very much.

"wait, what, really?" the last girl he'd brought over to his apartment remarked, the very same girl that signed him up for lifelong scientology visits and the army two weeks later after he failed to respond within five minutes, staring at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars.

"yeah." the cat in question, looked at him with as much disdain as her little body could muster. suguru made a mental promise to reward the cat with catnip and treats for helping him spit out the first bullshit that came to his mind. the girl seemed too happily convinced, going as far as calling herself sage’s step mom.

needless to say, the cat hadn't been all too happy about getting squeezed and cradled around like a baby by a woman she'd never seen before and never saw again after. her displeasure was obvious if the broken flower vases and scratches on his leather furniture were anything to go by.

he'd stopped using that line. or so he thought.

"...no."

you raised a brow, gaze full of suspicion as you stared at him. barely applying any pressure. and just like a rubber band, he ended up snapping within seconds, “…yes, fine, i have. but it’s the first time i’ve meant it.”

you weren't sure if he was full of shit. but the cat seemed to like you decently enough, starting her own biscuit factory on the fabric of your jeans with each ear rub. “how’d you end up getting her?”

suguru looked over to see you and his cat getting along decently well, finding himself a little lost in the scene when your question finally registered and you were staring at him.

“i found her locked up in a cage close to home. her owners called her a devil and all kinds of names, their own negligence, really,” he rolled his eyes, reaching out to pet her chin, “anyways, they were all too happy having someone to hand off the cat to.”

the two of you sat in a comfortable silence after a few questions from one another, getting to know each other a bit better apart from late night conversations. only the sounds of sage’s purring and the outside world filled the apartment.

that was until, "c'mere." suguru lazily spread his legs on the sofa, patting his lap.

“you do realize i’m not your cat right?” as if proving your point, sage got up from her spot on your lap over to his.

“fine, can you please come here?” he gave the cat one last scratch before setting her down on the floor, asking a little nicer. you got up from your spot, standing in between his legs before you lowered yourself onto his lap.

"hi," he murmured once you settled onto his lap, his hands instinctively moving down to your hips.

"hi." you braced your hands on his shoulders to keep your balance, suddenly feeling the reality of the situation crashing down on you. the pretty man underneath you wanted to have sex with you. you were going to have sex tonight.

sex and your first kiss, apparently. (you refused to count the time you'd gotten kissed as a dare in middle school.)

and as if he could read your mind, suguru took a hold of your chin and gently tilted your head up to face him, "can i kiss you?" you didn't miss the way his gaze flickered from your eyes down to your lips every .5 seconds.

you met him halfway, pressing your lips against his own. trying to go with the flow as many people said (what flow? you weren't completely sure yourself).

"close your eyes, i can feel you staring at my soul.” he pulled away, whispering the words against your lips and leaving you chasing behind his.

you let your eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss slowly. even going as far as tilting your head a little so you wouldn’t— “ow!” — do exactly what you just did. bump your nose straight into his.

you opened them back up to see suguru was more amused than hurt, a stupid smile on his face as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “try closing them when you’re already leaned in, hm?”

rolling your eyes, you shifted a bit on his lap before giving it one last go. one of your hands came up to cradle his soft cheek, leaning in and shutting your eyes at the last second. he tasted like mint and something else you couldn’t decipher.

his lips molded against your own in a languid kiss, each touch an experiment to know your body better. suguru’s hands moved down your body, each one resting on your ass like he wanted, no needed, you all that much closer. the exchange grew heavier, sloppier, messier.

everything was heightened—you could feel every single little thing. from the slight hitch of his breath when you captured his lip in between your teeth to your own traitorous heart thumping underneath your rib cage.

his lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. then that’s where he went ham. sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together.

latching onto the sensitive skin of your collarbone, suguru placed a kiss out of reverence before he started to suck. he was practically in bliss all without taking his clothes off. if he were a weaker man, he would’ve shot his load the minute you’d settled onto his lap and got a whiff of your sweet, sweet perfume.

his hands moved up from your ass up your back, probably going to take your shirt off before his phone got the bright idea to interrupt the moment: want a break from the ads?

suguru had never regretted not investing into spotify premium as much as he did in this moment.

is your girlfriend unsatisfied in the bedroom? your stamina not being what it once was? if these symptoms sound familiar, you might suffering from erectile dysfunction. ask your doctor about levitra—

that was enough to get him up to his feet, crossing over to the kitchen counter in three strides. suguru quickly got his phone from the counter before the ad could continue, deciding that the ambiance was ruined and shutting the music off.

"do these symptoms sound familiar to you?" you teased, resting your cheek on your palm as you watched the scene with mild amusement.

"you could come to my room and find out." not nearly as smooth as he usually was, but good job suguru!

"are you really getting me into your bed with an erectile dysfunction ad?"

suguru tilted his head, "is it working?"

and you really wished it wasn't, but it was. you were quick to get up on your feet, padding over to where he stood and reaching your hand out. "let's go find out then."

his bedroom was much like the living room—a minimalistic design with a couple pictures hung up on the walls. his friends, if you had to guess. he led you over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.

not nearly enough bed-pouncing as you were expecting.

suguru spoke up, his hands resting on his lap, "you're allowed to change your mind, don't feel pressured to do anything you don't want to do. i’m here to please you.”

“i want this,” you responded, moving up the bed to rest against the headboard. he followed, keeping a reasonable distance between you two, “i want to have sex with you, suguru. let’s just take it slow.”

closing the distance, you straddled yourself over his lap, each of your legs next to his own. you lowered yourself down and placed your hands on his shoulders under the guise you knew what you were doing. and then, you started to rock and gyrate your hips against his clothed leg.

you rubbed and grinded your hips harder, faster against his leg in an attempt to feel something other than the friction of his sweats rubbing against your shorts—unsure of what to do other than rut yourself against him like a dog. maybe he was liking this?

should you start moaning?

“o-oh fuck.” a, what you hoped was realistic, moan left your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders to really sell the point. suguru looked at you, wondering if he really looked that stupid.

you weren't sure what you were doing—that much was obvious. you were humping his leg, your rhythm too quick to be pleasurable for either one of you at this point.

"have you ever done this before?" were you really that obvious?

the question had your hips stilling their movement, your gaze falling down to his face. when you shook your head, suguru let out a small tut, holding your chin between his fingers, "that's okay, baby. we'll take it nice and slow, just follow me."

his hands splayed on your hips, slightly moving you up his lap before he started to guide your movements. and oh, now you felt it. his cock strained against the material of his sweats, each ridge rubbing against your warm heat.

well, at least now you knew the ad wasn't meant for him.

"oh yeah, that feels better huh?" he cooed in your ear, his cock twitching in his pants just by feeling how wet you were getting already.

you were dripping, slick stringing and sticking to your panties with each roll of your hips. he wasn’t much better—cock prodding against your entrance like it was begging to be released. “uh huh, better,” a breathy whisper left you, your back arching against his fingertips.

when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft and gentle like he’d been at first. no, he’d tested the waters already.

now he was kissing you like he needed you, like he needed air to breathe. each breath grew labored like he couldn’t bare being apart. his tongue moved in a synchronized dance with yours, tasting and absorbing everything you had to give.

your lips moved with the same desperation, fingers gripping against the material of his shirt. trying to take it off before he seemed to catch onto your unspoken hint. he reluctantly pulled away before sliding his shirt off in one fluid motion, letting it fall onto the mattress beneath. and… wow. beautiful was an understatement when it came to him.

you let your fingers trail down his abdomen, the muscles tensing underneath your featherlight touch. tracing and poking whatever little beauty marks you found on your way down. he was just so.. pretty.

“you really think so?” his voice brought you out of your reverie, and oh shit, you’d said it out loud?

“like you don’t know it already,” you retorted, trying to downplay the situation.

suguru shrugged, watching your fingers intently as you traced and gently scratched down his pecs, “i like when you call me pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but gave in anyways, “you’re very pretty, suguru geto.” you felt his cock twitch underneath at the compliment. leading his fingers towards the hem of your own shirt, you guided him into taking off the flimsy article. he seemed all too eager to revere your body the same way you had his.

mumbled compliments of you’re so beautiful and so soft left his lips until he looked up at you, his hands gliding up and down your hips, "do you want me to keep going or do you wanna stop here?"

you grabbed his hands, bringing them up to your chest. “i want this, suguru. i want to go all the way with you, i promise.” his fingers tweaked and squeezed at your perked nipples, his lips ghosting above the left before he swirled his tongue around it. latching his mouth onto the sensitive flesh and sucking, working the other with his fingers.

strings of saliva connected his lips to your tits when he finally pulled away—deeming that he’d given them enough attention for now. suguru flipped the two of you over, hovering above you before slowly kissing his way down.

peck. your collarbone.

peck. your tits.

peck. your navel.

peck. the waistband of your shorts.

“you can take it off,” you assured him before he even had the chance to ask the question. suguru didn’t hesitate once he got the thumbs up, hooking his fingers onto your belt loops before sliding your shorts down your legs and shaking them off.

you could’ve sworn you caught a hint of drool once you were all exposed for him.

suguru kissed his way up your leg, each one leaving behind a slippery trail behind him. “so pretty,” he mumbled, sucking onto your calf before moving further up to your knee, “so perfect laid out for me.” each one sounded like a quiet admission to himself.

despite how desperate he seemed, suguru took his time when it came to finally undressing you. his teeth sunk into the lace of your underwear, your hips lifted when he moved down the offending material at the pace of molasses. trying to savor as much as he could.

he let them fall onto the pile of clothes next to you before admiring his meal. your cunt clenched around nothing when a slight breeze came in the room, your slick glistening against your folds, clit practically throbbing his name out in morse code.

but suguru prided himself on having some semblance of patience. thinly veiled patience, but patience nonetheless. he wedged himself in between your legs, his lips hovering dangerously close to your entrance before moving down to your inner thigh. repeating what he'd done earlier on your leg.

he pressed featherlight kiss after another onto the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, occasionally biting hard enough to leave behind a nice lil' memory for tomorrow. your legs instinctively spread, every sensation sending your body through a livewire and yet.. you were lost in thought.

you wondered how many people he'd had in this room, how long this would take, what'd you eat for breakfast tomorrow, and—"focus on me, pretty girl."

immediately broken out of your endless string of questions, you looked down to see suguru already peering up at you. "talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

you shook your head, "just got lost in thought, i guess."

"then we'll just have to make it to where you can only focus on me, angel."

and then he dove in like he was a man starving.

his big hands gripped your legs and spread you apart like a feast, tongue flicking out to taste the slick dripping down your folds and thighs. "taste so good, thank you, thank you," he babbled, swiping his tongue up and down your folds before flicking it inside of your pussy.

your cunt gushed like an open sink against his mouth and chin, the man practically nose deep as he thrusted his tongue in and out of your sopping pussy. his jaw went slack, sucking and tracing your folds with the tip of his tongue before going back to eating you out.

soon, two of his fingers took place of his mouth. two long and thick fingers. your juices ran down to his knuckles while he spread you open, his fingers curling and hitting that one spot inside of you with ease. "fuck, it feels so good," you whined, bucking your hips up to meet his fingers.

"i knoww baby, just needed suguru to take care of you." he didn't let up, much too starved himself to even think about doing so. his lips latched onto your swollen, throbbing clit and sucked lightly onto the nerves. your grip on his hair tightened, a broken moan leaving from his lips.

"just like that," he hissed out, his hips rutting into the mattress underneath. you noticed a dark patch growing in the front of his sweats. "take what you want from me, y'know how to do it." your hips swiveled and thrusted against his eager mouth, spit and slick drenching his chin and dripping down to the mattress.

it was hard to think about anything other than him, you had to admit that much.

your legs shook with each thrust of his fingers, with each swipe of his tongue. just as you were about to press your legs together, suguru pried them apart once more with ease. "don't interrupt my meal, i'm not done eating." and how could he say that when he already sounded so drunk off you?

his tongue swirled against your clit, the tip drawing circles around the sensitive nub. "f-fuck, gonna cum, keep going," you whined out, nails digging into his scalp. the sound of your pussy gushing around his fingers was all you could hear, and yet, all you were focused on was chasing your own orgasm.

it was so close, you felt a knot building up in your lower tummy. "fu-fuck fuck fuck," broken babbles left your lips, your toes curling and legs shaking the more you felt that pressure increase. with one final thrust of his fingers, you came. the knot unraveled all at once, your release washing over you (and his fingers) like a tidal wave.

he'd never been such at bliss before.

each breath felt like it was splitting your lungs open, your chest heaving as suguru slowly pulled his dripping fingers out of you. he didn't mind staring you in the eye when he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them off as if no drop could go to waste. "mm, wanna taste you forever." his eyes practically rolled back, his tongue swirling against the two digits.

once you finally regained your bearings, you sat up and asked, "do you want me to return the favor?"

suguru let out an indignant scoff like you'd just insulted his very existence. and in a way, you had. "i did that because i wanted to, because i needed to taste you," he retorted, shaking his head like he wasn't reevaluating his degree in munchology, "not because i was expecting anything out of you."

getting up from your spot on the bed, you padded over to where he was sitting and situated yourself right in between his legs. absentmindedly running your fingers up up up the thin material of his sweats, barely grazing your fingertips against the growing tent between his legs. before you pulled away altogether.

you looked up at him like you were sin incarnate, lashes fluttering against your cheek, "what if i really really want to suck you off?"

suguru swore his soul left his body for a minute. he'd gladly let you keep it if you wanted it at this rate.

“then by all means, go for it.”

that was all you needed to slide the flimsy material of his sweatpants onto the floor, his cock slapping up against his stomach once it was released. now it was your turn to nearly drool. you couldn't have imagined that a dick could be this pretty.

a nice tan color at the base with a hint of red at the tip, a curve settling to the right and precum dripping down his shaft just from having you in his mouth. it was fairly long and thick—as thick as your forearm, you could assume.

all the fanfiction you had saved in your bookmarks couldn't have prepared you for the sight of the twitching cock in front of you.

you stared at his dick like it was something out of an anatomy textbook, trying to figure out the best approach to go about this before ultimately deciding to throw it out the window and just try it out.

"a-ah fuck." suguru practically turned into putty the moment you took him in your mouth, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of your head. not pushing, never that; he'd never risk making you uncomfortable.

thick globs of spit dribbled down to your chin and down his shaft from the corners of your lips. "just like that, yeah, please." suguru wasn't afraid to be loud—letting you know what you were doing right. one of your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers tightening around the base before you started to jerk your hand up and down.

you could hardly take him in fully—your cheeks hollowing out to make more space and it still wasn't nearly enough. "soo good, please don't stop," suguru’s voice drawled out when you tried taking more of his cock in your mouth.

you could feel tears pricking up at the edge of your waterline, blinking them back quickly. his cock was barely a couple inches in your mouth and the tip was already starting to hit your uvula, your saliva coating around the shaft to mix with the precum spurting out. once you were able to, you started bobbing your head up and down his length.

suguru’s fingers dug into the sheets beside him, his chest starting to feel like he’d run a marathon. your tongue, your mouth, just you, everything felt too stimulating, too good. the hand you’d been jerking him off with moved down to his heavy sack, your fingers rolling around his balls.

and just like that, suguru was a goner. he swore he saw the flickering of a white light above. you felt them tighten up underneath your fingertips, growing heavier and heavier with cum. you looked up to see him completely disheveled, mouth agape to let out shaky gasps and broken moans. and right before you swore you almost felt him cum, he pulled you off.

“did i do something wrong?” your question came out innocent, like you hadn’t nearly sucked the soul out of his body.

suguru let out a disbelieving laugh, pulling you up to your feet before feverishly leaning into kiss you. not seeming to care that he could taste himself on your tongue. “just need to cum inside you, can i do that, please? you still want this?”

he sounded completely and utterly ruined. but you nodded into the kiss, your fingers pressing into his shoulders. “i need you, sugu, need you so bad. please fuck me, please.”

he moved at the speed of light, setting you down onto the comfort of his mattress before he settled himself on top of you. his cock throbbed and twitched at the mere contact with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapping around the base as he swiped the tip through your folds. “you sure you want this?”

just one more time to confirm. you nodded.

“c’mon, use your words for me, pretty,” he whispered, rubbing the tip against your swollen lil’ clit. your throat bobbed as you swallowed back an embarrassing moan.

“i want this, suguru, i’m sure.”

"okay, take a deep breath in for me." you complied, filling your lungs with air before letting it out in a deep exhale. he slowly pushed his cock in, your walls tightening and clenching involuntarily against his shaft.

"there we go, that's it baby. takin' me so well." suguru's voice came out akin to a purr he didn't mention how he'd barely pushed an inch in. once he was certain it was okay, he pushed another and another in.

a choked gasp left your lips when he finally seemed to bottom out, feeling like your body had just been split in half. and maybe, just maybe it was, you wouldn’t necessarily doubt it.

suguru wiped away a couple tears that streamed down your cheeks, standing still while you got used to the intrusion. it was hard, he had to admit, when you felt so warm and wet around him. but anything for your comfort, he wouldn’t risk that.

“you can move, suguru,” you spoke up, one of your hands reaching out to take hold of his. his fingers grasped your own, placing your hand on top of your head before he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in one swift motion. your pussy drenched his shaft each time he pushed back in, each thrust smoother and faster.

suguru leaned down to kiss you, hair falling like a waterfall and covering his face completely before he ever got the chance to get close. you bit down on your lip, trying to keep yourself from laughing in his (hair covered) face before reaching out and moving his hair out the way.

so goes the super suave geto suguru.

a small giggle left your lips at the gesture, slowly starting to feel more and more comfortable being around him. (well how much more comfortable could you really get after having him inside you?) suguru let out a small huff, rolling his eyes in faux annoyance before handing over a hair tie.

you managed to make the world’s messiest ponytail in twenty seconds. go you!

“i’m glad my embarrassment’s amusing, but you okay?” he asked quietly, treating you as if you were a delicate piece of glass. long fingers trailed up your sides like he was admiring a piece of art, not at all like the strangers that you were supposed to be.

“i’m fine,” you assured, wiggling your hips and trying to thrust back into him, “you can go faster, though, please?”

suguru didn’t hesitate to follow that command, hips snapping into you almost immediately. your cunt sucked him in with each thrust, squelching with how much you’d drenched his shaft. his heavy balls smacked against your ass TWACK TWACK TWACK!

your legs wrapped around his waist like you were physically trying to intertwine your body as close as you could to him. “ah ah fuck, sugu, faster, faster!” your moans sounded like the best kind of melody to his ears, and well, who was he really to deny?

suguru hoisted a leg up on the bed for a better angle, hitting that spot inside of you with each quick thrust. your walls clenched around him like a vice, like you wanted to keep him trapped while you gushed and soaked around him.

“pussy’s so good, i’m never letting you go,” he babbled, his other hand gripping your hip to move you up and down his shaft as he pleased.

his middle finger rubbed desperate little circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back from just how good you felt. the hair tie was long since forgotten, hair falling onto his face as he leaned forward to capture your lips in what could only be described as a tangle of tongue and teeth.

everything about him screamed desperate and unhinged—and you weren’t any different.

“make me cum, make me cum, please,” you moaned out against his lips, your chest heaving and your breaths coming out in short pants. suguru nodded like it was his only mission in life, pushing his cock in and out sloppier and messier than he was at first. practically gliding with how wet you were.

your orgasm built up more intense this time, your nails digging into the sheets below as the coil in your tummy began tightening. “please please please,” for what were you begging for? you didn’t know. a scream that would probably wake up his neighbors left your lips as you came, dripping and soaking his shaft in your wake.

“so messy, my messy girl, that’s ittt.” he was a broken pussy-drunk babbling mess. suguru continued to rut into you, chasing his own orgasm while working you through your own. his hips moved desperately, balls twacking against you with each sloppy sloppy thrust until he finally choked out,

“w-where do you hic want it?”

you didn’t give it much thought, “my face, sugu. wanna taste you, come for me, need you.” that was all it took for the last bit to snap, barely managing to pull out in time before he was spurting out drops of cum onto your face and your open mouth.

you swallowed every last drop that landed on your tongue, your features contorting into a slight grimace once the taste settled on your taste buds. and just like you'd come out of a damn porno and his wet dreams, you stuck your tongue out.

"fuck, you're gonna kill me." a breathless laugh left his lips. he made sure to push his hair back this time around before he leaned into kiss you again, his tongue prodding into your mouth.

one time fucking awkward and slightly offputting girl pussy and he was ready to get your finger measurements to buy the most expensive ring he could find at the jewelers. maybe he'd start with just a date once he came back to his senses.

suguru plopped down on the mattress next to you, rubbing a drop off cum off your cheek with the pad of his thumb before bringing it up to his own lips. "was that okay? you need anything—water, a bath, your dignity?"

you let out an amused scoff, turning your head to face him. admiring his features in the post sex glow. you had to admit—to yourself mostly—he looked good worn out and panting. "my dignity's still intact, thank you. but some water and a rag would be nice."

he cracked open the water bottle and left it on the nightstand next to you before disappearing into the bathroom. you could briefly hear the sound of water running before he emerged once more, a wet rag in hand.

each swipe of the rag in between your legs was a gentle one, treating you with the utmost care in the world. “you don’t have to leave right away, if you don’t want to. i can make some mean scrambled eggs.”

“how inviting,” you teased, taking a sip of the water as you mulled it over. how bad would it be to stay the night if he’d already been inside of you? “but sure, i’ll stay. if only for the scrambled eggs.”

you weren’t sure how long the two of you spent up talking about nothing and everything in between, from what you did for school to how you got into baking. it was.. refreshing, in a sense.

you could picture yourself doing this kind of routine with him almost too easily. the last thing you remember before succumbing to sleep was his arms wrapped around your stomach.

holding you like he never quite wanted to let go.

loud knocking woke up suguru at ass o'clock in the morning, long before the sun even started to peek its head from the horizon. a groan left his lips as he forced himself to untangle his limbs from your own and get up.

you didn't seem to notice his absence, in fact, you almost seemed to enjoy it. a little too much, if you asked him. you laid in the middle of the bed, sprawling your arms and legs out like a starfish.

the knocking on the door grew more insistent—determined to get an answer one way or another.

"hi, good morning. i'm from the church of scientology." this time they'd sent a middle aged man to stand at his door and spit out the same spiel he'd heard for the past five months in a row, greeting him with a smile that suguru deemed unnatural this early in the morning.

a smile that quickly seemed to fade once the man took notice of the blossoming hickey on his neck, the scratches that ran down his abdomen.

the man grasped his copy of dianetics like he was clutching his pearls.

suguru would have to eat you out later just for this reaction.

the man cleared his throat, eyes averting down to the book in his hands, before he cracked it open to the first page he could find. suguru wondered how long it'd take the man to figure out the book was upside down.

"i'm here because you signed up to receive visits every weekend. for just the small price of ¥73,300, you could learn all about the church and how to reach enlightenment—" the more that the man rambled, the more that suguru was more inclined to start his own cult than join this one.

but regardless, he let the man finish his spiel before he tapped his chin in faux thought. “to join a cult or not to join a cult, decisions decisions…”

the man raised a finger to protest, pushing up the thick rim of his glasses up his nose, "well actually, we're not a cult, we're a religious group focu-"

the man was left rambling to the front door about the difference between a 'religious group' and a 'cult.'

but he relented, suguru had to give him that at least. the man remained at the doorstep, bringing his fist up to the door but never making contact. probably regretting coming over in the first place.

"who was at the door?" you were barely awake yourself, rubbing at your eyes as the bright morning light peered in through the windows.

suguru pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a small groan, "would you believe me if i said scientology?"

"who'd you piss off?" you questioned, standing by the kitchen with your arms folded.

this time, another groan. though he sounded more whiny than anything, “why does everyone always assume i did something?”

"am i wrong though?" you countered.

You take stock of the room. At the moment, there's only a dresser, a nightstand, and the bed frame that he's currently working on. But, most importantly, they're all matching, which must mean—

"Did you build all of these? By yourself?" you question in disbelief.

He raises a brow, snorting. "Who else was gonna build it? You?"

You cross your arms, somehow offended. "I could've built these on my own," you assert haughtily.

Unlike his sister, Megumi doesn't entertain your antics. He merely hums in reply, once again focusing at the task at hand. You can only watch as he twists another screw into place with unnatural precision.

"How long have you been doing this?" you ask, shifting your weight between your feet.

He shrugs. "A while. We had morning practice and then Tsumiki asked me to come help."

"Practice?" You crouch down next to him, picking up the flimsy instructions packet and flipping through it like a magazine. "For what?"

His lips set thinly, and he pointedly looks away as he replies, "I'm on the soccer team at my university."

Your brows nearly shoot to your hairline in surprise. The Megumi you'd known wouldn't have gotten within 500 feet of a school-sanctioned activity, not unless someone forced him.

And now that you're close enough to really look at him, you realize that his limbs are longer and shoulders broader than you remember. He's a university student now, and a student athlete at that—of course he would look different, be different. But it only serves to remind you of how long it's been since you last met.

"You're real tall now," you observe with a laugh. "Last time I saw you, you were only an inch taller than me. That, and you were getting into tons of fights."

He'd been about fifteen back then, skinny and awkward and growing like a beanstalk. Tsumiki had told you he'd started getting into trouble at school, and it had worried you, but you hadn't stuck around long enough to see it through.

Megumi's ears redden. "Yeah, well, I was a kid back then."

"Aw, c'mon," you tease, ruffling his hair. He stiffens momentarily under your touch. "You're still just—"

Lightning-fast, his fingers wrap over your wrist, the grip so shockingly strong that you're forced to suck in a breath, heart pounding. His widened eyes meet yours, and it's like a thread snaps. Hesitantly, you withdraw your hand once his grip loosens.

"Whoa—"

"I should finish up the bed," he interrupts, turning away sharply.

There's a weight to his words that you can't quite untangle. He typically has an edge to his tone that can be interpreted to the untrained ear as unfriendly, but he's never come off that way to you.

He's always just been Megumi. Little Megumi, who let you and Tsumiki stick clips and ribbons in his hair when you had sleepovers, though that deep frown never left his face. Little Megumi who used to walk home from school three steps behind the two of you, not wanting to be seen walking home with his big sister.

But now, with his eyes narrowing to a glare, you're not sure if you still know him that way. It's been years, after all.

Rising to your feet, you settle back under the doorway as your lip snags between your teeth. Megumi seems to react to the distance—his grip goes white-knuckled around the screwdriver.

"Right," you relent softly. "Sorry. Thanks for your help, then." Then, even quieter, you add, "Happy to have you around for a bit."

"I've always been around," he finally says, still not looking at you. "You were the one who left."

The tension in the room seems to thicken, time slowing to an indiscernible tick. Your gaze drags over Megumi's strained expression, the rigidity in his posture, the screw twisted in his fist. You can't make sense of it.

Just a kid, you had meant to say. You'd known that, and so had Megumi. It shouldn't have been odd—you'd called him that for years before you left, and he'd never complained.

It’s late. The kind of late where the world narrows to just this. Lamplight pooling gold across worn floorboards, the distant hum of the city through cracked windows, and Phainon standing in the center of your room like he’s forgotten how to leave.

He’s just back from a mission. You can tell by the way he holds himself. Too still, too careful, like his body remembers the weight of armor even when it’s gone. His shirt is discarded somewhere between the door and here, draped over the back of a chair, and in the low light, his skin seems to glow.

The markings.

You’ve seen them before—of course you have—but never like this. Never with time to look. You can’t stop staring.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You’re looking at me again,“ he says, voice quiet, touched with something between amusement and uncertainty. He doesn’t turn fully toward you, but his shoulders shift. Self-conscious in a way that doesn’t suit someone who moves crowds and never hesitates before a fight.

“Sorry,” you murmur, though you’re not. Not really.

“Don’t be.” He finally turns, and in the lamplight, his eyes are softer than usual. Tired, yes, but open. Unguarded. “I just… I’m not used to being looked at like that.”

“Like what?”

He hesitates, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s resisting the urge to cross his arms, to hide. “Like I’m something other than a weapon. Like you’re seeing me and not just what I can do.”

Your chest tightens. Something in the way he says it—resigned, almost—like he’s so used to being used that tenderness feels foreign.

“That’s because I am seeing you,” you say quietly, rising from where you’ve been sitting. “Not the Chrysos Heir. Not the Worldbearer. Just you.”

He exhales. Slow, shaky. “You say that like it’s simple.”

“Maybe it is.”

You cross the space between you—three steps, four—until you’re close enough to see the faint tremor in his hands, the way his breath catches when you stop just within reach.

“You can look,” Phainon murmurs, and there’s something raw in his voice now, something almost pleading. “But be careful. You might start believing I’m something worth worshiping.”

The words hang between you. Half joke, half confession, entirely vulnerable. And the way he says it—like he doesn’t believe it himself, like he’s testing the idea, waiting for you to laugh or look away—breaks something in you.

You lift your hand slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants. He doesn’t. Doesn’t even breathe.

Your fingertips brush the edge of the marking on his chest—just barely, a whisper of contact—and he goes completely still. The marking flares briefly under your touch, gold brightening, and his breath comes out in a rush.

“Maybe I already do,” you whisper.

Phainon’s breath hitches. For a moment, he just stares at you. Stunned, like you’ve said something incomprehensible. “You don’t know what you’re saying.“

“Yes, I do.”

You trace the line of gold, slow and reverent, following the path of light etched into his skin. He’s warm under your touch. Almost feverish, like the marking itself holds heat. It pulses faintly with each pass of your fingers, responding to you, and you wonder if he can feel it too. The way it seems to reach for your touch, the way his whole body trembles when you linger.

“I’m not—” Phainon stops, swallows hard. His hands are shaking now, you realize. “I’m not good at this. Being touched like… like I’m something fragile. Like I’m not just—” He cuts himself off, but you hear what he doesn’t say: like I’m not just a tool.

“You’re not fragile,” you say softly, hand settling over his heart. His pulse hammers against your palm. “But you are allowed to be treated gently. You know that, right?”

Phainon closes his eyes, and when he speaks again, his voice is barely audible. “I’m starting to.”

Your other hand comes up, cupping his jaw, and he leans into the touch. Just slightly, like a flower turning toward sun.

“Then let me show you,” you murmur. “Let me.”

He opens his eyes. “Alright,” he breathes. “Okay.”

And when you guide him toward the bed, his hand finding yours like an anchor, he follows. Trusting. Uncertain. Willing.

Phainon sits on the edge of the bed, and you kneel behind him. Close enough that your knees bracket his hips, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Your hands linger on his shoulders. Broad, strong, the kind that were built to carry weight. How much has he carried on these alone? How many burdens, how many people, how much of the world?

You press your thumbs into the muscle, working out knots that feel ancient, and he groans. Low and involuntary, like the sound surprised even him.

“Here?” you ask softly.

“Everywhere,” he admits. “It’s always my shoulders first.”

“Then we’ll start here.” You lean down, pressing a kiss to the slope of his shoulder. “Let me take some of that weight.” Phainon inhales sharply.

“Relax,” you murmur, hands already moving on his shoulders. He tries. You feel the effort in the way his muscles tense, then forcibly loosen. Like he’s forgotten what it means to let go.

“When’s the last time someone did this for you?” you ask quietly, thumbs pressing into the knots along his shoulder blades.

He’s silent for a long moment. Then, so soft you almost miss it, he mumbles, “I don’t remember. Probably never.“

Your chest aches. Never? All this time, all these battles, all this weight. And no one’s ever just touched him like this. Held him. Cared for him without needing something in return.

You start slowly. Tracing the path of light first. The golden line that spans directly over his chest. Up close, it’s not just a line. It’s intricate, layered, almost alive under your fingertips.

“So beautiful,” you whisper.

“A reminder,” Phainon says, voice carefully neutral. “Of what I carry. What I’m meant to be.”

“And what if I just think it’s beautiful because it‘s part of you?”

Phainon’s breath catches. He doesn’t answer. Can’t, maybe. You feel the way his shoulders tense, then deliberately relax. Like he’s trying to process something he’s never let himself consider.

You continue. Palms flat now, working the tension from his shoulders, his spine, the places where armor sits during fights. Your hands learn him. Every ridge of muscle, every old injury, every place he’s been holding himself too tight for too long. He’s solid under your hands, all muscle and old scars, but there’s a fragility underneath. The kind that comes from being strong for too long without ever being allowed to rest.

Your fingers find a scar. Thin, cutting across his shoulder blade.

“This one?” you ask gently.

“Three years ago. Corrupted blade. Didn’t dodge fast enough.”

You press a kiss to it. Soft, reverent. Your lips linger there, feeling his pulse jump beneath the scar tissue. He goes completely still. Doesn’t breathe.

“What are you—”

“Every scar is proof you survived,” you murmur against his skin. “That’s worth honoring.”

His shoulders shake. Just once, barely perceptible. But you feel it. Feel the breath he’s holding, the emotion he’s trying to contain.

You continue the massage, deeper now, and slowly he begins to melt. It’s not surrender, not exactly. More like permission. Permission to stop holding himself together, just for a moment. The tension bleeds from his frame in increments, breath evening out, head tilting forward as your thumbs work the base of his neck.

“Better?” you ask.

“Yes.” Phainon’s voice is rough, thick with something he’s trying not to name. “You’re… you’re very good at this.”

“I’m motivated.”

“By what?”

You lean forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “By you. By wanting you to know what it feels like to be cared for.”

Phainon exhales shakily. “I’m not used to this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how to—” He stops. Starts again. “I don’t know how to just receive. Without giving something back. Without earning it.” The words land heavy between you. Without earning it. Like love is something to be worked for. Like gentleness is a reward, not a right.

You press your forehead between his shoulder blades, arms coming around his waist. His heart hammers against your forearm—wild, unsteady—and you feel the markings pulse warm where your skin meets his.

“You don’t have to earn gentleness,” you say quietly. “You just have to let yourself have it.”

For a long moment, Phainon doesn’t respond. Just sits there, breathing, your arms around him, the lamplight painting him in shades of gold and shadow.

Then, so quietly you almost miss it, he says, “You always look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m human.” He turns slightly, enough that you can see his profile. The line of his jaw, the vulnerable curve of his throat. “Not a hero. Not a weapon. Just a person.”

You shift, moving around to face him, hands framing his face. “You are. You’re a person, Phainon. A person who deserves to be touched gently, looked at with love, held without expectation.”

His blue eyes shine. Too bright, too vulnerable.

“And that’s why I love you,” you finish softly.

The words land between you like a struck match.

He stares at you, lips parted, breath uneven. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re human,” you say simply. “Because you try so hard. Because you carry so much. Because you think you have to earn love when you’ve already earned it just by existing. Because underneath all the light and duty and sacrifice, you’re just someone who wants to be seen.” You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. “And I see you. All of you. And I love what I see.”

His hands come up—shaking slightly—cupping your face like you’re something precious he’s afraid to break.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispers.

“Do what?”

“Accept this. Believe it. Believe that I’m…” He swallows hard. “That I’m worth it.”

“Then let me believe it for both of us,” you murmur. “Until you can believe it yourself.”

He closes the distance between you. A kiss that tastes like salt and relief and something breaking open. Not desperate. Not rushed. Just honest. Vulnerable. Real.

When you part, his eyes are closed, forehead still pressed to yours.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes. “Please. Whatever you’re doing—don’t stop.”

You smile against his skin. “I won’t.”

And you kiss him again. Slower this time, deeper, your hands sliding back into his hair as he leans into you like you’re the only real thing in his world.

The kisses start soft. Feather-light against his temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his jaw. Mapping his face like you’re memorizing it. Phainon sighs into it. Quiet, surrendering.

“Lie back,” you murmur against his lips.

He does, and the lamplight catches him differently now. Horizontal, vulnerable, beautiful in a way that makes your chest tight. The markings glow faintly in the dim light, and you wonder if they always do this or if it’s just now, just for you.

You follow him down, settling beside him, one hand braced on the bed, the other tracing the line of his collarbone.

“You’re staring again,” Phainon says, but there’s no self-consciousness now. Just wonder.

“I’m allowed to.”

“Are you?”

“You gave me permission, remember?” You lean down, pressing your lips to the sun marking over his heart. “You told me I could look.”

His breath hitches. “I didn’t think you’d look like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m something sacred.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Maybe you are.”

Before he can protest, you kiss him again. Deeper this time, swallowing whatever argument he was going to make. His hands come up, tangling in your hair, and for a moment you just kiss. Slow and thorough and honest.

When you break apart, you don’t go far. Just shift your focus, trailing kisses down his jaw, his throat, the vulnerable hollow where his pulse hammers visibly.

You find the sun marking on his neck. Delicate lines that curve around the side of his throat.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, tracing it with your lips.

“Most people don’t look that closely.”

“I’m looking.” You kiss it again, reverent. “I’m always looking.”

His breath hitches, and you feel his heart quickening. You pause there, lips against his racing heartbeat. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Phainon breathes. “Whatever you want. Yes.”

So you kiss him there—once, twice—then let your teeth graze the skin, gentle pressure that makes him gasp.

“Oh—”

You do it again, slightly harder, and his whole body arches into it. Not pain. Something else. Something that makes his fingers tighten in your hair and his breath come faster.

You pull back to admire your work. A faint red mark blooming against his skin.

“Marking me?” Phainon asks, voice rough, almost amused.

“Claiming you,” you correct softly. “If that’s okay.”

His eyes darken. “More than okay.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “Do it again.”

You move lower, kissing the marking on his chest. You trace it with your tongue, feeling him shudder beneath you.

“Beautiful,” you murmur against his skin.

Then lower—across his pecs, kissing the firm muscle, the slight dip between. You can feel his heartbeat here, racing, alive.

“You’re taking your time,” Phainon says, breathless.

“You deserve time.” Lower still. kissing down his sternum, across his ribs, feeling every breath he takes. His abs, each ridge defined, twitching under your attention like he can’t control his body’s response.

“Where—” His voice breaks. “How far are you—”

“As far as you’ll let me,” you answer, looking up at him through your lashes.

His blue eyes are dark, pupils blown. “Don’t stop.” It comes out desperate, pleading.

You continue your path downward. Kisses along his collarbone, across the lines of the sun tattoo, the marking on his chest, down to where a scar cuts across his ribs. You kiss that too, reverent, then let your teeth catch skin again.

Phainon makes a sound—half gasp, half moan—and his hips shift restlessly.

“You’re—” He stops, tries again. “You’re going to ruin me.”

You look up at him through your lashes, and the expression on his face steals your breath. Wrecked, wanting, completely undone. Hair mussed from your hands, lips swollen from kissing, markings glowing bright against flushed skin. He’s never looked more beautiful.

“Good,” you murmur against his skin. “You deserve to be ruined. To be undone. To let someone love you until it breaks you open.” You feel the shudder that runs through him, see the way his hands clench in the sheets.

“I don’t—” His voice cracks. “I don’t know if I can handle this. It’s too much. You’re too much. I feel like I’m going to—.” He cuts himself off, overwhelmed.

“You can.” You press a kiss just below his navel, and his stomach muscles jump under your lips. His breath comes out in a rush, hips shifting involuntarily. “You’re so much stronger than you think. And I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just going to love you until you believe you’re worth it.”

Phainon covers his face with his arm, and you realize with a jolt that he’s crying. Silent tears slipping down his temples, shoulders shaking slightly.

You immediately move back up, pulling his arm away gently. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

He does, and his eyes are red-rimmed, overwhelmed.

“Too much?” you ask softly.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not too much. Just—” He laughs wetly. “No one’s ever touched me like this. Like I’m worth the time. The care. Like I’m more than what I can do for them.”

You cup his face, thumbs wiping away his tears. “You are so much more than that. You’re everything.”

“I want to believe that.”

“Then let me show you.” You lean down, kissing him slowly, tasting salt and vulnerability. “Let me worship you the way you deserve. Will you let me?”

He nods, breath shuddering. “Yes. Please. I—yes.”

“Then trust me,” you whisper. “And let go.”

His eyes close, fresh tears squeezing out, but when you kiss his chest again—lower this time, deliberate—he doesn’t hide.

He lets you see him.

All of him.

Your hands slide lower, over his abdomen—moving over his bare skin. Warm and real and human. You press kisses everywhere, marking the boundary between symbol and human.

Phainon’s already hard, has been for a while. When your lips brush just above, he makes a sound that’s half plea, half prayer.

Your hands slide lower. Over the ridges of his stomach. He tenses, breath catching, and you pause.

“Can I?” you ask, looking up at him.

His eyes are molten. Dark with want and something deeper. Trust. Surrender.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Please.”

You move slowly, deliberately, giving him time to change his mind. But he doesn’t. Just watches you with those burning eyes as you shift position, settling between his legs like it’s devotion.

Because it is.

“You’re sure?” he asks, and you can hear it underneath—the disbelief that anyone would want to do this for him, that anyone would offer this kind of care without expectation.

“I want to,” you say simply, hands steady on his thighs. “I want to worship you properly. Will you let me?”

His breath shudders out. “Yes. Hah, yes.”

You start slow. A kiss pressed to his hip. Then another. Learning him, savoring him, taking your time because this isn’t about rushing. This is about making him feel every moment of being loved.

When you finally take him in your mouth, his whole body goes taut.

“Oh—” The word punches out of him, raw and surprised, and his hand flies to your hair. Not rough, never rough, just needing something to hold onto.

You hum in acknowledgment, taking him deeper, and the sound he makes is beautiful. Broken. “You’re—” Phainon tries, voice already wrecked. “You’re going to—I can’t—”

You pull back just enough to look at him, maintaining eye contact. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

“I don’t know how—”

“Yes, you do.” You press a kiss to the tip, gentle, before taking him back in. “Just feel. That’s all you have to do.”

His head falls back against the pillow, fingers tightening in your hair, and you watch him. The way his throat works, the way his chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm, the way the markings seem to glow brighter the more undone he becomes.

“Hah,” he gasps. “You’re—this is—”

You take him deeper, and his hips jerk involuntarily. He freezes immediately, tension flooding back.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean—”

You pull off long enough to say, “It’s okay. Move if you need to. I want you to.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” You kiss along his length. “Trust yourself. Trust me.”

So he does.

And when you take him back in your mouth, when you set a rhythm that’s slow and deliberate and worshipful, he lets himself move. Small motions, careful, his hand in your hair grounding but never controlling. You feel everything at once. The taste of him. The heat, the way he pulses against your lips when you hum, the tremor that runs through him.

When you take him deeper once more, his back arches off the bed.

“Fuck—” The curse tears out of him, raw and unfiltered. “Hah, your mouth—”

You hum in response, and he nearly sobs.

“Please—” His voice breaks. “Please, I need—I can’t—”

“What do you need?” you pull back just enough to ask.

“More. Everything. You.” He’s babbling now, control completely shattered. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, I need—”

You take him back in, deeper, and the sound he makes is devastated. Broken, desperate, more breath than voice. Then another. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer he can’t stop repeating, punctuated by gasps and soft, wrecked moans that make your heart race.

“Yes—yes—just like that—” His hips cant up involuntarily, and he immediately freezes. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay.” You encourage the movement with your hands on his hips. “Let go. Stop holding back.”

“I can’t—if I do—”

“Then do it. Let go for me.”

So he does.

His hips move in shallow thrusts, careful even now, and you take it—take him—everything he’s willing to give.

“Oh Y/N, oh fuck—” he moans, his voice trembling. “So good, you’re so good, I can’t—I’m going to—”

You double your efforts, and his whole body goes taut. “Please—” It’s barely a word, more a sob. “I’m—I need—please—”

You continue pleasuring him while your hands caress his body like they did before. Phainon lets out a moan that makes you shudder. “Please—” It’s all he can manage. “I can’t—you’re—” His words dissolve into incoherent sounds, half-gasps, half-moans. “So…you’re so—haah, I can’t—” He’s not making sense anymore, just sounds and fragments and your name over and over like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.

“You’re so good,” you murmur against his skin in between. “So beautiful like this.”

He makes a sound—half sob, half moan—and you realize his other hand is covering his face again.

You reach up, pulling it away gently. “Look at me.”

He does, and his eyes are wet, overwhelmed, burning.

“Don’t hide,” you say softly. “I want to see you. All of you.”

“I’m—” His voice breaks. “This is too much. I feel like I’m going to fall apart.”

“Then fall apart.” You take him back in, deeper this time, and he gasps your name like a prayer. “I’ll catch you.”

The rhythm builds. Still slow, still reverent, but with more purpose now. You can feel him trembling, can see the way his whole body is strung tight with sensation and emotion in equal measure.

His whole body is trembling now, thighs shaking under your hands, abs jumping with each breath. His hips move in shallow, desperate thrusts—trying to hold back, failing beautifully. You feel the moment he gives up on control entirely, the way his muscles go taut and then liquid all at once.

“I’m close,” Phainon warns, voice ragged. “You don’t have to—”

But you just hum and continue, and the vibration makes him curse.

“Please—I’m going to—”

You don’t stop.

You don’t pull away.

You take everything he has to give, holding his gaze the entire time, watching as he comes completely undone.

He breaks with a cry that’s your name and a curse and a prayer all at once, hips stuttering, hand fisted in your hair as his whole body shakes apart.

“Fuck—I’m—I’m sorry, I can’t—” Even now, even falling apart, Phainon is trying to be gentle. “Too much, I—”

But you don’t stop until Phainon‘s trembling with aftershocks, until every last bit of tension has bled from his frame, until he’s boneless and gasping and completely, beautifully ruined.

When he falls apart, it’s with your name on his lips and tears streaming down his face. Not from pain or even just pleasure, but from the overwhelming reality of being seen, being held, being loved like this.

You work him through it gently, then pull back slowly, pressing one last kiss to his hip before moving up his body.

When you look up at him, he’s covering his face with both hands, shoulders shaking.

“Hey.” You move up quickly, pulling his hands away. “Look at me.”

His face is wet with tears, flushed, wrecked. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I lost control—”

“That’s what I wanted.” You kiss his forehead, his cheeks, tasting salt. “I wanted you to let go. You were perfect.”

“I cursed—I said—” Phainon can’t even finish, embarrassed even through the haze.

“You were honest. You were real. You were you.” You cup his face. “That’s all I ever want.”

His hands reach for you immediately—desperate, clutching—and you go willingly, letting him pull you into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur, tucking your face against his neck. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

He holds you like you’re the only solid thing in his world, and when he speaks, his voice is wrecked.

“Thank you.” It comes out broken, barely audible. “Thank you.”

“Always,” you whisper back, pressing kisses to his jaw, his cheek, anywhere you can reach. “Always, Phainon.”

He’s still trembling—aftershocks of pleasure and emotion—and you just hold him through it, one hand stroking his hair, the other pressed over his racing heart.

“I didn’t know,” he says after a long moment, voice hoarse and wondering. “I didn’t know it could feel like that. Like being loved rather than just wanted.”

Your chest tightens. “That’s all it was. Just love.”

“Just love,” he repeats, like he’s testing the words. Then, quieter, he says, “I think that’s the most powerful thing anyone’s ever done to me.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. His flushed face, his damp eyes, the soft, vulnerable expression that makes him look younger somehow.

“You’re beautiful,” you say, and you mean it.

He laughs. Wet and breathless. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Say it again,” Phainon whispers.

“You’re beautiful.” You kiss his forehead. “You’re loved.” His temple. “You’re safe.” His lips. “You’re mine.”

His breath hitches on the last word, and when he kisses you back, it’s soft and grateful and full of something that feels like hope.

“Say it one more time,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Which part?”

“That I’m yours.”

“You’re mine,” you say, and you feel him smile. “And I’m keeping you.”

“Good,” Phainon breathes. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never,” you promise.

And as you hold him in the lamplight, his body still trembling, his heart still racing under your palm, you think that this—this—is what worship really means.

Not the grand gestures or the perfect words.

Just this: holding someone while they come back to themselves, loving them through the breaking and the healing both.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, and you realize he’s falling asleep, exhaustion and emotion finally catching up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur back.

His arms tighten around you one last time, and then his breathing evens out, his body finally, finally relaxing into rest.

You press a kiss to his hair and let yourself relax too.

Tomorrow you can talk about what this means, where this goes.

Tonight, you just hold him.

And that’s enough.

You wake before him.

The lamp has burned low, casting the room in amber half-light. Dawn hasn’t broken yet, but it’s close. That soft gray hour where the world holds its breath between night and morning.

Phainon is still asleep beside you, one arm draped across your waist, his face turned toward you on the pillow. In sleep, he looks younger. Unguarded. The lines of worry that usually crease his forehead are smoothed away, and his breathing is deep and even.

Peaceful.

You’ve never seen him look so peaceful.

Your hand moves almost without thinking, tracing idle patterns across his shoulder and the sun marking on his neck. In the low light, it doesn’t glow the way it did last night. It just looks like part of him now. Beautiful, yes, but human. Real.

Phainon stirs under your touch, eyes fluttering open slowly. For a moment he just looks at you, still half-dreaming, and then his lips curve into the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“Hi.” You brush his hair back from his forehead. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Better than I have in years.” He shifts closer, tucking his face against your neck, breathing you in. “You’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. I just—” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and this will have been a dream.”

Your hand moves to his back, tracing slow circles. “Not a dream. I’m real. This is real.”

“Yes.” He exhales, warm against your skin. “I’m starting to believe that.”

You lie there together in comfortable silence, the room slowly brightening as dawn approaches. His fingers trace absent patterns on your hip, gentle and grounding.

“You know,” he says eventually, voice still drowsy, “you worship like you mean it.”

You smile against his hair. “Maybe I do.”

“There’s no maybe about it.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are soft, open, full of something that looks like wonder. “You look at me like I’m worth the devotion. Like I’m not just—” He stops, searching for words. “Like I’m enough.”

“You are enough,” you say firmly. “Just as you are. Not because of what you do or carry or sacrifice. Just because you exist.”

His eyes shine, but he’s smiling. Genuine, soft, unguarded. “I think I might actually believe you now.”

"Good." Your chest feels full, warm. “That’s all I wanted.“

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Slow and full of gratitude. “Thank you,” he whispers. “For last night. For this. For seeing me.”

“Always.”

He settles back against you, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. The marking on his chest rises and falls with his breathing, and you press your palm over it, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath.

“You know what this means, right?” Phainon murmurs, lips brushing your temple.

“What?”

“You‘ve ruined me for anything else in this world.” There’s humor in his voice, but honesty underneath. “I’m yours. Completely.”

“Good,” you say, echoing his word from last night. “That was always the plan.”

He laughs—quiet and warm and real—and tightens his arms around you.

“Then maybe,” Phainon says, voice going playful despite the exhaustion still clinging to him, “you’ll let me return the favor sometime. Let me worship you the way you deserve.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over the marking. “I’m counting on it.”

Outside, the sun begins to rise, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. But neither of you moves. Neither of you reaches for armor or duty or anything beyond this moment.

For once, Phainon doesn’t need to be the Chrysos Heir, the Worldbearer, the beacon of hope.

He’s just Phainon.

And that’s enough.

The night hums wistfully, meandering towards morning, and for once, Phainon doesn’t reach for what‘s outside.