[love like this]

He tracked your movements through the crowd, apologetic smile on your lips with every squeeze between bodies. Chigiri felt his expression soften upon catching your gaze, seeing your smile bleed into your eyes as you triumphantly held up two glasses of some virgin cocktail.

Even through his suppressants, gatherings like this always had the hairs at the back of his neck standing on edge. The air was thick with pheromones, every celebrity locked in a forced show of pleasantries as they tried to outdo each other with opulent displays of generosity.

The lights were still dimmed from the charity auction that had ended just ten minutes ago while countless servers worked to bring out food. Unsurprisingly, Isagi had quickly drawn in a crowd non-players while the rest of the team had broken up into little groups with their respective partners. Chigiri was used to standing off to the side, knowing he'd choke if he got between the stink of that many alphas.

He adjusted his cuffs, fingers brushing over the cufflinks you'd gifted him months ago. Gold set with a tiny pink stone in each.

You'd disappeared from view when he looked back up. Odd.

It's impossible to pick up your scent among so many powerful pheromones. What he wouldn't give to be like you, completely unaffected by them. Several people tried to place their hands on his arm as he pushed past, frustration only rising with every polite dismissal. His PR manager would throw a fit if he snapped at anyone here.

Deep breaths.

He caught sight of you just as some brute put a filthy hand on your hip, the audacity making Chigiri's blood boil. Several heads turned towards him as he approached, likely having noticed the souring scent rolling off of him despite the valiant effort of his suppressant.

"You her friend, missy?"

The group chuckled, all four of them baring sharp teeth in the process, while you smiled apologetically, one hand already raised in a placating gesture.

"My boyfriend, actually.." You wriggled a little, the offending hand moving to your shoulder instead. "Chigi, this is Micha-"

"Kaiser," the brute supplied, stretching a hand towards Chigiri that went utterly ignored.

Chigiri reached for your wrist, tugging you out of the blonde's grasp. "Learn some manners and keep your hands to yourself."

Kaiser had a feral glint in his eye, well hidden beneath the surface. But Chigiri recognized it immediately. A man who thought himself entitled to whatever he wanted. Chigiri placed himself in front of you, no longer concerned with propriety after smelling how clearly the man was trying to lull you into a sense of security.

He'd have to reprimand you later for being so proper. You should've bit his hand off, media coverage be damned.

"You're mine- mine.. say it!" Chigiri snarled, heart pounding so loudly in his ears that he couldn't hear the sound leaving your lips as they moved.

His hips snapped forward, burying himself fully in your wet heat with a pitiful whine. The door to your shared home had barely clicked shut before he'd pounced. You were so sweet, so good, the sensation of your nails scratching at his shoulders sending shivers through him. Having barely caught his breath, he pulled back almost entirely, panting as he took in your flushed cheeks.

The beast in him howled when you brought one of his hands to your cheek and nuzzled into it, your eyes so thick with affection (and understanding) it just might drown him. Those pretty eyes fluttered when he slowly pushed back in, your walls fluttering around his aching length.

His hole is already dripping onto the sheets, fluttering obscenely about nothing and making his core clench with need.

Chigiri knew there was nothing dignified about how he looked right now, briefly considered if he was on the cusp of an early heat, drooling onto your chest and tearing the soaked fabric of your dress to bite and suck at tender flesh. He'd have to apologize tomorrow, both to you and the poor designer.

You tasted divine, so mellow and subtle that Chigiri was certain no one but him knew. Exactly the way it should be. His canines ached nearly as bad as the glands on either side of his neck.

He needed to mark.

To claim.

To show everyone that there was no doubt who you were with. No doubt you were happy and satisfied.

Right?

Cotton tears beneath his nails, drowns out your almost pained gasp.

Another whine emerged from his throat, the sound grating on Chigiri's ears. He wasn't weak. He wasn't-… You chose him, not out of pity or for lack of a better mate. It's not like there weren't plenty of alphas licking their lips at the sight of you.

There's nothing lesser about him.

Right?

Your hand squeezing his bicep made him blink, fog clearing from his mind and the brutal pace he'd unconsciously set slowing down. "Chigi…" You thread your fingers through his hair, scratch at his scalp in exactly the way that has his pulse slow. He follows your guiding touch, stilling completely inside you as he buries his face in your neck.

Morning dew and sundried laundry. Your weak scent cradles him in its embrace, the little attempt at a purr from your chest making you both chuckle. "..trying my best here," you protest, breath hot against his ear.

Chigiri hums, both doubt and fire in his veins momentarily under control. "Thank you.." When you'd first started seeing each other, you'd been ignorant to most nuances between secondary genders and their respective needs. Now, you happily tried to purr and nuzzle, your scent even spiking a little to soothe his frazzled nerves.

He gives a shallow thrust in protest as one of your hands pull away, the sound of you fumbling with the dresser making his cock throb. He's grateful you can't see his eager expression, busying himself with sucking marks into your neck (you'll no doubt complain tomorrow, but it'll be worth it).

The cool silicone makes Chigiri jerk as it makes contact with his flushed skin, blunt tip dragging along his puckered rim. It's swiftly joined by one of your fingers circling his entrance, gathering up the sticky liquid with quiet reverence.

"So wet… does the thought of sharing me excite you that much?" He knows it's a taunt. Growls regardless and flushes scarlet when you laugh. "I know, I know… Sorry, can't help it." You kiss his cheek, and before his mind can form a reply, your finger has already slipped inside him, the intrusion making his hips drive forward and bully his length deeper into your cunt.

A ragged breath of 'more' is whispered against your skin, wet with a delicious mixture of sweat and drool that Chigiri laps up. The stretch burns and makes his thighs tremble, and he can't resist pushing back against the plug, nearly howling when it snaps into place. It makes his vision go white almost immediately as you wriggle the base a little, sharp canines digging into your shoulder.

His orgasm crashes over him, your walls fluttering in a way that almost feels delightfully greedy as Chigiri empties himself in you. Much to his dismay, his body goes limp atop yours just moments later, his weight making you gasp and laugh.

There's a safety to it, limbs tangled with yours and foreheads pressed together. Sleepiness finds him swiftly, as it always does when he's been plugged, and he barely catches your whispered confession of love before the world goes dark.

Yes, someone’s singing. It’s loud and joyous, slightly out of tune. You don’t know the words to this song but you’re drawn to the deep voice that is turning them into a weird melody, so you let your feet follow the path that leads to a well-kept garden with an endlessly long table only one man is sitting at.

“Excuse me?”, needless to say you realize perfectly well how rude it is to interrupt but you feel so tired and the table is filled with so many delicious treats: a floating teapot keeps his cup full as he sings and you try to keep your composure while your gaze takes in all the baked goods the oddly prolonged table has to offer. Cakes, scones, jam, sandwiches. There seems to only be one additional cup, destined to whoever will sit across from the stranger who is finishing his song while acknowledging your presence with a slight nod of the head and lips curled into a polite smile that makes his handsome features light up.

When the song ends, the strange man says your name with wild excitement simmering beneath a jovial tone.

“Won’t you take a seat, my dear?”.

“Me?”, you blink, “oh, no, it would be terribly impolite to your guest. How do you know my name?”.

He tilts his head to the side.

“Everyone here knows your name. Which guest are you referring to?”.

“The one you’re clearly waiting for, of course!”.

The stranger bursts into loud, ungraceful laughter. Surely your beloved aunt would’ve directed him one of her bitter, powerful glares.

“Well, you see”, he grins, “I’ve only ever been waiting for you”.

You rapidly blink back your surprise.

“Me?”.

The man offers another smile, one that makes an alarm bell ring somewhere far away in the back of your mind. You feel drawn to him, in a way that makes the hairs behind your neck stand and your heart thump in your chest. He’s handsome, looks like one of the princes you’d hear stories of when you were a child. Maybe he is one? Only a prince would wait for you with such tenderness, willing to prepare a banquet so inviting.

“No one else but you”, he pulls the empty chair across from his own and gently slides it forward as you sit. The red velvet cushion beneath you is so comfortable all your tiredness suddenly weighs heavy on your limbs, mind dizzy as your thoughts float from one unasked question to the other. Who are all those other seats for, then? Why is the table so long?

Oliver, so is called the stranger, gracefully snaps his fingers and the teapot fills your cup. It’s really lovely, with a wide rim, a tall handle, delicate pink floral pattern and gold trim.

“Thank you”, you nod to the teapot, grateful, “I got lost. Have you been waiting long?”.

“A couple hundred years”.

You gasp quietly as you serve yourself a few scones.

“That’s so long. It must’ve been boring”.

He takes a sip from his cup, a light shrug of the shoulders.

“Not really. I had songs to sing and riddles to solve”.

You tilt your head to the side, mouth pressed into a sorrowful line.

“It must’ve felt lonely”, you’re not quite sure why or how you know with such painful certainty, you just do.

Something flashes in Oliver’s eyes and the sadness in your heart grows, throbs from within. Somehow you feel despair that is centuries old and the hand you bring to your chest isn’t enough to soothe the melancholy smearing your every emotion. You will never feel anything else ever again and oh, you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s been going through such misery all alone.

“I didn’t mind”, he murmurs gently, “I knew you’d come”.

“How?”.

“A man in love always knows”.

He is most definitely a prince. You observe the dark brown tailcoat with white frilly cuffs and cravat, the tall top hat with a silk lavender band wrapped around it. His eyes are what give his noble nature away: green like the depths of the forests knights ride into, purple like the flash of lightning in the night sky during the most terrible storm.

“You love me?”, you finished your tea yet your cup is already full once more.

“I never did anything but”, Oliver’s gaze is overflowing with sincerity and something else, an appetite you can’t recognize, “the queen beheaded me dozens of times over it”.

Your voice vibrates with indignation.

“Why?”.

“Drink more tea”, he pushes another cup towards you, “don’t concern yourself with such unpleasant thoughts-”

“Please tell me”, you accept the tea, “I can handle it”.

Oliver heaves a deep, dramatic sigh.

“I told her she could never be as beautiful as you. That every living thing in Wonderland should bend the knee to you instead”, he leans over the table as if to whisper a special secret, so you eagerly lean over too, “that my heart is yours, no matter how many times she takes my head”.

“Am I really so special?”, you’re deeply moved by his words, by the devotion of this beautiful man who loves you the way women are loved in those medieval poems you adore so much.

The man before you chuckles with patient composure, as someone who is trying to explain something seemingly absurd to somebody who hasn’t made the feeling clasping his chest their entire sky, moon and stars. He doesn’t expect anyone, let alone you, to understand. Good thing he has all the time in the world to prove the way ‘special’ doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what you are to him. Of what you mean.

“C’mere”, Oliver holds out a hand and you rise from your seat to take it. You feel so much better now that you had something sweet to eat at such lovely table, the shadows lurking behind trees no longer scary: surely you will find your way now. Perhaps he is the one you were meant to meet, the one who will guide you towards the road you are to take. Everything here is lovely, he is so lovely. So, so lovely as he guides you onto his lap and wraps his arms around you.

“I missed you for so long”, Oliver whispers into your hair, “it did feel lonely. But I still waited, I never moved, had to make sure everything was perfect. And now you’re here”.

“Now I’m here”, your fingers card through his soft hair and he looks at you with stars in his eyes, “and you will never be lonely again”.

“Do you mean that?”.

You chuckle, sincerely amused.

“Of course I do. You will come with me, silly”.

His lips twitch but you miss it, too preoccupied with stroking his hair. Too engrossed in his beauty to care about how obscene it is to sit in a man’s lap in public, with a skirt on no less. Your aunt’s heart would probably give out at the sight.

“Come with you where?”, he asks, with tranquility you’d never guess could conceal anything else.

“Home, naturally”, you smile, “we will leave together. Surely my aunt will adore you, she’s been trying to find me an adequate su-”

“An adequate suitor”, Oliver finishes the sentence for you and you jump a little when one of his hands sneaks beneath the hem of your skirt, to gently squeeze your knee. It’s warm and feels so nice.

“How do you know?”.

“I know everything about you”, he pulls you in, enough for your nose to lightly brush against his, “I know you hate them all. I know you hate home, your aunt, the books she makes you read. You always wanted, no, deserved better”.

Your heart beats faster, like the one of a trapped little rabbit, as you can only focus on how close he is.

“I would hate it less with you”, it feels true as you say it, so you’re not embarrassed by the sappiness of your words. His lips press to the corner of your mouth and you find yourself pulled further in, fingers tightening the hold around his colorful strands. The green of high tides beneath cloudy skies meeting the rich purple of pulpy figs.

“I am not a suitor”, Oliver murmurs as he presses another kiss to your jaw, “I already have you”.

“But…”

“And you have me”, there is fondness embedded in his smile, “here, where we belong. This is home”.

It is so easy to believe him as his hand strokes your thigh and he mouths his way to your throat, reverent in every touch. Something unknown is buzzing beneath your skin, a feeling you’ve never felt before, one that makes you want to give yourself to him completely.

“Oh”, you let out a funny little sound when his knuckles gently stroke your heat through your panties and Oliver smiles when you tentatively let yourself rock against him.

You say his name, breathless.

“Yes, my sweet girl”, he kisses a hot trail from your throat up to your mouth, “that’s it. Tell me how it feels?”, one of his fingers strokes you with intention now, you feel it in your underwear and your head spins, dizzy with want.

“Good, so good”, you whisper. 

“So good”, he repeats and his finger dips inside your fluttering hole, curled just right, “don’t you want to feel this good forever? Here, with me?”.

“Yes”, you hiccup, “oh, yes, yes, I only want to feel like this”.

“With me”, his teeth gently sink into your bottom lip and you find yourself rolling your hips against his hand, “say it”.

“With you”, obedient, you give him what he wants and Oliver rewards you with a second finger, the stretch making your legs feel like fruit jelly, “with you, always with you”, your words are tucked back into your throat when he kisses you for the first time. It’s unhurried, deep. You kiss him back because you were made for it and relish in the feeling of his hand cupping the back of your head, the tickle of his hair on your skin. His beautiful eyes are lidded as he pulls back, a low sound vibrating in his chest at the soft noises you keep letting out, your fingers digging into his wide shoulders as you tremble in his strong hold.

Oliver could lie to you, tell you that letting him have his way with you is the only way to leave his tea party. Why would he, though? That wouldn’t be love, he refuses to let this special moment take root in falsehood. There is no way to leave, no reason for you to not be exactly where you belong: with him, at the same table he’s waited at for centuries. There is no way to leave, he’s made sure of that.

“I love you”, it’s the soft coo to your ear that is your undoing and Oliver chuckles when you apologize for the wet mess you’re making, broken sobs of pleasure rolling past your lips as you hide your face into his shoulder. His fingers gently work you through your orgasm as your mind stutters, unable to form a single coherent thought.

“You'll make me go mad”, you whisper and the man whose perfect fingers drew delightful shapes inside you laughs.

“I will”, he knows you're not entirely sane yourself, otherwise you wouldn't belong to him.

“I love you”, you say, because it’s true. And Oliver smiles, both of you losing track of where your lips end and his own begin.