paxran

Li Zhaoyu; so feared by his enemies that baseless rumors of his capabilities spread like fire over dry grass–a fact only exacerbated by what little truth was known of him to the world familiar with fixers and their purposes. One of those truths was that he was exceptionally young for his talent and prestige. No one could deny it in the context of business, but that’s hardly all Zhaoyu was. 

From your view, he looked as perfect as ever–his silky black hair unchanged by the heat, his eyes dark but fully discerning, and his hands were steady where they parted your thighs to make room for his broad frame. His lips pressed a kiss to the skin of your thigh, close enough to your arousal to make you twitch in anticipation and far enough to leave you hungry for more. Your hands closed to fists around the sheets beneath you. 

“Is this enough for you?” Zhaoyu teased, his arrogance seeping through the seemingly innocent question. A question he easily knew the answer to.

You flushed. “Please,” the word tumbled from your swollen lips; a testament to your dizzy state of need. The heat was becoming unbearable, and your hips were only kept in place by his strong hands. 

“I’m happy to stay here then…” Zhaoyu feigned contentment, smirking into your thigh. His fingers slid down to the backs of your knees, pulling them further apart as he lowered his mouth to your hip–ignoring everything you wished he wouldn’t. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, glinting with challenge. 

Frustration and a slight of playfulness won you over, and within an instant your fingers were wound through his soft hair. 

“Oh?” He smiled mockingly, waiting for your next move with mirth. 

“I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep only kissing me,” you declared, fingers tightening around his hair. He leaned into your touch.

“I think I can make that happen in plenty of other ways, anyway.” Zhaoyu smiled, one of his hands spreading over the one you had clutching his inky locks to close your fist tighter.

If only Sabine Callas could soften her grip–and if only you really wanted her to. 

The chemist has always been acknowledged as high-strung by just about anyone who has seen the furrow of her brow or the strain of her voice, and it was apparent the assumption was at least not entirely incorrect. Of course, it’s not as if she was incapable of being delicate; she’s no fool. The right outcome requires the right approach–but chemistry often demands such monotonous restraint, and combat situations often lack structure. Her solace from the relentless pursuit of control was found in you. More specifically, in exerting control of the most unquestionable kind over you. 

Her thin fingers encircle your wrists in a hold that only seems to become tighter the longer she holds you to the bed, much like a python’s. If you were coherent enough to make the ironic connection, you would have laughed. But as it was, Sabine’s legs were over your hips and your mind was blank of anything but anticipation at the plethora of options before the woman above you. Your neck was bared, your chest rose and fell with increasing frequency, and the warmth of lust was only spreading. The smooth planes of her thighs were tight against your sides–but she held herself there, unwilling to rush.

“Eyes on me.” She commanded, voice lower than a true reprimand but still cool with warning. It didn’t cross your mind to disobey and when you met her gaze the deep green of her eyes were almost fully eclipsed by her pupils. ‘Intense’ is a word many would use to describe Sabine, but this kind was saved for you–the thought made your fingers twitch.

Sabine, even with her eyes fully trained on yours, noticed. She leaned in, her mouth over your suddenly hot ear. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Venom-steeped words spilled into your ear, and were punctuated by her hips dropping onto yours with a rough buck forward. 

The movement should have felt like nothing more than what it was; friction between clothed cores. It should have been stimulating, but not flat-out euphoric. You supposed that was the benefit of her calculating nature. Sabine knew exactly how and when to give and take to get the result she wanted, and for now it seemed like that was torturing you. As you squirmed underneath her slow, deliberate thrusts, your thoughts left the vulnerability of having your hands hoisted over your head and moved on to cursing the fabric between the two of you.

Gerald “Deimos” Morris’ age shows. Not in a traditional, physically weakening or mentally mellowing-out kind of way–but in the way he acts like a creepy old man around you. The type you can find anywhere by simply wearing a low enough cut shirt or short enough shorts.

“Darlin’, if I had more than 2 minutes until this meeting,” he started, thumb stroking your jaw. “I’d tear this little number off of you.” His other hand tugged on the hem of your shirt for emphasis. From his seat he was looking up at you, standing between his legs. Despite your height over him in this position, you felt no power.

Your stomach turned uneasily at his damning smile and the even more damning implications. But before you could reply, he let go of you and stood. With a pat to your flank and a lean in as you stumbled back, he whispered: “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Okay, so maybe he’s worse than your average perv, but that’s only because of and for you. Certainly not his entitlement and ego. How could you say it’s his fault his actions were enough for any and all HR-adjacent channels to abandon containing this issue due to the sheer absurdity of it when he suffers so consistently due to your actions?

You were bent at the hip; reaching into some cabinet for god-knows-what when you heard footsteps make their way to and past the door behind you before promptly returning with a low whistle. You craned your neck to properly view the culprit.

“Now that’s a view I don’t mind.” His broad shoulder met the doorframe, leaning against it like he has all the time in the world.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll do that and so much more, sweetheart.”

Many of such things befitting a man half his age, but he’ll never deny himself a prize like you.

A knight that is so torn between what he should be and what he wants to be. Not even the weight of his armor, reminding him of his oaths, can keep his hands from you as the two of you meander your way back to your family’s lands after bandits massacred the rest of your party. He curses them for twisting your face into fear, but he takes the blessing of being alone with you in stride. Without their rusted blades at the throats of the other escorts and the threats spilled from their rotting mouths spurring you to flee, all he would know of you would be the way your back looked as you rode ahead with your closest companions. Even then, he thought of you at night. The way your smooth hands clutched the reins; how they might look bracing your weight over his bare chest. Your voice, how it might sound hushed and sweetened by the poetry you likely learned in your noble upbringing. The kind he'd never cared for, but would if it came from your mouth. All thoughts that he was certain would die with him.

Now, things are different. Of course, he’s no brute that would take advantage of you. Just let him help you onto your horse, please. It’s only right that he does…and that his leather-padded fingers linger a moment on your thigh to ensure you are stable. No, no, don’t worry, it’s no problem for him to take the place of a servant no matter how many times you insist you aren’t helpless or that you’d never expect a warrior to undress you to bathe in one of the many rivers you settle by for a rest. Allow him the peace of mind that comes with ensuring you are not worlds away from the comfort you've known. The way he stares at your bruised ankle after gently taking off your boot is not alarming, and neither is the kiss he presses to the delicate flesh. If you protest, he’ll apologize for your sake rather than regret. If you don’t…well, if it comforted you so, who is he to stop there?

MONTAGNE:

----------------- Protectively & guiding, Gilles may… not intentionally move you around a bit without notice. His stature is not something he’s unaware of, but he’s used to looking out for others and he takes immense pride in this desire and instinct to do so in particular with you. So, if you are ever in the wrong place at the wrong time–well so is he to help you should you need it. Though, sometimes it comes preemptively.  

A cramped train car? This doesn’t even require a full thought, just a big hand moving you along where he can be between you and everything else. Once you’re settled, it’s sort of hard to focus on whatever he’s chatting to you about quietly when he’s steadying himself with one arm conveniently bent to have his bicep in your face when it’s coupled with a warm palm on your hip. Maybe enough that you stumble, and Gilles' simple reassuring touch slides from your hip to your stomach–keeping you up. The pressure should be uncomfortable, but as established, Gilles is accustomed to and lives by protecting in his gentle-giant way. So naturally, his hand holding you upright feels less like a seatbelt on a sudden stop and more like being pulled into an embrace. You okay? He’d ask, as if you even had a chance to truly fall, and watch intently for your reply. 

True rough handling only occurs with danger or unintentionally. Say you notice the picture frame on the nightstand about to fall from yours & Gilles’ enthusiastic activities. It’s only instinct to try to catch something as it falls, even in such a fervor, right? Gilles must’ve been too busy kissing up your spine to your shoulder to notice from behind you, but when you lunge forward he catches onto your movement–just not the intent. The poor guy thought you were slipping off the bed and grabbed what he could to stop you–which ended up being your hair. The only thing he feels worse about than how hard he yanked you back is how the sound you made won’t get out of his head. He probably cusses himself out in hushed French—not before confirming your wellbeing, of course. Please forgive me, Mon amour (You can hear the frown in his voice as he gently caresses the back of your head).

Issues with his type of heavy-handedness? Gilles respects you deeply…and like any of the other operators here would for their significant other, cares a great deal for your safety. The less fortunate side of this is that having seen so much, he can’t help but anticipate and want to be ahead of whatever comes your way. This may come off a bit overbearing. He wants you to grow just as he wants himself to, but it physically pains this guy to think of you suffering even minimally or the thought of anyone–or worse, you, questioning his capability to protect you. You really just need to nudge him away and he’ll get the hint that you don’t need to be scruffed like a kitten when you get a little too close to oncoming traffic.

BLITZ: 

----------------- Affectionately & enthusiastically, your space is also somewhat his. Of course, no one in Rainbow gets by being completely oblivious, and certainly not without some superior intellect that allows them to comprehend situations they can’t navigate in a natural manner. So, Elias never goes too far. 

You will never worry that a pull or grab is ill-natured from him. However, his easy smiles and excited chatting don’t mean he treats you like glass. What purpose do his exceptional strength and physical dexterity have if not to be used, and more specifically, used to get you both what you want? 

No, you don’t need to be picked up to reach a shelf, you could do it yourself…But isn’t it more fun with me? He would laugh, followed by some syrupy nickname. 

Honestly, Elias is happy simply to be involved in whatever you do. But, he also is never going to miss the opportunity to have you pinned between him and…anything really–how could he resist the feeling of your soft body against his? Especially not with his hands able to conveniently find the skin exposed from under your shirt by your upward reach; or when he can flip you around to face him once you put your bounty on the countertop and sweetly (with that boyish smile) ask for a reward, as if having your hips in his hands and your ass in his face isn’t enough to keep him hard for a week. When he sees you waiting expectantly for him to name his price with a raised brow and dilating eyes, his rough palm finds the column of your neck. His index finger lies over your pulse and his thumb over your throat. With that hold, he pulls you forward into a kiss. Even though he’s initiating the contact and clutches such a delicate part of you, he’s not dominating the act–even if he could easily imagine taking such a moment and moving on to something with a bit more hunger in it right away.

Overall, Elias is just waiting for a reason to have his hands on you. When he does, he is not excessively gentle, but not too rough either unless you suggest a particular mood. He’s a man that inspires trust and mutual excitement as he acts on your shared desires with obvious mirth. The same kind that would be expressed if you returned the favor: pull his face to yours or grab his hair to smush his lips to yours and he’ll match your energy. So that’s how you want to play it, Schatz? The only downside imaginable here is that you may need to iron out the whens and wheres for Elias. He’s generally intuitive, yes, but he also is crazy about you. It’s not always ideal to be bear-hugged in public or pulled over his thighs late in the night as you try to settle down.

KAPKAN:

----------------- Instinctually & as a sort of intimacy, Maxim finds this kind of touch simply effective at accomplishing a goal and pleasing in both a slightly primitive way and on a deeper conscious level. For the former, it’s not that he feels entitled to your space or involving himself in it to accomplish a goal…he is just acknowledging the human urge to seek touch–with the added bonus of getting something done. You aren’t a toy to him, of course, but he doesn’t see the point in resisting interest in you and folding it into his life as often as possible. Why not help himself to palming your chest if you are willing and he wants you nearer? Words work, yes, but you’ll come to him once the warmth of his hands spreads. Most of the time though, rough handling happens rather mundanely.

Trying to fix something? He doesn’t hover unless you want him to, but he can pretty easily tell when you become frustrated. He also pretty easily intervenes. There is no “do it like this” or “you’re doing it wrong”. Just simple and easy to accept or decline: do you want help? Any sign of acquiescence and he just picks you up and moves you. Zero fanfare. From there, you can ask if you want instruction or for the problem to be solved without you. Other cases might be along the lines of: want him to join you on the couch? Don’t bother getting up, he’ll just lift your head and place it on his lap as he sits. It’s all rather natural to the two of you after a while. 

Deep down, Maxim does get off a bit on the heavy-handness. Not for any sadistic reasons mostly, but because you trust him to do so without hurting you and without necessarily communicating a purpose. This kind of interaction is not exactly a common or accepted occurrence between strangers. That show of loyalty and intimacy feeds something within the gray space between right and wrong that just is, in a mind like his that values the former two so much. 

Others might find the simplicity bordering on a bit primitive, but how could he not find pleasure in your willingness to accept him and his touch? You two understand each other, and you understand him grabbing your thigh to pull you to straddle him is just human passion with that somewhat untamed edge he saves for you. Why fight everything in his body and mind that tells him to get closer to you even when he’s already inside? A rough palm between your shoulders brings you down until your chests meet, hearts beating wildly for each other. This is just another way to communicate the closeness you share that doesn’t require complex words(even if he has plenty of those for you).

Reasonably, the lack of context to his less gentle touches can be jarring. He reads people well, and in most cases catches on and explains himself if you seem a little dazed. Otherwise, an issue might be that he’ll resist your own attempts to reciprocate on accident. Years of being on guard never really leaves you, even if you can put it on the back burner in your own home. This might lead to some slightly patronizing coos: Pushing me around now, зайчик (zaychik/bunny)? Honestly, it might be your fault for trying to physically maneuver that much man.