積ん読

Tamsy thought himself patient, a caring lover, he'd give you the moon if he could. Pluck it right out of the sky and find a way to place it in those beautiful hands. Those hands that were currently slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. He’d stood in the doorway, watched those same hands rid yourself of your remaining clothing until you were laid bare against the sheets.

Tamsy knew that you were entirely devoted to him, just as he was to you. His name escaping so breathlessly from those plush lips was enough proof of that, but that didn't stop the jealousy that would arise in his chest at the thought of anyone putting their hands on you. 

Even if those hands belonged to you. 

You were so lost in the pleasure you were bringing yourself you’d hadn't even known he’d returned to Cleaner’s HQ, let alone in your shared bedroom. Though his chest was tightly knotted, but he’d still taken the time to admire you. The sheen of sweat that made your skin glisten in the soft glow of the room. 

Your beautiful features were pulled together in a look of frustrated pleasure, a look that made his face twist in a satisfied smile. The struggle you felt to bring yourself to the same heights of pleasure that he always had with ease was something that fed his ego. So being the kind, considerate, lover he was he’d decided to put you out of your misery. 

“Spool.” 

His words had cut through the room like a knife. You’d barely had a moment to register his voice before Tokushin’s threads had shot outward, wrapping your limbs in their thick strands. Lifting you with ease as he’d stepped out of the darkened doorway. Your arms were bound behind your back, your thighs spread wide as you were suspended several feet off the ground. Like a centerpiece in the middle of your room left completely to his mercy. To 

Tamsy you'd never looked more beautiful, his long hair cascaded over his shoulder as he approached your bound form. His slender fingers curl  under your chin to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. "Look at you, my dear.." His voice held the same adoring tone you'd become accustomed to being addressed by him. "Spread so beautifully for me."

He was circling you like a predator eyeing its meal. Taking in your every feature as he rounded your form, your eyes wide and doe-like as you look up at him. There was something so humiliating and arousing about being spread wide, body on full display for him, with the ropes all while under Tamsy's scrutinizing gaze. All while he was still fully clothed. 

“You know, darling, this upsets me as much as it does you.” He said, tone holding faux sympathy as he tested the security of the threads bindings that had trapped you. “But how else am I to assure you’re taken care of, hm?”

You’d known he'd seen, witnessed the way you'd struggled to bring yourself to orgasm without his help. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips, finally he'd stopped circling you, standing between your spread thighs. Large hands start a trailing caress from your ribs at the base of your breasts, down to your waist, before finding a home at your hips. The pads of his fingers sinking into your skin as he held you tight in his grip. 

Leaning forward until you could feel his exhaled breaths against your dripping sex. The way he’d taken a deep breath in, as if he was committing your scent to memory. Exhaling in a way that almost made his hunger for you tangible. “Your smell is utterly divine, my dear.”

One hand slid from your hip, his long fingers spreading your cunt wide his eyes locked on the sight of you. His lips started their ascent at your knee, a torturously slow path up your inner thigh, his teeth sinking in to leave a nice little mark against your skin. One only hed get to see. And then, with the same urgency he has when taking out a trashbeast, he dives between your thighs. He surges forward, tongue flattening to lick a fat stripe up your cunt, savoring the taste that he craves more than anything this past week since he’s been away.

“Youre so responsive, darling.” His words are spoken into your cunt as your hips buck against the restraints. The vibrations of his words adding to the pleasure as he brings his finger to your entrance. Teasing you relentlessly by barely dipping in the tip of his finger and pulling away as he waits for your response. The strangled whine of his name is all the consent he needs before devouring you.

His finger glides inside you with such ease it makes your cheeks flush, your body pulling the digit in greedily as his tongue lapped at your clit. He ate you like he was starving and you were the first meal he’d had in months. You both knew at this rate you wouldn't last long, the failed attempts of orgasm earlier and his expert knowledge of just how to have you undone for him were a dangerous combination.

Tamsy didn't care that the volume of your voice was loud against the bunker walls, didn’t care who heard, he was too lost in the taste of you. A second finger joined the first, slipping inside with the same ease as he set a ace occasionally curling his fingers upward to hit that spot inside that made your vision cloud. He knew you were close when you’d started wiggling in your bindings. Fighting against the threads that kept you suspended, wanting nothing more than to bury your fingers in that long hair or clamp your thighs around his head. Both urges rendered impossible by his vital instrument. 

“Do it, my dear.” His words were muffled against your cunt, his tongue barely pausing to even speak the words. “Come for me.” 

The tone of his voice held a finality that had your body falling in line. The thread that had wound itself deep within your core snapping. Your back arching as much as the bindings would allow. Your form shuddered violently as your walls clamped down on his invading digits. His fingers and tongue gave you no reprieve, not ceasing their relentless pace. Making sure you feel every moment of your orgasm. When you eventually came down, he slowed his movements. Curling his fingers upward once more, pulling his face away from you, a string of saliva connecting him to your still dripping center for a brief moment before it snapped.

“That's it, there you are my love.” He looked at you, relishing at how wrecked you looked, how your walls still throbbed against his fingers in the afterglow of your orgasm. Knowing full well this was just the beginning of a very long night. His cock throbbing with an aching need to be buried deep within you, and he’d get just that. Not like you were going anywhere with those bindings.

All that’s to say, you’re not exactly feeling bright and bubbly at the moment and the sarcasm isn’t helping.

When the doors—predictably—still don’t budge after more grunting and huffing, you finally surrender. It’s probably for the best, anyway. It could be dangerous—you never know when the elevator might start back up.

With a resigned sigh, you slump against the wall opposite him, sliding down against the cool metal surface until you’re sitting in a heap on the ground. You keep your gaze trained on the floor, tracing the diamond-patterned inlay with your eyes, refusing to look up at the I told you so smirk hiding behind his hand.

It was a bit exciting at first. An unexpected blip in your day to tell your friends and coworkers about then inevitably forget by the weekend. Not to mention, the man you’re trapped in here with is good-looking. Tall, lean, muscular, with a full head of blonde hair and black-rimmed glasses framing honey brown eyes. You’ve seen him in passing around the museum and always imagined him as quiet and kind, a gentle giant type.

Obviously, you were way off.

The minutes really drag when there’s nothing to do.

There’s no cell reception this far underground. Glasses barely responded to your earlier attempts at conversation. You’ve sat and waited, stood back up, sat down again. Pushing the floor buttons does nothing, walking around the car for the hundredth time has lost its appeal.

A loud gurgle cleaves through the silence—your stomach—as if you need another reminder that lunch was hours ago. You should be sitting at your desk, fighting drowsiness, still a little over-full from your meal. Not slouched here, fantasizing about the ten-don place around the corner.

At least the air conditioning is still running. The faint sheen of sweat on your forehead has dried now that you’ve stopped exerting yourself.

“Here.”

Two packets are tossed into your lap. He tears open a third, head tipping back against the wall as he tucks an almond between his lips, accentuating the long line of his neck and the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

You almost roll your eyes (of course this man eats plain, unsalted almonds), but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you tear in to the first pack with a quiet thanks.

It slowly makes you feel better, enough to make another attempt at conversation.

“What are those?” You point at him, and then at your own wrists. The details are hard to make out from across the elevator, but some kind of cufflinks glint on his wrists.

He brightens. “They’re Tambatitanis.”

At your blank look, he elaborates, “have you heard of Brachiosaurus? Brachiosaurus are sauropods like Tambatitanis.”

If you squint, you can make out the golden skeleton of some long-necked, long-tailed creature. “So it’s a….dinosaur?”

“Yes, it’s a dinosaur.”

“Oh. Cool! So you like dinosaurs then?”

The sigh that he lets out sounds long-suffering. “Yes, I do.” He doesn’t elaborate further, and you fall back into an awkward silence.

Finally, the emergency speaker crackles to life, causing you both to jolt upright.

“Maintenance has arrived. Everyone please stand back from the door. We’re going to turn the power off. We should have you out in a few minutes.”

True to their word, after a small lurch and some metallic groaning, the two of you tumble out. You gulp down the musty basement air as if you’ve been trapped for much longer than a few hours.

By the time you look up, he’s already disappeared into the stairwell, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

Thankfully, your manager is sympathetic enough to give you the rest of the afternoon and the next day off to recover. (You don’t end up doing much, but you’re happy for the opportunity to catch up on your shows, try a new cafe, and loosen up the knots in your muscles with a long, hot bath.)

Your mood is so good that you’re unfazed by your manager’s request to report to her office upon your return. You turn left, away from your cubicle and toward Ota-san’s office at the end of the hall. Muted conversation seeps out, the murmurs becoming more coherent the closer you get until you’re standing in front of the door, left slightly ajar.

Inside, you hear a man’s voice. “…could include fieldwork footage to get students excited about the paleontology summer camp.”

“That’s a great idea, Tsukishima-hakase! I’ll be sure to let our media tech know,” Ota responds.

You give a perfunctory knock before pushing open the door.

“Ah- here she is now.”

You greet Ota-san with a polite bow, and she beams back warmly, gesturing toward the other person in the room.

“Welcome back. This is Dr. Tsukishima Kei, curator of paleontology.”

The man stands up, turning as she introduces you, and you both stiffen in surprise. He’s in a completely different outfit, but the same dinosaur cufflinks gleam at his wrists and the same disapproving frown cuts across his face. For the sake of professionalism, you reach out to shake his hand, which he accepts with reluctance.

You’re not quite seated before Ota launches right in.

“As you know, the museum’s 150th anniversary is coming up…promotional videos with each department…highlight reel for the exhibit, maybe a ‘day in the life’ type video following our curators around…and then for children’s day, we were thinking…”

The details for the project barely register as you sit next to Tsukishima, already feeling the tension again in your neck and shoulders.