little deaths

You didn’t ask permission. You just set your wine down, climbed into his lap and settled there with the practiced grace of someone who wanted to be wanted.

His sharp brow lifted in amusement, but he didn’t stop you. Of course he didn’t. He enjoyed this game.

Your dress had a high slit, a little too revealing for Asgardian formality, but perfect for a feast like these when ‘sense’ tended to be abandoned. The fabric parted easily as your legs draped over his thighs, heat running up your spine. He watched you, catching the exposed skin with his gaze, but said nothing..

"You’ve ignored me all night," you accused, voice soft and slurred with wine.

"I gave you a place at the royal table," he countered lazily before drinking.

"Next to Olga," you groaned. "She spent most of the night talking about the beading on her sleeves."

"Ah, yes. The embroidery saga. Riveting."

You pouted, fingers toying with the fine collar of his open shirt, brushing the edges of gold trim, then teasing upward into the soft dark waves of his hair.

"You owe me."

"Mm," he hummed, finishing his wine with one last swallow. "And how, exactly, do you expect me to repay this grave injustice?"

You grinned, rolling your hips just a little; a slow, suggestive circle that made his breath hitch.

Loki laughed, low and quiet. "Careful, little thing. Don’t start something you can’t finish."

You tilted your head, voice lilting. "After how you've treated me tonight? I should be the one warning you."

"Treated you?" he echoed, smirking. "You had a front-row seat to my finest diplomatic work."

You scoffed. "I watched you charm half of Asgard while I was stuck making small talk about thread counts and sapphires."

"Ah yes, the trials of courtship."

"You neglect me," you corrected, tone saccharine as you dragged your fingers through the soft raven waves at his nape. "You left me to suffer. I'm only repaying the favour. And believe me, I’ve had hours to dream up how."

Loki's eyes gleamed, the corner of his mouth twitching upward with delighted interest. "And how do you plan to make me suffer, exactly?"

"By making things... very hard for you," you replied sweetly, your voice a velvet thread of mischief.

You leaned in closer, breath tickling his ear, letting your lips graze the shell of it as you whispered, "You owe me. I plan to collect every indulgent, shameful bit of it."

His hand tightened slightly at your waist, fingertips brushing just beneath the hem of your dress. "You're bolder when you're a few goblet’s deep," he murmured, though his voice had dipped into something rougher, less mocking, more intrigued.

"Then consider topping me off a very dangerous decision," you whispered, your teeth catching your lower lip just as you let your hips roll again…slower this time, deliberate, drawing a low sound from his throat.

His breath caught. You could feel the subtle twitch beneath you. Encouraged, you did it again, slower still, until the pressure was undeniable.

"I want you to make it up to me," you murmured, voice low and thick with want. "Properly. Thoroughly."

His gaze swept your face with amusement and something deeper. Hunger, perhaps. Loki’s hand slid further around your back, pulling you fractionally closer, you saw it in his eyes, he fully intended to do just that.

You didn’t wait for an answer. Your hands trailed lower, settling at the hem of his tunic, fingers brushing the edge where silk met skin. He arched a brow at you, all confidence and cruel amusement, but made no move to stop you.

Instead, he let you work.

You rocked your hips again, a little harder this time, grinding down against him with lazy insistence. The thin layers of fabric between you did little to muffle the growing heat. His thighs tensed beneath yours, the muscle tightening under your weight, but his hands remained still, resting on the curve of the couch as if he had all the time in the world.

You felt a catlike smile curl across your face, slow and sharp, your tongue pressing to the inside of your teeth to keep it from turning into a full grin. That glint of wickedness fluttered behind your lashes as you looked down at him; your own version of a warning. You had no plans to stop. Not when he was making it so easy to enjoy yourself.

“You seem awfully proud of yourself,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded, voice like honey left too long in the sun. “But I’ve yet to feel anything worth praising.”

“Oh?” you breathed, letting your lips ghost along the line of his jaw. “You’ve been making everyone else feel so special tonight..”

“You enjoy watching me.”

“I’ve been suffering,” you replied with mock offense. “Charming other with you silver tongue, and left me day dreaming of it.”

His smirk twitched. “And this is your revenge?”

You reached for the vee of his shirt again and dragged it open wider, revealing more of the pale skin beneath, the faint shimmer of his collarbone. You kissed him there, lips and teeth and tongue, mouthing heat into his skin until he exhaled sharply.

This time, when you rolled your hips again, you heard it: the breath that caught in his throat. The way his fingers twitched on the cushion, betrayed by his body even as his smirk stayed firm.

Still, he didn’t give you the satisfaction of touching you back. Not yet. Gods, that only made you want it more.

“Cruel,” you whispered against his neck. “You’re being cruel.”

“Mm,” Loki said. “And you’re being impatient. If you want something, darling, you’ll have to ask for it.”

His tone was maddeningly calm, but his cock pressed insistently beneath his clothes. You slid your hand lower between you, fingers curling over the hard shape beneath his tunic. He was ready. Smug. Unhurried.

"I want it," you purred at him "want you."

He inhaled through his nose. “Indeed you must, to be this bold. In public. On my lap. Grinding like I’d been starving you of me for weeks.”

You didn’t care. Not right now. Not with the firelight glowing soft around you and the sheer curtains doing enough to blur the lines between shadow and scandal. Everyone else at this feast was just as merry as you. Drunk on wine and song and all distracted. No one was paying attention.

“You owe me,” you murmured again.

His lips brushed your cheek. “You’re making things very hard for me darling.”

“I meant to.” your ran your hand over him again, firmer "Just let me have what I want.." 

Finally, he moved. One hand slipped under your dress, fingers ghosting along your inner thigh with maddening slowness, stroking warmth into your skin, making you shiver. He dragged his fingertips higher, pausing just short of where you ached for him. The anticipation had you shifting upward instinctively, granting him access, wordless and wanting. You could feel the smile in his breath as he exhaled against your cheek, satisfied by how easily you gave yourself over.

“You know,” he said, almost gently. “Wanting and taking are not the same, are they?”

You let out a breath, tilting your head as you dragged your nails lightly down his chest. “I could take it. If you’d let me. But if you keep denying me much longer, I might just go find someone else who will.”

The words were sharp, but your voice was all honey, thick with taunt and very the challenge.

Loki’s eyes gleamed, lashes lowering in a slow blink.

“Is that so?” he murmured. His lips curled as he tipped his head, assessing you like a rare find he had no intention of sharing. “You’d go spread those trembling thighs for someone else, just because I make you wait?”

You didn’t flinch. “If it meant I’d finally get what I want.”

He tutted, softly, his finger still teasing “Bold, to speak like that, or just needy?”

“I am,” you admitted shamelessly. “And you’re still just talking.”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth close to your ear, breath warm, but the tone of thick amusement clear. “You know you wouldn’t find even a shadow of what I give you. But if you're so eager to humiliate yourself in the arms of some clumsy bore, don’t let me stop you.”

There was no venom in his words; only heat and warning. You were playing with fire and both of you knew it. But neither of you were ready to stop.

“Unless,” he drawled, the smirk blooming again, “this tantrum is really just a cry for attention.”

“Hardly a cry when I’m asking you to touch me.” you breathed, curling your hand around his wrist and guiding it now. “Maybe I just want you to stop pretending you don’t want it too.”

That struck true, he stilled for a breath, and then slowly began to move. His hand slid, grazing along your thigh, until it found the softest part of you. You shifted instinctively, parting your legs more, an unspoken invitation.

“If you're going to be bratty, darling,” he murmured darkly, “don’t pout when I don’t go easy on you.”

Then he shifted, deft, deliberate as he finally freed himself with infuriating ease. The head of him pressing against your entrance, hot and swollen and unmistakably real. You braced yourself, both hands on his shoulders and began to sink with out thinking.

The stretch was exquisite, depraved in the sting. Too much, not enough, all at once. He filled you slowly, letting you lower yourself at your own pace, but he didn’t help. He didn’t move. You were doing this to yourself, and your prince was watching every second of it.

You gasped, forehead falling to his. “Loki- ”

“You said you could take it,” his own voice as tight as you were. “All the way, darling, I want to feel all of you.”

You were barely halfway, quivering  from the effort, breath coming in shallow pants. Normally, he took his time with you; stretching you open slowly, coaxing every reaction with deliberate care. But you’d been greedy tonight, bold and brash, and now you were paying for it. Doubt began to creep in around the edges of the pleasure, the fullness already making your thighs shake, your body quiver with strain. It was too much. And still not enough.

“Keep going.”

You shot him a look;  half disbelief, half desperate defiance but your body obeyed even as your mind wavered. Shifting again, you tried to take more, your thighs timorous, the pressure building and your nerves alight. It wasn’t enough. Not until he gave it.

He exhaled slowly, gaze fixed where your bodies met, watching you struggle and shiver. "Good girl," he murmured, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, something growing feral behind that polished veneer. "A little more. Come now. Show me."

You braced harder against his shoulders, breath coming quick. The tension snapped.

With a sudden shift, Loki’s hands gripped your hips; firm, unyielding and he surged upward with one deep, devastating thrust, burying himself entirely inside you.

“Ugh…”

Air punched out of your lungs in a broken gasp. Your body collapsed against his, clinging with everything you had, stuffed so full. You weren’t sure if you were shaking from the pleasure or the suddenness, but it had stolen your breath, your thoughts…everything.

For a moment, he stilled. Just held you there, impaled and speechless, his breath catching as well. You felt it…the tremor in his chest, the low, guttural sound he almost made. He was overwhelmed too, and the weight of it pressed into every inch of you.

You felt him inhale, as if to speak…

Tthen the voices came.

The flap of the curtain stirred. Laughter spilled into the space, accompanied by the jingle of goblets and the heavy rhythm of boots against stone.

“Here you are!” Thor’s voice boomed with too much joy. “I told them you’d be hiding in the quiet corner, brother!”

You froze, every muscle going taut, the air thick and unmoving in your lungs.

Loki didn’t.

His hand flexed once on your hip before slipping back into a neutral, dignified posture, as if nothing in the world could unnerve him. Your heart raced, thudding like thunder against your ribs, but Loki only smiled that infuriating, charming smile, raising his empty goblet in lazy greeting as Sif, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg filed in with flushed cheeks and glowing cheer.

“I knew it,” Fandral declared. “Leave it to Loki to find the coziest shadows in the realm.”

“It is a gift,” Loki replied smoothly, his voice velvet and entirely unbothered.

How could he talk?!

Still, your legs remained spread across his lap, your breath trembling against his shoulder and the heat of him still seated impossibly deep within you.

He adjusted you subtly in his lap, sitting more upright, and the motion made everything inside you clench. It took every ounce of restraint not to make a noise. Your hands scrabbling for purchase. They found his shirt; twisting tight in your fists as your spine bowed. Your fingers fisted tighter in the fabric, turning your head away as your mouth falling open in a silent cry as your body fought to stay still while Loki adjusted the fabric of your dress to hide any evidence. 

“Stay,” he whispered, lips against your ear. “Or they’ll know.”

He stroked your thigh, casual, possessive.

Sif’s voice was unmistakable as she flopped onto one of the low couches nearby and you caught the telltale tones of Volstagg and Hogun settling in too across from you. You tried not to panic; there was nothing to see, not with the layers of silk and your careful draping, but Loki was still inside you. Buried so deep you felt him in your ribs, his cock pulsing faintly every time you shifted.

You kept your head ducked, face hidden in the crux of his neck and shoulder, but your breath stuttered when the cushions dipped beside you.

Thor.

He took the seat to Loki’s left, close enough to jostle the couch; close enough to jostle you.

The movement sent a ripple through your hips. You stirred on instinct, the stretch of him inside you too intense, too much. You tried to muffle your reaction, turning your face deeper into Loki’s neck.

“Too much…” you breathed, barely audible. Your fingers clenched tightly in the soft folds of his tunic and shirt

Loki just exhaled slowly, the motion making his chest rise against your own. His palm smoothed across your outer thigh, the gesture slow, grounding. It didn’t help. Not when every little shift only reminded you how full you were. Not when the warmth of Thor’s presence beside you made your nerves snap taut.

Not that either of you could do much about it now.

Loki’s hand stayed low, his fingers trailing little circles into your skin, and when you risked a glance up at his face, you found nothing but serenity painted across his features. The bastard looked like he was relaxed.

But you felt it, the tension coiled beneath his calm, the possessive flex of his hand. He knew exactly how much you were struggling, and he was enjoying it.

You could quiet stop the trembles, your breathing still not quiet right, you found yourself holding it as you tried not to shift again…. The pressure at your cervix ached, as did your thighs from the tension. So many muscles pulled taut with restraint. Every inch of you pulsed with the effort of staying still. The weight of Loki inside you was unbearable in the best possible way; stretching you, filling you, reminding you of every wicked thing you had been thinking off early while he’d ignored you.

Now this was a new torture, to have him and be denied movement.

Thor leaned across towards Loki, cutting through the unbearable stillness with that ever-so-knowing smirk of his.

"I'm quite sure you've lectured me on such behaviour before," he murmured with a grin, mischief shining in his eyes like starlight as he casually handed Loki a drink, as if nothing was amiss. As if your body wasn’t burning beside them. Damn him for knowing look..

Loki didn’t miss a beat, fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thig, his other hand taking the drink.

"Ah, but your company, dear brother, was not so insistent. This is a mess of her own making," he replied silkily, raising his glass with unbothered elegance.

Thor chuckled as he leaned back on the couch swirling his drink.

"They never learn," he said, the amused older brother watching the consequences unfold.

Loki turned his smirk toward you, gaze dropping to your lips before rising again. His thumb stroked higher along your inner thigh, almost brushing where you were most sensitive and you had to bite down hard to keep from gasping.

"This one might. She’s a clever thing... aren’t you, darling?" he purred.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not without making a sound that would betray everything. Your mouth had gone dry; breath stuck somewhere between humiliation and desperate need. You were caught between the fire blooming low in your belly and the shame curling tight around your ribs. If you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if a whimper or a moan would come out…or worse, a beg.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a second, trying to ground yourself, but the moment stretched unbearably.

Loki leaned in, brushing his lips close to your ear, the warmth of him unraveling what little resolve you had left.

"Don't be so shy now, darling," he whispered, voice like honeyed poison. "You were all talk before. Don’t be rude to my brother... at least have a drink." His breath ghosted against your skin. His voice felt like a caress, a challenge.. and a leash all in one.

He raised the goblet again, took a long sip of the wine first, then turned it in his hand and offered it to you.

You hesitated, then reached for it, but instead of simply leaning, you sat up slowly, bracing yourself against Loki’s shoulder. The movement rocked through your core, a sharp drag of his cock inside you sending a rush of sensation up your spine. You blinked, startled, your eyebrows shooting up as your system lit up from the heightened sensitivity of being stretched around him. Every inch of you ached to chase the friction, even the smallest shift triggering sparks behind your eyes.

Thor let out a low, knowing chuff of laughter from the couch beside you. One of the others…Sif, maybe?…murmured something about whether you should be drinking at all, considering how you were already limbless on Loki’s lap.

“Don't worry so much Sif, the lady is exactly where she wants to be."

He didn’t even glance away from you as he said it, the words leaving his mouth in a tone so smooth, so possessively quiet, you weren’t sure if it was his words or his cock that made her breathing catch.

His hand shifted slightly on your leg, the casual petting he’d maintained now a little firmer assertive in its message. You felt the group still around the comment.

Thor leaned in again, forearms resting on his knees, eyes glittering with mischief as Sif's glare bore into him. He didn’t seem to mind the tension coiling in the room.

“I could make them leave, you know,” Thor offered, his voice low, almost bored, like he was talking about clearing the weather, not dismissing an entire royal table.

Loki didn’t look away from you. "What? And spoil my entertainment? Now that’s cruel," he murmured, lips twitching upward. "She’s fine."

You weren’t. Gods, you weren’t. You wanted to move. But you weren’t about to give in either.

“Are you sure?” Thor asked, brow arched as he turned his attention to you. It wasn’t mockery. It was something heavier. Curious. Sharp. Measuring the strength of your resolve.

You blinked, steadied your breath, and managed to sit up a little straighter, though the motion nearly undid you. Your core clenched again, slick and desperate. Your throat felt tight, not with fear, but pressure. Need. Heat.

“I’m enduring,” you replied softly, voice huskier than intended.

Thor let out a low huff of a laugh, and one of the others, probably Fandral, chuckled too. “But really though, Sif’s right should she be drinking more?” he mused aloud.

Loki’s head turned, slowly, eyes flicking up like a blade unsheathing. “She is mine to worry about. Not yours.”

The air chilled. The amusement drained from the moment like water from a cracked cup. That single sentence hung in the air, possessive, primal, and final.

Thor just grinned and leaned back again. “Touchy,” he muttered, he was finding this all too funny.

But Loki was done talking to him. His attention returned to you, the full force of his focus making your skin flush hot again. His cock twitched inside you, impossibly hard still and your body was beginning to feel every pulse of it, like a drumbeat just under your skin.

You were soaked now, the movement made you feel it, slickness coating every inch of him, the pressure sharper with how achingly sensitive you'd become. The way it leaked around him too. “Drink, darling,” he said, offering you the goblet again. "Show them."

A hot pulse rolled through your belly, tightening with every second you stayed like this, the heightened sensitivity of being occupied by him turning every nerve raw and bright. You swallowed again..too much wine this time…the movement drew your attention inward: the way your throat worked around the mouthful, the warmth sliding down, the answering squeeze it pulled from your core.

The reaction was immediate and helpless. Your walls spasmed then clenched hard around him, chasing friction you couldn’t have, your whole system sparking to life at the smallest motion. You were suddenly achingly aware of your body, of how full you were, how sensitive, how his cock stayed hard and faintly twitching inside you as you fought not to move as you lowered the glass Loki leaning in to take the drink.  

He exhaled slowly at your ear, the sound a controlled breath he clearly had to think about.

“If you clench again like that,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, voice low and dangerous, “I’ll forget we’re not alone.”

Just as you were struggling to keep still, Volstagg made a crude joke about soft furnishings and marital bliss. Thor rolled his eyes and stood.

“Come. I think my brother has earned some privacy,” he said with a knowing grin.

As he herded the others away, he looked back over his shoulder. “Do try not to get her dress too wrinkled, brother.”

Then you were alone.

Loki hadn’t moved. You were still seated on him, still full, your body buzzing as he drained the wine again, letting it fall from his fingers onto the couch next to him.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice thick with amusement. “You’re not swooning, are you?”

You let out a groan, not biting, not sarcastic. Just overwhelmed. You sagged into him, limp and flushed and barely holding yourself upright.

Now alone, the ache and tension that had been coiled tight within you had nowhere to hide. You moved…barely….just a roll of your hips, a test of  the stretch of him inside you that lit your nerves like a fuse.

The quiet was deafening. You could hear your breath, his breath.

 Loki's hands stayed at your waist, his touch infuriatingly light, his restraint maddening.

You moaned into his collarbone, rocking against him again. The sensitivity was brutal, heightened by how long you'd been on edge. Your body burned for friction. Every small grind sent sparks up your spine.

He tilted his head, his mouth brushing your temple. "So eager now that they’re gone. You must have been in agony." He teased

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging in retaliation, slow and deliberate as you began to move. “And you’re not?” you whispered, hips grinding forward. “Still hard. Still twitching inside me..."

He groaned, eyes fluttering shut as you kept talking "Or do you need to deny both of us since you want to be a prick?" your tone proved you were done playing now.

He let out a ragged breath. "Not tonight."

"Good," you growled, snapping your hips forward harder. "Because I want to feel you spill."

You bit down on your lip to stifle the moan rising in your throat as his cock dragged along that perfect high spot again.

"Keep that up," he warned, teeth clenched, "and I'm about to."

The words ignited you both. With a shared, heated glance, Loki shifted, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he stood effortlessly, still buried deep. You gasped at the sudden fullness, him shifting again beneath you, legs spread wide to accommodate your straddling form. The position angled him even deeper, his cock pressing up against your cervix with delicious pressure.

"Fuck," he hissed, hands sliding down to grip your ass as you took control again. You chased it, letting your hips pick up pace, riding him slowly but with purpose, deliberate rolls that ground your clit against his base, then lifting to let his cock nearly slip free before slamming back down.

A handful of deep thrusts, wet and obscene, the couch creaking under the rhythm. Your pussy clenched around him, walls rippling with each descent, milking his throbbing length. The heat built fast, your thighs trembling, sweat and need slicking where your bodies met.

Loki's fingers dug into your flesh, guiding your movements harder, faster, his own hips thrusting up to meet you. "That's it," he murmured, voice raw, eyes locked on yours; dark with lust and something deeper, a fierce connection that made every sensation sharper. "Take what you need. Feel me fill you."

The intensity shattered you. Your body seized, clenching around his cock like a vice, shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed through you, your pussy gushing over him in hot pulses. You let out one noise. nails raking his shoulders, the orgasm ripping you apart in his arms.

Loki's hands gripped tight, holding you flush against him as he followed with a low, guttural groan, his cock pulsing deep inside. Thick ropes of cum spilled into you, flooding your core, the warmth spreading as he thrust shallowly through it, prolonging the bliss.

For a long moment, you clung to each other on the couch, heads tucked together, breath shared in ragged harmony. His arms encircled you protectively, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back, grounding you both in the afterglow.

All around the great hall, distant voices from the lingering feast outside cheered and roared in celebration, utterly unaware of your own private revelry.

Thor lounged at the head of the long feasting table, legs spread wide, his tunic open just enough to expose the swell of his chest. His palm rested low on your back, guiding you with gentle insistence. The revelers barely noticed- their future king, their hero, just victorious in battle, seated like any other warrior at the head of the table. No one questioned it when you settled into his lap, cloaked in the haze of wine and celebration.

But only you felt it- his cock, thick and half-hard beneath the ceremonial robes, pressing up against you.

He nudged you forward, guiding you subtly with one hand at your lower back until you sat perched on his knees. Your body shielded his movements. You barely registered the soft shift in fabric until you felt him- hard and proud- being pulled free beneath the table.

Then, he leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice like honey poured over hot coals.

"Sit on it, little one. You’ll stay there until I’m finished eating."

"Yes, my lord," you whispered, barely audible, your breath trembling as you obeyed.

Thor's hands gripped your hips, lifting you with effortless strength until the blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance. Your breath stuttered as he held you there, poised- teasing- before easing you down, slow and merciless.

The stretch was immediate. Obscene.

He split you open inch by inch, your slick walls forced to accommodate his sheer size. Your gown draped elegantly around you, concealing nothing of the way your thighs shook, how your belly tensed. A soft, broken sound caught in your throat as the head pushed past your entrance, and then more- thicker, hotter- until you were nearly seated.

Each breath came shorter, sharper, as your body clenched around him, fluttering helplessly.

By the time he bottomed out, buried to the hilt, your pulse was roaring in your ears. You were so full it felt like he had stolen the air from your lungs.

And still, he held you there- deep and unyielding.

You couldn’t take a full breath. Not without clenching.

Not without whining.

Thor feigned indifference, plucking a fig with lazy precision in one hand, then drawing the stem across your collarbone before setting it down to reach for a goblet of wine. The other hand remained at your waist, anchoring you with quiet authority, his touch steady and grounding. He leaned in slightly, brushing your hair away from your neck, hooking it behind your ear with a tenderness that made your stomach twist. As your back settled against his chest, his lips grazed the shell of your ear again.

"You’re squeezing me like you want everyone to know," he murmured, low and filthy.

"My ah-apologies... I c-can’t help it," you breathed, your voice barely audible, ragged from restraint.

Thor’s lips brushed your temple, deceptively tender as his words curved darker.

"I think it might serve you better to stay silent, my treasure," he said low enough only you could hear, the possessiveness in his tone wrapping around you like iron. "Your voice gives you away- and I quite like keeping you to myself."  He took a long drink, before he plucked another honeyed fig from the silver tray beside him, and smiled.

"Open," he murmured.

You parted your lips, cheeks flushed. He pressed the fruit in, slow, and then offered his fingers- slick and glistening. You sucked them clean, obedient and dazed, your eyes fluttering shut as he rumbled his approval. 

The minutes passed in a blur of overstimulation. Every twitch of his thigh beneath you sent aftershocks of pleasure up your spine. He filled you so completely it felt like he was pressed into your very stomach, stretching you in ways that defied reason. The heaviness of him pulsed inside you, a constant presence you could neither ignore nor endure.

Occasionally, Thor rocked his hips ever so slightly- just enough to feel the ripple it caused through your body. Just enough to make your hand fly to his forearm and squeeze. It earned you a quiet chuckle, his mouth full of roasted meat as though nothing were amiss.

When the musicians struck up a rowdy chorus, he tapped his heel in time beneath the table. The subtle bounce of his leg jostled you, made you sink down that impossible inch deeper with every beat. Each bounce, each movement, sent you careening toward the edge again. It was all so much.

Every shift made you swear it was harder not to whine or moan. 

The court roared with laughter and slurred songs, but you could barely hear it over the thunder of your heartbeat. You sat perfectly still, trembling, your fingers curled into the folds of his robe.

Then-

Boots scuffed against the stone floor as someone returned to the head table. From the corner of your eye, you spotted Loki, tousled and far too smug. His green and gold tunic was half-laced, his hair disheveled in the way it only got when he'd had company.

He sauntered to his seat with lazy grace, goblet already in hand, and collapsed into his chair with a satisfied sigh.

"I do hope the food hasn't gone cold," he drawled, eyes glittering as he glanced up- right at you.

Thor didn’t flinch.

He leaned back in his seat,  sated by war, wine, and the warm, trembling cunt squeezing around him. You weren’t fast enough this time- your moan slipped out, soft and breathless, before you could catch it. 

"Quiet now," Thor's voice came through a playful warning. "Or I’ll take you properly, right here at the table."

Loki tilted his head, swirling his drink thoughtfully before smirking over the rim of his goblet, his eyes taking in your current state. 

"Careful, brother. Keep this game up and you'll break your little darling right here in front of us all," he drawled though only loud enough to reach Thor's ears- and yours.

You swallowed hard, choking down the soft gasp that threatened to rise. Your teeth sank into your lip, biting the tender flesh hard enough to bruise. Thor let out a low, amused bark of laughter, his chest rumbling against your back.

"But she warms me so sweetly, brother," he replied, his tone indulgent. "Would you fault a king for keeping his throne just so?"

Loki gave a lazy shrug, his gaze never leaving your flushed face. "Not at all. Only wondering how long she can keep from crying out. Her eyes are already starting to roll back," he said with a smirk that bordered on wicked delight. "One more little nudge and I daresay she'll melt in your lap."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling, humiliation blooming beneath the heat of it all. Every inch of you ached, stretched taut and throbbing, your own body a betrayer to your dignity. You gave a quiet shudder, wriggling subtly on his lap in a futile attempt to ease the ache your lover was causing in your cunt- only to make things worse. The motion sent him grinding deeper, pressing against that unbearable sweet spot, and your breath hitched hard.

"Still so needy? I thought I told you to behave tonight," he murmured against your ear, the heat of his breath fanning across your cheek. His voice had dropped lower now, dark and smooth, curling down your spine like velvet-wrapped steel. The weight of it made your thighs tense, your heart pound, and your breath stutter in your throat. Still, you whimpered- just a little- in answer, shame and pleasure warring as your fingers squeezed his forearm.

He hummed around a mouthful of food, not even pausing as his grip anchored you.

Your head dropped forward, forehead nearly touching the table, your body spasming quietly around him.

"Now, now."  Thor pulled you back up against his chest. "Told you, keep fluttering like that and I’ll make a show of you, sweetling."

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your gown. Calloused fingers trailed slowly between your thighs, and then- his thumb found your pulsing clit.

The blonde rubbed slow, lazy circles, as if he had all the time in the world. As if no one was watching. As if you weren’t already breaking apart from just the stretch of him alone. Your thighs trembled, your breath hitching in your throat as Thor  continued to converse with Loki like you weren’t there at all.

"You spoil her," Loki commented dryly, raising his brows. "A whole feast laid before you and still you gorge yourself on her."

"She is my favorite dish," Thor said with a grin, taking another bite of meat.

Then-

He shifted beneath you, his arm coiling tightly around your waist as he rocked his hips up once, slow and deliberate. His cock dragged along that devastatingly sensitive spot high inside you, the one that made your toes curl and stars burst behind your eyelids. The blunt head of him kissed it directly, and the jolt of pleasure it sent through your body.

That was all it took.

You came- silently, pathetically, squirming against his massive frame as he kept you still. Your inner muscles fluttered helplessly, spasming around his cock, your body no longer able to obey your will. Your fingers dug into the meat of his forearm where it wrapped around your waist, the only anchor you had in the torrent crashing through you. One hand slipped to grip the edge of the chair, nails biting into the carved wood as you trembled through the waves of release. Tears prickled in your lashes from the overwhelming sensation, from the ache that never faded.

Your head dropped back to his shoulder, your cheek turning to bury itself in the crook of his neck, where his skin was warm and smelled faintly of spice and smoke. You struggled to catch your breath, your entire body still trembling.

"Couldn’t wait, could you?"

He simply shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement as his fingers lifted to stroke the column of your neck. The gesture was deceptively tender, grounding, as though he hadn’t just undone you in full view of a feasting hall. Then he took another sip of wine, resuming his meal like nothing had happened.

Like he wasn't still buried deep inside you, thick and pulsing, as if he hadn't just pulled you apart without ever thrusting.

Loki huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he raised his goblet.

"And they call me the cruel one," Loki muttered, the curl of his lips turning dark as he took a long sip of wine. His gaze drifted to the visible tremble still rippling through your limbs. 

Thor gave your thigh a possessive squeeze before lifting his goblet again. You sat up, just enough to accept the offering as he guided it to your lips. You drank obediently.

"Drink, sweetling," he murmured, his tone like warm smoke. "Not cruel to you, am I?"

You shook your head, unable to form words, your body still fluttering helplessly around him. You were a mess- wrecked and shaking- but no more than many others scattered across the feast. Still, none of them knew what it meant to be Thor’s. Not like this.

"Said you'd break her, didn’t I?" Loki added with a dry smile, swirling his cup lazily before taking another sip.

Thor hummed in amusement, lips brushing your temple as he smoothed your hair back once more. "You worry for nothing, brother. She’ll last many an hour." That idea alone made your body seize up again, your muscles fluttering helplessly around him. Hours? The word echoed in your skull like a drumbeat- part thrill, part dread. You weren’t sure if you could endure minutes more, let alone hours. And yet, some wicked part of you clenched tighter at the thought, your body aching for what it couldn’t handle. Your eyes fluttered closed, the thought both terrifying and electrifying.

Thor’s hand returned to your hip, firm and steady. He gave one last, deliberate roll of his hips, a subtle warning of what was to come- later, when the hall quieted and no eyes lingered. You bit your lip, barely swallowing the sound that rose in your throat.

He smiled, pleased.

Cregan scoffs, having half a mind to not roll his eyes at your audacity. He should be used to it by now, seeing as you have never shied away from making it abundantly clear how much you love being indulged and enjoying your reprise without a single interruption.

And yet, he was not going to allow you to discard him with a flick of your hand and a defiant tilt of your chin whenever you wished to be undisturbed. He was your husband, and if he wanted to be in attendance at whatever ridiculous southern pompous customs you had, he would.

That's why he had asked the servants to put an armchair in your bathing chambers, close by the tub, where he shall sit every time he has the luxury of disregarding or postponing his duties for a while, just so he can watch you bathe and pamper yourself. Cregan did not care if word filtered through the walls that The Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North spent part of his pastime sitting splayed out in a chair in his wife's bath chambers, feasting on one of the most exquisite viewings in the Seven Kingdoms. Let them talk and whisper. He did not need to explain himself to anyone, least of all to gossiping servants and sycophants alike.

His wolfish gaze was shameless as it traced the damp, dewy skin of your neck and shoulders, fingers drumming onto the wooden arm of the chair, faltering in rhythm just a tad whenever you shifted, the water lapping at your curves. He swore sometimes you were moving with the intent to drive him to madness, even if it was the most minute gesture.

"Disturbs your repose," he parroted, lips twitching with amusement at your feigned disdain for his presence. "My apologies for being such a pest to my own wife," Cregan continued, "I was not aware bathing oneself required such solitude."

Your expression shifted, a scowl marring your pretty features as your chin tipped upwards, as if his words had no place even reaching you. "It always requires solitude. You are just adamant to perturb it," you complained, sighing, as if the mere thought exasperated you, which made Cregan's mouth curl further, dripping with mounting enjoyment. "You stand there watching me like some kind of lecher," you accused, scowl deepening, a scoff leaving your plush mouth. "It is unbecoming of a husband to ogle his wife so shamelessly. You northerners have no decorum."

And oh, the way your lips curled every time you mentioned his culture, tone haughty and dipped with venom at the edges, as if spitting out the very word, made his blood sing.

"Just brutes with no finesse," you finished, chin raising just a bit higher, showing him you were above such things, above him, above his culture.

Gods, he wanted to haul you out of that bath and spank you until you cried those fat, pretty tears again, cheeks flushed and voice wet from babbling at him to stop. Cregan was not a man given to punishment easily, especially with the woman he was bound to by law and vow, but he came to understand that there were few ways he could make his wife see reason, and even then, only if you wanted to give in to his whims and relent.

"If you wanted a soft southerner lord with nough but a flaccid cock and no mind of his own, wife," he spoke, lips curling into that slow, wolfish grin, the one where his canines peaked through. A wolf showing his teeth without biting, but making it clear he could if provoked further. "You wouldn't have accepted my proposal so readily, riding for Winterfell not even a fortnight after our sigils were put on parchment."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes in that infuriating way Cregan loved and hated in equal measure, as if his words were nothing but white noise you were forced to listen to. "It was in my best interest to accept," you protested, inclining a little higher, leaning back against the tub, the water lapping at the tops of your damp breasts. A muscle in Cregan's jaw twitched as his eyes followed the movement. "Why would I be the lady of some lesser lord when I can be Lady of Winterfell?" The words were accompanied by a hum, evidently pleased with the title you possessed. "I am nothing but a woman of great ambitions, as you're well aware, husband."

Cregan huffed, more amused than anything, head tilting, not taking his eyes off the way he could make out the pebbled shape of your nipples just shy of peeking above the milky, fragrant water. He knew what you were doing. This little game of yours was as old as time.

You were losing ground, not pleased with the way he was biting back at your attempts to unnerve him, and had no other alternative but to call to his most primal, animal instincts that reside as deep as the marrow of his bones. He was a man, after all, and no stranger to the cravings of the flesh, more so when it came to his infuriatingly enticing wife, bare and glistening, lounging in the tub, indulging his eyes with glimpses and flashes of your body, willing to make him falter in his resolve.

"You never cease to remind me of the fact, wife," he said, feeling his chest puff up a tad at the way you huffed at his words, clearly displeased that he was not indulging your whims still. Not yet. Cregan was enjoying this more than he wanted to admit. "No woman in the Seven Kingdoms can rival you in that regard."

"What about other regards?"

Cregan's mouth twitched again, but he reigned in his expression for now. "Other regards?" He feigned confusion, tilting his head to the side, dragging his eyes from where they traced the shape of your damp breasts, up to your narrowed, inquisitive gaze. "I fear I do not follow. Must you be so kind as to specify, wife?"

Your brows furrowed, body shifting slightly into the tub, the water lapping at your skin, wetting it anew, drawing Cregan's eyes towards every patch for a few moments, rough fingers twitching onto his armchair, but he won't be baited this time. Raising one eyebrow, he waited, grey eyes now solely focused on yours, keeping you ensnared until you gathered the words to throw back at him.

"Am I rivaled in other regards by the women of the Seven Kingdoms?" You asked, chin held high, trying to absolve yourself of the vulnerable undertone woven into the question, gaze sharp, narrowed. But the way one of your hands lifted to grip the edge of the tub, curling around it, gave you away. You needed to ground yourself for this sort of fragility, and it made Cregan's heart soften just a tad every time, melting the frost of the North around it and giving way to the ceaseless warmth you brought with you from the South.

He huffed, letting his mouth form that tender, soft curl reserved only for you, grey eyes crinkling at the edges with barely concealed fondness. "No, wife," Cregan said, tone glazed with honeyed affection, letting his eyes feast on the way your chest heaved with a soft breath, as if his words had eased an unknown burden curled beneath your breastbone. "There is no woman in all the Seven Kingdoms who could dream of besting you."

And still, you scoffed, protest ready on your tongue, bristling in the milky water, never one to cease when you wanted certainty. "If your words are baseless, you may keep them, for I have no use for-"

"Not in my eyes," Cregan interrupted you, tone lowered but firm, halting your tongue before you could descend into yet another one of your haughty deflections.

It was ever pleasing, the way you faltered in the face of his sincerity. Blinking akin to a startled doe, your expression passing from one emotion to another, offense to confusion to reluctant preening. He could see it. Your chest heaving with soft breaths, plush mouth parting, pupils dilating wide enough to encompass the color of your eyes, leaving behind pools of black. And then, the flush. That warmth spreading from the tops of your breasts and climbing up, up, up your throat, splotching over your cheekbones and reaching the tips of your ears.

Mhm, he got you good this time. Cregan might have to ride the high of such an accomplishment for the fortnight to come, if he was lucky. The Gods were ever so merciful to grant him such a gift and let him savor it, too.

"The smell of the bathing oils must've affected you a great deal, husband, to say such theatrical musings," you mumbled, not meeting his eyes for a heartbeat, two, before looking into that northern gray you preached you found so insufferable. "It makes you sound like one of those flaccid men you mentioned earlier."

Cregan could only huff, amused, watching as you tried in vain to deflect and throw whatever attempt at diffusing the meaning of his words back at him. "Sound, maybe," he said, offering you a slow, wolfish curl of his mouth, baring just enough hint of teeth to allude to a threat, but not bestow it. "But I am anything but flaccid, wife. You, of all people, should be familiar with the hardness of—"

"Silence!" You shrieked, one hand dipping beneath the water's surface and swatting upwards, sending droplets of water towards him, attempting to will him into silence. "Have you no shame, you brute? To speak of such things in the company of your wife?"

But he was not perturbed; on the contrary, his lips pulling into a smirk, pleased and smug. Making you bristle truly was the thing he favored most, aside from the feel of your body and the sound of your voice. "Should I speak of such things in the company of someone else, then?"

"Don't you dare! Gods, you're giving me a headache," you fussed, swatting water at him again, eyes narrowed as you demanded. "Help me bathe, so you may amend for your wrongs."

And who was Cregan to refuse such a decree from his wife?

You stirred slowly beneath the heavy silk sheets, the faint scent of leather, ozone, and something indefinently Loki lingering in the air like a spell that refused to fade. The first thing you noticed was the cool slide of fabric against your bare skin as you shifted—an exquisite green-and-gold robe draped artfully over the foot of the bed, clearly placed there for you to find.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. Of course he’d already been here.

You sat up, letting the sheet pool around your waist, and reached for the robe. The moment your fingers touched it, the silk seemed to warm and move on its own, gliding over your shoulders like a lover’s hands. It fit perfectly, of course. Everything Loki gave you always did.

On the nightstand sat a small velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold chain with an emerald pendant that pulsed gently against your skin the second you clasped it around your neck. A pleasant heat bloomed across your collarbones, spreading downward in lazy waves that made your thighs press together instinctively.

And then there was the note.

Written in that impossibly elegant, flowing script you’d recognize anywhere:

My darling little mortal,

Another year older. Another year more dangerously tempting. Today is yours. I am yours… or so I’ll let you believe. Be ready for me.

— L

You were still tracing the words with your fingertip when the air in the room shifted.

A swirl of emerald and gold shimmered near the window, coalescing into the tall, devastating figure of Loki Laufeyson. He leaned against the wall with that signature smirk, arms crossed, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that hugged every lean line of his body. His dark hair was swept back, a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead, and his eyes—those sharp, mischievous green eyes—raked over you like he was already undressing you with his mind.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he purred, voice velvet and sin.

Before you could even respond, he was across the room in two strides. His long fingers tilted your chin up and his mouth claimed yours in a deep, hungry kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. He tasted like mischief and magic, like champagne and dark promises. When he finally pulled back, you were dizzy, lips tingling.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your mouth, thumb brushing your lower lip. “Another year more tempting. How dare you grow even more irresistible? It’s terribly unfair to the rest of the universe.”

You laughed softly, reaching up to tug at the lapels of his jacket. “You’re laying it on thick this morning.”

“Merely warming up,” he replied, eyes glittering. He leaned in again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I have plans for you today. All day. And I won’t be telling you a single detail until we’re in the thick of it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Cryptic as always.”

Loki’s grin widened, sharp and playful. He nipped at your earlobe, voice dropping into that low, filthy register you knew too well. “Let’s just say… there will be moments where I have you pressed against glass overlooking the city. Moments where my fingers are under your dress while no one around us has the faintest idea. And moments where you’ll be begging so prettily I might almost consider giving you what you want.”

Your breath hitched. The enchanted necklace grew warmer against your skin, almost pulsing in time with the growing heat between your legs.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, clearly delighted by your reaction. “But not yet. First, I’m taking you out. Properly. Like the goddess you deserve to feel like on your birthday.”

You tried to tug him back down for another kiss, but he caught your wrists gently, pressing them to the bed with a wicked smile.

“Ah-ah. Patience, darling. You’ll have your fun later. Though I must warn you…” His voice turned teasing, almost mocking in that way that made your stomach flip. “I’m feeling particularly talkative today. I do hope you’ll be able to handle all my commentary while I spoil you rotten.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, a spark of challenge flaring in your chest. It was your birthday, after all.

“We’ll see about that,” you murmured.

Loki’s grin turned positively feral.

“Oh, I do hope you try to shut me up, pet. I’m very curious to see how you’ll manage it.”

The morning blurred into a whirlwind of Loki’s particular brand of indulgence. By the time the sun was high, he had whisked you away to a hidden restaurant tucked between two unassuming buildings in Manhattan—an Asgardian sanctuary invisible to mortal eyes unless invited. The interior shimmered with floating golden lanterns and deep emerald drapery, the air scented with spiced wine and roasted meats.

You sat across from him at a private table near the window, overlooking the glittering illusion of a fjord that definitely wasn’t in New York. Loki looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Try this,” he murmured, leaning across the table with a forkful of rich chocolate and berry dessert. Instead of handing it to you, he brought it to your lips himself, eyes locked on yours. “Open.”

You obeyed, and the moment the decadent flavor hit your tongue, his voice dropped to that sinful velvet whisper.

“Delicious, isn’t it? Almost as sweet as you’ll taste when I have you spread open on our bed later. I plan to take my time… licking every inch of you until you’re shaking and dripping down my chin.”

Your thighs clenched under the table. Loki’s smirk deepened as his hand slid beneath the heavy tablecloth, resting high on your thigh. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles, inching higher with every pass but never quite reaching where you wanted him.

“Problem, darling?” he asked innocently, tilting his head. “You look a little flushed. Is the wine too strong? Or is it the thought of my tongue buried inside you while you moan my name?”

You shot him a warning look, but he only chuckled, low and rich.

“I do love when you try to glare at me like that. It makes me want to bend you over this table and remind you exactly who owns this pretty body.” His fingers pressed firmer into your inner thigh. “Though today I’m being generous. I’m letting you think you’re in charge.”

Lunch continued like that—Loki feeding you bites between increasingly filthy promises, his hand never leaving your thigh, his voice a constant teasing murmur against your ear whenever he leaned in. By the time you left the restaurant, you were aching, wet, and thoroughly annoyed with how smug he looked about it.

Next came a quiet, magically concealed garden terrace high above the city. Ancient Asgardian trees bloomed around you, their flowers glowing softly in the afternoon light. It felt private enough that you thought you might get a moment of peace.

You were wrong.

Loki walked beside you with his arm looped possessively around your waist, pulling you close as you strolled.

“You’re breathtaking when you’re flustered, you know,” he purred, lips brushing your temple. “That pretty blush on your cheeks… the way your breath catches. It makes me want to ruin you right here against this tree.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Then you felt it—phantom fingers, created by his seidr, ghosting down the back of your neck, tracing your spine, then slipping lower to brush teasingly between your legs. You gasped sharply.

Loki’s face remained perfectly innocent as he admired a glowing flower. “Something wrong, my love?”

“You’re impossible,” you hissed, cheeks burning.

He laughed softly, the sound dark and delighted. “And yet you’re soaked for me already, aren’t you? Poor thing. All this tension and I haven’t even properly touched you yet.”

Another illusionary caress slid along your inner thigh, higher this time, pressing firmly against your aching core for just a second before vanishing. You grabbed his arm tighter, knees nearly buckling.

“Loki…”

“Yes, darling?” He turned to you with mock concern, green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Use your words. Tell me what you need. Or better yet… save all that fire for later when you try to put me in my place.” His voice dropped even lower. “I’m very much looking forward to watching you attempt to shut me up.”

The tension was unbearable now—your body thrumming with need, irritation, and raw desire. Every teasing word, every phantom touch, every wicked promise made you more determined to turn the tables the second you got him alone.

Loki seemed to sense it. He pulled you closer, lips brushing your ear one last time.

“Careful, love. If you keep looking at me with that murderous, needy little glare… I might not make it home before I start begging you to ruin me.”

By the time you returned to your quarters, the air between you was thick enough to choke on. The door had barely clicked shut before you turned to him.

Loki barely had time to open his mouth with another smug remark before you shoved him hard in the chest. He let you do it—because of course he did, this was your birthday and he was playing along—but the wicked grin on his face said he was enjoying every second of it.

The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell gracefully onto the mattress, sprawling like a king on his throne. His dark hair fanned out against the silk sheets as he looked up at you with gleaming eyes.

“Well, well,” he drawled, voice dripping with amusement. “Someone’s feeling bold tonight. Are you finally going to—mmph.”

You cut him off by climbing onto the bed and kissing him fiercely, your fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss was messy, demanding, and you bit his bottom lip hard enough to make him hiss. When you pulled back, his pupils were already blown wide.

“Quiet,” you whispered against his mouth.

Loki chuckled, low and filthy. “Oh darling, you’ll have to do better than that if you want to shut me up. I have so many plans to tell you about. For instance, I was thinking I’d lay you down and—”

You silenced him again, this time by dragging your mouth down the sharp line of his jaw to his neck. You sucked hard on his pulse point, then bit down. His words dissolved into a surprised groan.

Your hands moved with purpose, pushing his expensive jacket off his shoulders. He helped just enough for you to strip it away, but his mouth kept running.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you? Taking charge on your birthday… How adorable. Though if you ask me—”

You yanked his shirt open, buttons scattering. The moment his pale, toned chest was exposed, you leaned down and bit his collarbone, hard. Loki arched slightly beneath you, a breathy laugh turning into a low moan.

“Fuck— you’re vicious today. I like it. But you know I could just flip us over and—”

Another bite, lower this time, right above his nipple. You followed it with a slow, wet lick. His words faltered again as his hand came up to grip your thigh.

You worked slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch of him. His shirt was tossed aside. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, over the lean muscle of his abdomen, watching the way his stomach tensed under your touch. When you reached his belt, you took your time unbuckling it, letting your knuckles brush teasingly against the growing hardness beneath his trousers.

Loki’s breath hitched, but he still tried to speak.

“You’re trembling, pet. So wet for me already, I can practically smell it. When I finally get my hands on you, I’m going to—”

You shut him up properly this time—leaning down and kissing him deep and filthy while your hand palmed him through his pants. The moan he let out into your mouth was deeply satisfying. You squeezed gently, stroking him until his hips twitched.

When you pulled back, his lips were kiss-swollen and his usual smug mask was cracking just a little.

“You talk too much,” you murmured, hooking your fingers into his waistband and slowly dragging his trousers and underwear down his long legs.

Loki’s cock sprang free, hard and flushed, curving proudly against his stomach. He opened his mouth again, probably to make some arrogant comment, but you immediately wrapped your fingers around his length and gave him one firm, slow stroke.

His head fell back against the pillows with a broken groan.

“Much better,” you murmured, leaning down to drag your tongue along the underside of his length. You took your time, licking and teasing, savoring the way his thighs tensed under your hands.

You worked him with your mouth and hand in tandem—long, slow strokes followed by swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Every time he tried to reach for you, to touch your hair or pull you closer, you caught his wrists and pinned them down to the mattress above his head.

“Darling—ah—I merely wanted to—” he started again, voice strained.

You sucked him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, and his back arched clean off the bed with a broken moan. When you pulled off with a wet pop, you gave him a warning look.

“Hands stay up there,” you ordered.

Loki’s eyes flashed with wicked delight, even as he obeyed. “So demanding on your birthday. I must say, I— nngh—”

You cut him off again by taking him back into your mouth, bobbing your head while your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit. You edged him mercilessly—bringing him right to the brink with tight, fast strokes, only to slow down or pull off completely when his hips started thrusting up desperately.

Each time you denied him, his teasing grew more fractured.

“You wicked little— mmh— you’re going to regret teasing a god like this… or perhaps I’ll— fuck, right there—”

You discovered something delicious in the process.

When you released his cock for a moment and moved higher up his body, you dragged your teeth along his collarbone and sucked hard on the side of his neck. Loki’s entire body shuddered violently beneath you. A deep, needy sound escaped his throat—nothing like his usual controlled purr.

His neck and chest were incredibly sensitive.

You smiled against his skin and lavished attention there—kissing, licking, and biting along his sharp collarbones, then lower to his chest. When your tongue flicked over one of his nipples, Loki actually whimpered, hips jerking up into nothing.

“Oh? You like that?” you whispered, delighted by your discovery. You pinned his wrists harder with one hand while your mouth closed around his nipple, sucking and grazing it with your teeth.

“Darling— shit— you’re going to kill me,” he gasped, voice cracking beautifully. The usual smugness was rapidly dissolving into raw, breathy desperation. “If you keep that up I won’t be able to— ah— fuck, please—”

You switched to the other side of his chest, giving it the same treatment while your free hand returned to his cock, stroking him torturously slow. You kept him right on the edge, never letting him tip over, while your mouth continued its assault on his neck and chest until his skin was covered in marks and his usual silver tongue was reduced to broken moans and half-formed teases.

By the time you pulled back slightly to admire your work, Loki was a gorgeous wreck beneath you—chest heaving, hair wild, lips parted, and eyes glassy with frustrated need.

He still tried one last taunt, voice hoarse:

“You think this is enough to shut me up? I can still— I can still tell you exactly how tight and wet you—”

You squeezed his cock firmly and leaned down to bite his neck again.

Loki’s words dissolved into a loud, shameless moan.

You couldn’t wait any longer.

Loki was still trying to run his mouth, even while panting and flushed beneath you, his cock twitching desperately in your hand.

“Still think you can— mmh— keep this up, darling? I give you ten minutes before you’re the one begging m—”

You shut him up the best way possible.

Rising up on your knees, you lined him up and sank down onto his cock in one smooth, relentless motion. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely, and the broken groan that tore from Loki’s throat was deeply satisfying.

“F-fuck—!” His head slammed back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut as you bottomed out.

You didn’t give him time to recover.

You set a punishing pace immediately, rolling your hips hard and fast, riding him with every ounce of built-up frustration from his endless teasing. The wet sound of skin meeting skin filled the room as you ground down on him, taking him deep with every roll.

Loki’s silver tongue finally began to fracture.

“Gods— you’re so— ah— tight— fuck, darling, slow down or I’ll—” His words dissolved into a choked moan as you clenched around him deliberately.

You tangled one hand in his messy black hair and yanked his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. Your other hand wrapped lightly around it, applying just enough pressure to make his pupils blow even wider.

“Look at you,” you whispered, voice low and sweet as you rode him harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis with every thrust. “So pretty when you fall apart. All that teasing and now you can’t even form a full sentence.”

Loki’s hands flew to your hips, gripping hard enough that you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow. His fingers dug in, but he didn’t try to take control. He let you use him exactly as you wanted, hips jerking up desperately to meet your punishing rhythm.

“V-velsk— nngh— you wicked little mortal,” he gasped, slipping into Asgardian curses as you clenched around him again. “I’m going to— fuck— you feel too good— shit—”

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear while still riding him relentlessly.

“You’re only allowed to come when I say so,” you murmured, tightening your grip in his hair. “I want to hear you beg first. My beautiful, talkative god… look how wrecked you are for me.”

Loki let out a broken whimper, his usual elegance completely shattered. His chest was heaving, skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, and every time you sank down hard he made the most delicious sounds — raw, desperate moans mixed with fractured curses in his native tongue.

“Járn— ah— please— you’re going to ruin me—” he gasped, voice cracking beautifully as you rolled your hips in a slow, devastating circle before slamming back down.

His neck and chest were flushed red from your earlier marks, and every time your hand flexed lightly around his throat, his cock throbbed hard inside you.

You kept riding him mercilessly, controlling every movement, every angle, watching with dark satisfaction as the God of Mischief came completely undone beneath you.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his cock throbbing deep inside your soaked cunt with every brutal roll of your hips. Loki’s grip on your waist was bruising, but he still obeyed — letting you stay in complete control even as he unraveled.

You slowed your pace just enough to torture him, grinding down deep and slow, clenching around him on every downstroke.

“Beg,” you whispered against his lips, tightening your hand around his throat. “You’ve been running that pretty mouth all day. Now I want to hear you beg for it.”

Loki’s eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide with desperation. His silver tongue had almost completely deserted him, but he still tried to resist one last time.

“I— I don’t beg, pet— ah, fuck—” His words cut off in a choked moan as you slammed down hard and rolled your hips in tight, filthy circles.

You tugged his hair harder and leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

“Beg, Loki. Or I’ll stop right now and leave you like this.”

A broken whimper escaped him. His pride finally shattered.

“Please—” he gasped, voice hoarse and wrecked. “Please, darling— let me come. I need it— I need you— fuck, please let me fill you up. I’ll be good— I swear, just please—”

The sound of the God of Mischief begging beneath you was pure ecstasy.

You rewarded him by riding him harder than ever, fast and relentless, using his cock exactly how you wanted. One hand stayed wrapped around his throat, the other fisted tight in his hair as you fucked him into the mattress.

Loki’s head suddenly threw back against the pillows, mouth falling open in a loud, broken cry.

“Fuck—! I’m— I’m going to—”

His orgasm hit him like a storm.

He came hard with a shattered moan that echoed through the room, hips jerking up violently as he spilled deep inside you. Thick, hot pulses of his release filled you while emerald magic exploded around the room — green and gold sparks flickering wildly across the walls and ceiling. Illusions of stars and blooming flowers shimmered in and out of existence around the bed as his control completely collapsed. His body shook beneath you, chest heaving, neck arched beautifully as he rode out every wave.

The sight and feeling of him falling apart so completely pushed you over the edge right after him.

You ground down hard, clit rubbing against his pelvis as you used his twitching, oversensitive cock to chase your own pleasure. Your orgasm crashed over you in powerful waves, cunt clenching rhythmically around him as you moaned his name. Pleasure flooded every nerve as you rode him through both your climaxes, drawing out every last drop until you were both trembling and spent.

You both stayed locked together for a long moment, breathing ragged and bodies trembling. Loki’s cock was still buried deep inside you, twitching with the aftershocks as you slowly came down from your high.

Eventually, his arms wrapped around you with surprising gentleness. He pulled you down flush against his chest, holding you there as if he never wanted to let go. His heart was pounding wildly beneath your ear.

For once, the God of Mischief was nearly speechless.

He pressed slow, lazy kisses to the top of your head, then your temple, then the corner of your mouth—each one softer than the last. His long fingers traced soothing patterns along your spine, gentle and reverent.

“You…” he finally murmured, voice rough and low, “were magnificent.”

You smiled against his sweaty skin, pressing a kiss to his collarbone where you’d left a particularly dark mark earlier. Loki shivered at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“You’ll pay for that tomorrow, darling,” he whispered, a hint of his usual mischief threading through the exhaustion. “I promise you’ll scream my name until your voice gives out… but tonight was… exquisite.”

He tilted your chin up gently so he could look at you. His green eyes were still hazy, lashes heavy, a rare look of pure bliss softening his sharp features.

“I must admit,” he continued quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I rather enjoyed letting you take the lead. Seeing you so fierce, so determined to shut me up…” A soft, breathless chuckle escaped him. “I didn’t think I’d like surrendering quite so much. You were perfect.”

You rested your forehead against his, basking in the warmth of his body and the rare vulnerability in his voice.

“I loved it too,” he added, almost shyly. “Being yours completely tonight. You may have ruined me for a little while, love.”

His arms tightened around you, one hand slowly stroking your hair as the other caressed your waist. The room was quiet now, the last flickers of his magic long faded, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the sheets.

You nestled deeper into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—ozone, leather, and warm skin. Pressing one last, lingering kiss just beneath his jaw, you whispered softly:

“Happy birthday to me.”

on the couch (winter)

it’s movie night and everyone is late. 

yelena had texted, telling you the group would be stuck in traffic and to not start until they got back. that was almost an hour ago. bucky had walked into the living room, found you and bob waiting a little too inconspicuously on the couches and turned on his heel, going back the way he came. 

you’d looked to bob then, grinning conspiratorially as you crawled down the length of the curved couch, right into his side. 

it’s innocent enough, at first. muffled by his shirt in your face when you tell him that it’s only because you’re cold, and he warms you up better than anything else could. 

he gives you a look—like he knows what you’re up to but can’t find a good enough reason to refuse himself the feel of you. makes something warm in his chest when he thinks about how you’re always looking for any reason to touch him, that you don’t shy away.

he likes it, because while your relationship isn’t exactly new, he still worries—doesn’t know if he could bring himself to initiate it even if he wanted to (he really, really does). 

but when you come to him, he welcomes it. revels in it, actually.

his arms lift, wrapping around your frame. immediately, you’re enveloped by the smell of his laundry detergent and the 2-in-1 shampoo he’s been trying to use up before opening the real shampoo and conditioner you’d bought him. 

his chin rests atop your head, breathing steady while your fingers aimlessly trace lines down his sleeve. 

“y’know…” you say, trailing off in the way he knows means you’ve got something to say that likely will get him in trouble. he holds his breath. 

“we’re the only ones here,” you continue, pulling your head back to look into his eyes, hoping those pretty blue eyes will take the hint. 

bob laughs softly, eyes flickering across the utterly empty room. the christmas decorations the team had spent an afternoon assembling, ending up a little lopsided and mismatched hanging above the mantel and from the ceiling. the string lights twinkle in your eyes. 

 “yeah,” he breathes, “i- i can see that.”

the look you give him is expectant, and he blinks owlishly in return. 

he watches your nose scrunch when you try to decipher whether he’s being clueless on purpose or if he genuinely can’t fathom what you’d want to do with him in an empty room on a couch much too big for two. 

the noise you let out is a cross between an exasperated groan and a teasing giggle. your cheeks burn a little when you tell him plainly, “i want to kiss you, bob. make out a little.”

his lips fall into a perfect little ‘o’ when he exhales the syllable. you grin up at him when his ears turn red. 

“i- i mean,” he stammers, darting between you, your lips and the elevator doors. you can almost tell when he makes up his mind, gaze catching on your lips and struggling to drag them back up to your eyes. licks his lips before he says, “okay.” 

he only catches a glimpse of the giddy look on your face before you’re pulling him down to you with a gentle hand on his cheek. 

he kisses a little unsure, a little messy—but god, does it send pleasant shivers down your spine when he’s the one to part your lips and glide his tongue against yours. 

you sigh contentedly into his waiting mouth when his grip on you tightens, and his hands start to roam—like the more he kisses you the less restrained he remembers to be. 

“w- we… we should-” he sighs against the side of your face when your head tilts to press your lips to his cheek, chest rising and falling hard. 

“we should probably move,” he manages to get out on the third try, voice raspy and deep. his blue eyes have gone dark, half-lidded as he rests his forehead on yours, catching his breath.

he’s probably right. the chances of you getting walked in on are rising by the minute—you can only imagine the shit you’ll get if the team finds you and bob, equally flustered and dazed. 

but bob makes no move to get up, to peel you off from where you cling to him, just to make that long, cold walk to somewhere more private. you hold your breath, mentally debating if it’s worth it. 

bob licks his kiss-swollen lips, and the choice is made for you. 

your arms tighten around his neck, pressing impossibly closer as you capture his lips between yours. a knee goes between his, and presses dangerously close to where he’s starting to stiffen in his plaid christmas bottoms. 

bob’s head jerks back, curls jostling as he gasps. his  hands flying to your hips to pin you down before you can do any further damage to his already-crumbling restraint. 

you know you shouldn’t tease. you’ve only seen bob at his most vulnerable a handful of times, all in the comfort and safety of your rooms, locked away from the world. 

but he’s just so pretty, and when he makes sounds like that just from your leg, you can’t stop yourself from doing it again, and again, until he’s whimpering and reaching a hand down to hold back your leg. a little pointless, considering how his hips buck in search of more. 

“they- they’re going to come back,” bob chokes, lashes fluttering as he fights to keep his eyes open. white-knuckled fingers twitch against your thigh, “someone could see.”

and you’re about to argue otherwise, that they’re not about to just walk in the next second, but it’s like he’s summoned them with magic, or spoken it into existence. 

the elevator dings twice, announcing their imminent arrival. you have seconds before the team files into the room and finds bob borderline humping your thigh. 

bob yelps in alarm, his hold on you tightening in reflex as the ‘freeze’ part of his fight or flight instinct takes over. slapping at his hands, you climb out of his grip, launching yourself to the opposite end of the couch. 

when the team walks in, you’re on your phone scrolling haphazardly, glancing up in faux-annoyance when they mill about. you chew them out for being late, and bob is grateful for the distraction—nobody asks why his cheeks are so red, or why he’s more jittery than usual. 

by the time the lights are turned off and everyone is placated with snacks and a christmas movie, bob thinks he’s off the hook. but then you’re squeezing into the only seat left with an innocent smile—between him and bucky.

the super soldier side-eyes you when the movie ends and bob still has that damned pillow clutched over his lap. 

in the shower (spring) 

the water beating down against slick tiles does a halfway job of muffling the sounds coming from your bathroom. 

it hadn’t been your intention, when you’d agreed to help yelena train bob, to end up caged under him in the shower. 

you’d lingered in your doorway while yelena disappeared into hers, already wriggling out of her sweaty top. bob had come to a slow stop behind you, waiting for the telltale swoosh of the blonde’s door closing. 

there’s something about that post-exercise high, the rush of endorphins in bob’s system that makes him walk with his shoulders a little less curled and his gait steadier. his limbs are loose, and the slow blink he gives you while he leans against the doorframe makes you pause. 

it reminds you of when the sentry peeks through. makes you swallow, peering curiously at his eyes but no—only crystalline blue already staring back.  

his hair stuck to his forehead and a light sheen of sweat around along his throat—evidence of how much he’d pushed himself. thanks to the serum, it takes a lot for bob to work up a sweat these days. 

“’m gonna shower,” you say simply, and that was that. 

he’d followed you all the way into your room, set his things down next to yours and waited patiently until the water warmed to get his hands on you. 

he descends on you, big hands engulfing your cheeks, kissing you hard. it’s hungry, and your teeth bump a little, but when one hand trails down your slick skin to crook a thigh around his hip, you can’t help the breathless sigh into his mouth at the way he’s already hard and feverish against your inner thigh. 

“bob,” you cry out when he sucks at the spot behind your ear—the same time his hand on your thigh moves to cup your ass. his tongue swipes at your pulse point and your breath hitches on your words, “what’s got you all hot and bothered?”

“i- i don’t know,” he breathes against your skin, wet lips searing more than the hot water raining down on you. he manoeuvres your bodies out of the spray when he feels how hot your skin is getting. “just- just need to…” 

he trails off, mouth falling open on a low groan when your hips twitch, and the ruddy head of his cock brushes the junction of your thigh and pelvis. 

bob’s forehead presses to the cool tile beside you when you do it again, smearing precum against your thigh. 

“shit- need to feel you,” he pleads, hands finding purpose in kneading your tits. 

“how d’you want me?” you murmur, turning your head so the words fall on his parted lips. he watches in a daze as your hand slips between your heated bodies, fingers curling around the length of him. 

bob chokes on a breath, back caving in. he’s on the brink already—on edge from hours of sparring and watching you dance around him in your tight workout gear and a determined glint in your eyes. he sees the same one now, and he knows he won’t last long enough to be inside you. 

you squeeze, flicking a thumb over his slit to get his attention, and bob realises he’s been staring into space. 

bob may as well babble—incoherent as he tries to beg you to do literally anything to make the ache go away—anything you want. “- just want you.”

he seems to swell in your grasp when you coo at him, twisting your fist as you stroke him steadily. “oh, baby,” you give him a kiss he struggles to reciprocate, “wan’ me to take care of you?”

all the bravado from earlier washes down the drain. he’s whimpering low in his throat, nodding feverishly. “y- yes, please, oh- fuck.”

“okay, pretty boy, i’ll take care of you.”

he lets you push him, back to the wall. you’re slinking down his front, straight onto your knees. his cock rests under his belly, flushed all over and leaking like a faucet. 

“you did so well today,” you whisper and it’s almost drowned out by the water, “worked so hard.”

your lips press closed kisses up the side of him. when you take his tip into your warm mouth, bob has a flicker of genuine worry that he’ll pass out. he whimpers as you work more of him into your mouth, withdrawing only to pucker up and dribble down a glob of spit over his tip. 

“oh god,” he whines, head thrown back against the tile. wet hair clinging to his cheeks and neck, lashes clumped with water (or tears)—he looks so good and you make up your mind to make him cum in record time. 

he deserves it, you think. hadn’t protested once while you and yelena had demonstrated the 101 ways to throw a grown man down. (zero complaints when your thighs had clamped around his head and swung him down, legs locked at his throat.)

you can barely fit half of him in your mouth, so your hands come up to stroke in time with your hungry tongue. 

bob thinks he actually sees stars. there might be hearts floating above his head, because if he hadn’t known he was in love with you before, he definitely knows now, when you’re smiling up at him through your lashes. 

the warning heat in his belly ramps up to a boil when he feels your tongue swirling around his head. 

“honey, i’m- i think i’m gonna-” he manages to pant, chest heaving as his stomach tenses. a jolt of satisfaction courses through you, and you’re readying yourself for his end when there’s the world’s loudest knocking at your bathroom door. 

a drawn out call of your name. 

bob fights the desperate, pleading whine when your mouth pulls off of him at the last second. he stares down at you—deer in the headlights, when the urgent knocking continues. his hand flies to your hair, not pressing, but urging. 

his wide, panicked eyes find yours—the surprise is wearing off and now you’re just mildly annoyed. 

yelena’s on the other side, short blonde strands dripping onto the towel she clutches around her. 

“can i borrow some conditioner? i ran out!” she shouts to be heard over the water. 

your hand never leaves bob’s dick, wrapped loosely as you bite your lip in contemplation. “why can’t you use ava’s?” 

“yours smells better!” she reasons, fingernails tapping against the metal. 

your face scrunches, figuring it’ll be easier to just give her the damned thing than try to talk her out of coming in. 

so you look up at bob from between his legs, press your fingers to your lips even as his head shakes, mouthing a pitiful “please”. presses himself further into the wall like it’ll absorb him out of this utterly painful situation. 

“fine, but i’m in the shower,” you call out, hands fumbling for the offending bottle. you both hear it when the doorknob turns and her footsteps enter the steamy room. 

“don’t worry, i won’t look,” yelena mutters jokingly, approaching the shower curtain. to her credit, she does turn away before your hand pulls the curtain aside a little to pass her the conditioner. it’s good she did— would’ve caught a glimpse of dark hair and a muscled shoulder, otherwise. 

the whole time, bob is shaking with tension and throbbing in your palm. you want to put him out of his misery, but you also want to drag it out a little. so you give him a slow, firm stroke and he slaps a hand over his mouth. 

she thanks you for the conditioner, and you think that’s that, but her steps stop right before the door. 

“hey, bob’s been getting better, don’t you think?” yelena hums thoughtfully, “he’s a fast learner.”

you agree, muffling a giggle because she doesn’t know just how right she is. bob’s eyes narrow at your smirk, even worse when it spreads into a devilish grin. 

your fingers curl tighter around his cock, speeding up. his head shakes vehemently, squirming under you as quietly as he can. 

“he’s got good teachers,” you say, winking up at him when he gives up on trying to not thrust into your fist. he looks absolutely debauched like this, back arching off the wall as he chases your strokes. 

yelena cackles, “no kidding. should’ve seen his face when you did that widow move on him. i think he has a crush on you.”

you do laugh then, and you feel a little bad because bob’s breathing is getting faster and his hips more erratic. but you can’t help it when you ask, “really? what makes you say that?”

yelena hums like she knows something you don’t, ironically, and you can almost see her outline through the curtain as she waves a hand, “ah, we’ll open that can of worms another time. thanks again!” 

when the door clicks shut again, bob counts five seconds before he releases the neediest moan he’s ever heard himself make. it makes his cheeks go red because he’s a little embarrassed. 

but he’s peeking down at you and finds your eyes alight with arousal as you frantically tug at his swollen cock. “you did so good, baby. stayed so quiet,” you sigh, thumb gliding over his slit with every pass.

bob cries out, biting his lip at the coil in his tummy returning, sneaking up while he’d been so caught up in being quiet—being good, for you. 

“cum for me, sweet boy,” you tell him, lips brushing his tip as your head lowers, “wan’ it in my mouth.”

that’s it for him. his whimper pitches high, cracking in his throat. your mouth closes around him just as he twitches in your hand and then he’s spurting into your mouth in thick ropes that you swallow down with a soft moan. he can’t help the way his hips jerk, nudging his cock further into your mouth. you welcome it, even as your jaw aches.  

it takes over him, dragged out by your tongue and hollowed cheeks. he cums so much—a few drops leak down your chin from the corner of your lips.

bob watches in awe as you scoop up what you missed with your fingers, suck them clean with your mouth. it feels like a gut punch to watch. 

his hand flails, shutting the water off blindly. bob carries you out with ease, uncaring in the moment that he’s tracking water over your floor. 

he’ll apologise profusely later, but for now bob drops you onto the bed, and him onto his knees. your legs are thrown over his broad shoulders, and he proceeds to give you three more reasons for a real shower. 

when the ac breaks (summer)

it’s ridiculous, really. the notion that a place like the new avengers tower, worth billions, could suffer from the mundane struggle of a busted air conditioning system. 

smack in the middle of summer. 

the entire building had been given the day off, save for the poor souls residing on the residential floors. the seven of you, condemned to braving this heatwave in a bulletproof glass box. 

the one saving grace should have been the olympic sized pool on the training floors, but as luck would have it, it’s closed—scheduled to be cleaned sometime in the day. 

so you resolve to lying splayed out on bob’s floor, against the cool floor with the only mini hand-held fan oscillating between yours and bob’s sweaty bodies. 

you’d stripped down to your underwear, bob in his boxers. laying shoulder to shoulder, skin prickling from the heat. 

“how sure are we that we’re not in hell?” 

your head turns to the man next to you, reaching out to brush damp hair off his forehead. he laughs, and hopes you don’t notice when he makes sure the fan stays pointed at you longer. 

your eyes narrow when you do, nudging at his hand to turn it back to him, scolding him lightly because you don’t want him getting heat stroke. 

the heat makes everything feel hazy and your movements sluggish. 

you groan into the thick air, shifting on the ground in search of a cool spot. eyeing him suspiciously as he stays completely still—how other than the light sheen on his body and the flush in his cheeks, there aren’t any outward signs of suffering. “how are you so calm right now?”

bob shrugs, a lax hand arcs through the air. “i run warm. ‘m pretty used to it.”

you give him a pout that his eyes catch on. he wonders if he’d taste the salt on your skin if he kissed you now.

“no fair,” you mumble, head thrown back. the move exposes the line of your throat, the way it glistens with sweat. he licks his lips, tries so hard to stop himself from following the bead of sweat that tracks down your cleavage. 

bob distantly wonders how he’s still so affected, even after he had you writhing under him last night, just twelve hours ago. remembers how you’d dragged your nails down his back, raising welts between his shoulder blades as he had you pinned between him and the mattress. 

to answer your question, he thinks there is a chance he’s in hell. only because you’re inches away, in nothing but a bra and panties, skin shimmering in the afternoon light and he can’t do anything about it because it’s just so hot.

when you shift again, bob takes the risk and kisses you. makes sure to keep his torso hovering away from yours, only connected by your lips. 

you reciprocate, craning your neck up into him. his mouth is warm, but it’s a nice contrast to the stifling heat surrounding you. 

it’s muscle memory, reaching up to pull him closer. but your fingers slip against tacky skin, chests sticking together uncomfortably. bob retreats when he hears your low whine, squirming beneath him. 

“no no no- i want to keep going,” you say breathlessly, voice catching when the heat stings at the nape of your neck, “but ‘s too hot.”

bob can see when it gets overstimulating, your eyes watering with it. he scoots away, not too far but just enough to let the air flow easier around you. sets the mini fan next to you on the strongest setting and gathers your hair away from your neck. 

“hey, you’re okay,” he murmurs soothingly, “i know, it’s hot. d’you want me to get your water bottle?”

you shake your head, still pouting. you know you’re being a little melodramatic, but you can barely think straight, you’re bloated from drinking enough water to drown a dolphin and all you want is to cuddle with your boyfriend but you can’t. 

“what can i do, honey?” he hums, scooting closer to link your pinkies. he’s surprisingly level-headed about the whole thing, and it makes you wonder if this is really how he feels most of the time. then you feel bad for ever complaining about how cold he keeps his room. you’d much rather be huddling for warmth.

your voice is small, a little petulant—it’s embarrassing to be felled by a broken ac system. “can you… can you kiss me again?”

his heart skips at your shy question. so used to the tables being flipped that he feels a little zip down his spine at the opportunity to take care of you this time.

bob’s mind becomes one-tracked, the need to make all your troubles disappear and have you happy and sated taking over his thoughts. he tells himself he’ll make it all better (maybe even says it out loud.)

“lay back,” he tells you softly, nodding when you go down without a word. he dutifully adjusts the fan again, and then he’s appearing in your vision, blocking out the ceiling. 

bob hovers over you, in a push-up position so none of his body heat reaches you. he looks so big like this, his newfound strength apparent with how he holds himself in place without struggle. 

his hair curtains his face from this angle, and you reach up to tuck it behind his ear again. he has stars in his eyes when he peers down at you, still so pretty. 

“’s this better?” he asks, voice low and gentle.

when you nod, you’re smiling and looking like yourself again. who could’ve known all you needed was bob on top of you. 

he leans down, chest only just brushing yours this time as he kisses you deep. makes it a good one (he always does), but especially since you’d asked so sweetly. 

you forget why you were upset in the first place when his tongue slips over yours. it gets a little heated, ironically, but even then bob holds himself above you, never letting his hot skin touch you. 

you start to whimper for it, especially when you feel bob sporting a semi through his thin boxers, even from where he hovers. he’s about to bring himself to do something about it—ears burning a little when he thinks about maybe asking if you’d want him to take you from behind this time, reasoning that you’ll overheat less like that.

but then through the thick door, bob’s enhanced hearing picks up on heavy, thudding footsteps approaching. you don’t need crazy senses to hear walker calling bob’s name from down the hall. 

the pair of you freeze, your glassy eyes stuck on him. the breath catches in your chests when his voice grows louder. “bob! pool’s open—let’s go!”

he rolls off of you, barely sparing a second to adjust himself in his boxers before ushering you to the en-suite bathroom. 

“stay here,” he says, even when both of you know there’s nowhere else to go. “i’ll be right back.” 

bob steals one more kiss before he ducks out of the bathroom, shutting the door right behind him just as walker barrels into the bedroom. 

“wha- maybe knock next time?” bob runs a hand through his hair, standing on the opposite side of the room from the blonde super soldier who’s already got his trunks on. 

“what’s the point? not like you’re doing anything in here, anyway.” john reasons, shrugging with a hand on his hip. 

“right… pool’s open, you said?” bob tries changing the subject. 

“a few of us are heading down now. get changed, buddy, you look like you’re about to pass out.” 

bob purses his lips, and wonders briefly if you’re listening through the door. he hopes walker doesn’t ask why he’s standing so weird. 

“s-sure thing,” bob agrees, already turning around to look for the new pair of trunks he’d picked out with you the last time you’d gone out.

a high whistle rings out behind him, and the way it pierces the air makes bob freeze in his tracks. 

“damn, bob. you get in a fight?” 

bob’s confused, grasping for any idea of what john could mean when it hits him, and he whirls around before john gets more fuel for the teasing that awaits him now. 

his face is burning up, trunks clutched in his hands. he blinks rapidly, floundering as john watches with a smug grin. 

“good for you, man,” john says simply, and bob just knows he’s holding back for later, when he has everyone’s attention. 

“o- on second thought, i don’t- i don’t feel too good,” bob struggles, eyes frantically searching for a shirt, but the last time he had one on was hours ago. he can’t remember where he’d tossed it, because his brain turned to mush the second yours came off.

“oh, come on, there’s nothing to be ashamed of!” john waves, cracking a little as a laugh bubbles in his chest. “wear it with pride! means you did a good job.”

bob wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. he’s sure he’s in hell, when his door slides open and both yelena and ava step in, clad in swimsuits and towels slung over their shoulders. 

“guys, what is the holdup?” yelena demands, gesturing exasperatedly with her hands. 

“it’s like you want to get heat stroke.” ava snips, glaring at john, whose face is crimson from how hard he’s holding himself back. 

“bob’s been busy.”

the girls look at him questioningly, irate at being made to wait even longer as john waits for them to figure it out. 

bob squeaks, shaking his head when john declares to the room, “bob fucks!”

he is in hell, because the room falls silent as ava and yelena stare between the two men. bob scoots a little too far to the left and they catch a glimpse of his scratched up back in the full-body mirror behind him. 

their gasps fill the room, and yelena, at least, tries to cover it with a hand over her mouth. 

“go on, bob!” ava nods approvingly, breaking into a cackle as yelena nods her agreement, speechless. 

it makes bob cringe, mind darting through all the ideas of how to squirm out of this situation, because they’re all probably picturing him in their minds right now and it makes him want to curl up in a hall. 

“oh my god, who do you think it is?” ava gasps, slapping excitedly at john. he swats her hands away, but he’s wearing a shit-eating grin when he says your name, drawling, “obviously.”

ava’s jaw drops just as yelena elbows him hard enough to make walker wince. 

bob swallows back the protest in his throat, because he doesn’t trust his ability to lie right now. decides it might be easier to just let them think what they want. 

“whoever it is-“ yelena cuts off ava and john’s gabbing, “-is a very lucky person. clearly!”

they leave bob to change in peace, snickering the whole way to the elevator. when the bathroom door opens, you find his face in his hands, sighing in resignation. 

when his hands fall, there you are, trying to muffle a laugh, half-guilty but very amused. 

“i’m sorry, baby,” you coo, running your hands up his arms to his shoulders, “should’a told you to put on a shirt first.”

you enjoy yourself plenty, watching him stammer through the group’s interrogation by the pool while you act none-the-wiser. even sprinkling in a question or two. 

it’s not as funny later that night, when the ac is fixed and bob has you on your back before it can even kick in properly. 

it’s decidedly unfunny when you have to watch tutorials the next morning on how to cover up the purple-red splotches mapped down your throat, save for the one at your collar—bob asks you to leave that one bare. 

in the middle of it (autumn)

the team is onto you. 

it’s hard to miss the pointed looks exchanged over dinner when you and bob chat intently, in your own world, totally unbothered by their squabbling. 

or when the two of you coincidentally walk into the kitchen for breakfast together. sure, you bumped into him on your way down. 

it’s been almost a year with bob, and you’re still buried under the weight of pure love when he comes to you first about what’s bothering him, or when he wants you to cut his hair, or when he doesn’t even have to ask for your order when he gets takeout for just the two of you. 

sneaking around was fun at first, a harmless secret that protected the peace that only existed when you were together. every stolen kiss and lingering brush under the table sent shocks through your system. 

the longer it goes, the harder it is to leave him in the morning, slipping into your own room quietly on the off chance that someone might catch you tiptoeing out of his. 

when bob shuffles into the kitchen, eyes bleary and hair mussed from sleep, and you have to hold yourself back from peppering kisses all over his sleepy face—it makes you wonder why exactly you’re keeping it a secret. it’s not like the team would really give a shit, hell, they probably know. 

so you stop being careful. the mask starts to slip, and bob finds that he quite likes getting to hold your hand outside the confines of your rooms. 

the day it finally happens is one of those days, where you wake up in his arms, clutched to his chest like his personal teddy bear. his lips part on a soft snore, face smushed into the pillow.

you’re a little sweaty, trapped under the covers with the heat radiating off of your dead-asleep boyfriend, but you can’t bring yourself to peel away from him. 

it’s still early. the tower is silent—on the cusp of consciousness. 

as you try to recall what exactly woke you up, bob shifts behind you and—oh. bob moves again, still asleep, and this time there’s no mistaking what nudges at the back of your thigh. 

a hitch of a breath. you wait a beat, in time with your pulse, until you decide to push back experimentally. he’s still asleep, and you’re debating whether it’s worth waking him early. 

he’s thick in his pyjamas, insistent as he grinds into you again, notching between your ass cheeks. this time he lets out a low moan, the arm banded around your middle clamping down.

you’re entirely locked against him now, unable to move as bob’s hips continue their lazy rocking. you want so bad to let him sleep, but it’s getting uncomfortably hot and sticky between your legs. 

you think you could slip a hand down and take care of yourself quietly, but then your entire body jolts up the bed on one hard thrust. the mewl you’ve been biting back finally slips out. 

that’s what wakes him, in the end. when your hand flies to his forearm against your stomach, baby blue eyes flutter open and blink slowly in confusion. 

it hits him all at once—cock throbbing in his pants and your overheating body squirming in front of him and the little sounds escaping your mouth. his name. 

bob makes a puzzled sound, halfway to a moan when the fog clears. his arms loosen enough for you to turn around, facing him as his cock now pokes at your belly. 

“i’m sorry i woke you” you whisper through the clench in your core. bob shakes his head, still sleepy, dragging you into a slow kiss, the first of the day. 

“are you-” his hand slips between your bodies, resting at your navel until you nod. “fuck, you’re so wet already.”

he runs his long fingers through your folds, spreading the arousal he finds waiting for him there. brushes against your clit, and then you’re whining, tugging at his shoulders. 

“bob bob bob, please, i need you inside,” is all it takes for him to nod against your lips, wriggling out of his pants and lifting your thigh over his. 

he guides himself to your entrance, sliding in slow, like always. lets you adjust as he groans low at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him. 

when you tell him to move, he wastes no time in drawing his hips back, pushing in steadily. each time he does, a breathless moan is punched out of you, gripping him like a vice and sucking him back in. 

“s- shit, honey, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he stutters, a soft laugh turning breathless when you seem to clench down on purpose. “s’that feel good, honey? t- talk to me.”

he needs it. with this angle, he reaches so much deeper, his coarse hairs rubbing at your clit with each push forwards. it sets your insides alight, but there’s nowhere to run in this position. his fingers clamp down on your hip, dragging you along his cock. 

“f- fuck, you feel so good,” you cry, burying your face in his firm chest, “so- so deep like this. can feel all of you.”

your praise goes straight to his cock, twitching inside you on a whimper. he moves with purpose, aims for that spot he knows is there—the one that makes you cry his name. 

he knows when he’s found it, because you’re keening, high and sharp into the room. the stillness of the morning is shattered, taken over by the steady slapping of skin on skin, the squelching where bob pushes his thick cock into your leaking hole. 

“you’re so- so fucking wet, sweetheart. ‘s all for me?” he pants, voice raspy and thick with sleep. it scratches at your brain just right, makes you arch into his touch. 

his tip batters at that spongey spot just right, and he thinks he might need to cover your mouth or something. while he’s sure the team wouldn’t be opposed to your relationship, he’s not too sure about how they’d feel waking up to your repeated chants of his name.  

he shushes you with this mouth on yours, swallowing down all your wanton moans. “you’re gonna wake everyone,” he says against your lips, a little teasing. just this side of cocky, now that he has you falling apart on his dick first thing in the morning. 

your head shakes vehemently as you cling to him. “don’t care,” you say, breath catching when he rolls your clit in slow circles. “want ‘em to know-” your hips buck with a yelp when his touch grows firm, “-want them to hear how good you fuck me.” 

bob’s eyes roll back into his head, a shiver running down his spine. “cum for me then, baby, c’mon.”

his thrusts grow harsh, and you know he’s almost there when he bites down on your shoulder to stop the pathetic moan at how your wet walls choke him. 

he keeps working at your clit, pumping in and out of you in a way that’s fucking devastating. the heat simmering in your belly bubbles over, and you’re creaming all over his cock with a wrecked whine, bucking your hips to meet his. 

“loveyouloveyouloveyou,” he hears you mumble as you wade through your high, and it does him in to hear that word. it’s not the first time, but it always feels like it. 

his fingers squeeze your hips so hard they’ll bruise for sure, marring your skin shades of blue and purple that he’ll kiss better later.

when he cums, it’s with a drawn out moan, barely muffled by your skin as he presses his face to your neck. you can feel him pulsing as he paints your insides, squeezing just to draw out his pleasure. you don’t want the feeling of him filling you up to stop. 

“i love you, oh, god- love you, baby.”

too bad the moment is fucking stomped on all over, becoming bob’s most ruined orgasm when his bedroom door flies open, revealing a blond super soldier, suited up at 7 in the morning. 

“hey, have you seen-” 

it takes a second to register but when it does, bob is tugging the covers up and shielding your body with his. 

“holy shit.” john freezes in his tracks like he’s been slapped, piecing together the flash of your mortified face and the curve of bob’s bare ass. 

“get the fuck out!” you shout from under bob, whose mind has gone completely blank. not only because he’s been walked in on, butt naked by the most annoying of all super soldiers, but also because he can feel where his cum is leaking out of you onto the sheets. he pulls the covers tighter around your bodies, blushing bright red. 

“i knew it. i fucking knew it!” 

“gold star to you, walker! now can you leave, please? the briefing doesn’t start for another hour, you psycho.”

“god forbid we get breakfast before a day-long mission! it’s only the most important meal of the day!”

your eyes roll hard, staring up at bob, both of you doused in annoyance at how john is still in the room when bob is still in you. 

“bob, i’d offer you to join but i assume you’ve already eaten-” he’s cut off by your indignant yell, easily dodging the metal water bottle hurled at him. 

“alright, alright,” john huffs, turning heel with a shudder. 

when the door slides shut, bob meets your eyes with a sigh. you look up at him, helpless to stop the unhinged giggle when you process what just happened. 

“cat’s out of the bag?” you offer, whimpering a little when bob pulls out slowly. he shakes his head, huffing a laugh with his head in the crook of your neck. 

bob cleans you up diligently, and so, so softly. within the hour, he’s zipping up your tactical suit and waiting at the door so he can walk you out to the elevator. 

“are you gonna be okay fending for yourself while i’m gone? they’re going to have questions,” you tease, raising on your tiptoes loop your arms around bob’s neck. 

he smile is small but it’s real and stays even after you kiss him goodbye. 

“Let me explain,” Peter said, his knees betraying him when he tried to stand. You ran to help him up, his skin was awfully hot against yours, his face still flushed, his body felt heavy and weak. “I’m so sorry.”

“You need to lie down first,” you helped him take his hoodie off and lay on his bed. His chest rising and falling quickly through each breathless groan. 

“It hurts,” he cried out, eyes closed tightly shut. There was an obvious bulge in his pants, a wet spot forming on his worn out sweatpants. You panicked, not knowing what next step to take. Would a sponge bath work? But how do you relieve a painfully hard dick with a sponge bath? What is even going on with him? 

You tried to ask him but he kept his mouth shut, shaking his head after every question. Okay, you're a scientist you could figure something out, right? 

Let’s assess the subjective: Peter, your awkward, nerdy, pretty-cute roommate is in distress right now on his bed. Then what’s the objective? Flushed skin, body temp that could probably break a thermometer, body covered in cuts and bruises old and new, his cock is—well, that. Assessment? Fuck, I don’t know? Drugs?

You ran to the laundry room to check if he had taken anything to cause the reaction. You checked the pockets of his hoodie, the top of the washing machine, then inside. A wet Spider-man suit. Feeling the fabric, the plastic plating of the lenses, the mechanisms in place, this wasn’t some cosplay suit. 

The secrecy, always being out at late hours, being so awkward doing his laundry late at night, insane appetite, the stolen lab chemicals in his room, the bruises. Peter is—?

You heard him yell out your name down the hallway. “Pete, you have to tell me something, I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know how to help you!”

“Pumpkin…Bomb…Smoke…” he said, still writhing. 

“Pumpkin bomb? Like the goblin-freak?” You’ve seen clips online of Spider-man fighting a green guy with pumpkins and a flying thing.  

“So an aphrodisiac?” he nodded. 

“Mouth…burns…” he buried his head in a pillow. 

Your heart was pounding at this point. Every solution in your head would result in something that could absolutely ruin your relationship with Peter, not that there was anything deep in the first place, but what if he hates you forever because of it? Or what if he dies right now! 

Peter’s face has never been this close to yours. His breath was hot on your lips, slowly but surely, you pressed in, kissing his feverish lips. He held your face for a deeper kiss, a messy, wet, and desperate kiss. His body seemed to relax a bit, breathing less heavy. 

“I…need…you,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. 

“Anything—” you said, caressing the hard muscles of his chest down to the bulge in his pants. He whimpered from your touch, bucking his hips. “Does it feel good?”

“Ye—yes,” he took your hand inside of his pants, his cock already hard and sticky. “You make me…like this…all the time,” his voice breaking in small whimpers. 

“What I saw earlier…you were thinking of me?” He pulled down his pants so you could easily stroke his cock. He nodded eagerly. You kissed him once more, stroking the tip of his cock, making him whimper against your lips. His hips moved up and down as if trying to fuck your hand. 

“Your lips…mouth…” his mouth agape. You didn’t even think anymore, your mouth was on his dick. He yelled out, hands through your hair. You bobbed up and down till your nose met the base of his cock. Your cheeks blushed because of all the sounds Peter made. He was cursing, whimpering, and calling your name all at the same time. He was desperate for this. 

His body shivered when you smoothed your hands up his muscular thighs, going back to stroke what’s left of his length you weren’t sucking on. 

“Stop—please stop,” Peter said, pulling you off. 

“Did I hurt you?” you said worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…need to fuck you,” he pulled you in for a heated kiss, the going down to kiss your neck then your collarbone. While you let his kiss lull you to your back, he hovered on top of you caressing every bit he wasn’t able to touch before. He toyed with your chest, your nipples, earning him sweet sounds that made him want you more. 

“Peter—” his fingers found your sex, meeting the same wetness from your arousal. He pulled your pants down, almost ripping it off. With your thighs on each side of his shoulders, his warm mouth kissed your sex. His tongue found the sweet spot in an instance, sucking and licking hungrily while digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs. 

“Tastes so good,” he looked at you while eagerly sucking on your sex. He sucked on his fingers till they were wet with your arousal, slowly toying with the rim before interesting. 

“Fuck, Peter that feels so—” you couldn’t form sentences anymore, you were breathless. His bicep flexed while holding onto your thigh while the other moved with his fingers. “Pete–I might cum.”

He didn’t care, he was having the best time of his life. Peter was no more, not even Spider-man. He was an animal driven by pure instinct. You cried out as the pleasure washed over you, his mouth still relentless, while his fingers eased up. He was very strong, his body was locked on you and there wasn’t anything you could do. 

He finally let you go with one last final lick. He looked up at you with his hungry brown eyes, lips swollen red while a string of saliva ran down to your sex. “Can I fuck you now?”

Your body was sore, but you badly needed more. You pulled him to you again. The kiss was sloppier and more erratic. He pulled your thighs against his hips before pushing his length in. It fit so perfectly, like a void finally being filled. 

“So…tight…” he grunted, burying his head on the corner of your neck. He smelled like sex and sweat, his calloused hands holding tightly on your legs for support while he bottomed out. The bed creaked with each thrust, something the neighbours would definitely hear. His whole body weight was on you, a large expanse of hard muscle weighing down on you with each rush from his cock. “So good…for me.”

“Pete, I’m so close,” you could only pant out. 

“I know…baby…almost there,” Peter pulled out so he could fuck you from behind, in this way he could pleasure you even more. He asked you to be steady on all fours, a task you didn’t know if you could do. Your legs were shaking, your arms so weak. He hugged your back so his chest was close to you, a hand playing with your nipples while the other your sex. He was kissing the back of your neck while muttering. “I need…pull out…”

Pleasure was erupting in so many places in your body, your eyes rolled back, joints already shaking. “Inside…come inside…” you gasped, matching his speech pattern. 

The two of you fell forward as your elbows gave out, your climax washing over and through each nerve in your body. Peter let out one last exasperated groan as he emptied himself inside you. 

You faced him while catching your breath, his body slowly getting cooler. His arms were still around you, your legs over each other, skin damp. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” he said, kissing you again.

your mind was still hazy from your orgasm, you briefly feel armand shift behind you and settle in between your legs. 

lowering himself, armand placed a trail of kisses over your tummy, letting his tongue sneak out from time to time. he held your gaze, and you, still in the afterglow of pleasure, couldn’t look away. his golden eyes were so tender and mellow, capturing yours in a trance.

he resumed his kisses over your belly, his hands gripped both your thighs to spread them wide apart. he rubbed soothing circles on your thighs with his thumbs, his lips whispering sweet words of praise and encouragement against the sensitive skin.

“you’re being so good for me, beloved..” his voice was sweet honey pouring into your ears, it left tingles all over your skin. his kisses lowered from your navel towards your core in a torturous pace, savoring every contact his lips had with your supple skin. 

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and there he was again, you swore you heard him inside your head. too dazed to even ask him how he’s doing you instead nod dumbly at his question. he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right?

“good, good…” he positioned himself in between your thighs, not at your core just yet but instead he placed kisses upon your thigh. starting at the crevice where your thigh met your cunt, he trailed soft kisses up. you sighed, quivering under his touch. 

his gaze met yours once again, “i promise this won’t hurt…” he whispered. you opened your mouth to speak before he unhinged his jaw, a perfect set of fangs almost suddenly appeared and then disappeared once they sank into the flesh of your thigh. 

you gasped, throwing your head back in pain, but it lasted only a second before a wave of bliss went through you, a high from him sucking the blood from your thigh. for a moment you thought he was going to kill you.

“a—armand—“ 

he continued to drink from you as you watched his pupils expand as he tasted your blood. he unattached himself from your thigh, your blood soaking his mouth, dripping onto the sheets. you felt lost in a haze. “my love, you taste divine…” he mumbled, lapping at the blood leaking from the punctures he left, seemingly having a soothing effect on the wounds. 

“armand…wh-what are y-“

“shh, beloved. don’t speak. don’t think…”

he was in your head again. what the fuck was happening? armand continued to press soothing kisses on your thigh. alarm bells were going off in your head but you couldn’t help but stay still for him. far too entranced by the angelic man in between your legs.

“let me take care of you…”

and like a puppet pulled by his strings, you begged him, begged him to please you. he pulled away just a little to admire the sight in front of him. his golden eyes were now fixated on your core. the rich and fragrant scent of your arousal filled his nostrils and made him almost light-headed.

reaching out with the tip of a finger, he lightly prodded at the small pearl crowning your core and lowering at your entrance, eliciting a cry out of you.

armand observed fascinated by how your body reacted to his barely there touch, your cunt crying at his touch and coating the tip of his finger. you were sopping wet already, your sweet nectar already leaving small stains on his bedsheets.

taking his digit, he lifted it to his face and watched for a moment how it glistened with your essence coating it. his piercing eyes locking with your as his tongue rolled out of his mouth, sensually licking your nectar off his finger. 

“oh, beloved…”

you let out a loud gasp as his lips and tongue made contact with your cunt. he started slow, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue before moving his lips to your clit, suckling gently on it and then starting his pattern again.

then he’s eating into you, lips and tongue and edges of teeth devouring you like the lion to the lamb. your eyes clench shut so hard that you see stars in the blackness. 

his lips close around your clit and he sucks on it it, ravenous, your slick was so enticing for armand, just like your blood, he started feeling drunk of it. he soon picked up his pace, drinking from you desperately, eating you with such care and need just like when he was drinking from you.

“a-ahh armand—please-!” you struggled trying to form coherent words. you squirmed and wiggled in his grasp, your hands searching for something, anything, to hold onto and ground you to reality. both of them ended latching to his black locks of hair, your mind torn between pushing him away in fear for your life, or pulling him even closer to keep him pleasuring you.

It was too much, and at the same time, it wasn’t enough.

your hips rolled instinctively into his greedy mouth, your legs shaking uncontrollably, giving him no choice but to hold onto your thighs with a deadly grip, effectively pinning you down onto his mattress and leaving you with no chance to move away from him.

the entire room felt like it was spinning, filled with your wanton cries and the dirty slurping sounds coming from armands mouth, as well as his constant moans of satisfaction. your back arched constantly, and you kept whining his name like a desperate prayer for mercy. mercy you wouldn’t receive from him anytime soon.

your hands couldn’t stay still in a single place, soon they had left his hair to instead grab onto the bedsheets or the pillow supporting your head. you lowered one hand to look for something else to hold onto for dear life, when it suddenly found one of his. 

instinctively, you both laced your fingers together, chasing your peak. your grip to his hand tightened as you felt yourself slipping over the edge. armand must sense that your climax is dawning on you so quickly, too quickly for his liking, because he slides from your body and he leaves a parting kiss on your cunt. he stared at you, looking like a wild, hungry animal, there was only a small golden ring left in dilated eyes.

“i—i need you to cum on my cock..”

your chest rises and falls in shaking breaths. the sight of him between your parted legs, his beautiful mouth stained with your slick pulling into a gentle smirk that makes your cunt ache as well as strike a deep fear in you. 

"would you enjoy that, beloved?" he purrs the question. you swallow thickly as you try to collect your thoughts. your mind reels with the whiplash of having been so close to your breaking point and then suddenly back to total lack of stimulation. 

and as if the words were pulled out of you “yes, please armand—i need you…” you watch him push up to sit on his knees.

he towers over you with zero effort, all slender and sinewy and spectral. he unbuckles his pants and pulls out the evidence of his carnality as it lays heavy and hard against his leg, the slit leaking slightly on his tan flesh. 

you felt dizzy nearly drooling at the view presented before you speak again. "i-i want you to fuck me, please—please make me yours armand, i wanna—“ you gasp see his cock throb at your words and he leans in closer, pushing your knees farther apart. armand presses an incendiary kiss to your lips to put an end to your begging.

you gasp brokenly against his mouth as the head pushes into you. its girth splits you cleanly and the overload of sensation has you clutching onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your hands into his hair.

"shh-shh my love, shh-shh..." he hushes you, his whispers coming out with a tremor as he hilts fully inside you. being this close, you can smell the metallic sweetness of your own fluids on his chilled breath. his hips roll gently to bottom out. 

the both of you sit panting for a moment before he begins to push back and forth in rhythm. his pace is slow and easy, and he drinks in the sounds you make under him. 

"taking me so—so well, love...” croons, and his tone gives away just how much he aches for you. the swing of his hips brings breathless sounds and trembly sighs from you and you can tell he's feasting on the chorus you're giving up so generously. 

"you will be mine forever." he murmurs, lips against your neck, feeling your sweet blood rushing through your veins. "you know that, yes? whose you belong to and whose you are?"

"i’m yours-" your reply is a rushed tumble and you cant your hips upwards to catch his thrusts at a better angle. in a blur, light bursts behind your eyes and you sing delightfully with it. "i’m yours!"

armand almost whimpers at your words while driving his hips into your soft willing body. his mouth is almost like hellfire against your flesh, branding you so that only he can have you. he’s resisting the urge to sink his fangs into your throat, yet the whole time he's whispering and chanting in your mind that you belong to him and him alone. 

heat flashes hot and white through your whole being as you're suddenly wracked with your orgasm. it like dying, like flying, like being tossed end over end as he slams into you through your climax.

he’s gripping you close like he's scared you'll vanish suddenly, rutting into you like an animal as he chases the delicious pulsing warmth of your walls. he can feel you clutching him as well, blunt nails digging into his back and hand tangled in his dark hair.

your name is like poetry on his tongue, twisted into art by ecstasy and prayer, as he finally spills his seed deep in your core, so searing that you could believe instead that it's actually freezing. his hips rock to a stop.

he stays above you, panting with you in the heady aftershocks that leave sparks in the corners of your visions.

armand shifts to kiss you, in which you can taste yourself on him in a way that leaves you whining into his mouth, and leans up all the way. he is so wickedly beautiful in the moonlight.

"will you stay…?" he breathes the words, voice and low and inviting. louis flashes in his mind for a moment, not for long as he watches you tiredly smile as he slides from you. you're not sure why but, you tell him what he wants to hear.

For the past forty or so minutes you've been teetering at the edge, flickering between either states. You're flat to bed, knees parted with a vibrator to your clit just as adamantly instructed by Dex, the placement and position following his input. He's betwixt your wide spread thighs, cock driving into you slowly, a hand around his base acting as a tool to guide the precise, painstakingly unrushed thrusts. 

His eyes remain focused on you from his height advantage on his knees, a keen gaze noting all changes within you: curved brows, bitten lips, wavering chest, all of it being picked up on. Appreciated. 

He slides his hand down his shaft as his cock moves into you and places the same hand just over your cunt, thumb extending down to hover just below your buzzing clit; quite like he was adding something extra. Something more you couldn't really take. He applies slight pressure and nudges the vibrator upwards, guiding it to directly flutter against you — repositioning it how he wanted. 

In turn, you gasp, a loud, large intake of air hitting at his ears just how he wanted it. He bites at the inners of his cheeks as if to rid the pleased smile that graces his face, though you can't see it, especially not now with such tight lidded eyes. He watches the fast breaths begin to increase, your chest rising and falling like its a tell, a sign you were close. 

Your hips shudder against him, like it's an involuntarily way of pushing more of his cock inside of you. As if you were trying to replace the pain in your clit with some pleasure from within, like you were feeling too much artificiality and not enough Dex. 

He feels your grabbing hand, your fingers pawing at his wrist like you were trying to get to him give what you wordlessly asked, and so he gives you a little — silently compromising. He wedges himself inside you, using his cock like a plug; trying to insert in another aspect of control on top of it all. 

You whine into your spare palm, muffling your mouth so as to dilute the lewd sounds that fall freely from your lips — trying to avoid awkwardness with your neighbours in the morning. He tuts and shakes his head, his own chest constricting from the clamping and fluttering of your cunt around him. It was like he was also struggling, but tried to pretend he wasn't.

Dex takes the vibrator from your hold when he notices it slip, the strength in your arm seeming to be lost after being such an uncomfortable position. He holds it firmly to your clit, keeping it pressed up against the overly sensitive nub so he can watch your body squirm against it. 

Your head falls back impossibly further, and you bite on your bottom lip, trying to contain everything you feel inside in multitudes. Dex can see you try, but it's not enough. 

He picks up on that noise you make and that fidget you do right as you're about to cum and he lowers to you, keeping the toy firm in place. 

"Hold it," he husks, speaking through testingly gritted teeth. "Not yet," he adds.

Your head shakes in bashful defiance and your brows knit in the centre, silently communicating that what he wants is not something you can give him today. You tried, you really did. You've tried for so long. Too, too long and you'd given up. 

Your body begins to shudder and twitch below him and he waits, internally counting the seconds like your body was his own, like he had you so figured out that he knew exactly how far away from the edge you were. 

And just as you're about to let go, Dex snatches his cock from you, the vibrator too — letting you dangle on the edge as you cum around nothing. A string of pathetic whines fall from you as your hips chase after the feeling that was robbed from you; your climax so short and minuscule that you felt almost nothing at all. 

Dex lowers atop of you, face getting close to yours so he could whisper against your lips. "What'd I tell you?" he asks, the question rhetorical. 

You mistake it for a kiss and reach up, though he pulls away, head shaking with faux disapproval. He brings a hand to your face, thumb and index indenting into the hollows of your cheeks — action making your lips puff and pout at him. Leaning back in, he presses a kiss to your lips, mouth merely ghosting yours as he utters teasingly against them. 

"Only good girls get to cum."

⎯ ☆ ⎯

taglist: