I'm sorry to bother you but about 1 (Orgasm Denial) for (bottom, begging) Lucio?
This took 10,000 years. I love college.
Here is the boyo for you! It's in head canon style but it's sort of like a mini fic. Anyways, enjoy! 💕💕
Orgasm Denial/Bottom/Begging: Lucio
You and your beloved Count are at a rather elaborate party, and quite a few high-status individuals have chosen to attend.
Although not as grand as the masquerade, this ball is still exquisite and worth every moment of preparation it took.
Lucio is in full regalia—a pristine cream suit, his flowing crimson cape, and patent black boots. His makeup is done exceptionally, every line carved into fine points. And his arm, oh. His golden arm is polished to a blinding sheen, glimmering in the lights of the chandelier above.
He’s drunk, of course—on the finest red wine in Vesuvia. After all, that’s the only way he can really talk to diplomats and foreign representatives without getting terribly bored.
It’s awfully cute, watching him flit about the party. He’s a life of his own, that man—and despite his brashness, there’s something about the way he moves that you just can’t shake.
Perhaps it’s the way he flows—how the bloodred of his cape swirls about his feet, or the way he carries his hands. Maybe it’s the tilt of his chin—perpetually bold and upward—and how that serves to accentuate the cut of his jaw.
In any case, he’s driving you wild with the looks he's flashing your way, and the steely hue of his gaze catches you in the most inopportune moments.
After about two hours of these torturous looks you break, snatching a hold of him and stealing away into an isolated little corridor.
And the look on his face? Nothing short of absolutely priceless. No hint of shame or remorse crosses his features over all the seductive glances he's been giving you the whole night through. He just offers you a challenging sort of look, a smirk playing across his face.
You're quick to put the man in his place, however.
Taking a fistful of his lapels you proceed to back him up into a wall, the two of you hidden just so behind a curtain of red and gold.
His rambunctious smirk shifts as soon as his back presses into the cold stone, eyebrows curving down and lips parting just slightly for you. At even the slightest notion of dominance he turns into a mess for you, and he doesn't even attempt to hide it.
“Lucio-” at just the touch of your lips to the shell of his ear he gives a lecherous sort of sigh, pawing at the front of your outfit for purchase.
He's already half hard under the press of your body, cheeks flushed and breath hot at your neck.
Nudging a knee in between his legs and bearing forward elicits from him a whiny cry that he doesn't try at all to conceal, unashamedly rutting his hips back up against you.
And then, a very pathetic sort of whimper. “MC, mmmgAH fuck-”
Slowly you slip a hand down his pants, circling delicate fingers around his already weeping cock. Whispering in his ear that it's adorable, that he has no right to be confident about it (even though he absolutely does.)
You can feel the tips of his golden claw grazing against the fabric of your garments, clutching to you in desperation as you let just your fingertips touch him
Only the pads of your fingers, slow and methodical, skim along the length of him. He's so hot against your touch that it's intoxicating--experimentally you run your thumb along the crown of him, and then over his slit.
Naturally this makes him shudder and moan and buck back into you, but your fingers are so loose that it offers no purchase.
His frustration is practically tangible and it sends a rush of pleasure through you.
At the state of him you can't help but whisper in his ear the words you know will drive him absolutely wild.
“Better be quick, mm? What if someone sees? Aw, Vesuvia’s terrifying Count Lucio, rutting pathetically against my hand.”
You can practically feel his humiliation kink sputter to life like an engine revving up dry.
A wicked smirk plays across your lips as you continue to speak. “But that's what you want, isn't it? You want me to make you cum in front of everyone like a good little boy.”
His cock twitches against your palm at the mere mention of this, accompanied by another desperate little whine.
“oh, and look at you. Gonna do it in your pants with me barely even touching you, huh?”
The look on his face is telling you that he would, if you let him. His cheeks and neck are flushed pink, lip caught between his teeth.
With marked slowness you start to stroke him, running a closed fist down every inch of him and then back up to the base. “Lucio, beg.”
Normally he'd balk back against this order. Normally he'd puff out his chest, tell you that he’s the “Count of Vesuvia” and proceed to demand your respect.
But this is the count pressed up against a wall. This is that very same man, now with a shameful expression on his face and desperation in his voice. “MC, please…”
You act like you can't hear him--that isn't good enough. Not at all.
Squeezing him firmly in your hand, you say it again. “Monty, beg for me.”
Begging is an understatement. In a couple of minutes of fast-paced stroking you have him keening and moaning out just how much he wants it. Chanting your name, clawing for some sort of anchor as he pleads for release
And oh, he's so so sweet when he begs like that. When his hips arch up against you and he's biting his lip so hard you swear it'll bleed any second. So, so sweet when he's this absolute wreck of a man on the verge of his finish.
But do you let him? No, no of course not. It isn't that easy.
Tucking him back into his pants with a taunting smile you release him from his press against the wall, immediately receiving a dirty look and a whimper in response.
A kiss to his jaw, agonizingly chaste. "after the party, dear. Business to attend to."
