#avareign

"Hey, hey," she starts, using her free hand to place a palm over his heart. "We have twelve hours until we have to worry about it. Don't let it bother you while we still have time."

He kisses her head. "My bad. Still getting used to the whole… relaxing thing." He says it teasingly, but his voice is strained.

"It takes practice, Griff," she says earnestly, lifting her head to meet his eyes for the next part. "They work you like a fucking dog, so don't let them steal the little bit of time you have to yourself."

Hazel irises soften into liquid amber, both from her words and the final rays of sun.

"The little bit of time I have with you."

"You're secretly a sap. I love it," she pinches his cheek lightly.

He crinkles his nose. "Y'know, I would proudly wear that badge of honor if I didn't hate the idea of anyone finding out."

A cackle bursts from her this time, echoing off the cold stone buildings.

Grinning mischievously, Griffin takes a deep breath before yelling "I hate touring! Someone kill me!"

She slaps a hand over his mouth to quiet him and he lightly nips at the pad of her thumb with his perfect teeth.

"Shut up," she manages through her laughter.

"Your turn," he mumbles behind her hand, wiggling his brows.

"I don't think you want me to yell what I'm thinking about right now," Dom bats her lashes innocently at him.

Tongue licking the corner of his mouth, he nods slowly, eyes blazing. "It'd surely be a PR disaster if the world knew how badly you wanted to fuck me."

She unlaces their fingers, snaking her hand over his thigh, lazily tracing the crease of his hip with her thumb.

Griffin's breath hitches, a stuttering laugh bubbling out of him. He glances around for cover before fixing his hungry gaze on her.

"You're right, I should just keep it all to myself," she teases, slowly retreating her hand — but he stops her by covering it with his own.

"No, share with the class. Call me morbidly curious." His grin is back, as flirty as ever.

Their faces are barely a foot apart, tension thick enough to wade through. It usually happens like this — casual flirting bleeds into successful seduction attempts, so seamless that it's practically a second language.

She leans in, presses a gentle kiss to his lips, murmuring against them.

"It's your night. Whatever you want, I'm yours."

Wide open. That's what their remaining hours are. Restrained by time, never imagination.

"You could've yelled that," he says between kisses. "I haven't decided which part would've been hotter."

She retreats from the kiss with a smile and rears back to let out a resounding, "I'm yours!"

Sun completely descended, warmth replaced with a biting chill, they toast their champagne flutes with a clink and down the rest, nearly chasing each other back to the safety of their penthouse suite.

The elevator ride is as handsy as possible with an obvious security camera in the corner.

"Let's give 'em a show," Griffin says with a wicked smile, sliding his tattooed hands into her back pockets, capturing her mouth in another dizzying kiss.

His public displays used to be coordinated, appearances planned down to a script. Turns out, Griffin was an actor just as much as his ex-wife was, even if he wasn't particularly good at it.

Dom can't imagine that for them now. He's much clingier — always wanting some kind of contact — and if he can't, he's making up for it when they can touch, like he's trying to cover all the ground he missed.

The blanket is sandwiched between their bodies, and it's the one time Dom considers abandoning it completely.

When the elevator doors slide open, Griffin tugs the quilt while walking backwards, dragging her into their luxury suite.

"And then there were two," he jokes, draping the fabric on the back of a chair.

The beauty of their mini-getaway is that it's been private for the entirety of it, which is completely out of the ordinary. It's never like this.

Griffin's entourage is so massive that Dom has gradually adjusted to the reality of nameless faces in every room she'll ever be in.

No matter what, she'll never stop advocating for a miniscule slice of normalcy, albeit a brief one.

"I prefer it this way," she says, giggling when he envelops her in a bear hug, arms around her shoulders.

Mimicking his earlier move, she slips her hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Oh!" He pretends to be scandalized with a dramatic raise of his thick brows. "And you don't even have the decency to wine and dine me first."

"So what was last night then?" She asks facetiously with a purse of her lips.

"Me being very successful at it."

She rolls her eyes and elbows him away even as he plants a kiss on top of her head.

"I'm gonna bathe. That city smell is no joke." She shakes her head, starts to peel her shirt off.

A beat passes before Griffin says anything.

"So do I need an invitation to this party or what?"

"It's not a party without you." She's half-joking, half-sincere when she says it.

He closes the gap between them again, bending slightly to be eye-level with her. "And you call me the sap."

She thinks he's going to kiss her, but instead he unhooks the clasp of her bra with a deft flick.

"Like riding a bike."

"Every teenage boy in a hundred mile radius is jealous of your party trick," she says sarcastically.

"Pfft. You say that like I wasn't doing this shit at 16." He waves her off and tugs his shirt from between his shoulder blades.

This kind of burst of vulnerability is an unfortunate pattern with Griffin — divulging traumatic breadcrumbs that trace back to him signing his soul over to Viktor.

It's a bruise she won't poke. He'll open up when he needs to.

She buries her worries in an attempt to live in the moment with Griffin.

The bathroom is about as large as her first apartment. Pristine, white, great acoustics — which she would take advantage of if they hadn't promised that their break was from all of it, including singing.

"There's a lot more we can do in here instead of getting clean."

His voice is barely a hum over the steady stream of hot water that crashes against the porcelain tub.

Dom can sense him hovering behind her, hardly covered by the towel that hangs low on his waist.

"C'mon, you need to soak your muscles before tomorrow." She throws him a knowing look. "I do, too."

He sighs loudly. "Fiiiiiiine."

Thankfully, the tub fills up fast, the heat already fending off the brisk air of their suite.

She begins shedding the last of her undergarments, abandoning them on the tile.

Sensing Griffin's eyes on her, she turns to him.

Dropping his towel dramatically, he grins. "Whoops."

It takes all of her will power not to steal a glance at his lower half, teasing from her peripheral vision.

"Oh, you're serious about this bath stuff. Well, alright," he shrugs, stepping in with a contented sigh as the water envelops the hard planes of his body.

She steps in after him, inching her way in, reveling in the way that he unabashedly stares at every part of her.

"Is the bath over yet?" He asks hoarsely.

That makes her laugh. "A minute long bath isn't even worth it. Might as well stay dirty."

"You're killing me."

"And I'm not even trying," she muses. "Think about that."

He groans, sliding down till he's completely submerged.

They settle on opposite sides of the large tub, their legs meeting in the middle, nearly intertwined.

Dom regularly finds herself in disbelief over her life turning out this way. From the biggest poster in her room, the favorite CD in her collection, the best concert memory she'd ever had — to the person she's fallen for the fastest.

Love was off limits for a very long time. Tunnel visioned by the band's collective goals, there was no room for anyone (or anything) else in her line of sight.

Meeting Griffin… the world felt big again for the first time in years, larger than it'd ever been before. Intimidatingly big. Maybe too big.

Sometimes she thinks she's too small for Griffin's world, completely eclipsed by the shadow he casts over everything in his life. The longer she's been with him, the more she's learned to ignore those thoughts. Time and time again, Griffin has expressed in every way without words that he wishes he could hide in his own shadow.

Nights like these, in their perfectly curated bubble, remind her that it can be managed, even if it requires scheduling solace.

"You're thinking about something, aren't you?" He asks, head tilted curiously.

Of course, Dom is smart enough not to pop their bubble by bringing any of that up.

She rubs her foot against his calf. "Thinking about asking you a question."

His eyes dart from his leg to her face with a grin. "Do tell."

"Have you fucked every night of tour before?"

"I dunno if you'll like the answer. But then again," he adds, "I love when you're jealous."

"If it helps, I expect you to say yes," she says, a teasing smile pulling at her lips.

"That's not the part you'll dislike." Griffin raises his brows.

"There's a difference between exploding and being mildly annoyed, Griff. You know me well enough to know how I'll react." Dom says coolly.

"So… I have," he starts, holding her gaze, gauging her reaction,"…fucked a different person each night."

"So it'll be new experience, then."

"Oh?" He's surprised, intrigued, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

"I'm giving you the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fuck the same person every night, just to say we did it."

"Choosing to ignore 'once-in-a-lifetime' part —" Griffin's mouth stretches into a suggestive grin, pushing himself up from the tub to move in closer. "— but I'd be up for that challenge."

"I knew you would," she says, lifting her hand from the water to run a finger down the bridge of his nose, the curve of his lips, before he playfully nips the pad of it.

"Have I ever told you that you're my dream girl?" He asks in an overexaggeratedly dreamy voice.

She laughs and scoots closer, cupping his face to plant a wet kiss on his mouth. "You don't have to flatter me, Griffin, I offered first."

"Hey, it's true! I promise! Corny as fuck but true!" He's joking but there's underlying sincerity to it, like most things he says these days.

"So…" Griffin says, holding out the vowel. "If tour starts tomorrow… do I get a freebie now? Or two? Or three —"

"We have to be up at dawn for an international flight, Griff, oh my god," Dom laughs, still holding his cheeks between her palms.

She rakes the damp strands away from his face and kisses him again, but doesn't part from him, lips a hair's width apart.

"Be patient," she murmurs, lightly nibbling his bottom lip. "I'll make sure you get what you need."

"Goddamn, Dom," he breathes, almost a groan, gaze dark and half lidded. "Stop talking to me like that. It only makes me want to put you through the mattress even more."

"Mmmm," she hums against his barely parted lips, sliding her hands from his face down towards his chest, his stomach, all the way down his thighs —

The next kiss is slow and sloppy, open-mouthed moans harmonizing alongside the movement of their tongues. He tastes like the menthol cigarette they shared earlier, minty and bitter — a flavor she's grown to love.

"Dominique…" he whispers shakily when they part just far enough to touch their foreheads together.

"I love when you use my full name. It's special when you say it," she responds after a moment of soft panting.

It's a quiet admission, a belief she's never verbalized, though it surfaces naturally. She doesn't mind spilling secrets to him anymore; on nights like this, they're the only people on Earth anyway.

When she finally meets Griffin's gaze, it's tender… appreciative.

"I'll say it more."

His tone is gentle when he adds "…when it's just us," a clause to a promise she knows he'll keep.

"If you need to come to get a good night's sleep, let's do it, but I don't want to keep you up past your bedtime," Dom jokes, and the air is light again.

"Well, I never get enough sleep, but I'll be fucking damned if I lose anymore 'us' time," he muses honestly, using a thumb to swipe a droplet of water from her chin.

"Ugh, I know. I wish we could pull an all nighter, but you need to relax," she says, thick brows furrowing.

"I mean… I am relaxed afterwards."

She shakes her head with a chuckle, tucks a wet strand behind her ear. "I don't know if it's a good idea. I mean, we've tried for so long to align our schedules and… I don't want to give your team any reason to never let it happen again."

"You know I have the final say, and I want you there, Dom. I've compromised way too much over the years to let them control my personal life." His tone is dripping with resentment, with regret.

"Okay, alright, I trust you."

She taps her chin, lips pursed, a silent signal.

He kisses her again, smiling against her mouth. Tattooed arms curl around her waist and slide her onto his lap, cock hard as she settles against him.

Dom's always been skilled at tempting Griffin into folding first. Maybe she's giving herself too much credit, but he's usually the first to cave when they dance featherlight towards the choice with nothing but words.

"I just don't want anyone blaming me if you're still a little pussy drunk in the morning."

Her hips move slowly, lazily, grinding against his cock that's tucked between his body and hers.

"I'd classify that as a hangover, wouldn't you?" He asks in jest, eyes trained on her as his hips curl underneath.

"Depends how much you drink."

With a glint of lust in his half-lidded gaze, Griffin tugs her into another fervent kiss, moaning into her open mouth.

"I'll do whatever you want," she breathes, suckling his neck, "but you have to let me take care of you tonight."

"Whatever you want —" he parrots the affirmation, gravelly and low.

"Let me wash your hair, and then we can fuck in the shower."

"Don't have to ask me twice," he grins and captures her bottom lip between his perfect teeth.

The tub in their penthouse suite is massive — just another perk on the extensive list of luxury amenities in their hotel. Griffin didn't think they'd find much use for it, but Dom had planned from the moment they conjured up their last hurrah that she'd make him decompress in it.

Griffin's facing away from her, his silky black hair concealing the lean muscles of his back. She uses the detachable nozzle to coat his hair with warm water before lathering his scalp with shampoo.

"Your nails… oh, wow, keep doing that. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

She scratches his scalp, rakes the suds down the length of his locks. Presses a kiss to his shoulder, bites it playfully.

"Ow."

"I've always wanted to do this, you know," she admits quietly, gently massaging his head. Cedarwood and chamomile clings to the steam.

"Like since you were a kid?" He hums, lids barely cracked open.

"No. Since I saw how tired you were up close."

She can feel his body tense beneath her hands.

He tuts. "You worry way too much about me."

"Well it's kind of my job now, considering the big promotion you gave me and all."

"Being my girlfriend isn't a job," he complains with a huff. "Or… at least… it shouldn't be."

That hint of insecurity colors the tone of his delivery. She's come to recognize it, and detest it. She almost prefers his arrogance. He shoulders the world as if its weightless but when he believes himself to be a burden, a feather is significant in his eyes.

"You should just let me be sweet. Don't read into it too much," she says, and kisses his shoulder again.

"Alright, but no more talk of worrying," he relents. "It's a major boner killer."

When Griffin is nearly asleep, nearly sinking into her chest as he floats in the tub, she lets him know it's time to make their way to the shower.

He races her across the slippery bathroom tile and nearly busts his ass, but he manages to grip the knob to regain his balance, twisting it on when he does. The water flows from the ceiling like rain, thick steam rising almost immediately with the instant heat.

Griffin looks silly with suds piles on top of his head. She commits it to memory, hoping that the next chance she's able to look through pictures of him before the fame she can gauge just how rare this kind of thing is.

"Only you get to see this, so drink it up, baby," he laughs before stepping under the water to rinse it all away.

She's grown mostly used to the idea of Griffin being her loyal boyfriend, but it's still hard to stomach when she considers how many people have ever been able to say that and it be true. Dom is the only one, standing in an elite class on her own, the top one percent of the top one percent.

She's been in love before, but he never has. It's all new to him, and it's up to her to live up to expectations from others that can't be met.

In the public's eyes, she's not good enough for Griffin. Not pretty enough, not interesting enough, not talented enough, not extravagant enough. She feels like she's on borrowed time — like if it gets bad enough, she'll be forced out.

A completely irrational fear, fueled by the cruel underbelly of fan culture.

He assures her that it's totally bullshit, that his standards are high and she's well surpassed by them, and that she's what matters to him now above it all. It's hard to gauge the size of a problem when you're floating miles above it. Of course they're ant-sized. She just hopes it stays that way.

Griffin beckons to her with a flick of his wrist, rolling his lips together as she meanders over.

"Thank you for the massage, Dom. My head feels ten pounds lighter."

"Bobblehead."

"Hey!" He pulls her flush to him, lightly smacks her butt with his palm. "That's what I get for being sincere. Consider that done."

"Oh, so you're going to be serious now?" She raises her brows, taunting.

"There are very few things in life that I'm serious about, and one of those things — probably number one, actually — is the mutual privilege of getting to fuck each other. It's extremely serious to me."

"Then fuck me, Griff. I don't have all night."

"Oh, you might not, but I do," he says, sing-songy as it echoes around the bathroom. "And I'm going to take my sweeeeet time with you, too."

He walks her back against the shower wall, the cool tile raising goosebumps across her arms and legs. Griffin revels in her shiver, drinking her up as his gaze roves over her entire body.

"How do you want it?" He murmurs, tilting his head to kiss her again.

She doesn't have an answer, and he doesn't wait for one, as he peppers kisses down her neck and clavicle, looking up at her when he stops at her breast. There's a question in his eyes — do you want my mouth on every inch of your body? Or do you want me inside of you?

She drags him upward in answer, kissing him again.

"Slow, for now."

She whispers her demand into his mouth and it's like his body is alight. He lifts her leg to hook around his hip, opening up to him.

"Don't worry, I'll give the rest of you attention later. We've got time," he smiles into her kiss, lining his head up to push himself inside.

He swallows her gasp and she groans as he slides further in. He snakes a hand around between them, using his thumb to stroke her clit with maddening precision.

"You like that?"

Fast hands, slow strokes — a recipe to make her grind against him, to match his pace.

"Oh shit —" She squeezes her leg around his back, the toes of her other foot barely touching the ground. Griffin manages to anchor most of her weight with one arm, fucking into her agonizingly slow.

He's fully in now, mouth parted as the water drips off of his lips onto her own. The shower patters like rain on his back, his hair a wet veil, the scent of the shampoo still fresh, an all encompassing attack of her senses.

"C'mon, use your words, Dom. Treat me like a toy." His voice is gravel, barely above a whisper, still working at her clit.

"Pick me up — go faster," Dom manages, which he laughs at.

"Ooh, predictable choice, but I'm very into it," he nearly purrs.

Her other leg wraps around his waist and he's grasping the top of her thighs to start moving her at the pace she desperately wants to go.

He fucks into her at a relentless speed, and it's what she asked for, but it's so much — she's slackjawed, a mess of broken sentences and whines.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Dom, you feel so fucking perfect around my cock —"

The words rumble through her as he shouts his praises. Bare wet skin, chest to chest, he fucks her like they have mere minutes left.

"You've got a filthy mouth — you better put it to use — fuck —" she tries and fails to give him commands, but there's nothing else that she can think about other than the feeling of him fucking into her.

Griffin slows his pace, curling his hips in a way that's almost considered gentle if she didn't know any better. He's trying to hit her from a different angle, trying to get her to come first.

"What are you doing — oh my god," she pants, digs her nose into the crook of his neck.

"I want you to come," he says, voice low and velvety. "I wanna hear you."

She reluctantly pulls her head away from his shoulder, half-closed eyes barely registering his smirk.

"But you…" she trails off with a gasp. "Shit —"

He cuts her off with an open mouthed kiss, devouring her moans.

"That's right, you're close, aren't you? Just listen to me and focus on coming — I know you can do it," he coaxes, eyes trained on hers. "You're so pretty when you do, Dom. Let me see that pretty face. Say my name."

The tone of his voice is so fucking hot that it pushes her right over the cliffside, careening into her the first climax of the night. He drinks in every second of it with a smile on his face.

"And I'm supposed to stand and wash my hair after that?" She's wobbly when her feet hit the ground.

He laughs. "Funny. I've got you — keep holding on."

Arms locked around his neck, legs still trembling, she watches him while he squirts shampoo onto her head and starts lathering her hair in it.

"Have we ever talked about us being hair twins?" Dom grins, squinting one of her eyes as he wipes away the bubbles from her forehead.

"What, did you see us in a siblings or dating spread?" He snickers.

"Oh, ew, no way. I'd chop my hair off in a heartbeat if people really thought we were related," she says, expression twisted in disgust.

"And leave me without reins? Way to blindside me." He quirks a brow.

Before she can answer, he takes a step back, pulling the both of them underneath the waterfall.

It's quiet as they dry off. The television plays sitcom reruns in the bedroom, the sounds of laugh tracks softer than the padding of Griffin's feet against the floor as he retrieves their robes.

When he comes back, Dom is in the middle of oiling her body, smoothing the coconut-scented liquid gold down her legs.

The look on Griffin's face is the same one he wore the night before, peering at her over the dessert menu at a Michelin star restaurant, rubbing ankles underneath the tablecloth.

Somewhere between the multiple dishes of comically small portions did the light, flirty energy evolve into something much heavier, thickened tension like it'd been handwhipped all night to a stiff peak (no pun intended).

It didn't take long for Griffin to pull her towards the bathroom with nothing but a sly grin as an indicator. Dom kept her hand clamped over Griffin's mouth for the entirety of it, desperately trying to hold back her own mewls as he fucked her on the counter.

They were stone cold sober but completely drunk on each other's touch.

Of course, Griffin doesn't consider it to be sneaky public sex since he'd rented out the restaurant for the night. Dom does, and as she so succintly put it — if their PR team had to sweep behind them with NDA's, it counts. They playfully argued semantics on the ride home, the city lights glinting over their tinted windows.

Sleeping in late, watching TV, ordering room service, scrolling on their phones in bed — it's been a perfectly lazy, sexless day. They simply existed.

Dom thought maybe he'd gotten it out of his system at this point in their vacation, purely comfortable with mindless flirting, but with the way he's sauntering over to her, she couldn't have been more wrong.

"It's like you want to keep my tongue off of your skin," he pouts, running a hand from her waist to her hip.

"I'm sure it's fine as long as you don't chug half the bottle," she snorts.

"With how much of you I want to taste, I think I'm way past that limit." He challenges her with a toothy smile.

Pressing herself flush against him, she says, "Then I'll have a doctor on standby. Promise."

Griffin tangles his fingers through the damp hair at the nape of her neck, capturing her lips in another kiss that sets her ablaze. This one is tinged with an insatiableness that wasn't there before, which she chalks up to his choice to edge himself.

"Come here," he whispers, walking backward out of the bathroom.

"Tell me what to do," she pants against his mouth.

"Window," is all he manages before they're stumbling towards the giant glass wall of their corner room.

She anchors herself against the window with flat palms, bending over patiently while Griffin pumps himself in preparation.

"It's a wonder I get anything done anymore when I have images of you like this in my head."

His hazel irises are dark, overtaken by a stormy cloud of need.

"It's hard for me, too, Griffin. Look at you…" Dom breathes a needy whine.

"All spread out and ready for me… Can I taste you?"

She doesn't care how frantic she nods — his tongue is high up on her list of favorite things about him.

Squatting down to rest on one knee, he rubs himself with one hand while flattening his tongue against her, long lazy stripes meant to encourage Dom to jut against his mouth.

His other hand runs from her hip to her knee in a gentle motion. Always a hint of tenderness sprinkled in with Griffin.

Cheek pressed against the glass, she comes quickly to the image of him behind her, watching as his head bobs from the force of her rutting into his face.

He stands, face glistening. He licks his lips, wiping the rest off with a drag of his palm down his chin.

"Mmm. Coconut. Delish."

"You're my kind of freak," she teases, reaching back to grab his hand.

"Hair twins, matching each others' freaks… Sounds like you wanna wear my skin, Dominique," he purrs as his cock slots between their bodies.

"How you can say shit like that and still turn me on, I'll never understand," she sighs incredulously.

"Accept your disgusting desires, my love," he jokes in a voice like a cartoon vampire. "I'm right here, nasty and hungry for it." He says that last part huskily.

"You're not worried about anyone seeing?"

"Nope." He pops the "p".

A beat later, honesty leaks through.

"I don't think anyone can see. We're too high up." He shrugs. "But I like the idea of someone watching… and not having to worry about cleaning up after ourselves."

"It's a bad day to have extremely well documented tattoos, huh?" She jokes.

"I'll stop giving a shit someday, probably, if I want you bad enough."

She's about protest his word choice when he teases her sensitive clit with his tip, eliciting a gasp from her.

"My mouth isn't preoccupied anymore, so I can tell you how pretty your pussy is. How perfect it feels."

He sinks into her, her ache slowly being satisfied inch by inch.

"Shit," she hisses, eyes fluttering closed.

Griffin curls an arm underneath her chest, tugging her upward till her back is flush against him.

He begins to move and whisper filthy tributes in her ear.

"You know how fucking good you are? So fucking good that I think about us every single day — I get hard thinking about how you look when you're on top of me, underneath me, sucking me —"

Usually, she talks back, but when Griffin gets like this — when he spills his praises with no breaks — Dom can only manage garbled sounds.

"Aw, always so pretty when you moan."

A soft tug at her damp, braided hair and she's craning her neck back to kiss him again. She tastes herself in Griffin's mouth.

"You see us? Right there, in the reflection?" He murmurs against her lips, hips snapping precisely.

Gently turning her chin with his free hand, he nods his head toward the glass. It's dark out, now, the sky a navy blue — their reflections are stark against the window, just sharp enough for her to make out their silhouettes and the way pleasure contorts her features.

"I know you wanna watch us come. Keep looking, I'm nearly there —" He grunts into her neck, sucking and nipping the skin there as he rides out his premature high.

"Well, damn," he says hoarsely. "I thought I had more gas in the tank."

"Don't worry, we'll work on that later," she laughs, thankful he's still holding her upright.

They break for a while, splurging on copious amounts of room service. It's a waste, sure, but it's their last night to be normal before Misfit Alley kicks off their world tour.

She considers it a special occasion, since she's succeeded in convincing Griffin that holding back from getting what he wants sometimes is the key to being a normal human being. He has to be reminded of it constantly, but she doesn't mind bringing him back down to earth.

Sometimes she has to put it in words he'll understand.

"It's like edging in a way. But financially." Dom says, jabbing her fork into the rigatoni.

Both swaddled in cushy bathrobes, surrounded by heaps of food — the optics of being rich and wasteful aren't great. She doesn't want to enable him all the time… just sometimes.

"So like findom." Griffin says, biting into a sandwich.

She tries not to choke around a mouthful of pasta. "Stop it —"

"I'm not sorry that's my frame of reference."

The accompanying laugh is genuine, melodic. She loves when he lets go like this.

"That's our ship name, you know." She points out when she swallows her bite.

Griffin's head whips around, eyes wide, his cheeks stuffed with food. "Oh my God. It is. I — I'm speechless. This is the best news of my fucking life."

"You've really never thought about that?" She asks in disbelief.

"Well, no, I'm not some pervert like you," he teases, leaning over to press a kiss on her forehead.

"And what does that make you?" Her voice raises an octave. "You're dating said pervert."

"You got me there. What can I say, I like 'em weird." Griffin's smile is wide when he says it.

They eat their fill in silence, settling into bed for a while when they're done. Griffin turns up the volume on the television, renting some horror comedy film that they couldn't see in theaters together. Dom eats fruit with decadent whipped cream, absentmindedly feeding Griffin bites from her fork while she's chewing.

She can't speak for him, but in the whirlwind that's been her life this past year, this is the most normal it's been in a long time.

Griffin laughs at something on the screen, his hand propping up his cheek.

"That guy hates me."

The man onscreen is doused in fake blood. She doesn't recognize him.

"The one dying right now?" She points.

He nods. "Yup. He tried confronting me at a nightclub once."

"Oh shit. Did he hit you?"

"Nah. Security grabbed his drunk ass before he could do anything."

"Wow. I wonder why he wanted to fight you," she muses, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

"Oh, he's mad I had sex with his girlfriend." He makes a face, an overexaggerated grimace.

"Well… I can't blame him."

"Hey, we were both 18. He was 35. I think his issues were a lot bigger than mine."

"Oh, ew. You wanna watch something else?" She asks, reaching for the remote.

He snorts, lightly pushing her hand away. "Look, if we stopped engaging with stuff because someone involved dislikes me, we'd be watching paint dry."

Dom's eyebrows knit together. "Listening to my music is always an option."

He glances back at her with a soft smile. "I'd do that anyway… even if you hated me, too."

Violet rings cup his eyelids. Plush pink lips cusion his angular nose. A dust of freckles like a spattering of stars decorate his cheekbones.

He lifts a brow at her, a silent question.

She leans over, kisses him tenderly. He hums, cupping her cheek with a gentle hand.

"What's up?" He whispers, searching her eyes for answers.

"Nothing. I'm just happy you're you."

She says it innocuously, but it has an adverse effect.

"First time I've heard that from anyone," he chuckles humorlessly.

Something like timidness lingers in the atmosphere.

She tries to salvage things by breaking the tension.

"Would your team be mad if you split this cannoli with me?"

"Probably."

"Well, you're Italian, so you're kind of obligated, right?"

He fails to hold back a laugh. "I would eat a cannoli even if I wasn't an Italian celebrity with a strict diet. Gimme."

"C'mon, I wanna smoke."

They sit in the kitchen beside a vent, passing the sugary cannoli back and forth until it disappears, chasing it with bitter mint.

"Why menthol cigarettes? I never asked you." He flicks the pastry crumbs off of his lap.

"My grandma used to smoke them." She takes a drag and shrugs before exhaling. "It's just one of those smells that comforts me. I don't know why. It stinks. And I was never that close to her."

He nods slowly. "You aren't close with any of your family, huh?"

She shakes her head. "Just one of those things that was never in the cards for me, I guess."

He seems upset by that. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make it weird."

"No, I don't mind talking about them. There's just not much to say, you know?"

"Yeah. I get that."

She thinks that he's not going to prod any further. They haven't really dug deep into family stuff. They're too busy doing quite literally anything else — it's never been a priority, which she doesn't mind. Too many wounds, not enough salve.

"What was her name?"

"Dolores," she smiles. "Was almost my namesake but my Dad thought it was 'too old' sounding."

He snorts. "I can't imagine you as anything other than Dom. Dominique."

She kisses away the powdered sugar on the corner of his mouth. "Same. You're Griffin Caruso to me."

His expression melts into sincerity, all smug flirty pretenses gone in the blink of an eye.

The following kiss they share is so delicate it's as if he's pouring everything he can't say yet into her.

She knows he's afraid. She is, too.

They live amidst their vacation bubble — idealistic and safe — when reality lurks on the outskirts with a needle, threatening to pop it.

Many people are rooting for them to break up. They want to be justified in believing that Griffin chose wrong, that Dom destroyed her career for a man who was unable to love her. That the whole thing was doomed from the start, a predestined failure that neither of them were willing to accept.

If he wasn't capable of working it out with his wife of six years, why would he commit to a rebound?

Intimate moments away from the microscope prove that they're something worth fighting for.

With no cameras around, invisible for a night, his kisses are all the evidence she needs.

He leans back, flashing her a satisfied grin.

"So… are you ready to sleep yet?" She takes a final drag and stubs her cigarette out.

"What am I, twelve?" He snorts.

"No, but you're not at a slumber party, either." She rolls her eyes teasingly.

"Yeah, but I'm not tired."

"You're always tired."

He tilts his head to the side. "Forgive me if I want to spend time with my girlfriend before touring for half a year."

He's watching her closely for a reaction.

"I'm trying to be responsible, but you make it so hard."

"You can go back to being responsible tomorrow, Dom. Just let me have tonight."

He beckons her closer, though the arms of their chairs are touching. She settles onto his lap, smoothing dark strands of hair away from his face.

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck. "I'll beg if you want me to."

"Oh, you'd do that for little ole me?"

"Only for you. Big difference."

How they make it to the bedroom is a blur in her mind, but before she knows it, they're in bed again.

Normally Dom doesn't get to smother Griffin like this.

They're encouraged to keep it respectable. Let the public know you're still together, but don't rub it in. They hate that.

Sometimes Dom feels like they're in a PR driven relationship, under the thumb of a carefully planned reformation project to improve Griffin's image (which hasn't suffered much).

Hold hands, but don't touch too much. Kiss, but not for too long. Avoid verbal declarations of love.

Behind closed doors, though, they worship each other.

She trails kisses up his calves — suckling, too once she passes his knee — satisfied when Griffin whines.

"Can I give you a gift?" She murmurs against his inner thigh, holding him in place when he wriggles his leg impatiently.

He tips his chin once, laser-focused on her movements.

Holding his gaze, she sucks at the skin of his upper thigh.

"Fuck —" he hisses when she rubs a palm against his shaft, stroking him against his stomach, her mouth still working the same spot.

With a wet pop, she cranes her neck back to admire her handiwork. A cherry ripe for plucking, she thinks.

"I owe you from earlier," she says, peeling his cock back from his lean abdomen, licking a long stripe from the base to the tip.

"Dom," he groans, reaching out for her.

The sight of him, writhing and needy beneath her is akin to a painting, framed in gold on the wall of her subconscious. Reserved for the solo art show in her mind, a gallery of snapshots that pay tribute to the man underneath the carefully-curated mask of Griffin Reign.

Maybe he views her the same, committing the picture of her to memory, doe-eyed with spit-slick lips swollen from working his cock. From the way he's watching her every move, that has to be the case.

Anchoring his feet against the bed, he juts into her mouth slowly, slack-jawed as he fucks her face. His stomach ripples with every heaving breath, the usual obscenities reduced to desperate whimpers.

One hand gently trains her head to the tempo he needs, the other gripping her free hand against his thigh.

"Your fucking mouth — fuck, you know just how I like it —"

She takes him deeper, her nose brushing the trimmed tuft of hair at his base.

His next noises ricochet around the room. In a way, he's testing the acoustics.

He's loud. Loves being loud. Loves the easiness in which he can command a space and the attention of everyone in his orbit.

So if he's larger than life, why would he restrain himself in the one place that doesn't demand a performance?

"Shit," he curses, tapping her arm. "Stop, I'm gonna come —"

"You don't want to?" She says around a mouthful of spit.

He shakes his head. "Not yet."

He tugs her forward into a kiss that quickly devolves into them resituating on the bed.

"Lie on your stomach. Please," he commands from behind.

She waits patiently while he draws it out.

First, he unravels her braid with nimble fingers, then brushes the hair over her shoulder.

"About that gift exchange…" he teases, nuzzling his nose behind her ear. "Is it my turn?"

Wetting her bottom lip, she nods with vigor.

Craning her neck back, she watches him slink back down the bed to her thighs, inked hands splaying out to knead the plush parts of her body.

His raven veil of hair tickles the back of her knees, shivers rattling up her spine.

There's a hunger in the knowing look Griffin flashes at her; thankfully, she's equally as insatiable.

He follows her lead, nipping and licking till his mouth settles beneath her left cheek.

The way he works her skin makes her ache — she squeezes her legs together, a move that makes Griffin chuckle, chest rumbling against her.

"My best work yet." He's admiring the hickey like it's an accomplishment.

"We have a little piece of each other that no one else can see. It's a win-win," she says, probably a bit too pragmatically.

"You make it sound so formal." He pouts, laying his cheek on her behind.

"I thought it'd be more weird if I was overly affectionate," she shrugs.

He laughs. "Adoration, obsession… I love it all the same."

"Okay, I might be a little obsessed."

Can you blame her? Their fleeting moments together are enough to keep her going for weeks at a time, and there's a reason.

It's comparable to passing by a strong-perfumed stranger: you're wholly consumed by the scent in the moment, but the memory of it — the mystery of it — lingers for so long that it becomes a fixation.

"See, that wasn't so hard to admit, right?" He jokes.

She reaches back to muss his hair, about to complain when his mouth meets her center, silencing her planned retort.

"Oh my god," she whines, dropping her head.

Her hips lift to meet his tongue, cursing as he maintains the slow, languid pace that drives her wild.

He hums into her cunt contentedly. If she allowed Griffin to, he'd stay there.

"Need you," Dom spits out sharply.

"Aw, you forgot your manners," he cooes.

The whimper that escapes her is so pathetic that she's grateful he spared her by not laughing.

He shifts up her body, mouth finding the orange blossoms at the small of her back.

"So fucking hot." He continues exploring her back with his mouth.

Dipping his head, he mumbles a question into her ear. "You ready?"

"Please."

"That's my girl."

She's so wet for him that he bottoms out with one slow push.

He's everywhere. Tattooed arms cage her in — voice coaxes her towards a climax. The angle, his body on top, makes each lazy stroke weightier.

"You're taking me so well, but I knew you would — you're always so fucking perfect for me —" His tongue swirls across her earlobe as he huffs directly into it.

Dom's playing a losing game by letting Griffin talk circles around her.

"Are you — sure — you can hold yourself up — for this long?" She pants, trying to ignore the sound his flesh makes when it meets hers.

"Sounds like — you're insulting my personal trainer —" He chuckles breathily, still fucking into her.

"Shit — like that —"

"Yeah — that's right — don't question my stamina," he says into the crook of her neck, dragging his nose up to her cheek, the silver hoop tickling the skin there.

"I'm close —" She gasps, eyelids fluttering shut.

"I wanna see —"

"On top," is what she gets out before they scramble to change positions.

Griffin is flat on his back, hair fanned out like an onyx halo around his flushed face. He glows with a slight sheen of sweat, hazel eyes bright and wanting.

She sinks down onto him, letting out a quiet groan when her clit brushes trimmed hair.

"Let me be your plaything, Dom. Use me to get off." His commands strangle in his throat when she begins to roll her hips.

The entire night so far, she hasn't had a view as gorgeous as this one. She can see him in all his pussy drunk glory, a front seat to him properly coming undone below her.

"I wanted to ride you so — fuck — you could relax —"

"Dinner and a show," he says, flashing a wolfish grin. "I'm into it."

Remnants of her arousal coat his lips and chin. God, he's so much filthier than his fans could ever conjure up in roleplay fanfiction.

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and anchors her palms against him.

Absentmindedly, he strokes his fingers against her forearm, nodding in affirmation at the pace she sets.

If his searing gaze were capable of heat, she would've been branded already.

"You're too far away," he huffs, tugging her down till they're chest to chest.

This kiss — this position — is intimate. They're hugging, tongues connecting, minty herbal flavor fusing on their tastebuds. Griffin has one arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other thumbing the crease of her hip to train her movement how he likes.

"You sure you can handle this — every night —" Griffin pants into her ear.

"Every night —" she echoes, the pressure building in her lower abdomen.

"I'm almost there —"

"Come on your stomach — I wanna watch," she orders, suppressing sounds of pleasure to do so.

She rolls off of him, tucks into his side while he strokes himself, hastily approaching his climax. An inked hand slides easily up and down the silky skin of his cock, slick with her.

Whispering praises, variants of "come for me" and "you're so good" on loop until his breath hitches, letting a string of expletives wedged between resounding cries of her name. Streaks of come decorate his lean torso, his chest rising and falling with considerable effort.

His eyelids flutter shut, an astonished laugh bubbling out of him. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"

"Well, you did it that time," she says, biting his shoulder.

"No, I mean —" his head lolls over, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. "…I don't know what I mean. Maybe you do."

Implying that Dom is better with words, which she doesn't believe much these days. Most of her thoughts die before they can reach her tongue.

She hates that she second guesses everything — but it's merely a side effect of the life she's living. Her thoughts aren't just hers alone anymore. They're to be edited, approved, and censored before she can say them out loud. Once it's out in the world, it's no longer hers… perception completely out of her control.

At least with Griffin, in the safety of his arms, she can be honest, and trust that he'll try, too.

"I guess it depends how comfortable you are with the 'L' word," she says under her breath.

He tilts his head back and nods, smile unsure. "Got it right on the money first try."

"Oh. Wait, really?" She was joking. She didn't expect him to agree.

"I mean… I don't know if it's the right time, considering —" he gestures vaguely, "— everything."

The giant elephant in every room they enter together: their origin story.

She's quiet for a moment, choosing her words wisely while praying that she's not jumping the gun.

"The right time to say it or the right time to feel it?"

He searches her face for an answer he won't find.

"Maybe both." He chews his lip, thinking. "Is that… bad?"

Love is the one topic that exposes Griffin's naivete. It's the one area she's confident she's more experienced in than him.

"No, not at all," she says evenly, meaning it. "I think it would be more of a problem if we didn't hesitate."

"Yeah?" He asks, hopeful.

"Yeah."

"For the record, I do want to say it."

"I do, too."

The kiss they share is a placeholder, one that predicates future love declarations. Ones they'll share when it comes as easy as intimacy does.

Taking another quick shower to rinse their bodies off, they settle into bed again, this time in pajamas. Dom sports one of Griffin's sleeveless shirts with a pair of underwear, taking the risk despite knowing he could want to go for another round off the image alone.

A rerun of an old gameshow plays in the background while they attempt to answer and absentmindedly split off into tangents. Griffin shares stories from the nights he can remember; Dom tells him about her first guitar and what she used to smuggle inside of it.

This is the real Griffin: Griffin Caruso.

Splayed on his back with Dom under his arm, whispering about nothing while looking at her like she's everything.

"I have a surprise for you," he starts, tapping away at his phone. "I was gonna wait till soundcheck in London, but I'm impatient."

"I'm listening."

"Well," he starts, tilting his screen away from her curious gaze. "I had the idea last tour but it was… too soon."

He allows the implications to hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

"Baby steps, but it's something."

When he flips the screen over, Dom's heart thumps loudly in her chest.

A picture of custom in ear monitors, her initials a stark orange color that stands out against the black.

"So you're with me on stage."

She gulps back the lump forming in her throat, trying with all her might to remain calm.

"Don't look at me," she croaks out, covering her eyes with the crook of her hand. "Just give me a sec."

"Hey… did I do something wrong?" Genuine concern colors his voice.

"No, I —"

A small sob escapes her when she tries to speak.

Delicately, Griffin draws her hand away from her face, eyebrows knitted together when he sees the tears she blinks away.

"I'm okay." Her voice shakes. "It's perfect."

He melts. "Good. I really wanted you to like it."

"I love it. It's so thoughtful."

He kisses her, smiling against her mouth. "It's much better than hickeys."

She sniffles, scrubs her face with the back of her hand. "Can I show you something I've been working on?"

"Always, love."

Padding to the other room to dig through her luggage, her pulse quickens even faster than before. She wasn't planning on showing him until it was finished, but his sentimental gesture is enough for her to put her perfectionist proclivities aside.

"Okay… It's a work in progress, so keep that in mind —"

She flops back on the bed, this time on her stomach, mainly to see his reaction.

"Your songwriting book?" He asks, then purses his lips. "No, wait, this one's newer."

"Yep. Flip through it."

Taking it from her outstretched hand, he cracks it open to the first page.

"This is…" he trails off. "Oh my god."

He goes quiet, attentively reading corner to corner.

"You did all this for me?"

His fingers trembling as he switches pages. It's so slight she thinks she might've imagined it.

"I feel helpless a lot of the time. I wanted to feel useful."

"You don't have to do anything." He frowns. "You've got your own shit to deal with."

"Your shit is my shit, and my shit is your shit, now. Our shit." She motions between them.

"Yeah. You're right." The crease between his brows deepens.

She continues. "I was thinking that if I had a fully fleshed out album concept, maybe a few demos to present — we could sell the label on it." She points at the pages of lyrics, runs a finger down the paper to the accompanying storyboard sketches with music video scene ideas.

Griffin nods slowly, but says nothing.

"And, you know, if we're touring together it'll be easier for you, because I can shoulder some of the responsibility." She's desperately trying to hit every mental bullet point before she wimps out.

He nods again, lips parting.

"And I thought that if we went into your contract negotiations prepared with stuff like this, there'd be less expectations for you alone. Maybe more freedom for both of us. I don't know. It might be in vain but —"

"It couldn't be."

She glances at him. "You think it's worth trying?"

"Dom…" Griffin shuts the book. Rolls his lips together and scratches his jaw while he chooses his words.

"Well, first, I love it. The concept is fucking cool, the lyrics are provocative as hell, and I'm itching to hear what my parts sound like coming from you," he flashes her a grin.

She blows out a stream of air. "What a relief. Thank you."

"There's no way you thought I'd hate it." He sounds hurt, almost.

"No, definitely not. You're just… particular. You have high standards, remember?" she teases.

"Mmm. Yeah. I do." He brushes dark strands away from her face.

"I'm flattered you did all this," he says earnestly. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about what a collaboration would look like for us."

"Sexy. Powerful. Chart-topping, hopefully."

He laughs. "That's kind of implied." His smile fades, and he goes on.

"They might shoot the idea down completely. Are you prepared for that?" He asks gingerly.

"I am. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna fight for it, though." She shrugs. "Either they say yes now or in the future."

If there's anyone that'll advocate for him, it's Dom. She can't stomach watching Griffin work 18 hour days, pushing through exhaustion and sickness for menial brand partnerships. Griffin is more than a product for the public to consume. She wants him like this — with light in his eyes and an absence of the usual storm.

"It means a lot that you'd fight for me."

"Isn't that what we've always done?"

He blinks, seemingly taken aback by that. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

"Okay, enough about all this, we need to get you to bed. You have a big day tomorrow —" She jokes, reaching out to take the notebook off his bare chest. He traps her hand there, uses his other hand to hold it out of her reach.

"Let me keep it. Please."

"It's unfinished." She states, confused.

"Yeah. I like unpolished songs. Gives it a real edge you can't replicate." He shakes the book lightly. "And I like being in your head, what can I say?"

"You're always there."

He curls his arms around her, strokes her hair gently — a hug that turns her into putty. "You, too."

They brush their teeth together in the double sinks, making stupid faces in the mirror.

Griffin abruptly spits out a mouthful of toothpaste.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't make you come that last time…" He trails off, toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth. "You want one more for the road?"

Dom gargles out an incomprehensible response that makes him snort. When she gives him a thumbs up, he backs her against the sink, tugs her panties to the side and fingers her on the counter.

It doesn't take her long to come either, what with the way Griffin watches her with such fondness. His wolfish grin is replaced with a close-lipped smile and soft eyes, the look of someone falling in love. She'd recognize it anywhere.

"I'm not ready to sleep yet."

"How are you not tired yet?" She asks exasperatedly, tucked under his chin.

"No, it's not that…"

Idle hands trail up and down from his chest to his happy trail, hoping she can lull him to sleep with her touch.

"I don't know when we can be like this again. Normal, I mean." His tone is dripping with contempt.

"I'm not ready to go back to reality either," she mutters, her palm coming to rest on his heart, feels it thudding faster than usual.

"But that doesn't mean we won't make it work."

He hums. "I'm terrible at planning. Any ideas?"

"There's a week between the international and U.S. legs of the tour," she suggests casually, already having decided to take advantage of that time. "Take me anywhere you want."

"I didn't think organization would be such a turn on for me."

She dares a peek up at his face. Adoration and drowsiness weigh his lids down till they're nearly closed.

He yawns, blowing his mint breath in her eyes.

"That stings," she blinks, squeezing her eyes shut.

"My bad," he chuckles. "I have a couple places I've always thought about taking you. I'll get on that."

The conversation eventually flatlines, pleasantly calm when it does. The television stays on, this time playing a raunchy comedy from the early 2000's. When Griffin gets up to grab a water bottle from the kitchen, she readjusts on the bed, sitting up against the headboard.

"Come here. Lay your head in my lap," she gestures with a wave.

Her fingers thread through his raven hair, the pads of them massaging his scalp.

Griffin sighs deeply, lids closed. A cheeky smile tugs at his lips when he asks, "You're good with your hands. Anyone tell you that before?"

"That's what years of guitar lessons gets you." She leans over him, kissing his forehead.

"Ooh, such a charmer."

His sentences get shorter and shorter the longer the night goes on — the longer Dom strokes his hair and skin to soothe him into finally resting.

When she thinks he's finally dozed off, she sits back and scrolls on her phone, unwilling to shift even one inch to risk waking Griffin.

It's not long before lyrics begin forming in her mind. She taps away in her notes app, one stanza turning into two while she hums a quiet melody alongside it.

Glancing down at him, she notices the pure tranquility of Griffin's features — so rare that she opens up her camera app and snaps a picture.

The shutter sound is nearly inaudible, but it's enough for him to hear. He smiles, eyes still closed. "Did you just take a picture of me?"

She laughs. "Yeah, I did. You looked so peaceful."

"I feel peaceful. It's weird."

"Yeah, it is weird. Good weird." She clicks the lock button, putting her phone on the nightstand next to her songbook. "I want to remember you like this when it gets hard."

Hazel eyes meet the dark brown of her own, honest and unguarded.

He tugs her down into a searing kiss, shifting their bodies around until he's the big spoon. His grasp on her waist is firm, like if he lets go she'll vanish — pecks his pursed lips across her cheek, jaw, neck, shoulder, any part of her his mouth can reach.

They lie there, skin to skin, until Griffin's breathing evens out.

It's late, and he won't get nearly enough sleep as he should, but it's something.

She's nearly nodded off until he speaks, a low mumble.

"My dreams have been really good since we took this break."

"Mine, too," she whispers back.

"Y'know, I don't think I've ever had the privilege to dream. I never rest long enough to have them."

Another heartbreaking revelation revealed in hushed tones.

"I've been dreaming about us. Like… being stranded on an island."

"Like a nightmare?"

"No, not at all. It was never a nightmare."

Most people get sick of each other in that kind of situation. She doesn't say that, though, because she's not so sure that she would get sick of him.

"I think I would actually kind of like that. Just you and me. No one around to bother us for miles. And we could say what we want. Do what we want."

"That… honestly sounds nice."

"Maybe I can rent an island and we can try out the scenario someday."

"Okay, Griffin, you're officially in out-of-touch territory."

"Alright, alright, I heard it when I said it." His laugh rumbles through her back.

As they fade into sleep, she hears him whisper one final secret meant only for her ears.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

normally sofía is very much the kind of person that feels the need to prove herself by giving great attentive head since she's usually being manhandled by her partners (side tangent: i think every single one of her fictional partners are canonically over 6 ft so yeah she's being thrown around like a ragdoll but thats not the point of this ask LMAO).. she has a complex when it comes to wanting to be useful and it leaks into her sexual preferences tbh .. but with orion? she was ready to give and give bc of how pent up he is.. and i think it worked in the opposite direction lol he went through a drought and now he's THIRSTY KSKFMSMKD i don't think he was ever bad at it just.. rusty. and a little timid. but once he got the hang of it again it was absolutely over for sofía MSDFKSKMDFM i think that more often than not they're bickering over who gets to go first <3 when two givers come together to maximize their joint slay! LMAOOO

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

good question bc i think that it changes!! both sofía and orion had a pretty long dry spell so i think at the beginning they were kind of insatiable LMAO when they had the time they would go multiple rounds in one night, and each would last a while, but after they settled into the relationship they still have a pretty healthy sex life but it's one GOOD round and that's enough for them KSDMKFSKDFM there are a few outliers (like anniversaries and holidays and vacations where they draw it out like they used to) but i guess they have sex frequently though it's not as long of an affair as it used to be!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

OUGHHHH okay so i think they both have different favorite positions (probably multiple favorites tbh but i'll narrow it down).. griffin loves most positions, but i think his favorites are ones where they're skin-to-skin, like chest to back or chest to chest! but he's also pretty fucking greedy about wanting to have a front seat to all the action, so whether it involves a mirror or tuggin her chin upward to meet his eyes he will do anythinggggg to keep eye contact -- on the other hand i think dom is more into positions where griffin can take control bc as much as she loves showing off for griffin, she prefers when HE shows off for HER.. she's had the best org*sms of her life with griffin in the legs up missionary position LMAOOOO something about him being able to kiss her ankles/calves while plowing into her makes her INSANE

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)