#black reader character

"No," you whimper, breathless, but he's changed the angles of his thrusts and your whole body is shivering it's way to a climax. "Simon, no, just you, just -"

"Just me," he growls, and his voice is ragged against your ear. His hands are hard when he hikes up your hips to grind in, in, in. "You think I don't know you was watchin' 'im, last time we was out? So cute when y' flirtin', lickin' y' lips 'n gigglin'."

You shake your head, but words get caught behind your teeth.

“No?” Simon's laugh makes you shiver. One of his hands slides under your hips, fingers zeroing in on your clit. "Weren't givin' Gaz fuck-me eyes? 'E might not've noticed, the way 'e was eyein' ya. Bet 'e touched 'imself that night, wonderin' 'ow y'r pussy looks when she's gettin' what she needs."

Your brain conjurs up Kyle’s face, handsome and attentive, and you can’t help the way you whine again. Reaching back with one hand, you grab at Simon's hair as your body ratchets closer to climax.

"Might 'ave to let him find out," he growls, and his voice is starting to waver with his own orgasm approaching. "'E's got a real pretty cock, bet you'd make real pretty noises - "

Whatever else he says is drowned out by the way you nearly shout as the tension in your belly snaps. It’s hard to gasp for breath as he works you through it, ignoring the way you jerk as oversensitivity takes over. A second peak wracks your whole body, right on the heels of the first, and every muscle in your body goes rigid. That sets Simon off, and you echo the moans that tear their way out of his throat.

Simon’s breaths are heavy against the back of your neck by the time you float back down into your body. The weight of him is grounding, comforting, even as you put your face into the bedding and groan with exhaustion and embarrassment. Simon snickers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he rolls you both to the side and wraps his hands around your waist.

You scrub a hand over your face and leave your hand over your eyes as you moan, “What the fuck was that?”

“Experimentin’.”

“Simon.”

“Figurin’ some stuff out,” he mumbles, running a hand up your belly and cupping one of your breasts gently. “Jus’ playin, ‘s all. You liked it?”

You wiggle around until you’re laying on your back, then peek through your fingers up at him. He blinks sleepy eyes down at you, head propped on one hand and looking just as relaxed as he ever does. Like he didn’t just bring up flirting with and fucking his coworker. He grins when he sees you pouting, big and self-satisfied before dipping down to press his lips against yours.

You tug gently at his hair as he pulls away. “What’re you figuring out?”

“’Ow best to surprise ya,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Figure Gaz is a safe bet. Thinks y’ gorgeous.”

“You want to sleep with Kyle?” You gasp, then gasp again. “Wait. Why do you know what his dick looks like?”

“Communal showers.” Simon plucks at one of your nipples, just a tease, before cupping his hand over that side of your chest again. “After ‘n op, after the gym. Easy to get a bit worked up.”

“You’ve seen him hard?”

“We’ve all seen each other ‘ard.” He shrugs. “Rude to stare, but in close quarters, y’gonna see somethin’. I’ve seen Johnny strokin’ off more time’s ‘n I c’n count. Cap’s got more restraint, but ‘ve seen ‘is favorite porn star.”

“Focus. We’re talking about Kyle,” you remind him, poking at his chest. “You said his dick is pretty.”

“Oh, so ‘e is your favorite.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Yeah? You just wanna hear more about ‘is cock? ‘Bout ‘ow I bet it’d hit all those nice spots if ‘e ‘ad you layin’ on your back like this?”

His hand squeezes, fingers drawing up toward your nipple in the way that he knows prompts your letdown. The fuzzy static of it makes you slap at him. But Simon just catches your hand and brings your knuckles to his mouth for a quick kiss. It’s a trap, of course, and he grabs your other hand in short order before bringing them up above your head. With an arched eyebrow, he presses them against the pillow before letting go, and then his fingers are back to stroking and plucking at you until milk starts beading up under his fingers. There isn’t much to give, since you’ve already done your pre-bed pump, but it’s still an overwhelming sensation so soon after orgasm.

“’E’s thick, like you like,” he says, breezy and casual as you squirm. “Just a bit o’ curve. Y’r lips’d look real nice on it.”

Your stomach swoops as he licks his fingers. Then his touch drifts lower, light and almost ticklish until his fingers can pet gently over your clit. Sensitivity makes you twitch your hips away, but he follows, keeps the pressure consistent while he waits for you to settle. Only then does he pet over your mound and thighs, gentle and teasing.

“Likes to take ‘is time,” he murmurs, licking his lips. His eyes are dark and hungry when he meets yours. “Was waitin’ for exfil, once. Nothin’ to do. ‘E pulled up some porn, somethin’ slow. Don’t remember exactly what. But ‘e didn’t skip ahead. Said ‘e likes to let things build, when ‘e’s got the time.”

His thick fingers dip between your legs, and you have to bite back a small noise. Simon’s always talkative, in bed, but this feels different, fragile. There’s none of that almost frantic, middle-of-sex energy forcing the words out. He’s not trying to get either of you off, not quite, not… not yet. He’s just… admiring his friend, sharing the intimate views he thinks you’ll appreciate with him.

That image you have of Kyle changes in your mind, becomes something quiet and warm. You can almost imagine the two of them, in some small, dim hotel room. You know what Simon looks like, when he’s not yet focused on sex, but willing to be convinced. Is that what he’s like, after an operation? Does he drape himself on a bed or a pull-out couch and watch porn quietly on his phone? He never hesitates to lean over your shoulder to get a better look at whatever you’ve pulled up. Does he do the same to Kyle? Would Kyle let him? Do they sit close, pulling something up on a phone, until their hands end up down their pants?

“Showed ‘im a picture of you, last time we was out,” he chuckles, interrupting your musing and setting your heart racing again. His voice dark and smoky, the way it gets when he’s preparing to pull you along through something that’s going to push all of your buttons. He leans down to steal another kiss when his fingers start to dip into where you’re wet and relaxed. “That one I like, the one from the beach. ‘Is cock weren’t out, but I bet ‘e wished it was. Just lookin’, that time, we was on watch. No time to do nothin’ about it.”

“You did not,” you whimper around a hitching breath.

“I did,” he he counters, grinning against your mouth. “’E said I’m a lucky bastard, and ‘e’s right. Prettiest girl in the world, you are. Can’t blame ‘im for wantin’ a taste.”

Your stomach flutters, and you want to touch him, so you lift one hand to play with his hair. “Did… did he say that?”

“Might ‘ave.” Simon’s fingers push deep, slowly, and he grins when you shiver. “Might’ve just looked hard an’ bit ‘is tongue. Can’t exactly tell ‘is superior officer ‘e wants to fuck ‘is wife. Gotta wait for an invitation.”

You swallow a moan as he adds another finger, pressing deep. You’re so wet that the movement is loud in the quiet room. Still, he moves slowly, palm rocking purposefully against you, just the way you like. It’s impossible to resist chasing the sensation with slow rolls of you hips, so you don’t try. It’s hard not to let the pleasure drag you under again. All you can do is take a couple of deep breaths to remind yourself not to move too fast.

“You want…” you have to swallow twice, force your mind to concentrate on the words instead of the way his hand unravels you, again, “Want to give him an invitation?”

“Might ‘ave to, the way you’re gettin’ worked up so fast.” His laugh is just the slightest bit mean. “If ‘e was ‘ere, I bet ‘e’d already be fuckin you. Nice’n slow, like this, give this greedy cunt everythin’ she wants while I’m recoverin’.”

His cock is thick against your hip, not quite hard again, yet. The way he nudges his hips into you makes you want to spread your legs, so you do. And then you’re moaning into his mouth as his fingers massage steadily against your g-spot. Without your input, your hips rock up, chasing that sensation, trying to coax him to move faster.

“Look’t you, Pretty. So needy. What kinda man would I be if I wasn’t makin’ sure you’re taken care of, hm? Bet Kyle’d be real nice to you, ‘specially sweet as y’are right now. Soft ‘n wet, fuck, gushin’ all over ‘is cock jus’ like this. Messy, but ‘e wouldn’ mind.”

The building pleasure makes you pant up at him, eyes locked on his face. He looks hungry, the corner of his mouth quirked up to expose some of his teeth. A part of you realizes that he’s excited at the way he can thrill you, certainly, but this isn’t just for you, is it? He likes that you like the idea, but it’s his fantasy, his friend that he’s imagining fucking you.

“Si-” you whimper.

“Yeah. Gonna make ‘im work for you to say ‘is name?” he growls, crowding even closer and using one of his legs to spread yours further. He doesn’t speed up, but his fingers press harder, just where you want and need it to start really working toward another peak. “No, I don’t think so. I think once you start thinkin’ wi’ that pretty pussy, y’ gonna cry so pretty, callin’ for ‘im to speed up, get you right where you wanna be. Say his name nice, I bet ‘e’d give you whatever y’ want.”

You whimper as his other hand captures your wrists and presses them into the pillow. “Simon!”

“Yeah, y’ gonna come? Wonder if ‘e could resist comin’ w’ you squeezin’ all around ‘im. ‘Specially if ‘e gets his mouth on y’r tits. Bet e’ tries, but can’t. Bet ‘e gives you those deep strokes y’ like so much, fucks ‘imself deep and makes a pretty mess f’ me to fuck back int’ ya.”

The orgasm crests, easy and overwhelming and wet. Simon growls, shifting over you until he can remove his fingers and push his cock into you in three hard shoves. His groan almost drowns out the wet noises of skin against skin, but every thrust seems louder than the one before. All of your senses are filled with him, his panting breaths, his thick waist between your legs.

You wonder, wildly, if Kyle would hold you while Simon chases his orgasm in your body.

It’s so unexpected, so jarring, that your belly flips and your body locks up, again. An embarrassing noise squeezes past your throat, you think, as your arms wrap around Simon’s neck again. He feels it, of course, and laughs breathlessly as he lifts your leg so he can fuck himself even deeper.

“Ah!”

“Yeah,” he pants into your mouth. “One more, pretty, ‘m close, jus’ a little more, jus’ like that.”

You can’t make your tongue cooperate, but you try, “K-Ky! Please, Simon.”

He groans like you’ve wounded him and presses close and deep, until you can’t catch your breath. His cock jerks so hard that it pulls a gasp from you, and you bury your face in his shoulder as he huffs like a bull into your hair. His muscles are so rigid that your fingers slip on his sweat, but still, you wrap yourself around him the best you can as you both shake.

You stay like that for a beat, and then his breath explodes from between his lips. The muscles holding him up go slack, all at once, and he barely manages not to land directly on you as he collapses. You’re still a bit squished under him, but there’s just enough space that you can gulp a couple of hot breaths.

A giggle ripples out of you. “Oh my god. You want to fuck Kyle.”

“Fuck,” he laughs. “’S that all you got out of that?”

“You came when I said his name!”

Simon laughs, breathlessly against your hair. “You came thinkin’ about ‘im.”

“Yeah.” Post orgasm, it’s easy to admit. You pet a hand over his side, then tweak his hip. “Does that mean you actually want to fuck Kyle?”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” He scrubs a hand over his face and props himself up on one elbow. “Give me twenty minutes, Bambi, I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs.”

In spite of his words, he’s smiling, warm and happy. You hum as he dips down for a slow kiss. A yawn interrupts you, first you, then him, and you giggle again as he flops back into the bedding.

Armed with the information she gives you, surprising your man becomes the new project. It’s ridiculously easy to get the medication and supplements. You make up a whole story about an adoption, a family member who is worried she won’t produce enough milk to for the new baby, the whole nine yards, but no one asks. The doctor writes the prescription, the pharmacist fills it, and you pick up some extra fenugreek from the health food store.

The breast pump isn’t much harder. The new mother forums are full of reviews, and it’s easy to find a pretty good one, used, for a decent price. The woman is even kind enough to walk you through the cleaning and sterilization process, showing you how to separate the parts and areas where moisture might want to linger. You take notes on your phone. Your thoroughness is taken for worry, and you find yourself with the contact info for her lactation consultant.

“She’s really nice,” Mary tells you, with a reassuring hand on your arm. “No matter what your jitters are, she’ll listen.”

It’s such a caring thing to say that you can’t help but give her a hug. You’re so misty eyed about it when you get home that Simon notices.

“Alright, love?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, shoving the pump, still wrapped in one of your reusable bags, to the back of the bottom kitchen cabinets. “Just… thinking about a conversation I had today. The woman was really nice.” You stand up to grin at him. “What’s for dinner?”

For all that he’s an elite soldier, Simon doesn’t dig around in the corners of the house unless you ask him to. He does notice the changes to your birth control and the supplements you’re taking, but doesn’t fuss when you assure him that things are fine.

And then he gets sent on a mission for four months.

You almost scream when you get the news that Simon is finally coming back home. Once he’s cleared by medical, he’ll be on leave for at least two weeks. Which means you’ve somehow timed everything out perfectly. Six months of planning and timers and patience, and now you get to surprise your man with his deepest fantasy. And thank goodness. According to the forums, the fullness you’re feeling in your breasts means the stars have aligned just right for you to hide the pump and let Simon stimulate you to actual production over the course of the weekend.

But first, you meet him at the pub with the rest of the team. It’s the usual post-mission ritual, and even Kate is there, so you’re glad to show face. As soon as they see you, Soap and Gaz jostle to be the first to show off new scars and flirt shamelessly, but you only have eyes for Simon. The captain and Kate give you quick one armed hugs, but don’t stop you from falling into his arms as soon as you can. You’re both smiling so hard that it’s hard to kiss him properly. Maybe another time, you would feel bad about taking his attention, being so clingy and distracting. But Gaz and Soap’s girlfriend shows up, and Price, his wife and Kate entertain everyone with stories and friendly jabs and good natured laughter. You’re free to cuddle up as much as you like.

Simon’s lips press against your temple through his surgical mask. “Missed you, sweet’eart. We c’n go whenever you’re ready.”

“Acknowledged,” you murmur back, tipping your face up to kiss his chin. “Half an hour, then we can say bye.”

“Gonna eat your pussy until you scream,” he whispers back, and you shiver at the promise in his eyes.

But you know better than to get too excited. “Let’s get home first.”

You’re fighting giggles by the time you get him through the door to your apartment. Simon’s eyes and feet have only gotten heavier the closer you got to home. The hand on your shoulder might be the only thing keeping him upright. He kisses you on the threshold like it's the only thing he could ever want, and then yawns so hard his jaw cracks.

"Wanna eat y'r cunt," he mumbles. His eyes are starting to unfocus, eyelids so heavy it almost makes you yawn. For all his bluster at the pub, he’s docile as a lamb when you lead him to the bedroom.

"Tomorrow," you promise, with a kiss to his eyebrow. His hands squeeze at your hips, and you can't help but grin. "Got a surprise for you."

He’s slow as you help strip him down to his shorts. "Mmmyeah? G've it."

"Tomorrow, Simon," you giggle, tipping him into bed. Everything creaks under him as he crumples down, well and truly exhausted. He always sleeps hard, that first night, no matter what his heart wants.

The next morning, you're up before him. You’ve already called out of work, so you aren’t in a rush, but you’re too excited to stay in bed. Grumbles follow you when you leave the room, but they’re quickly followed by more snoring. Simon'll be out for at least a couple more hours, you think, so you double-double check that everything is in order. All of his favorite foods are waiting, including the short ribs and macaroni that are ready to be thrown into the oven for quick heating. Every room has a tube of lube and at least one towel half hidden for easy access and cleanup. The various parts of your costume are hidden well enough that Simon probably won't find them, as long as he doesn't wake up with Ghost Paranoia and tear through the whole apartment. Hopefully, that’s not the case; at that point, the surprise is well and truly off the table.

Two hours later, the semll of cinnamon rolls in the oven coaxes him to emerge, a bleary eyed bear that takes a little longer than usual to drink his tea. He reels you in for a kiss, when you set his omelet on the table, and he’s so warm and solid and here. It’s so good that you keep kissing him for long moments, then jump and laugh when your oven timer goes off.

“Simon,” you ask, grinning to yourself as you set the rolls on the stovetop. “Do you mind hopping over to the pharmacy?”

“Need somthin’ from the shops? C’n go farther if you need.”

“No, no,” you answer, turning back to him. He’s so handsome that you have to bite your lip and look away to not get distracted. “Actually, can you just… grab some condoms?”

Simon blinks, brow furrowing, then nods to himslf. “’Lright. C’n get stocked back up. Lube, too?”

“Yes, please,” you hum. “Sorry, I thought I got everything.”

“Y’re perfect, Love. ‘Ll finish up ‘ere ‘n ‘ead out.”

“Thank you. You’re the best.”

You should have known that finishing up would include lifting you onto the kitchen counter and burying his face between your thighs. He might need a little longer for his own body to catch up to being home, but somehow, you had almost forgotten that Simon eats pussy for the love of the game. You barely have time to brace yourself before your thighs are over his shoulders and your hands are in his hair.

Two almost perfunctory orgasms later, and he pulls away from you with a kiss and a promise in his eyes. The ridiculous man doesn’t even clean off his face before putting on a black surgical mask. As soon as the door closes (and your legs stop shaking), you duck into one of the kitchen drawers and pull out a cow print headband. It’s sturdier than the one you bought the last time you played farm games. Even so, you take a couple of minutes to braid your hair around them to make sure they’ll stay in place. You take quick selfie to confirm that they’re just right. And that reminds you to put your darkest lip stain on your top lip while you still have time. Once that’s set, you’ll take a few more photos before Simon gets back. It might be the last time you look relatively decent all weekend.

Simon notices as soon as he comes home, of course. He freezes in the threshold, narrows his eyes, and closes the door behind himself.

“Teasin’ me?” he rumbles, crowding you against the wall.

The way he’s suddenly over and surrounding you, caging you in with his arms steals your breath. The flex of his bicep when he leans in is almost enough to distract you from the game.

Almost.

“I’m not teasing you,” you can’t help but tug at his jacket pocket and sway closer. “I was just standing here.”

“Oh yeah? Just standin’?”

“Yeah, I was, until you came over here to bother me.”

“Oh, am I botherin’ you? Expected me to stay away when you got your ears on?”

“Huh? What could you possibly mean?” You don’t bother to bite back the smile when he narrows his eyes at you. “I’m not wearing my ears and horns. They’re in the bedroom.”

“What’s this then?”

It’s so funny to exaggerate surprise when he tugs on one of your cow ears. “Oh my goodness! Those shouldn’t be there, yet!”

Simon’s head tilts, and you can see the gears turning as he tries to figure out what your angle is. “Yet?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” You roll your eyes and sigh, “I didn’t think it would take effect so fast.”

You try to wiggle away from him and gasp when he catches your chin in his hand. He’s amused, crows feet wrinkled as he smiles down at you. One of his eyebrows goes up.

“Bambi.”

“Yes, sir?”

The corner of his mouth twitches up. “What’re you up to?”

“Nothing off limits.”

“’S’at right?” He huffs a laugh. “Seem’s y’re tryin’ something. But alright.” He stands to his full height and crosses his arms. “Tell me. What’s takin’ effect so fast?”

God, you’re grinning too hard to even pretend to be coy as Simon huffs that “heh heh heh” that means he’s genuinely tickled. You duck under his arm and practically skip to one of the kitchen cabinets. The little plastic bottle of gummy candies that you painstakingly designed a label for is right in front. When he wraps his arms around you from behind, you show him the simple cartoon cow.

“Ditzy Farms: Happy Heifer Supplements.” He laughs against the base of one of your horns. “An’ where’d you find these?”

“Right in the supplements aisle,” you laugh. “Apparently they’re new to the public. Lab and farm tested, and perfectly safe. To a degree.” You pop open the top and eat a couple of orange and pink swirled disks.

“They’re not actually multivitamins, right?”

“Just gummy bears I melted down,” you confess. Then you tip back to look at him with a smirk. “Packed full of the latest in hucow pharmaceutical technology. And as long as we do this right, most of the effects are totally reversible.”

“’F Course,” he agrees, wrapping his hand around yours. “That mean you’re gonna lose your cute little ears?”

“As long as you don’t come in me until 12 hours after I’ve taken the last of these. Or drink my milk.”

It’s probably a trick of the light, but you could swear you see Simon’s eyes dilate. The hand on your hip tightens, but all he says is, “Tha’s why you asked for condoms, then?”

“Mmhmm. Once this dose I just took kicks in, I’ll be super fertile, so we have to be extra careful.” You hold eye contact to reinforce how serious you are. Nevermind the fact that he had a vasectomy long before you met and your tubes are solidly tied. “I’m really, really serious about this Simon. No surprise babies.”

“No surprise babies,” he chuckles. “Acknowledged.”

He meets you when you stand on your tiptoes for a kiss, and fire burns between you from the moment your lips touch. He groans when you turn more fully in his arms. With a grunt, he lifts you until your legs are around his waist, then carries you out of the kitchen. You’re not really sure where he’s going, and it’s hard to care. It’s easy to get lost in kisses when Simon is back from a long deployment.

At least… it usually is. The new pressure in your breasts is a distraction that unexpectedly splits your attention. You’re so sensitive, where you’re pressed against him. The softness of your sleep shirt rubs against your nipples in a way that has you panting into his mouth in record time.

Simon tips you onto your back on the couch and doesn’t stop kissing you. Your clothes are gone so quickly that your head spins, and you can’t help the noise you make when one of his hands pinches at your nipple. Then he’s tearing into the condoms, and you can’t even be annoyed that the box is definitely not closing again. The corner of the foil goes between his lips, then one hand goes between your thighs as the other seeks out the lube.

You’re wetter than you thought, and Simon is so hard it almost looks painful when he shoves his boxers down his thighs. Your both groaning in short order as he gets you ready, one, two, three fingers knuckle deep almost too soon. Then he’s pulling back to roll on the condom and stroke more lube over himself.

You try to say something along the lines of “towel” or “mess,” but you honestly forget what you’re talking about as soon as he pushes against and then into you. The slow, thick glide of it makes you grab at his shoulders, and he’s right there to swallow your breathless moan. The pace he sets is fast and deep and steady, just the way you both like for a first round. It won’t last long - it never does, even with a condom. But you don’t want it to. You want to be overwhelmed with him in you, on you, filling all of your senses. He’s knocking the breath from your lungs and rumbling like an engine, holding himself just far enough away to brush against your chest with every shove of his hips. You’re almost dizzy with how good it is, and you’re on the cusp of an orgasm when Simon suddenly shoves deep with a groan. The base of his cock pulses, and you whine. The knowledge that he’s coming so hard, that he would be right up against your cervix if not for a thin barrier of latex makes it hard to catch your breath.

Lost in the fantasy of the risk of it, you gasp. “Oh, oh. Oh god. Oh, fuck. I wish we didn’t have the condom, fuck, Simon. Simon!”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growls. His hips slam forward, startling another yelp from you as he groans. Then he’s reaching down, between you, rubbing his thumb over your clit just right. “Just told me the rules, Bambi, fuck. Can’t go bare or you’ll get all round and milky, won’t you?”

You’re hurtled into your orgasm so fast you can’t even take a breath to respond.

You’re both still for a long moment, panting into each other’s mouths. When you look at him, Simon’s eyes are dark and warm and full of energy. He chuckles when you whimper, then pulls out to take care of the condom. And then he immediately puts on the next one. You can’t help but whine when he pushes back into you.

The pace he sets is more drawn out, slower, and has your mind melting out of your ears. His touch is achingly gentle, but the way he kisses and squeezes your breasts and sucks on your nipples makes you clench down on him involuntarily. He surges up to kiss the moans from your lips, lifting your leg to settle even deeper into you while his other hand keeps rubbing you, just soft enough to bring your attention back to your breast.

“Y’re perfect, y’know that?” He emphasizes his words with a rough thrust that has your nails biting into his shoulders. He grins into your cheekbone. There’s a confusion of movement, and he manhandles you until he’s sitting back on the couch, grinning up at you in his lap. “Gorgeous fuckin’ girl.”

He doesn’t let you out of his grasp for what feels like hours. You ride him for longer than you thought you’d be able to, and then he’s bouncing you on his cock like you barely weigh anything, biting at your chest with hungry growls until you both come. You don’t resist when he coaxes you up onto your knees so he can remove the condom, but the crinkle of another foil wrapper makes you try to see around your body to his hands.

“Simon?”

“Shhh, easy, pretty girl. Settle.” He rumbles a pleased note as he pulls you back down onto his cock, petting your hips. “Jus’ so, tha’s my girl. Just need to be filled up if I can’t breed you, isn’t that right? What’s my pretty cow say?”

Oh, you might be in trouble. You sag into his chest with a breathless, “Moo, sir.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

You almost don’t have energy for a costume change after all of that, but the show must go on. Simon looks downright predatory when you emerge from the bedroom in your cowprint bralette and garter set. He almost inhales his sport drink laughing when he sees the little cow tail you’ve attached to the back. In short order, you’re bent over the back of the couch while he admires it, then pulls it out of the way to kiss you where you’re tender. He laughs again when you yelp and dance out of his grip.

Dinner is barely in the oven before he’s back on you, unsatisfied with a bare taste of you. There’s nothing hurried, this time, about the way he works his tongue and fingers into you. He’s indulgent, leisurely, as he eats you out, and no amount of pleading or squirming can make him rush. He only stands once you’ve come on his tongue, and then he’s railing you from behind. But only after dutifully putting on another condom.

You knew the barrier would drive you crazy, but you had no idea how erotic it would feel. You’re hyper aware of the latex between you. He won’t forget, you know, will remain collected and in control even as you unravel. But a part of you wants him to push that boundary, so bad, wants to play with the fantasy that he would cross the line, forget or refuse, and make you his pretty little breeding cow.

You’re so caught up in your head that Simon’s hand around your neck startles a groan from you. His arm squeezes your breast, pressure that sends a tingling zip of sensation from your nipple to your pussy and back up. The feedback loop of it throws you into an orgasm that hurts so soon after the last one.

“Tha’s it,” Simon rumbles, and you grip his arm with both hands as he seats himself deep. “So good, Bambi, so wet, fuck. Dream of this when I’m gone, you know that? Spend all my downtime ‘alf ‘ard, thinkin’ of this pussy, of my pretty girl waitin’ back ‘ome to take my cock. An’ I come ‘ome an’ you’re makin’ y’self even needier, huh? Takin pills to make yourself all soft ‘n breedable?”

“Simon!”

“Mm, love when you say my name,” he growls. “But that’s not what my pretty cow says, huh?”

His hands leave your body, and all you can do is hang your head and brace your arms on the counter. You grind back against him, and don’t realize that your eyes are closed until something touches your lips. Your jaw drops open before you can think, and he presses two sweet gummies into your mouth. Then he’s squeezing your cheeks with one hand, and pinching your nipple with the other until you squeal.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he growls, letting go of your jaw to slap your ass. The next thrust has you up on your toes, a guttural moan torn from your throat. “Oh, there you are. Wanna hear my good girl moo for me. That’s why you started this, right? Want to turn that beautiful brain off and let me make you feel good? Let me take care of my pretty cow?”

His words flow down your spine and you moan after you swallow. “Oh, oh.”

“That’s it, that’s my sweet girl. Almost there, huh?” He fucks you faster, and you know he’s chasing his own peak. “By tomorrow, you’re gonna be right where I want you, huh? No more words, just my sweet girl letting me do whatever I like to her.”

“Yeah, yeah, oh, Simon,” you whimper. And then, breathless, “Oh, moo. Moo.”

Simon groans behind you, thrusts once, twice more, and comes.

Both of you are exhausted, after that. You eat dinner in a haze, too tired to even realize you forgot to steam the broccoli. Your consolation is that Simon looks half way to sleep as soon as he’s cleared his plate. You tag team cleanup - packing away food and cleaning the minimum requisite number of dishes before you let yourselves collapse on the couch again.

He pulls you into his lap to kiss your temple. “Thank you for the surprise, sweet’eart. Was real nice.”

“I’m glad,” you whisper, kissing the edge of his jaw, then settling into him with a sigh. “But that wasn’t the surprise. Well… not all of it.”

“Mm, you do got more for tomorrow, eh? Thought I might be talkin’ out of turn.”

“Mm-mm,” you disagree, before a yawn interrupts whatever you were going to say next.

“Wore you out today,” Simon agrees, around his own yawn. “What’s your number, Bambi?”

There’s really not much pain to catalog, but you’re definitely sore from so much sex after months without. “Three… point two five. Probably have to be done with penetration for the night.”

“Hips?”

“Not too bad. I’ve been doing my exercises.”

“Good girl.”

You’re both quiet for a long time after that. Just as you’re about to suggest that you could watch a movie, Simon starts snoring.

Simon is a big fan of the cowprint thigh highs and black, platform hoof boots that you reveal the next morning. You also gave yourself spots, but he’s got you sweating them off within minutes of seeing you. The horns almost fall off of your head as he plows you into the mattress. If you’re honest with yourself, you moo at least once on accident.

“Si-Simon! Please,” you whine, when he flips you onto your back and presses inside again. He pinches one of your nipples, a there-and-gone sharp sensation that makes you clench down on him. “Inside, please, moo, please, pleasepleaseplease.”

“You know I can’t,” he teases, putting a hand on your lower belly using his thumb to play with your clit. “Pretty girl, we gotta be careful. No accidental babies, right? You made me promise.”

By lunch, you’re barely holding it together. Your nerves are so alight with overstimulation and hunger for him that the fork shakes as you bring leftovers to your lips. Somehow, Simon has the audacity to look refreshed, pleased and amused when you keep shifting in your seat. He has to keep reminding you to eat and drink, and interrupts you from speaking anything but low vowel sounds.

“Only one dose left, hm?” The flex of his wrists when he twists open the bottle makes you feel more than a little crazy. “Lookin’ forward to seein’ what the final transformation does.”

He presses the gummies past your lips and hums when you lick his fingers afterwards. And then he stands and takes your empty plate to wash up. You can see a red line where you couldn’t resist scratching his back last night. You’re halfway from your seat and ready to jump on him, but your breasts almost hurt with how full they are. You want to beg him to touch you, but you’re genuinely in need of a breather.

“Simon, I need five minutes for a purple break.”

“Acknowledged,” he says, looking at you over his shoulder. “’Lright?”

“Yeah, just… need to cool down a bit, I think.”

“Drink some water ‘n lie down. 10 minutes. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged,” you concede, circling the table to kiss his shoulder. “I’ll see you in just a bit.”

His hum of agreement follows you out of the kitchen as you shuffle along to the bedroom. Simon’s already made sure your water bottle is refilled, so you take a few deep pulls. Lying down feels good, after that. It’s second nature to pull one of Simon’s pillows into your arms, but the soreness of your breasts and the way his scent makes you squeeze your thighs together mean you have to push it away again in short order. Even though you know you need a break, you want Simon again. Cliche as it is, you feel empty without him. And with the condoms, it’s even worse than it normally is. Clean up is undeniably quicker and easier, but… you miss the sensation of him coming inside.

You kick your feet and whine, because purple breaks are for doing things like that. Lying on your front hurts, and when you lie on your back, you want to touch yourself. So you flop onto one side, and then the other, and then your front again. You circle the whole bed that way, it feels like, before coming to rest on Simon’s side of the bed. And then you see one of the boxes of condoms on his bedside table. When you shuffle closer to peek, there are only two left. Two more isn’t so bad… but there’s at least one more box of twelve. And they’re so high quality. A part of you wishes he would have bought cheaper ones. He’s so fastidious about proper condom use that these high quality ones would never break-

Before you can stop to think about it, you reach into his drawer for one of his smaller utility knives. And then you poke a neat hole in the center of both condoms before putting everything back how it was. When you roll onto your back on the bed, you raise shocked eyebrows at yourself.

You’ve lost your mind.

The timer on your bedside table dings, so you make yourself go into the bathroom to freshen up. The feverish and bright-eyed woman in the mirror startles you. Your hair and horns and cow ears are holding up well, but the remnants of your makeup are basically gone. The bralette is fraying a bit, and your breasts are spilling out of the top even more than you realized. It’s just this side of obscene. The sight of yourself, along with the sheer weight of your chest, makes you feel wild. Or… well… domesticated. Feral.

Simon is leaning against the opposite wall when you emerge into the hall. His arms are crossed, and he cocks his head in a way that makes you freeze in place. Something in his eyes is almost predatory, just a bare edge of darkness that has you waiting to see what he will do. But when he smiles, you can’t help but relax, even as you curl into the door frame a bit.

He chuckles. “Suddenly shy, pretty girl?”

“Um.” Your tongue sticks to the top of your mouth when he stands to his full height over you. “Mm… moo?”

“S’at so? Interestin’,” he cocks his head. “What’s y’r color, Naya?”

The use of your name is startling, makes you pause to really assess yourself. “Green?”

“You askin’ me?”

He takes a step closer, and you not-so-suddenly remember that he’s bigger and stronger and faster than you. Your heart leaps into your throat, even as your whole body goes hot with arousal. “G-green.”

His hand is firm when he catches you under your chin, and his other hand grips your hip when you stumble in your boots. As you gasp, he chuckles, crowding you until you brace your hands against his chest.

“Such a pretty girl you are,” he rumbles. He uses the his grip on you to waggle your head back and forth. “And so trusting. Changed your whole body for a little fun, didn’t you? Cute little horns ‘n hooves, pretty tail. Like servin’ y’self up on platter for me.”

“Si-!” His hand goes tight on your jaw, and the alarm bells that were jingling ever so quietly in the back of your mind start crashing like cymbals. Your heart kicks into overdrive as you grab his wrist.

“Didn’t even notice I’d doubled up your last dose, just opened your mouth for it. How long until all you c’n do is moo, hm? My pretty girl, already so soft and sweet. Not a care in the world ‘cept getting bred and milked, exactly the way I like her.” He presses a hard kiss to your lips, then chuckles. “You even gonna notice if I’m not usin’ a condom this time?”

The part of your brain that knows this is a game crashes into the part of you that realizes he’s talking about about permanently changing you without your consent. A nervous giggle bursts from your mouth as you wiggle in his grasp. Here you were, clumsily orchestrating an accident, while your Dom, an officer, a tactician, was plotting to take advantage of you. No matter what you had planned, he’d already decided how this was going to end.

“W-wait, no, oh - moo,” you whimper, as he pulls you into the hall and back toward the bedroom. He keeps you off balance, the sturdy boots in the way of the zig-zagging steps he makes you take. When you get to the bedroom, the under-bed restraints are out, cuffs open and waiting, one at either end of the bed. The high side of your wedge pillow is aligned with the edge of the mattress and the spreader bar is on the floor. Everything he needs, ready to keep you bent over the side of the bed for as long as he wants.

When did he even have time to get all of this set up? You manage to get a tiny amount of space between you as you’re backed into the room. His hand remains solid around your neck, no change in pressure, even when you try to push him away and look for a non-existent escape route. He takes up the whole doorway, and regardless of if you could shake him off and try to dive back into the bathroom, he would have you in hand in barely a second.

And then you remember that your breasts hurt. The plan had been to ride Simon on the couch and have him suck your nipples. Then you would have finally felt relief **from the pressure while taking him completely by surprise. You can’t just lay over the pillow if your milk is about to come in; you didn’t do all of this work just to waste the big reveal on a wet spot!

If your renewed struggle does anything other than amuse him, he doesn’t show it. When you try to push him away, again, he easily brushes your hands off and arches you slightly backwards by your neck. Your center of gravity shifts so suddenly, you have to clutch at his arm to keep from falling. And then you almost jump out of your skin when he uses the opportunity to pinch one of your nipples and pull. He chuckles over your gasping, pulls your bra down under your breasts, and then does it again, again, again.

“Can’t wait f’your milk to come in.”

Your breast tingles, almost stings, and you can feel the change as your areola swells. A wave of endorphins flows from your temples down, and your legs tremble like you’re coming off of a massage table. You trip on your tongue, “wait” and “stop” and “Simon” and “moo” all tangled together in a moan.

The sensation is so strange. Like nothing you’ve ever felt, and just like every mommy forum said it would be, like something being drawn from you in a way that makes your whole body thrum. **You’re so caught up in it that you don’t notice Simon freezing in place, barely register the cool sensation of a drop rolling down your skin. Both of you are unmoving for a long moment, and then you’re arched even further, he’s guiding you down to the floor with one hand under your back. The one on your jaw goes tight, and he forces you to meet his eyes.

“Bambi.” As soon as your shoulders touch carpet, his fingers are pinching your nipple again. When you moan, he makes a sound like you’ve punched him. “Fuck, Bambi. What’re you-? How did you -?” He cuts himself off to growl a kiss into your mouth. You almost forget to give him a breathless moo as he holds your face in place.

Simon forces your legs apart so he can kneel between them, and puts both hands on your breasts. He pulls away to watch as he squeezes again, face frozen in something like hunger. The feeling of milk being expressed is a revelation, something you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to. You look down to see it, and the way it beads from your nipples makes you moan again.

“Fuck, fuck, Bambi, I ‘ave to, fuck.” Your panties and garter tear under his hands, and then he’s shoving his sweats down. The head of his cock is almost purple with how hard he is. He laughs breathlessly as he notches it at your entrance. “You really should’ve thought twice about this. Even if I wasn’t plannin’ on breedin’ you up, you think I would’ve resisted after this? I wouldn’t’ve been able to stop from comin’ in you, as many times as it takes.”

It’s devastating, when he pushes inside. You arch into the stretch, the feeling of his cock with nothing between you as he starts a quick, rough rhythm. One of Simon’s arms goes under you, and then his lips are on one of your nipples. When he sucks, the fuzzy sting of it zips right down to your pussy. Simon groans, again, when you clench down.

“Gonna keep you forever,” he growls, switching to latch onto the other breast. “Beg me f’r it.”

“M-muh,” you whine.

He grabs you again, by the face this time, and sits up to stare into your eyes even as he keeps shoving into you. “Beg me to breed you up, tell me y’re mine. Tell me y’re mine, Bambi.”

“Yours, Simon, I’m yours,” you babble, clawing at his shoulder, his hip. “Keep me - keep me as your pretty cow, moo, breed me, please please, moo, please, breed me, I’ll be good-!”

“Fuck, you’re so good, my pretty girl,” he pants into your mouth, and his hands are back on your breasts, squeezing until you can feel more milk spilling. “Gonna breed you up, come inside you until it takes.”

He keeps saying that, until it takes, and as he bends to take your breast in his mouth again, you almost wish it would. That that he really could change your body, change you, make you into nothing but a pleasure dumb creature that craves his touch. It’s hard to catch your breath, it’s so good. You wish you could feel like this all the time, overwhelmed and blissful, the center of Simon’s attention and hunger. In that other world, he wouldn’t give you a choice, wouldn’t let you escape.

The orgasm slams into you all at once. It hurts, after so many in the last two days. Your abs, your thighs, your nerves are nothing but lightning as you claw at his shoulders and sob.

You’re still shaking with it when he suddenly pulls away from you. His weight, his mouth, his cock, gone in a moment. It’s so disorienting that tears spring to your eyes, but before you have time to flail, he’s flipping you onto your belly and then lifting you with one arm under your neck and the other under your hips, sudden and awkward. You flail with your arms, for a heartbeat, and then you’re dropped, your chest hitting the wedge pillow with a breathless gasp.

Propping yourself up on shaking arms takes long enough that he’s bound your legs apart by the the time you manage it. “S-Simon?”

He shushes you as he pulls one of your arms into place and locks the cuff around it. “Gotta do it right, don’t I?” He uses one hand to tilt your face back, over your shoulder, and his eyes are so dark that you shiver as he binds your other hand in place. When you’re secure, he pinches your nipple. You flinch away, but there’s nowhere for you to go. “There you are, pretty girl. Better’n the floor, yeah? Feel good?”

What can you even say? You drop your chin with a whimper. “Moo.”

“Fuck.”

He’s inside of you again, fast and rough, and his hands are the only thing that keep you upright. You almost can’t breathe. Every thrust knocks the air from you, and you can barely catch a breath before he’s coaxing milk from your breasts again with dizzying tugs. It’s a shock when he hooks two fingers in your mouth, unexpectedly sweet, and you can’t help but bite down when his other hand goes between your thighs.

“Shh, shh, shh, settle, Bambi, there’s my pretty girl,” he rasps in your ear as you keen and flail against the restraints. “Don’t gotta fight it. All you gotta do is come f’me, yeah? All you ever gotta do f’me, now, I c’n take care of the rest.”

His fingers on your clit are too much, too soon, but no matter how you much you struggle, you can’t close your legs. He knows you’re overstimulated, he has to, he has to, but he’s still rough with you, rubbing fast circles until you’re sobbing and drooling around his fingers, thighs shaking with another climax around his cock.

“Atta girl,” he rumbles against your shoulder, and you barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. He grunts and pants as he hikes your hips up again to meet his thrusts. “Fuck, gonna make me come inside, pretty girl. Gonna keep you ‘ere, just like this, until you pass out, hm? Then ‘m gonna take you somewhere no one’ll interrupt us, fuck, c’n just breed you ‘n drink your milk ‘n watch you swell with my babies, as many as you want, Bambi, ‘ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s wheezing by the end, and so are you, your whole body one, long, sharp nerve that sings with waves of tension that leave you blind. Simon stops thrusting, his fingers go still, and you can feel his heart thundering as his cock flexes inside of you. Somehow, that makes everything crash again, makes your cunt flutter, shakes your bones loose as the world goes white.

You flutter your eyes back open, coming back to yourself with a whine. You’re on your back on the bed, now, legs wrapped around Simon’s hips. He’s inside of you again, and when your eyes can finally focus, he’s staring down at you. You reach for him, but your hands are bound to the headboard.

“Th’fuck’ve y’done t’me?” he growls against your cheek. His hips stutter into yours, and you can hear how wet the two of you are, even over your weak moans. “’M supposed to take care of you, be gentle with my sweet girl, huh? But every time I come I just want to fuck you again an’ again. Fuck, it almost ‘urts, Bambi.”

Your lips can’t wrap all the way around his name. “S-Si-Si-”

“Gimme your color,” he pants, and his voice is desperate. “Tell me to stop, now, Bambi, love, tell me, or ‘m gonna-”

“-reen.” The word is past your lips almost before you can think. “Green, please, I can- I’ll be good, please, let me touch you, please.”

He does something just outside of your awareness, and then your still-linked hands are over his head, he’s in your arms, exactly where you want him. When he kisses you, his mouth and chin are wet, sweet. His chest slides against yours, and you whimper as he groans and shakes and comes inside of you again.

It’s dark out by the time the two of you wince your way back to the living room. Your favorite blanket is almost too soft once you’re bundled up and slumped into the arm of the couch, but you’re too tired to look for something more comfortable. You can’t even lift the mug of pleasantly hot tea that feels impossibly heavy for your still shaking arms.

Beside you, Simon looks worn out. He’s not so much reclined back into the cushions as sagging. His hand trembles as he lifts his own tea to his lips, and then he tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. With great effort, he slings his arm over the back of the couch behind you. You flop into him with a labored sigh of your own, and you barely avoid putting your ear into his armpit.

“So,” you rasp. “Debrief?”

He huffs what could generously be called a chuckle. “Fuckin’ ‘ell.”

“Yeah.” You have to use both hands to sip your tea.

The silence after that is comfortable, easy.

Extended.

You almost fall asleep, you’re both quiet for so long. But then Simon shifts in his seat, and when you tip your head back to look at him, he’s looking back. Whatever he sees - your lovesick expression, or maybe the wreck of your braids - puts a soft smile on his face. He’s so handsome that you can’t help but smile back.

A wave of love makes you want to purr. “Hi.”

“Mm. Hi.” His arm comes down around your shoulders. “Gimme your number.”

Everything hurts like you went too hard at the gym, if the gym also worked out your pussy. “Four point two. Achy. You?”

“Three-five,” he says with a shrug. Then he shifts his hips. “Balls ‘urt, though. Solid four.”

“Then I’ve done my job,” you joke around a yawn.

“Didn’t scare you too bad?” he checks. “Saw you poke holes in the condoms, figured you wanted somethin’ a little more… forceful.”

You giggle and cover your face with one hand. “Oh my god, you saw that? I felt crazy.”

“Came to see if you wanted a snack.” He huffs a laugh. “Wanted more’n that, apparently. Never thought you’d try to baby trap me.” You can’t help but laugh with him at the ridiculousness. When you’re both settled again, he hums, then asks, “…’ow’d you do that, anyway? The milk, I mean. ‘S a prosthetic?”

“What?” You’d never even considered something like that. “How the hell would I put milk In a prosthetic without you knowing?”

“I dunno,” he chuckles, voice warm and tired. “Got real convincin’ makeup ‘n things these days. Skin safe adhesives ‘n such. Shape of your breasts’s different, figured you’d talked to one’f your furry friends.”

“My breasts are a different shape because I’m lactating,” you chuckle. “Got a prescription, got a breast pump. Six months later, here we are.”

Simon goes still. “Naya. You said those were just gummies.”

“Oh my god!” You almost spit your tea. “No! Those were just gummies.”

You can see him working through the confusion and exhaustion. “But… the milk is real? You’re… it’s real.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re… lactating.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But… wait.” He sits up, suddenly, eyes wild. “Naya. Are you pregnant?”

“NO!” You don’t scream laughing, but it’s a near thing. “Oh my god, no. Neither of us can have kids, remember? I just… induced lactation. You know. Just milk, no baby.”

“Thank fuck,” he groans, slumping back into the couch. He swipes a hand down his face. “Okay. So when are you done?”

“Done? Lactating?” You shrug. “As long as I keep pumping and expressing, I can go as long as I want, I think. It took months to get here, so I want to go at least a few months. I’m gonna try making some ice cream or something.”

“Ice cream?” He perks up, then scrunches his eyebrows. “You’re… months?”

“We can talk more about it tomorrow, when we’re both more awake,” you tell him with a yawn. “Plenty of time. Did you like your surprise?”

He pulls you back into his space and kissees the top of your head. “Almost gave me ‘n ‘eart attack.”

“A sexy heart attack, though.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, with another kiss to your hair. “Was perfect, Love. Thank you.”

"Simon! I was just about to call you. Did you get the chicken for stew?" B grabs the plastic bag you barely noticed from his hand and hums. She turns to head back to the kitchen, calling, "Perfect, perfect. Come in, don't leave my door open or the damn cat is gonna run."

Bump, B's ancient tabby, hasn't moved from his spot on the armchair in your living memory, but you let Simon in and shut the door. He looks even bigger this way, surrounded by your aunt's old and eclectic stuff. He watches you look him over for a moment before toeing off his sneakers, setting them aside, and making his way to the kitchen.

You trail behind him to find B puttering around with the kettle and the good tea. Who is this guy?

“Simon, this is Necie, my sister’s daughter,” B says when Simon pulls a chair out to settle his improbable bulk into it. “She lives in town. Having some man troubles-”

Your jaw drops. “Auntie!”

“- so she’s staying the night,” she continues right along. “Simon’s my neighbor, since Robert and Delilah got divorced and moved out. Simon doesn’t know the story, but he doesn’t need to, I’m no gossip.”

Simon makes deliberate eye contact with you, then says, “’S not gossip if it’s jus’ the facts.”

“That’s true,” B snickers, pouring three cups of tea and bringing two to the table, “Necie, get the meat started. Cookies first! And where did you put the grocery - oh, here it is. I don’t need any of these for dinner, dear, but it’ll be a couple of hours. After tea, you can get these for me. But for now, Robert. Bless him, he put up with too much-”

***

Simon is a soldier, B tells you when he leaves for the groceries. He’s gone for weeks to months at a time. When he’s around he restocks her heavy groceries and does anything around her apartment that needs doing. He’s a bit of a homebody. He likes to read on the couch while B watches Family Feud.

“Why do you have a white man hanging around on your couch?” you ask while you stir the rice and peas before covering the pot again.

B scoffs from where she’s sitting at the table. “You keep a man on the couch, you don’t have to go looking for him when you need him. I don’t have to go calling after him at all hours-”

Oh here she goes. “Auntie, I’m not trying to keep Brandon.”

“And that’s your problem,” she counters. “If you’re not trying to keep him, then you need to get rid of him.”

“Those are the two options, huh? We can’t just want to be together, with out trying to “keep” each other? Or even just because we have fun together.”

“There’s plenty of men to have fun with. It doesn’t have to be that one.” B stands up to check on the stew again, even though you just stirred it. Her bony fingers grab your elbow with surprising strength as she turns you to face her. “You know I’m not going to tell you what to do. But you and I both know that bumbaclaat man-”

A knock interrupts her, and she gives you an irritated “tuh!” as you go to open the door. The sight of Simon on the other side nearly evaporates your irritation. You hate to admit it, but you can see the appeal of a man at the door with three full grocery bags and two cases of water bottles. Convenient indeed.

He doesn’t even let you take a bag, just toes his shoes off and strides into the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Necie’s a decent cook,” B says. “Burns the rice every time, though.”

“Take it off the heat!” you yelp, dodging around the big man to turn off the burner. Luckily, it’s not actually burned, just a bit brown at the bottom. “Why do you try me? Next time don’t tell me to make dinner.”

“Set the table,” she says imperiously. “Simon, put the groceries away and go wash up.”

“Yes’m,” says the giant. And then he just does what she says.

Whatever. You clear the table enough for three place settings and set to serving up dinner. Auntie B gets a couple of Red Stripes from the fridge and pours you a lemonade, then sits and waits for you to set her plate in front of her. You grumble when she pulls your face close to press a hard kiss to your cheek, but return the gesture anyways. Simon reappears from where he’d taken a case of water into the hall and washes his hands before sitting to B’s right, leaving you to sit at the head of the table.

“So, how long do I have you this time?” B asks.

Simon reaches out to pop the top of B’s bottle, then does his own. “Couple ‘f months, maybe. Not sure. Goin’ back to Hereford tomorrow, be back by midweek.”

“They shouldn’t have you runnin’ around.”

The conversation goes like that, B asking questions and imperiously declaring the answers unsatisfactory. Simon, for his part, answers direct questions but mostly just eats. You try not to stare at his scars, his crooked nose, the tattoos you didn’t see earlier because of his jacket. He looks like trouble, bent low over his plate. He must fall somewhere between a guest and not-guest, though, the way B keeps poking fun at him. That makes it easy to fall into the easy banter that make up evenings with your aunt.

Simon is solidly not a guest, you realize, when he stands to take your plate when you’re done eating. He arches an eyebrow at you before taking the dishes to the sink and cleaning up. When you look at her with your eyebrows raised, B smirks and sips at her beer.

“Family Feud tonight, Simon?”

“Don’t ‘ave a choice, mu’m,” he says, like he’s said it a million times before.

“Come sit when you’re done,” B says, standing and pulling you from your chair. “You work too hard.”

And the rest of the evening is… easy. Simon sits at the end of the couch, pulls out his phone, and reads, just like B said. B makes almost raunchy comments about Steve Harvey and his male guests, like she always does. And you… relax. The tension in your shoulders lessens with every survey, and you find yourself leaning into your aunt by the end of the first episode.

Of course, that’s when you make the mistake of looking at your phone. Or maybe the mistake was not looking before now. You have two seconds to realize how many texts you’ve missed before a call from Brandon lights up your screen. Cringing, you stand and slip down the hall to the guest room.

“Hello?”

“Hello?” your boyfriend mocks. “Why the fuck aren’t you answering my texts?”

You rush to speak before he can get any more worked up. “Sorry, I’m sorry, my aunt has a guest over, I was making dinner, we just finished eating a little while ago-”

“Oh, you make dinner over there,” he scoffs.

“My aunt wanted me to make brown stew, you don’t even like it,” you point out. “Last time I cooked-”

“Whatever,” he interrupts you. “When are you home? We’re out of papers, pick some up on your way.”

“I just bought those,” you protest. “And I told you, I’m staying here tonight. Literally just go down the street and get some.”

“You’re coming home tonight.”

The audacity of this man. “No.”

“The fuck d’ you mean, no?” His voice gets quiet.

Your stomach drops. “Sorry. I mean that I can’t tonight, my aunt still needs my help cleaning up. It’ll be late by the time I can get out. I can grab papers on the way tomorrow.”

“Not much fuckin’ use to me now,” Brandon grumbles. “Whatever. Tell your aunt I said hey. If she’s got any more of those chocolate covered biscuits, you should bring a pack home.”

A pack? You can hear B’s voice cussing him out in your mind. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, distracted. “See you tomorrow, yeah? Love ya.”

He hangs up before you can reply, which used to hurt but now just makes you roll your eyes. You send him a heart emoji, then step back out to the living room.

***

When you climb out onto the fire escape around 2am, you’re surprised to see Simon already out there, sitting on the steps across from his window. He salutes you with his cigarette, then watches silently as you settle on a throw blanket with your e-reader and a bottle of soda.

“Can’t sleep,” you explain, though he never asked.

“Me neither,” he says, exhaling smoke. “Better’n usual, though. Good food.”

“Thanks.”

“Mm. What’re you readin’?”

“Oh,” you say, hugging the e-reader to your chest. “It’s just a, uh, romance novel. Stupid.”

“If it helps you sleep, it’s probably not that stupid,” he surprises you saying. “Romance is probably better than… horror.”

“The story doesn’t usually make me more tired,” you admit. “Usually I would be having a glass of wine with it, help me relax, but… I’m trying to cut back.”

Simon nods. “Fair.”

He doesn’t say anything else, so you tuck your head to start reading. When you sneak a peek at him, a few minutes later he’s looking out over the city. Eventually, you stop expecting him to talk again, and it’s easy to fall back into the easy drama of romantasy land.

Eventually, he stands, startling you to almost drop your e-reader. But he just nods at you before ducking back into his apartment.

***

Simon leaves the next day, and so do you. After breakfast, you make sure you have everything you need for work and slip on your shoes. B makes the usual noises about being left alone like she doesn’t have two boyfriends, a “close friend,” and a spades club to keep her busy.

“Oh, and this is for your library,” she says, slipping an old paperback into your purse. “Let me know what you think of it.”

“Okay, Auntie, but I have to go or I’ll miss my tram.” You press a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Next week,” she commands.

“I’ll try,” you say, slipping into the hall. The elevator is out, again, and the landlord still hasn’t fixed the top stair on the landing, so you call back to her, “Don’t try to take these stairs by yourself!”

“Then you better come back!” is her retort before you hear her door shut.

Getting to work is fine. Brandon keeps getting on you about getting a car, but you don’t need another bill and you like taking the tram and the bus. You like the five minute walk from the bus stop, the local bakery on the way. Having a car would be more convenient, you can’t deny it as you open your umbrella, but a part of you loves the romance of the rain.

When you’re staring at a positive pregnancy test in the bathroom, later, you wonder if you’re too much of a romantic. Pram on the tram, your mind says, making you huff an almost amused breath from your nose. The levity is short lived. Being pregnant is… less than ideal. Brandon isn’t exactly going to be over the moon. Things have been better between the two of you, but if the last pregnancy was any indication, the next couple of months will be miserable, unless you’re lucky enough to miscarry again.

That thought makes your whole body freeze up and go cold. You barely have enough time to get down so you can vomit into the toilet instead of onto yourself. It’s so abrupt that you can’t stop yourself from sobbing.

Your aunt, your friends, everyone had assured you that it happens. Still, losing the baby had been so scary. You had been heartbroken and ashamed, had cried non-stop for days, hadn’t been able to really smile for weeks. It had been one of the worst experiences of your life.

And in the context of Brandon? Lucky.

Flushing the toilet, you wrap the pregnancy test in toilet paper and stick it into the pocket of your purse. A part of you is kind of grossed out, but a bigger part of you wants to keep the reminder so you can look at it again. Because you have to break up with Brandon if he’s going to make you think like this, feel like this. Positive. Lucky.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Spreadsheets, a late meeting, cake for someone’s birthday. You almost miss the bus back to your place because you decide to walk to a further stop, give yourself some time to move.

When you finally arrive home, you’re equal parts relieved and frustrated to see Brandon in his usual spot on the couch, playing video games. His eyes are bright when he sees that you’re home, and he hurries to tell his friends he’s logging off.

“Hey, babes,” he calls, tossing his headphones on the coffee table and standing for a hug. “So glad you’re finally home, I got good news!”

“O-oh,” you say, going with it when he rocks you from side to side.

“Yeah, I got that promotion I was tellin’ you about,” he says, and his grin gets bigger. “Retroactive, a bit of extra money on the next check. And I got a call back from that place I applied, Cloudstone? They like my portfolio, I’ve got an interview next Tuesday.”

“What? That’s amazing,” you cry, throwing your arms around his neck. “Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you!”

His happiness is infectious, and when he suggests takeaway and a movie to celebrate, you can only agree. It’s not until he’s cracking a beer for himself that you remember - you shouldn’t… you can’t have any wine. Because you know you’re pregnant, it’s not just a possibility anymore. Thankfully, Brandon doesn’t notice you biting your lip through the entire movie, just laughs and jostles you the way he does when he’s excited about something.

Near the end of the movie, he puts his hand on your thigh and leans in to kiss your neck. Your heart jumps, and suddenly your stomach is in your throat. You push his hand away and run to the bathroom just in time for the palak paneer and and Sherry’s cake to evacuate your stomach.

“Ugh,” you groan.

“That’s the second time you’ve thrown up this week,” Brandon says, from the doorway. It’s actually the fifth, but he hasn’t been around for the other times. “Do you think you might be sick?”

“I’m…” God, you’re too tired for the fight you know would come with the truth. You rest your forehead on your arm. “I think I ate something bad with lunch. I thought it was a one off, last time, I’m not going to that cafe again.”

“Can I get you anything? Pepti-calm?”

Can you take that when you’re pregnant? “No, I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.”

He murmurs something else, shuffles his feet, and walks away. In a few moments, you hear the Duty Calls startup theme. That’s fine. You need space, time to think. You decide to take a shower and wash off the stress of the day.

Brandon doesn’t hear you crying.

You’re exhausted when you climb into bed, half an hour later. Your eyes are hot and swollen, but you’re all out of tears for the day. Everything feels heavy. So you lay in the dark and just breathe for a while.

When Brandon comes to bed, he climbs in behind you quietly. His hand, when he touches you, lands on your hip, then creeps toward your inner thigh. You catch his wrist before he can get very far.

“I still don’t feel good,” you croak.

He grins and lets you catch him, and his soft laughter shakes your bodies together. Like this, Simon fills all of your senses. You’re still soft and warm from your orgasms, and it’s so easy to mold yourself around him, let his weight sink into you. He has you all over his face, and your mouth still tastes a little like him. The warm space between you smells like sex. He sounds like sex, the way he groans he uses his free hand to tilt your head where he wants it.

You gasp when he grinds against you. Everything is hot and wet, a perfect, slick slide. “Oh!”

“Fuck,” he growls into your mouth. He shoves his arm under your hips and hikes you into his body more firmly. “Fuck, Bambi, lovie, we gotta slow down or this is gonna go fast.”

“Yes,” you whimper between kisses, chasing his lips with yours. “Green, yes, please, I want-”

And Simon, bless him, doesn’t tease or make you wait. He just reaches down and lines himself up against where you’re ready for him. Still, it’s a shock when he pushes in. He’s careful with you, but even as soft and open as you are, he’s so thick that you have to gasp. The arm you have around his back squeezes him close.

“Easy,” he grunts, breath hot against the side of your face as he takes your hand in his. “Slow and easy - fuck.”

The noise that comes out of you when he sinks into you - a moan, a yelp, a giggle, all rolled into one - is loud. If you cared, you’d be worried about a noise complaint. As it is, your hips jump up against his, startling a smaller sound out of your lungs as he slides even deeper. Everything in you is focused on how he feels on you - in you. He’s overwhelming, and hasn’t even sunk all the way inside yet.

“Simon,” you whisper into the side of his throat. He groans again, letting go of your hand to take a tight hold of your hip. “Si-Simon, please move.”

“Give me one bloody minute,” he chuckles into your temple. “Settle, Bambi, fuck. Don’t got another one in me after this.”

That startles a laugh out of you, making him grab at you again with a warning noise. You try to contain your giggles as you coax yourself to relax, try to set your hips like you had during your stretches. He moves with you, and you both gasp as he slides out of you, just a touch.

“Testin’ my limits,” Simon growls. His hands feel like brands where he’s holding you steady. “’S harder to keep myself locked down when you’re actually here.”

“Yeah,” you agree, kissing his shoulder. “Green.” When he makes an amused sound, you grin. “Green, Simon, you can move. Please, I want it.”

“I know,” he rumbles back. He shifts his hips again and sucks a sharp breath. “Fuck, I know, Bambi, you’re doin’ so good, askin’ so nice. But I want this to be good for you. Want to make it last, huh? Might be the only time, w-want you to enjoy it.”

“Then you should fuck me,” you point out.

His laugh is pained. “Want to.”

“Color?”

He huffs again. “Gree- fuck!”

You rock your hips up at the same time that you tighten your leg aground his hips. Neither of you seem to be ready for how deep he goes, the way you both jerk involuntarily into each other. The sensation of him grinding into your clit from inside and out startles a yelp from you. But that’s nothing compared to his first real thrust. You only have a split second to feel the strength in his suddenly tense muscles before he pulls away and shoves into you.

The breath is knocked from your lungs in a strangled squeak. There’s no time to get it back before he’s folding you up and slamming into you again. Again. Again. You have to clench your jaw to keep your teeth from rattling together, can’t stop the way you try to squirm away from the pleasure-pain of the stretch. The arm he still has under your back moves, shifting until he can hook a hand over your shoulder.

“Where’re y’goin’, pretty girl?” Simon grunts into your cheek. “Thought you wan’ed me t’stretch you out, wanted me t’fuck you. You like it?”

“Yes,” you squeal, breath almost gone, a shiver zipping down your spine just to shoot right back up as he grinds deep. “Yes, yes, please, yes, green, please-”

“Please what, pretty girl? More?”

“Yes, yes, yes-”

“C’n ‘ave it,” he grunts, and somehow his thrusts get rougher. “C’n ‘ave whatever you want when you ask nice, ain’t that right?”

“Simon!”

“Fuck, you sound so good.”

“Si-imon,” you gasp again. It’s hard to grab at him, you’re so overwhelmed, and both of you are slick with sweat. All you can do is slip against him, bringing both of your legs up to wrap around his middle, just to slide right back down again as he somehow forces himself further into you.

It takes a long time to realize that he’s still talking, that he’s grunting and growling praise and encouragement as he crushes you with pleasure. There’s no way for you to respond, if you could even understand the words in the first place, but he doesn’t seem to care. Every noise you make, every time you squirm, he coos at you as he forces you back into position.

The orgasm doesn’t creep up on you. It builds at the edge of your awareness with an intensity that is almost terrifying. It’s not just the way he makes room for himself inside of you. It’s the heat and intensity of his hands on you. It’s the sounds of his pleasure, the rough gravel of his voice, the slap of his skin against yours, the creaking of the bed beneath you. The way your entire world moves with him. It’s the burning in your legs, your arms, your lungs. Everything inches you closer to the precipice, no matter how you instinctively try to escape it.

“That’s it,” Simon pants into your skin as you claw at his shoulders. He’s so deep it almost hurts and hikes your leg up to keep you where he wants you. “Fuck, Bambi, that’s it, pretty girl. Don’t fight it. Don’t keep it from me, c’mon.”

You shake your head, uselessly. His body and yours put pressure on your clit just right, sweet agony that you have to struggle against. When you shift away, try to bring your body back to something you can hold in place, you’re drawn farther out of control.

You have to blink tears away as you stutter out, “I-I’m gon-na-!”

“You are,” Simon agrees, commands. “You are. Give it to me.”

There’s no time to brace yourself. The climax starts as a shiver through your legs, then tears through you so forcefully that all you can do is sob. No matter how much you try to shut yourself away, Simon holds you open to it. Whatever sound he makes as your whole body locks up on and around him is drowned out by the low moan that forces its way from your lips. And then you’re sobbing again as the pleasure crests a second time.

“Fuck*, fuck*, tha’s it, ‘s my sweet girl, tha’s it, fuck-!”

His breath hisses from between his teeth. Your legs lock with his before you’re even aware that his hips had started stuttering away from yours. And then he’s shoving one of your thighs up and out so he can stuff himself back into your spasming heat as he comes. It’s all consuming, like everything else about him, the way you can feel him twitching and jerking inside of you. All you can do is shake through another wave when he lifts his head to look into your eyes. The way he glares at you makes you surge up for a kiss, too frantic for much more than pressing your open mouth to his as you moan.

Slowly, you both make it something softer, more deliberate. You realize how quiet he is only when a groan shivers its way out of him. He’s panting. You both are. When you let your head drop back to the pillow, it’s hard to make your eyes focus enough to meet his again.

You giggle. “Okay. Now we can cuddle.”

His laugh is more of a wheeze. “C’n maybe do that.”

It takes a few moments before you can find your limbs, and even more before you can make them move. The feeling of him dragging his way out of you makes you whine, and Simon makes a wounded noise into your hair. He’s gentle as he guides your legs back down, rubs slow circles with his thumbs over your thighs before he collapses to one side with a satisfied grunt.

“This was nice,” you say into the dark.

You’re cuddled up, now, for real, after letting him wipe you down with a warm cloth. Now, you ache, but in a good way. Your legs and hips and back feel like you’ve had one of the best workouts of your life. You’re definitely going to have to take it easy tomorrow, but it’s worth it.

Simon, lying on his back with one arm holding you, hums. “’S pro’lly the best op ‘ve ever been on. Top three, for sure.”

“Oh my god,” you slap at his chest and giggle.

“Tell me your conferences are usually more interestin’,” he chuckles. “Bet you’ve never had a better end to the event. Tell me ‘m wrong.”

“I was held hostage!”

“An’ we still managed to turn the night around.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. You’re both quiet for a little while, but you’re too relaxed for the silence to be anything other than comfortable. Still, you can’t resist the urge to ask, “What happens now? Or... tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tomorrow... we’ve probably got a lot of shite to straighten out.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes your fingers. “Debrief f’me, a couple of interviews f’you. C’n ask the captain to extend my stay until your flight ‘ome, if you don’t mind sharin’ a room wi’me for the next few days.”

“Of course.” You smile up at him. “That sounds... really nice, actually. ...But when I leave... things will be different. Between us, I mean.”

“Tha’s true.”

Maybe your body is still coasting on orgasms, but his unbothered response has you melting against his chest again. “Maybe we can meet up again. Without the terrorism.”

“’M sure I c’n find another way to keep things excitin’.”

“I could come see you in England,” you speculate aloud, interrupted by a jaw cracking yawn. “Or you could come to me. Or... I guess we could meet anywhere...!”

“’D like that a lot,” he rumbles.

Dinner makes him feel a guilty kind of thrill. Every time he looks at Necie, she shivers, looking at the shape of his arms, the tattoos and scars that had earned a lot of comments the first time he’d met her aunt. She knows danger when she sees it, but she trusts her aunt’s judgment enough to keep her thoughts to herself. Still, there’s a stubborn set to her mouth as she watches him eat the food she’s prepared. He’s failed to fold himself small enough for comfort, but there’s a smile there when he scrapes his plate and goes for seconds. Eventually, she starts arguing against something that her aunt says, and she doesn’t include him, but she begins to relax. He focuses on eating, lets B’s voice wash over him as the scotch bonnet starts to make him sweat.

For all that he focuses on the food, on not being threatening, he miscalculates, at the end of the meal. She flinches when he reaches to take her plate, and he pauses for a moment, arm extended. But watching B harass him means she’s surprised, not nervous. She meets his eyes with zero hesitation.

She’s not afraid of him.

By the time he’s done washing up, Necie’s relaxed and B’s navigated to her show. Tension rolls back in when he settles on his side of the couch, then slowly winds down as the host prattles on. Simon watches her looking at him from his periphery while scrolling through articles on his phone.

When she eventually gets up to take a call, B turns to him with an arched eyebrow. “Well?”

Simon narrows his eyes back. “Well?”

“She’s a good girl,” B says. “Smart, and she can cook. You should take her out, see how you get along.”

“She’s in a relationship,” Simon points out. “You told me that.”

“She’s in a situationship,” she corrects, with air quotes. “She needs a real man. Even if it’s just for a night.”

Simon snorts. She’s been on him to “find a good woman and settle down” almost since they met. Three months of silence had almost convinced him that she was done trying to set him up with anyone. But perhaps it was just that he’d been gone just as often as he’d been home.

“She don’t seem interested,” he dismisses. “Don’t need me sniffin’ after ‘er. She’s ‘ere because she feels safe.”

“Because she doesn’t feel safe at home,” B counters.

“She won’t feel safe if’n you throw a man at ‘er,” he mutters.

“Don’t be stubborn,” she says back, as he hears Necie emerging from a room down the hall. “She’s got enough of that for both of you.”

It doesn’t look like there’s much stubbornness left in her, when she returns to her seat. The willful woman trading barbs with her aunt has been replaced by a chastened, subdued version of herself. Necie sits, withdrawn into herself through the next episode of Feud, staring into the middle distance.

He gets caught in the pout of her lips, again. She’s not frowning, really, but the way she bites her lip in thought makes her mouth look more plush. Now that she’s not paying him any mind, he lets himself watch her openly. The stillness he noted earlier is back, and there’s the slightest pinch of her brow. Who called, to make her retreat so thoroughly. He wonders if B’s obvious contempt for the man in her life is well founded.

When Necie wraps her arms around herself, he wants to drape the throw over her shoulders.

B catches him looking and smirks.

“Should call it a night,” he says, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Necie’s shoulders tighten, just a hair. He looks away before her eyes can catch his. “Leavin’ in the afternoon, ’ll stop by before I go.”

Necie surprises him by speaking up. “Do you… I can pack some of the stew.”

She’s up and out of the room before he can catch her eyes. Simon ignores B’s waggling eyebrows and stands to get his jacket and shoes. He keeps his back to the room until he can hear Necie approaching, then turns to face her. With barely there half-smile, she passes him a tall deli container filled to the brim with stew and rice.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” she says, looking away. “Have a, uh, safe trip, tomorrow.”

He takes the couple of steps down the hall to put the food in his fridge before heading back out to do his rounds of the building. The loose treads on the stairs he notes as he descends to the basement, where he checks the laundry room for broken machines. Then up, seven flights, to the roof. One of the girls from the 4th floor hastily pinches out her joint when she sees him, but he pays her no mind, just walks his circuit and descends back down the stairs to his own flat.

The television is still audible through the wall, just barely, and he listens as horns signal the next round of surveys. It’s comforting as he drifts through the front room and kitchen, checking windows and locks the way he did in B’s apartment after dinner. He can’t hear as much in his bedroom, the home gym he barely uses, so he heads back to the front room to sit at his table and check the knives he keeps in the house.

The show ends, eventually, and as B turns off the television everything goes quiet in the next apartment. Simon imagines her shuffling through her evening routine, finds himself musing about how Necie fits in. Does she stay often enough to have her own things in the bathroom, in the guest closet? It’s probably hard for her to find space where Mrs. B keeps her odds and ends, in that room that smells like patchouli and dried hibiscus. But maybe she sleeps well there, sheds her defenses enough to relax, if this is where she runs to be safe.

Away from a man, he thinks, testing the sharpness of a blade on the tip of his thumb. Would she feel safer, he wonders, knowing that a killer is right next door? Does she know he has a key? That he knows the window to the room she’s sleeping in isn’t as secure as he would like? Has she ever questioned the extra set of keys by the door, his keys, that her aunt has been here, in his kitchen, that Simon would protect B with his life?

It’s easy to imagine Necie at his small table, here, curled in on herself. And Simon decides that he would protect her, too, if she lets him. She slots into place in his mind, a part of B’s household, his responsibility, easy as breathing.

That drive to keep them safe, along with the fact that he’s still restless from the last mission, has him on the fire escape in the dark hours of the morning. He’s just lit a second cigarette when he hears the scrape of a window, sees Necie’s startled face. She visibly decides not to retreat, settles herself small right next to the open window. When Simon leaves her be, she gets lost in her book with an ease that makes a part of him hum, content.