#c.caleb

fake boyfriend! caleb who is just so charismatic and falls perfectly in place as a boyfriend, your boyfriend. It's almost like he's made for you (he is)

fake boyfriend! caleb who introduces you as his needy girlfriend, with an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his warm, toned torso. The way he so easily takes on the role is absurd, the way he easily introduces you as his girlfriend sends your mind reeling but it feels so... right. It feels right in a way that causes your cheeks to burn and chest to tighten.

fake boyfriend! caleb who looks at you so fondly whenever you're interacting with one of his friends, telling them stories of how you and him 'met.' He feels his heart swell with so much love and he wants to kiss you until with lungs cripple and lips sore. It's even worse because you fill the role perfectly (you're made to be his) it only makes his pants tighter and the apples of his cheeks red.

fake boyfriend! caleb who keeps the act up even when his admirers die down and he isn't so bombarded with love letters and lunchboxes anymore. He keeps up the act long after you leave skyhaven, even carrying it over when he visits you in linkon, taking his precious girl out on dates and spending long nights at your apartment. You don’t even realize how cemented he is in your life, how your heart beats just a little faster when he nears you, placing a braised chicken wing on your plate or when he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

fake boyfriend! caleb who starts to feel a little less like a fake boyfriend and more like a real one. It begins to feel so much more real when you catch your heart stuttering in your chest, when you catch him gazing fondly at you, when you sleep in the same bed because you’ve begun to feel bad for making him sleep on the couch. It’s so much more real when you realize how easily he slots himself in your life, how routine it is that you don’t even have to change anything because he’s always been there. He’s always been there for you.

fake boyfriend! caleb who, once again, spends another night at your apartment. He’s in your bed this time, lying next to you as you use his arm as a pillow. His soothing fingers pat down your hair, your own trailing down his chest before resting on the expanse of flesh where his collar meets his jaw. It’s then you become alarmingly aware of the proximity, the shared breaths, and the intoxicating space between your bodies. You’re so close that you can count every speck of stars in his violet hues.

fake boyfriend! caleb who lets silence marinate between you two, neither wanting to break the thin veil that masks your relationship, whatever it is or whatever you want it to be. But he's the first to turn away, breaking the hypnotizing eye contact with you. He turns his face to bury in the soft pillow, ears, and cheeks flushed the same shade as his favorite asiatic apples. His voice comes out in the muffled murmur, you’d be unable to hear if you two weren’t so close.

“It’s late. You should get some rest, pipsqueak.”

A light scoff leaves your lips and disappointment stirs in your heart. You aren’t sure what drives you to surge forward, fingers fisting into the blue cotton of his shirt, pulling him towards you, and mushing your lips together. It’s messy and forceful but you’ll swear it isn’t your fault — it’s all because of Caleb. Everything is because of him.

You seal your lips together, spurred by sudden want and need, heat surges through your veins, fogging all logic in your fuzzy mind. The kiss is longer than it should be, a minute, two, or three until all the air crawls away and leaves your lungs crippling and aching for air.

And then, you breathlessly pull away. Out of breath like you’ve climbed to the top of the highest mountain, you think it might be similar to how you’re feeling right now. A familiar heat pools in your lower stomach when you brave to see the state Caleb is in.

fake boyfriend! caleb who’s eyes are half-lidded, lips swollen, and a heavy blush settled onto his pale flesh. His lavender eyes hold swirls of yearning and want, mirroring your own. Shared breaths and heated air are stifled between you and the pilot before he pushes forward, connecting your lips again with a needy groan that's greedily swallowed.

fake boyfriend! caleb who hovers over you, violet eyes boring into your soul. His hot breath beats against your cheeks, a quiet groan escaping his pretty lips when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, and it takes everything in him not to mark you up, to claim you.

“Did you mean to do that? Did you mean to kiss me?” His voice is soaked in desperation and he’s completely and utterly entranced by you. The pretty, sweet, stubborn girl from his childhood. The girl he’s watched grow up into the woman under him, the woman who has clawed into his heart, making a home of him.

fake boyfriend! caleb who loses his mind once he sees you nod your pretty head, teeth biting down on the plush of your lower lip. His body feels numbingly hot, the air is stifling, and his pants are suddenly too tight. He isn’t close enough, he wants — needs — to be closer. He wants to settle into your body, carve himself into your heart, meld his soul with yours. He wants whatever bone you’re willing to throw his way.

fake boyfriend! caleb who strips the two of you out of your sleepwear and in an instant, his lips are on yours. The kiss is in no way tranquil or soft, it’s greedy and messy, and downright sinful, pushing his tongue in your mouth and completely disregarding the mixed saliva that drools down the side of your mouths. He takes in all of you as he feverishly kisses his way down your body, biting and suckling at any glimpse of skin he can reach.

fake boyfriend! caleb who lavishes wet kisses from your breast and down to the navel of your body, fingers curling at the edge of your panties, inching the fabric down once he settles between your thighs. An audible groan is ripped from his throat when he sees how soaked you are, the fabric sticks to your skin as it’s peeled off with strings of your wetness clinging to the thin fabric. A wave of embarrassment washes over you when he comes face to face with the most intimate part of you and it’s better than any fantasy he’s ever had.

“Fuck, pipsqueak… you’re so soaked.” His voice comes out as a raspy cadence of love, eagerly pressing his nose to the wet material of your panties, taking in your scent.

fake boyfriend! caleb who suckles sloppy, dark hickies into the plush fat of your inner thighs, working his way up to your core. Bruises bloom across the expanse of your skin, trailing wherever his lips find purchase on you. You’re aching now, desperate for him to devour you but helplessly watching him litter his love on your thighs. Your fingers thread into his dark locks, pulling him closer with a soft whine.

“Caleb, please…” You can hardly recognize your own voice, whiny and needy for his lavish attention. “Please don’t tease.”

fake boyfriend! caleb who chuckles softly and abides by your sweet pleas. His soft, wet tongue makes contact with your soft folds, laving the wet muscle over your throbbing clit, groaning like a starved man at your sweet taste. It's better than he could've ever imagined. Spurred by the delicate harmony of your moans, he devotes himself to pleasuring you, intently watching your expressions with great care. He wants to know everything— what colors you blush, what makes your toes curl, he wants your fingers pulling at his hair, and whining his name like a prayer.

fake boyfriend! caleb who makes you cum alarmingly quick when he pushes two fingers into your sopping hole, stretching out his pretty girl. He watches his fingers piston in and out of your squelching hole, enamored with the way your cunt sucks him in like a black hole. Your cunt spasms around his digits, velvety walls fluttering around his fingers as your orgasm washes over you.

"You're so cute, pipsqueak. So, so cute." He coos, pressing light kisses to your throbbing bundle of nerves before smearing his fingers, covered in your release, across your lips.

fake boyfriend! caleb who asks for consent (he would never want to make you uncomfortable) before pulling out his cock. Your jaw falls slack when you see his pulsing length. He's big and thick with one prominent vein running on the underside and pearly beads of pre-cum dribbling from his tip. For a moment you wonder what it would feel like if it pulsed on your tongue, how it would feel to have him shooting ropes of cum into your womb. 'I'm screwed,' you think to yourself but your body opposes and your core aches to be filled again.

fake boyfriend! caleb who thinks he's just ascended above skyhaven when his tip notches against your entrance.

"Oh, fuck—" His forehead falls onto your shoulder, a series of whines and pleas falls from his lips, feverishly pressing kisses onto your skin, anything to make him last a little longer as he pushes inch by inch into the velvety walls of your tight cunt.

fake boyfriend! caleb who watches your eyes roll back when he finally bottoms out, balls resting against the soft curve of your ass. He takes a moment to admire your pretty frame, the sweat glistening on your chest, heavy breaths that leave your tits heaving, and the dull pain of your nails leaving crescent shapes in the meat of his biceps. Caleb doesn't think he can ever let you go.

"I love you. Fuck, I love you." The words fall from his lips like a mantra as he fucks you, folding your knees onto his shoulder. His cock splits you open, pressing and abusing your g-spot every time his hips meet yours. The room quickly fills with the harmony of desperate whines and moans, littered with I love you's that're quickly engulfed in messy, hurried kisses.

fake boyfriend! caleb who cums with you when you whisper your confession into his ear, like a little secret between the two of you. His hips stutter and he's suddenly shooting hot, white ropes of cum into your fluttering pussy, milking him dry and filling you up.

fake boyfriend! caleb who collapses onto you, wrapping you up in his toned arms and pulling you close to his warm body, pressing soothing kisses to your temple, cheeks, nose, and finally onto your lips.

"I love you," he confesses. His words are hushed and speak of the longing and teetering of the line that the two of you hesitated to cross for years.

"I love you too," you reply, pressing a trail of gentle kisses along his jaw as your fingers intertwine with his. Your body feels sore and full, heart content, and so, so loved.

He presses his lips to yours once again, smiling gently before soothing you to sleep. He'll always be by your side, no matter what happens. He'll be right there.

lovesick! caleb who... loves you a little more than you realize.

first fic hehe

He misses you, too. Constantly. Feverishly. Thinks of you when you’re not around and sees you in every aspect of his mundane, bleak routine. It comes to the point where Caleb is positive that this pure, unadulterated love that festers zealous blooms in his heart is the only guarantee in his life.

Desire, too, follows him where you linger in his mind even when your presence is absent. Desire so prominent that it feels as if fire lights in his veins, crawling into his body as it comes to rest in every pump of his heart, eating at the cage of his ribs like the want itself can carve the bones away so his heart may reach yours.

It’s the same love and desire in him that leads him to your room in his Skyhaven residence. It’s a room he’s become intimately familiar with—holding your lasting scent and touch of color in his otherwise monotone house (it is a house and not a home, because his home will forever be where you are.)

Those very things lead him to the dresser by your nightstand, his hand stopping just before it reaches the handle, hovering over it for just a few seconds. Long enough to think about the simmering arousal in him, weighing morals and want. He thinks about you, as he always does.

Thinks about your smile and stubbornness. Contemplates how to protect and care for you in all the ways he no longer knows how to do. Wrestles his love and devotion. Turns you around in his mind, over and over and over.

And he opens the dresser.

Inside, right where he last left it, are pairs upon pairs of your panties. Some in comfortable cotton and some in sultry lace. Each and every one makes his pants unbearably taut and cock achingly hard.

His hand twitches, nails biting into the flesh of his palm, an automatic reaction to the flimsy articles of clothing that've been pressed flush against your most delicate parts. And the images it brings of you in his mind bite with a vengeance that stirs up the heat coiling low in his gut. You're seared into every neuron pulsing in his mind. Specifically, a visual of you—dressed in the lacy black pair he chooses out of the plethora.

The last time these panties were in his hands was when he last took them off you. Sliding them down your legs while you whimpered his name in whiny pitch and trembling breath. Unfortunately, he's washed them since then, and with it has gone your scent. But not the memories.

Now, those same memories flood his head as he collapses on your bed, sound mind muffled behind the hum of lust rushing through him. Once, he felt shame in doing this, rummaging through traces of you and indulging in his hunger. It used to be shame and guilt that ate at him early on in your relationship, dwindling as far back as your teenage years, but it's different now. This is love and devotion and desire. It's a reservoir of everything that defines his truest form. This is his rawest version—the one you love.

Caleb tugs his pants down just enough to free his cock—thick, heavy, and throbbing when it meets the charged air. The slick head drools with need as he drags his hot palm over it, sucking in a sharp breath at the touch. It'd be better if it were your touch over him, so, so much better. He wishes it were your warmth bleeding into his body, heart pumping in mirroring tandem against his, and flesh fusing into flesh until he can haul you into euphoric paradise with him, breathless and satisfied—that, to him, would be home.

But you're not here. And Caleb can do nothing but bury his nose into the pillow to catch the remnants of your scent, wrap the delicate fabric around his shaft, and soak the lace as he bucks his hips.

In his mind, it's you with him. A vivid, carnal fantasy that descends into his head, spinning mirages of you on your back, looking down eagerly at him while your legs bracket his broad shoulders. You'd thread your fingers through his hair, tugging insistently in that cute, needy way you always do, lashes fluttering and pleading his name before you guide him to where you want his tongue the most.

And he swears he can taste you on his tongue—after all, he remembers it well, he could never forget. Familiar sweet nectar pooling in his mouth that makes him salivate, humping fervently into the sopping lace. He'd eat you so well, always does. Sucks and drools on your clit to get you wetter, sloppier before lapping up the mess, spreading it over puffy folds and that delicate hole that oozes with flushed need. He knows exactly how you want it, knows the precise pitch and gasp and twitch you make when you're close. It's how he wants you, too. Always needy, always pleased for him.

Or he could have you perched on his lap, weeping cunt full of his cock. He'd sit back and watch you stubbornly struggle to ride him, your nails raking down his chest in delicious pain before you do that adorable scrunch in your features, batting your eyes and asking him to help. Because you need him—you need him to make you feel good. And it's what gets Caleb off the most.

He'd indulge, always indulges in your begging and whining. Hands latched to your hips, lips to your perky tits as he moves you up and down, listening to the symphonious squelch of your pussy sinking down on his shaft. You'd sound even better when his thumb finds your clit, circling it in tight rounds that make you cry his name and cling closer so his scent and touch cloud you fully. You'd be his, and you'd claim him more in every way he already is. Your love desecrates him completely.

"F-fuck…" He mutters the syllables of your name raggedly, like a devotee to an altar. It's similar, he thinks, to how he feels about you. You're his entire world; he orbits you, made from the same source, and everything you are, he is too.

His strokes fall off their rhythm, holding the lace tighter against his cock so the fabric bites roughly, running it over the sensitive head of his cock with a hissed sigh. The avid longing in his chest ricochets back tenfold as he grows closer.

… Caleb, I love you…

That's what breaks him. Your words that his mind conjures up in hazy, blurred ecstasy whispered so gently to him.

"I-I love you mo-more," he chokes out to the silence, words layered with croaked devotion that you won't hear, a guttural moan tearing through him as he comes in thick, hot spurts. Ivory ribbons soiling the black lace, seeping into the delicate threads as he shudders with searing release.

It feels more intense than usual. He cums harder than he normally does, spills more over lacy fabric and sheets before the quivering euphoria leaves him slumped.

After a long pause of heavy breathing and silence, Caleb looks down at the soiled black lace, and he laughs, the quiet kind of laugh that sounds more like a tired sigh than anything of joy. You'd tease him constantly if you found out what he does without you. You tease and tease and tease until you've had your fill. And if it made you happy, if it made you need him a little more, he'd let you. Always.

The besotted feelings he harbors for you feel like the only tether he has left sometimes; everything else is something he's buried away long ago. After all, you're the only thing he needs.

And maybe it's because he loves you a little more than you realize.

You could see why the professor went through the difficulty of obtaining him from rubble and fire, drawing him back from the talons of death.

"429 experiments to read his consciousness, resulting in failure? Interesting." You mumble, flipping through the file. The old professor beside you is less impressed, rather disgruntled.

“You’ll be assigned to him.” Lucius’s gaze turns from you to the man in the zero gravity chamber, currently undergoing the 23rd neural control experiment. A simple glass pane separates you from your newest patient. “It’s planned that he’ll be in the Farspace Fleet, assigned as the newest colonel, and he’ll take over the Tuum fleet in a few months. It’s time we move forward with our plans.”

His words tug a frown at your lips, a certain displeasure washing through you. As one of EVER’s doctors, it’s normal that you get assigned to different subjects, treating and diagnosing them after their experiments and trials with the researchers, but since Caleb will become the Farspace Fleet’s colonel, you assume that you’ll have to join the Fleet alongside him. And, well, joining the Fleet isn’t something you particularly wish to do.

“Isn’t it better to send someone else?” You nudge, gauging the finality of Lucius’s decision. “Carter informed us that he just made a breakthrough at Xander Sciences, we’ll be working on the next steps for that soon with the patients.”

Lucius only stares at you in response, and it’s enough for you to understand that he won’t back down. “You’ll be one of the Fleet’s doctors, tend to him as needed. Keep a close eye on Caleb and the other soldiers implanted with toring chips, it’s important to our goal. Once we have control of the Farspace Fleet, it’ll make things easier to move around.”

Of course, with the Fleet’s status and dealings, ruling even above the World Evol Government, it would be incredibly beneficial to have a pawn in high standing.

It’s clear that his choice is final, sending a heated glare your way at your disgruntled noises. Even in your position, as a doctor and not a researcher or subject, you can’t do much to deny. Control, you’ve come to learn, is something that EVER seeks insatiably, even that which they hold over you as well.

In the beginning, when you were recruited by Lucius, he didn’t say that you would be doing all… this. Going against every ethicality and violating practically every medical law you spent sleepless nights ramming into your brain. ‘Paving a pursuit for future generations, a worthy goal for valuable research as your own.’ He said back then. And before you even knew it, you were too entangled in EVER’s web to try and claw out. Within those few months, they held control over your life’s work and progression. What more can you do but follow?

“He has potential. But will he be a good fit as a colonel? It’ll be more than just inheriting the title, I’m sure the Fleet has their own politics to navigate, won’t that get in the way?” You question with a tilt of your head, turning your gaze towards the chamber that houses the man you speak of.

Even from behind the safety of your spectating glass, you witness the sharp, vivid crackles of electricity rippling through the air, dancing wildly around the shirtless form of Caleb as he groans, breathing heavily while neurons connect and fray, reattaching painfully within the modifications of his metallic arm. The mechanical crinkling of his hands clenching into fists mingles with the wounded noises that he attempts to bury, gritting out through a tensed and strained body. Beads of sweat roll down the muscular crevices of his spine, chest heaving as the lights thud on, illuminating the path in the chamber, and giving you a full view of your new patient.

Not only impressive and tall, but also handsome.

Beside you, Lucius shakes his head, turning towards the door.

“We went through a great deal to obtain him; this is just one of the tests he’ll deal with. If he’s useful, then he’s useful; if he isn’t, then he isn’t. There’s no need to be worried or attached when we can find replacements. He’ll have his uses as a weapon until he doesn’t. The Fountain of Atei is going well, so make sure you keep him in good shape.”

Professional words, as always. You don’t know why you expect anything else.

And as your newest patient is led out of the zero-gravity chamber, huffing and panting, you wonder if you can accomplish turning a blind eye to attachment—or intrigue.

— — —

Weeks after you initially see him, your perception of Caleb changes slightly when you actually meet.

Your meeting with him is alongside Lucius in the machine-like world that hovers over Linkon, in his new Fleet office. The first thing you notice when you arrive on-site is the frigid air, wrapping around you in an icy layer of second skin, thinly veiled with the mechanical whirring of the ships and the hum of energy that shudders brittlely in your bones.

The second thing you notice is that Caleb is dressed this time.

His modified arm is concealed in the synthetic wrap of skin that leaves a soul none the wiser of his implantation, covered with thick leather gloves. He’s robed in a dark military uniform that lines the scalpel-edges of his body, gold aiguillette suspended from his shoulder to sternum, the Fleet's insignia embroidered valiantly on his combination cap and chest, with an armband to emphasize his new status. Not earned, but given after an extensive recommendation and persuasion by Professor Lucius. Rather than the pain you saw him in weeks ago, he’s taken on a new role of discipline and precision; you no longer have any doubt that he’s fit for the role he’s been pawned into.

But even so, he’s still handsome and tall—even taller and even handsomer up close—but also cold and powerful and unyielding. Immediately, you sense that he's different from the other subjects who seem spun into Lucius's false fantasy of a family. Compared to the others, Caleb is… different.

You make a mental note of that for yourself, tucking it away in the corners of your mind.

The professor is the one to initiate your meeting, introducing you as one of EVER's best doctors, assigned to monitor Caleb's well-being and health while he integrates the Fleet.

Translated as: Don't fuck anything up, we have eyes on you.

You're sure Caleb gets the message as he nods stiffly, barely acknowledging your presence while he watches Lucius leave the room after explaining your purpose and his expectations. The simple speech makes the moment all the more heavy, the rigid air becoming headier as the professor leaves.

The door shuts behind Lucius with a soft ‘click,’ the single, soft sound reverberating through his office like a verdict—a blade that falls upon the moment, and it leaves only Caleb in the room with you.

Then his gaze meets yours from beneath the black peaked cap, casting a dark shadow across his face. Time stills. A myriad of tense emotions course through your rigid body, and it feels like he’s locked you in place, freezing the oxygen around you. You lose your stuttering breath, clutching the clipboard just a little tighter, feeling minuscule under the weight of his leer.

Slowly, his gloved fingers rap against his desk, cheek propped on his other hand as he assesses you, observing and analytical, letting not a single emotion slip into his steady features. Like he's the doctor examining a patient, and not the other way around.

Through the lump building in your throat, your voice cuts through the stillness in the atmosphere.

"The professor's already given me access to information on the Fleet's personnel, yours included. Your last examination was a few weeks ago during your neural control experiment; you won't be due for a while—I'll focus on monitoring the other soldiers for now."

You don't miss the sudden setting of his sharp jaw, the small pursing of his lips, the brief flickering of emotion in his eyes, blitzing through and then gone, you would’ve missed it if you had blinked. But it makes the lingering tension thicker in your throat.

Trials are a sore spot. Noted. The information is filed in your mind, just for future reference.

And if your words bothered Caleb, he doesn't voice it. You start to get the sense that he doesn't voice anything, really. His words are efficient and rough as he answers. "I'll tell Liam if I ever need you. In the meantime, notify him if you need anything."

While Caleb doesn't say it, he doesn't need to, but the implication cuts through the air: Don't bother me.

“Alright, but you and I will still need regular evaluations that don’t regard the Fleet.” Evaluations that regard EVER, you leave unsaid. You’re sure he understands.

With a silence resolute in its standing, you meet his gaze and ensure his nod before leaving, shoulders squared and tenser than when you were coming in.

Yeah, he definitely hates me. Just another thing for you to remember and work on. It’s difficult working with someone who seems to despise your entire existence at your first meeting. With the goal of trying to get to know Caleb just a little more, you leave his office.

It seems that it’ll be a long ride while you’re in the Farspace Fleet, stuck in what appears to be a rock and a hard place.

— — —

In the coming months, through little glimpses and minor actions, you learn that Caleb is a rather devoted man. To what or for what exactly, you do not know.

He is devoted to playing pawn in EVER’s scheme, though he knows his role is a simple cog in a masterpiece of strategy and ambition. Despite that, Caleb plays into the game like he is the timekeeper rather than a small mechanism. He faces it like a man torn between duty and faith—steadfast, carefully. Perhaps he knows that he is prized differently from Viper or any other subjects. Or perhaps it is his boldness and fervor that keeps a blaze lit within this game, a pawn who knows its worth.

You come to admire that about him.

Along with admiration, you also learn things about Caleb that he doesn’t show you. Though he holds steady on remaining an unread book, you begin to learn that Caleb throws his life around methodically, teasing death’s sovereignty with the tenderness of a man who has everything to lose, yet nothing at all.

You even discover little things about him, too. Like how he prefers sour over sweet, and that apples are his favorite fruit, and he barely goes home. You learn that Caleb is fond of the color orange and that he likes to downplay his injuries whenever he sees you. With that information, you chalk up the conclusion that Caleb endeavors to be seen as powerful and strong, both of which you believe he is. And you know enough to gather that Caleb hates feeling weak, which he is not.

You also learn that Caleb has no place in the world either. At least, he is not where he wants to be. That much, you are sure of.

Some nights, you catch him wandering the vast halls of the Farspace Fleet, dragging a gloved hand along the oppressive walls with that same contemplative expression on his features that you’ve come to know and recognize. And on some twilit nights, where he figures only the moon’s bright, white eye peers at him unblinkingly, you’re aware that he walks across the concrete fields where all the jets and spacecraft’s whirring hums are pressed silent and positioned, and he stares back at the pallid iris. Its silvery glow embedded within the bounds of amethyst hues.

Those nights, you think Caleb is like the moon. So distant and untouchable, the same side and mask are shown to the world. Always orbiting. And orbiting. And orbiting. And orbiting. Reflecting light back with undeniable control over gravitational force and the unrelenting frost that never seems to thaw, seemingly forgetting pieces of itself.

Caleb is much like the moon in all its glory of hollow light and haunting beauty.

In Skyhaven, so close to the cosmos that stretch thin and opaque stars bleeding pearly light through the infinite void, you imagine that Caleb makes a wish. What he wishes for, if he wishes at all, you do not know. You’re sure that you will never have the right to find out. But you like to think he utters his prayers to the great black hole that bites a wound in the web of endless space. You think that, maybe, he, like the other soldiers, is more human than not.

Maybe that’s why you bite your tongue and tell the professor half-truths when he inquires about Caleb’s progress.

On the great land that thrums with power and machinery and the promise of advancements, you figure Caleb out shard by shard, as best as you can.

But it halts there. Though you’ve spent months tending to him now, he doesn’t seem keen on opening up, and you can’t particularly blame him.

Despite working for EVER, you do admit their processes and experiments are unusual, yielding more failures than not in their journey of immortality. But such is the nature of medical and scientific pursuits; failures are fertilizer for progress. Ethically wrong, but with the promise of something far greater that rises dauntingly closer with every success like Caleb. In the end, even you can only bend to their whims, and that includes treating Caleb to the best of your ability and hoping that he sees it one day.

Unfortunately, that day does not seem to surface on the foreseeable horizon.

Because you’re quite confident the colonel hates you down to the very atoms of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, and nitrogen that make up your body. That much is clear even if he has ever told you outright. His jaw tightens when you are near, muscles tensing under your steady hands, and the vast galaxies of his eyes strip you down to your barest form like a cell under a microscope. You would know, you’ve spent years studying them. To Caleb, you are EVER. A soul no purer than his.

Caleb doesn’t seem to like you, but like the tide to the moon, you’re drawn to him, too.

— — —

The first time Caleb caught a glimpse of you, he entertained the thought of you being different. You stood with the other doctors and researchers, each donning identical white coats and mirroring blue scrubs. You looked like them, but carried yourself with a grace that unsettled something deep within his chest.

Unlike the researchers he’s met with probing tools, gleeful eyes, and wicked smiles, who are proud to stand at the forefront of their “cutting edge” research, he always noticed that you stood quietly in the background. Safe behind a glass screen—untouched, pure—as if the sin of your work didn’t sink deep into your bones. Never filled with the distorted pride the researchers held or the awe of science that raptured them. Maybe it’s because you weren’t a researcher or a scientist who ran countless trials, but it didn’t explain the reason why you plagued his thoughts.

That was the first time you caught his attention.

The second time was when Viper spoke about you.

Normally, Caleb avoids coming into any sort of interaction with the serpentine idiot. He prefers their exchanges to be quick and efficient; anything that Viper spits out is a waste of time, and to Caleb, time has always slipped by too fast to be wasted on someone like Viper.

But that particular day, Viper spoke about you—the “pretty doctor with a nice voice”—and Caleb found himself listening absentmindedly, agreeing too. Along with your name, he learns a bit about you. You’re a doctor who graduated top of your class and got picked up by Professor Lucius for your research and advancements in neurological pathways, their connections to protocore energy fluctuations, and their influence on evols. In return for your contribution to EVER, you would be secured a job, education debts being paid in full, and the opportunity to continue your life’s research—the same research that helped develop the toring chip. A secure life is what you traded for this work.

With his mild curiosity sated, Caleb decided quickly that he did not particularly like you. After all, you worked under EVER, the very organization that took people to research on—him, included—implanted a chip into their bodies to regulate their emotions and boost physical capabilities far beyond what a human should be able to do, turning them into crystalline wanderers if the experiments did not work. And for the ones that did succeed, they could not even be called humans any longer.

He, who could not be called human, no longer. The emptiness in his heart feels cavernous, the void of his mangled soul full of fiendish filth.

But most of all, EVER, you, were after the dearest person in his heart—his sun, his summer.

Aiming to capture and ruin the gentle smile that constantly haunts the wisps of his hardy soul, a ghost of the past and angel of the future. Bright and beautiful eyes that peered into his, the woman who had made his heart keen with aching love and devotion since he was a child. The person behind every prayer he whispers to fate’s ear. Because of EVER’s arduous visions, he’s witnessed her death more times than anyone should, held her small hands in his when she resuscitated over and over, forgetting him time and time again. Because of EVER, he’s morphed into something unrecognizable.

He’s supposed to be Caleb—always by her side.

Instead, he’s rooted in Skyhaven, playing puppet to protect her from the claws of greed and power. A concaved husk of the human he used to be, hollow to touch, with a badge that weighs heavily on his heart and metal working through his body. Often, he wonders, if fate weaves their strings together, just once more, and they are to meet again, would she still recognize him? Could he hold her hand, curl his cold, unfeeling fingers around hers as he did in the beginning, and tell her, “I’m Caleb, I’ll always be by your side.” Would gravity allow him to find his way back home to her side?

And even if her answer was no, to reject his touch that can no longer feel her dear warmth, he would linger in her casted shadows—devoted, willing. If it meant she’d be safe, he would readily prime himself into EVER’s perfect weapon. No matter the technology that worms in his mind or the mechanical vacancy that invades his body.

Therefore, he would even cooperate with you.

It’s just unfortunate that he dislikes you. While he knows this all isn’t exactly your fault, it is a job you took on, and though you aren’t the worst person he’s ever dealt with, you just… irritate him.

But he sees you everywhere, sees you in everything. The sight of your sickening white, iron-pressed doctor’s coat, the Fleet’s insignia embroidered on the silky, folded lapel, has become a vision more familiar than his own house in Skyhaven. He catches the swirling loops and tight lines of handwriting, signing off on every single medical report that comes his way, and doesn’t have to look twice to know it was created by your hand. The fragments of you are littered through his troops, filling the space meant for another.

And it definitely does not help that your name is all he’s been hearing for the past few months that you’ve been on his Fleet now.

He hears about you when Liam informs him of daily schedule changes, meetings, and weekly recalibrations for his arm. He hears about you from his soldiers, the loud, the quiet, and even the ones who dare not speak in his presence. He hears the soldiers want to go to the infirmary to see only you. Your name falls from the lips of soulless pawns who are like him—implanted with the toring chip, stripped of emotions and individuality, and yet, they speak reverently of you.

They say you whisper words with compassion, that you’re completely different from the other doctors and nurses. You ask about their day and how they feel, what hurts, and what doesn’t. Your words and soothing syllables make them feel less soldier and more human. Less enigmatic monster than not. In the Farspace Fleet, where there are only soldiers and officers—you bring soul in the constant hive of monotonous continuity.

Kind, compassionate, empathetic or not, it does not change the influence of your operation. The sentiments you express do not purify you.

Yet, somehow, your presence has become gossamer-threaded into the inner workings of his mechanically efficient Fleet, thriving even under the oppressing gravity of his routine.

And perhaps that is partly because he knows the words are true.

From the treatments after dangerous missions, arm modifications, and regulated cybezin dosages he’s had with you, he will admit that you do seem in touch with your patients. Most of the Fleet doctors don’t care enough for the other soldiers; many are too intimidated to even look him in the eye, but you are no Fleet doctor, you are something far worse. And you are also far more gentle than any trial he’s had with scientists or researchers.

Your hands are calculated, touches practiced, your gaze burns. You hold yourself highly, chin unbowed but soft in ways that matter. You linger everywhere, on his ship and in his mind.

And Caleb hates that he notices. So he pushes the blame onto the only person he can—you, who invades his thoughts in the worst ways.

— — —

It’s almost a full year before Caleb contacts you first after a mission that went down horribly.

At the time, you were away, fulfilling another request by Professor Lucius regarding a patient at a hospital. Of course, whoever planned this against Caleb took your absence as an opportunity to strike at him. Imagine your surprise when you receive word that your most valuable patient had been hurt.

When you return, you hear from Liam that the mission didn’t go according to the expected plan. It was supposed to be a simple retrieval of an unmanned patrol craft that suspiciously broke down in the Deepspace Tunnel’s restricted zone, and Caleb was to recover it in the midst of increasing energy fluctuations that resulted in his own ship’s engine giving out. In the end, Caleb made it out by controlling the patrolcraft with his evol until reinforcements arrived, but he also sustained injuries to his right arm as well as lacerations on his torso. Liam also informs you that this serves as a blatant declaration against Caleb. And, in turn, EVER.

He’s in his private medical room when you rush to him, a place you have become familiarly acquainted with in the months you have lived on the Fleet. The monotonous beeping and rhythmic trilling of the machines fill your senses, and you find him on the dark bed. His sculpted back greets you under the dim lights of screens. Violet and vermillion hues paint across muscles rippling with every heavy heave of his lungs, expending under the gauze that hugs taut around his left shoulder, holding it in place against his collarbone.

Wires suspend from his mechanical limb, crimson and azure webs flow throughout the arm as it's being slowly repaired. Metal chips piece back into a whole like a puzzle, neurons seaming together in interconnected filaments of nervous tissue. The sensation sends sharp pain coursing into his body, racking him with sharp, spasming aches.

In the midst of groans, you announce your presence with a rap of your knuckles on the door, earning his cool distaste that comes with a hard glance.

“You’re late.” Injured, but he still has energy to talk back; it seems it’s not as threatening as you thought it’d be.

“How bad is it?” The question falls from your lips, simple but soft as you walk to his side to assess the full extent of his injuries.

The stitching underneath the swathe is neatly done by another doctor—thin and evenly woven into his flesh—folding the gashed meat back together, leaving only little beads of blood dribbling out that you wipe away. Scars, old and new, litter down his body, from mild scratches to the deeper lesions like his newly acquired one. Not too excessive, but it’ll certainly take some time to completely heal with regular changes of gauze and cleaning of his stitches along his clavicle.

It alleviates you with a relieved sigh.

“Luckily, your laceration isn’t fatally deep, but it’s along your collarbone, so try to avoid straining it too much. Most of the injuries you sustained will bruise, but they’ll heal with treatment.” Latex digits trace the area, pressing down lightly, probing around for soreness. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” He grunts, tearing his eyes from you to the screen beside him that shows the material of his arm—metal and bone reflecting. As the final pieces merge, neurons meld together in a synthetic mimicry of latticework. He flexes his hand as a test, a low grunt erupting from the baser cavern of his chest. “This is all a move from the old guard anyway, no patrolcraft goes down like that so conveniently when you’re away. It’s best if you don’t get involved.”

And against his own indifference, despite the snap in his voice, amidst the proximity and your fingers dimpling his flesh, he notices the softness in your eyes that he hates. The tenderness that you absolutely don’t reserve the right to give to him is there—he feels it—and it feels wrong. The sensation of you on him burns, your warmth bleeds through the nylon barrier. It isn’t something he should pay attention to, that he even wants to pay attention to, but he does. He curses it.

You sigh at his words, giving a soft shake of your head as you wrap new gauze around the stitching. “It doesn’t matter what’s best or not; I’m already involved, whether we like it or not. If this person chose the moment when I was away from HQ to target you, then I’m clearly factored into their plans.”

“What do you think you can do?” He narrows his eyes at you, words hissed and sharp. “You can’t do anything, so just let me deal with this.”

“I also can’t be expected to stay away when this involves you. If you get hurt then—”

“Then you fix me.” He cuts. “That’s your job, isn’t it? You fix the weapon when it gets chipped, and when it breaks, you report back to the professor to get a new one.”

His words strike you. Quip and short but no less strong. Silence lingers between the thickening tension, and for a few seconds that feel like an eternity, you and Caleb share an intense look, one that speaks volumes in stillness. His challenging look provokes your response.

“I don’t… I don’t see you as a weapon. I don’t think you’re a weapon that can easily be replaced.” You state, shoulders squared as you look down at his sitting form. “You’re still human, you can still feel.”

It’s hypocritical, you know. You’re saying that he’s still human despite all the modifications, despite the chip that distorts his very emotions and mind, despite the fact that he’s been changed so deeply—you still think he’s human. It’s unfair what EVER does to them, and it’s not efficient, but it isn’t like you have much of a choice either. In the end, does it even make you better?

But it makes him scoff, turning his bitter gaze to his right arm. His fingers curl into a fist, and if he tried hard enough, dug his fingers into the metal palm, he could almost hurt himself. He can almost feel the ghost of warmth. Human, what a joke.

“You’re telling me that? Don’t make me laugh.” Caleb raises the bionic arm, watching how the lights flicker and shine off the metal like a foul taunt. “You say that, but you still work under EVER. It doesn’t make you any better than them, so don’t give me shit like that.”

“That’s not—” You try to defend yourself, but the syllables calcify in your throat. Instead, you find yourself looking down, shame creeping up your neck. You let the silence become a curtain to hide behind. It’s a new look that Caleb hasn’t seen on you. “I know it’s hypocritical, but I don’t have much of a choice in this either. I’m not a scientist or someone who experiments, and I know that doesn’t mean that I’m a good person, but I do want to help you. I’m still a doctor.

Caleb doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even react. He simply lets you pour your heart out, emotions unraveling onto him. Even if he understands, it doesn’t make the bitterness in his heart disappear right away. It doesn’t change the fact that you work under Lucius, who’s after the object of his devotion. It doesn’t change the fact that you irritate him with your kind words, pretty face, and sweet voice. It won’t change the one he yearns for.

Just thinking about her makes his head hurt, it makes his heart burn, and he vaguely registers the cadence of the heart monitor beeping faster in response. Again, like the many things that involve you, he blames this on your words. He internally damns you for stirring up cherished memories. He wants to recede into the little encrypted paradise in his mind, but your voice drowns it out, an anchor that both irritates and grounds him—a hazardous light through the cacophony of turbulent emotions pooling like a typhoon.

Caleb feels his body grow feverish at an alarming rate, vermillion blooming on his cheeks and crawling down his neck, eyes fluttering shut as if he can will away the buzzing of the chip, fighting back a reset that laps at his brain. Biology against technology. His willpower and emotions over the influence of EVER inside his own body.

The sudden surge in the heart monitor’s rhythm catches your attention, and your words trail off when the realization of Caleb’s situation dawns upon you. Increased heart rate and spiking temperatures—all telltale symptoms of the toring chip’s suppression. Immediately, you whirl towards him, ensuring the stability of his vitals before turning on your heels to the rack of medicine.

“I’ll administer a dose of cybezin—”

You’re barely two steps away from the bed before you feel cold wrap around your wrist, pulling you back.

“No.” Caleb rasps out, his iron grip tightening dangerously. “I’m not in the mood for side effects. You really think cybezin will be better for me right now?”

You look back at him, incredulous. “It doesn’t matter what you’re in the mood for. Do you see yourself right now? The toring chip will reset you if you don’t get control of yourself.”

“Damn it.” His jaw clicks, pursing his lips. For a few seconds, an ocean of quiet thickens with his contemplative expression before he suddenly yanks you closer until your faces are just a few breaths apart. Amethyst irises scour your surprised features, taking in the quiver of your lashes and trembling breath, flitting to your lips for a beat too long and back up. He can smell your scent; the deep, intoxicating fragrance that’s so distinctly you. It makes the heat in his stomach go hot, something he blames on the fragment of metal in his mind. But it helps divert his thoughts, enough to briefly forget the chip and push away its programming. “Distract me then. You’re my doctor, aren’t you? You said I’m human, so help me.”

“What?” You recoil slightly, voice wavering with shock. The insinuation isn’t lost on you, but it’s so ridiculous that you can’t wrap your mind around it. You, who Caleb so clearly despises, are being told to help him in a way that you definitely shouldn’t.

Caleb scoffs, a flickering of his eyes up and down your form. “You heard me. No cybezin, I already took a recent dose. You’re my doctor, so help me with this and finish what you triggered.”

A million thoughts sprint through your mind; this is wrong, it’s absurd, he’s not in his right mind, and you should not, in any way, shape, or form, be actually considering it. The weight of every sworn vow thunders in your brain. You may work under EVER, the organization that’s violated almost every ethical law in medicine, but sleeping with your patient?

It’s because of the chip, you rationalize. He’s being affected, and it’s your duty as his doctor to make him feel better. You know how the chip works. You know that it twirls into the neurons of his body, invading the limbic system, and intrudes to distort his amygdala without mercy. You know that it changes him. You call him human, but the chip makes him not. What kind of doctor would you be if you didn’t help?

It’s just helping him, you tell yourself.

His grip loosens ever so slightly, just enough for you to pull back if you wish. Quick enough for you to consider turning tail, running, and pretending this never happened.

“Nobody can ever know.”

Your words are enough incentive for Caleb to tug you closer.

In a swift pull, you suck in a breath as he brings you closer, pulling you onto the muscles of his thighs. One arm is smooth and cool as it slides up your sleeve, slow and taunting like Caleb is testing his own resolve, toeing the lines you two have just crossed. But the other is hot, warm against your skin when it pushes your white coat down, the other side following suit until it flutters to the floor, and leaves you in your button-up. The moment makes you dizzy, breathless.

He takes the sight of you, flushed and trembling, a far-fetched vision from your usual composed manner. Heat buzzes in his mind, maybe from the chip, maybe from arousal. As much as he doesn’t like you, you’re conventionally attractive and here, a distraction from what his brain fights against. Your body slots nicely against him, legs splayed around his hips, and his hands find the edge of your shirt—but he also thinks about her.

Her nice smile. Her nice voice. Her nice eyes. The way she used to hold his hand in hers and the soft syllables of his name on her tongue. He wants it to be her who sits pretty in his lap; instead, he has you.

“Fucking hell.” He caves.

With a low gnarl that simmers deep in his chest, he pushes forward to take your lips against his. His tongue pries open your lips, swallowing your gasp into his mouth. Strong arms slide around your torso, pulling you flush against his body. Beggars can’t be choosers in his conditions; there’s nothing he isn’t willing to do, so he swallows your sounds like a starved man with nothing to lose. What left does he hold but anger and hate? What does he have but his devotion that streams through his veins?

His tongue is warm, slimy in your mouth. It curves over the divots of your molars, drooling into the warmth of your gums. Briefly, you wonder if the chip has any effect on his bodily reactions, not on how his mind operates under its stressors, but if it increases touch, sensitivity, or dulls them all. Is he in there somewhere? Is this even working? Or will you keep crossing a line that can’t be redrawn, stepping into the area between right and wrong? Is there anything left keeping you from this with all you’ve already done to him?

But Caleb doesn’t let you dwell on it for long as his hands fidget with the buttons on your blouse, deftly undoing the flimsy fabric, trailing fingers down. Every button that comes undone seems to loosen a strand of your resolve, and against better judgment, you let yourself stumble into the abyss of his heat.

His body runs like a furnace, burning against yours. Hot breaths are panted against your mouth, escaping in short gasps of air. You can feel his arousal nudge insistently against the inside of your thigh, and the thick fabrics do nothing to hide the sheer warmth of it, bleeding fire through his pants and past your skirt. You swear you feel it twitch through all the layers—wanting, ready, aching—the only proof of his biology at war with the chip.

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?” He grumbles against your sweat-slicked skin, suckling deep red blotches into the flesh of your neck, grazing ivory canines over your furious pulse. The passing thought to sink his teeth into your jugular blinks through his mind. The cadence of your life in his mouth, throbbing over his tongue. Fingers dimple your torso, traveling down south until cold digits press against the molten heat between your thighs, a motion that has you gasping out his name in that broken, little voice he’s quickly coming acquainted with. The noise makes his cock stir in betrayal. “Why am I doin’ all the work, doctor?”

You stutter in response, blood rushing hot and embarrassed at his words. You’re supposed to be the doctor here, making him feel better, so why is it hard to even speak? Your words cement in your throat, rasped out in a voice unrecognizable to even yourself. “Wh-what do you want me to do?” You keen at the cold touch, hips shuddering when his thumb finds your clit over your soiled panties.

“What do I want you to do?” His voice is a low tremor, said in the same tone you always hear him address his soldiers in. Cold and unyielding. You don’t need to look at his face to see the sneer on his kiss-bitten lips. “You caused this, so just let me use you until this damn chip is out of my head.”

Before you can answer, your world tilts rapidly, and your back falls to meet the medical bed’s mattress, its metal creaking under your combined weights when he comes to hover over you. His scarred torso remains upright with the assistance of his left arm, the other gliding down to unzip your skirt, flinging it aside so swiftly that you barely register that you’re spread open in your undergarments. The half-lidded purple of his eyes sinks into your skin, trained on the slick pooling in your panties, and he smolders with more emotion in this single instance than you’ve seen in all the months you’ve known him.

In the time you’ve been acquainted with him, you never would have even conceived the idea that you’d be in bed with the very patient who has shown nothing but disdain and indifference to you. Then again, you never thought you would be soaking through your panties just by kissing said patient. Your patient, who is currently shirtless, sweaty, switched-up, and tugging his pants just enough so that his cock meets the humid air.

Like the rest of his body, Caleb’s cock is… well-built. Well above average, too. Throbbing veins run along the underside. A dusky pink and aching with translucent beads of pre that drip tantalizingly down the heavy girth. Thick and intimidating as the tip seeps clear beads of pre over your stomach. It catches you off guard, snatching the air from your lungs the longer you look at it.

“Done staring?” It’s Caleb’s voice that snaps you out of your entranced state, nebulae eyes glaring down at you. You meet his scorching irises, nodding with a small mumble of agreement.

“Hurry up then,” he takes your hand and guides it towards his swollen length. It’s hot. Heavy in your hand, precum sticking to your palm as he guides your hand up and down. The veins hammer along your fingers, matching his heady breaths of arousal. It does nothing to soothe your own ache.

He groans, a sound that rumbles deep from his chest when his grinds into your hands. “Unless you plan on taking this entire thing, I suggest prepping yourself. I don’t plan on doing it for you.”

Through the haze in your mind, his words click, eyes falling to the thick girth pistoning through your palm. You can barely get your hands around the entire girth, and definitely not into you without any preparation. Cursing yourself in your mind, you realize that you cannot, in fact, take him in like this. So with your other hand, you slip your fingers between your thighs, feeling the traitorous slick of lust smother your digits like a symbol of surrender.

"Hm," he coos, a lick of embarrassment shooting through you at the infinite condescension. "Already wet? Not very professional, looks like you’re not as pure as you seem, doc.” He relishes the way you squirm beneath him, eyes caught on the way your fingers gleam with the wetness of your cunt, stripped down to your barest form. It makes him forget the chip in his mind, his conscience a fort of security.

“It’s not…” You try to speak over the filth of sounds. His cock leaks in your hand, sliding into and out of your fist with ease, and your smaller fingers plunge into your pussy. “I never said I was, ngh, pure. This is just—fuck, biology, bodily reactions. This is just to help you.” Biology that sinks you in humiliation under his intensity.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re wet. Filthy.” He spits. Your walls flutter tighter at his crude words. Intently, he observes how your fingers roll over your clit, fucking into your hole with the kind of desperation that can’t be called clinical anymore, and the noises you let loose lance straight to his cock, impossibly harder in your hand as he bucks up, matching the erratic beat every time your fingers sink into that sloppy pussy.

Heat flies through your bones with every mean word he spews. It’s almost humiliating, feeling your velvety walls clench tight around your own fingers with every syllable spoken in condescension. You shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t be getting so lost in flames of euphoria. But the air is animalistic, instinct-fueled, the kind that resonates only from sweaty bodies and erases everything but vulgar desire from your mind. Still wrong, still overstepping. But so good. So, so achingly good.

The way he drenches your palm feels good. The way you fuck yourself with your fingers feels good. The atmosphere is delirious, crackling with the iniquity that slithers dangerously into the pit of your gut and leaves you wanting more.

It feels even better when his metal finger circles your clit, thumbing the swollen pearl of nerves, controlling your body with the same talent you’ve seen in his evol. You arch into his touch, a whine of his name slipping free. Caleb’s never seen you like this, never even played with the thought of seeing you sweaty, finger-fucked, slutty.

He doesn’t let himself breathe. Too focused on mirroring the strokes every time your fingers descend into yourself, biting back the coil in his gut, the heat in his spine, and the rabbiting of his mind like it’ll help him not shoot his load all over your hand that pumps him sloppy, irregular now. His eyes rake over you, swallowing a rough groan as he watches your fingers get swallowed greedily by such a wanton cunt where everything is wet and squelching. Your fingers are small, he notes through a hazed mind, barely enough to mimic the stretch of his cock when he inevitably sinks into you.

He’s not sure what fuels him to do it—maybe the chip, maybe the heat, maybe the pitched whine of his name off your lips. But he pushes your hand away, huffing—almost amused, almost irritated—at the oozing string of slick connecting your drenched fingers to your pussy, before replacing it with his right hand. You feel the metal pad of his thumb swirl harder against your clit, its contrast of human warmth shocking you into further pleasure, and two of his fingers glide into your sopping channel before you can process it.

His fingers are long, thicker than yours, stretching you further as he sinks his longest digits knuckle deep, fingertips curling so effortlessly against the spongy spot that makes you keen with a shuddery sob. Despite the scorching heat in the room, his fingers are brisk, metallic, and it only makes everything more sensitive as he fucks you open, scissoring and flicking your clit in a punishing pace—impatient, cruel, mean.

“Can’t even fuck yourself right. How do you expect to take me if you’re fingering yourself so pathetically? So much for helping me.” He mutters, voice laced with annoyance, like he’s forced to take care of you. Keen on making you feel small, insignificant, like another soldier in his fleet. “You really have to make me do everything for you, huh? Can’t even jerk me off right either.”

“Colonel—” The title falls seamlessly, mewled under his touch. But it makes him tense more. Just the three syllables remind him where he is, who he’s with. In an instant, rage simmers in his veins again. He doesn’t bother to control it.

“Quiet.” He snaps, unrelenting in where his fingers prod. “Just… let me fucking use you.”

This is okay, he tells himself; he can’t feel you like this. Metal in warmth that bleeds into synthetic neurons, because he doesn’t want to feel you. Not when you started this. Not when you continue it. There’s no need to feel, just touch. It’s enough to just hear your cunt cry for him, sucking his fingers in deep with a filthy squelch of need. It’s enough to use you and suture any lingering feelings away. It’s enough because he still hates you, still wishes you were someone else.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, flicking your other hand away from his pulsing cock, stroking himself now, “Do all of EVER’s doctors get this wet for their patients or are you just a slut, hm?”

You have no response. Such crude words spill so easily from his lips, serving nothing but pushing you further to the edge. Your hips buck up into his hand, your own kneading and pinching your tits as you writhe. “M’close… d-don’t stop.” You plead.

“Gonna come? You’re really gonna come on your patient’s fingers? On something inhuman? You’re dirtier than I thought.” He muses, curling his torso above yours and meeting your helpless gaze. You feel the warm ribbons of pre-cum drip onto your stomach, adding to the pool of sweat and musk. “Go on then, come on my fingers and then I’ll fuck this slutty cunt, too.”

“Sl-slow down—fuck!” A sob tumbles from your lips, breath stuttering as pleasure shoots through your body uncontrollably. Trembling thighs clench shut around his wrist, knees wobbling and clasping together as the intense euphoria fizzles into your emptied mind. Your body throbs immediately, pushing at his abdomen as you pant out, “Fuck—shit, wait… ‘s too much…”

You hear a smile in his words when he responds, “Don’t tell me how to use you when you just came all over my hand like a whore.” Before you can come to, large hands are flipping you over onto your stomach, and you’re suddenly pinned under his heavy weight. Chest against back, arms caging you in by your head. And then you feel him. “I already told you I was gonna fill this messy hole. Unlike you, I keep true to my word.”

The leaky, blunt head of his cock nudges and kisses at your sore clit like a looming threat, and instinct calls for you to writhe away. An action he doesn’t let you do, pulling you back by your hips, gliding the thick length along your wetness, coating him completely. You feel it twitch against you like it feeds off your reactions. “You said you were going to help,” he leans over your prone form, breath hot against your ear, “I was even so nice to prep you myself, so stay still and take it.”

Pinning you down with an iron grip, you feel the crown of his dick split you open first. Your cunt spreads wide beyond anything you’ve ever dared to put in, fluttering as it accommodates his intrusion, drooling around his cock as he sinks the first few inches in, taking your breath along with it. You feel… full, stuffed with just the tip. A few more inches brimming into you tears a synchronized moan from your lips, heated puffs of his breath beating against your nape as he jerks his hips forward, somehow shoving more until you feel his hips snug against your ass, buried fully in your warmth.

“So big…” you breath, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him in and on top of you. Your bodies are both feverish, slicked with sweat that makes it all easier for him to slide against your body, fucking you into the mattress like an animal in rut. “Can’t,” you gasp out, burying your face into the sheets. “S too much…”

His weight falls fully on your back now, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he responds with a brutal snap into you. He pounds into you, rough, cruel. Driven by desire and instinct, pure biology that overrides any remaining logic. The way your gummy walls pulse around his cock, milking his length, has him grunting, voice drawling with need, “You’ll take it, this is all you’re good for, really.”

At his degrading words, your pussy flutters traitorously in delight. And he laughs, not a light laugh of humor or good fun, but in a dark octave that rumbles deep in his chest, and you feel the vibrations through your back, billows of embarrassment flooding through you.

“God, you’re such a whore.” He rasps, hips smacking against your ass in loud, shameless slaps, “Dirty fuckin’ slut, aren’t you? Would you get this wet for any patient? You like being a filthy doctor who gets fucked like this?”

Humiliation seeps into you, shooting straight to your pussy that works harder to milk his cock, proving his words to be true. You feel small, a doll under him, whining into the pillow as Caleb draws back slowly—tip sheathed, just enough for the cold air to rush, kissing the slicked skin of his dick before ploughing back in with a hiss.

The impact as he thrust back in cracks loudly through the room. An obscene, sloppy smack that jolts your entire body, echoing with your moans into the sheets, and causes the mattress and you to cry as you fuck your hips feverishly into him.

“F-fuck, your h-hips,” He croaks, pressing a hand into the space between your shoulder blades, “God, you feel so fucking good, I hate it. I hate you. Sh-shit, ha, fuck.”

Brutal thrusts are drilled straight into your g-spot, his heavy body mounting you like a rabid beast. Caleb fucks you carnally, heavy balls slapping against your clit and skin sticking lewdly against your ass with every messy smack of flesh on flesh. It’s impatient, nasty, and mean. Everything that Caleb has ever shown you fitting into your sopping pussy. There’s a filthy squelch that mixes between your bodies—a wet, obscene one that burns you inside.

Your cunt winds everything out of him, and the familiar coil in his stomach rushes up again, movements stuttering, balls tightening with the need to cum. He almost hates it; the way you pulse and flutter around him. The fact that it’s you wrapped warm and milking him so fucking perfectly. It’s all the more he needs to come, pressing his lips hot against your ear with a ragged groan.

“What if,” he pants over the lewd symphony, “I come inside this dirty cunt, huh? Fill my doctor up with hot cum and let all the soldiers see you like this. Let everyone see their precious doctor fucked out, dripping, and begging. Maybe we’ll even send some pictures to EVER, think you’ll still be the professor’s favorite then, hm?”

Your pussy answers where your mouth only forms his name in broken syllables, gooey walls tightening in prospects of being painted white with his seed. A betrayal of body, too susceptible to pleasure coursing through you.

“This pussy’s tellin’ me yes.” His voice, a condescending croon, pressed hot to your neck. “Let me hear from this dirty mouth, though. Come on, you want your patient to cum into your messy cunt? You like gettin’ dicked down?”

As if to punctuate his words, his right arm slithers between your clit and the mattress, rolling tight circles into the bundles of nerves like it’ll wrench answers out from swollen lips. The only thing it does is hurl you towards the precipice of looming euphoria, rattling in your bones, and melting your brain. You couldn’t give answers even if you tried. Your tongue feels heavy, mouth shaped into an ‘o’ every time he bottoms out, hips to ass as your stomach furls over itself in pleasure.

“Answer me.” He growls, rubbing you harder. His other hand snakes around to your neck, pulling your face from the sheets into the open air so your moans flow freely, the column of your throat hooking into the crook of his arm with the lightest squeeze of his broad bicep. Your pulse beats furiously under thick muscle, rabbiting under the pit of his elbow with your pitchy breaths. “Be a good slut and answer me. You want me to flood this pussy, huh? Wanna leak with my seed?”

“Y-yes!” You whine out, though his question doesn’t even register in your mind, too busy grinding out on his palm and drooling over the cage of his arm. “Fuck–fuck, ‘m close, ‘m gonna cum!”

“Yeah? Sh-shit, I really will come in you. A slut like you, getting tighter around my cock when I choke you like this.” Warm breath and tongue lap over your neck. Hips falter, pulling you closer, arm tightening around your neck, locking you in as he rolls heavy thrusts and bullies his tip right into that sweet spot with a stammering groan. Caleb feels it immediately—a white-hot shock, nerve detonating after nerve, chaos fleshing throughout his body. “Fuck—damn it, feels so good—god, I hate you—”

He hates you. Hates you. Hates you. Hates you so much that he’s cumming in you.

It’s suddenly too much.

His words, his cock, his biting touch. All of it adds to the spool of heat boiling in your guts, winding tight and ready to erupt. But it’s him spilling thick, hot torrents into your spasming walls that unravels you completely. Your world stumbles to a halt, breath catching in your throat, lips falling open in a silent scream as you tremble and shake beneath him. It feels like a calamity of ecstasy, slamming full force into your body that surrenders futilely beneath its gravity.

“Ca-Caleb!” You gasp, chanting his name, unable to form anything else but the rush of climax. “Oh,” you breathe out, “fuck.”

“H-ha, creamin’ all over me…” His chest rumbles with a groan, pushing his body into you and fucking his load deeper. His cum floods out from where you’re connected, overflowing from your stuffed cunt with filthy squelches, reluctant to let him go. “Shit, look at that…”

His weight is lifted over you as he rides out the high of pleasure, catching his breath against the slope of your shoulder. And for long seconds, the silence is filled with heavy gulps of oxygen like a quiet agreement to let the stillness linger. That is, until you break it.

“How… do you feel now?” Even to you, your breath sounds staggered and voice hoarse, almost foreign. Your eyes turn over your shoulder, scanning his appearance. Sweat paints his skin, illuminating him in the soft hue of blue light that refracts off right metallic and mahogany strands of hair that stick to his temple. Other than that, he seems… stable, mentally and physically. Vitals are good, save for erratic heart rate and heavy breathing, but you fare no better in that regard.

“M fine.” He mumbles, swaying back to watch his cock slip from your spent pussy with a quiet ‘pop,’ cum spewing from swollen folds, making you squirm in slight discomfort.

It feels like too much to think right now. There’s an ache that settles in your bones, and though his weight no longer presses you down, you feel the ghost of his warmth kissing your back like a phantom of pleasure. So you don’t say anything else, there is nothing else to say.

Again, a quiet—almost awkward—lingers in the air. The kind that’s gutted open to flood like a hollow abyss, and it’s enough to tell you that he isn’t open to discussion about what just happened. Even after your coital session, he’s closed up once more, recessing away like nothing’s happened.

The bed creaks as he moves, picking up the discarded clothes, slipping his back on; it feels like a mask falls over his face with every article of clothing that covers him. Black leather against moonlight and the Fleet’s insignia like a mocking sneer. Once again, he’s transformed into the cold colonel you’ve come to know.

“It goes without saying that no one needs to know about this.” The cap casts a shadow over his galactic irises, eyes falling to your form. His voice is stripped of the heat from moments ago, replaced by stoic octaves of practicality and efficiency. “I’ll deal with the perpetrator behind the crash in the Deepspace Tunnel, just stay out of my way for now. If I need you again, maybe then… we’ll see where that leads us.”

Eyes trained on the ceiling, in a body that feels like a stranger to yourself now, you take note of the implication. The door shuts. His steady gait echoes down the hallway.

And you are left alone—watched by the moonlight, and the company of energy thrumming in bated air.

— — —

Months later, you would come to know what it is that Caleb is devoted to.

It is not an idea nor a goal, but rather, you think it is a woman.

(You think and do not know because Caleb is a puzzle that you will never fully understand, with what information he withholds from you. And that is the conclusion you have no choice but to accept.)

The Caleb you know—or think you know—is not protective.

He is cold and calculating. He knows when to cut his losses and weaves through the world like it is a game of strategy. He is as frigid as the temperatures in the Deepspace Tunnels, as quick as a bullet, with a tongue as quip as the sharpest blade—these you know, because you have been on the receiving end more than once. You’ve never seen him hold a hand out to anyone or give a second glance to anything that holds him back.

But this Caleb—the side he shows to this new Fleet officer, turned trusted adjutant—is different. He treats her differently than he does Liam and you. No matter how he tries to hide it, you catch the tenderness in his gaze when it falls onto her and the darkness that clouds his eyes when someone speaks to her with a tone too sharp for his liking. To him, she is not just a soldier in the Fleet.

You know that Caleb likes her. Why or how, you don’t know—you’re positive that you will never know. It is a sliver of the moon that is untouchable to you.

But in your own mind, it’s just proof that you are right. Even Caleb Xia, Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, is more human than weapon.

His warm hands run up the sides of your body reverently, lavishing your skin in angelic kisses while his hips buck feverishly against the soft flesh of your warm pussy. Your own hips buck and lips part in light gasps and moans whenever the pearly mushroom tip of his hard cock kisses your sensitive bundle of nerves — so close to just dipping into your wet warmth like you want.

But Caleb is a patient man, years of yearning and devotion are nothing compared to his last few minutes of mounting and humping your body under him.

“You’re so wet.” He murmurs, lips pressing gentle kisses to your burning temple. He isn’t even condescending about it. It’s a simple observation, one he finds great joy in when he pulls away, watching bands of your wetness keep the flesh of your cunt connected to his leaky tip, you’re begging for him not to leave even if you don’t say it. Your achy hole and twitchy clit say it all — flushed with need and desire.

Caleb swears to himself that only he will ever see you in this state. If anyone else got a glimpse of you with your legs hooked over his shoulders, teary-eyed, and weeping pussy all spread out for him — he’ll tear them apart.

A wave of embarrassment washes to your cheeks at his words before you’re reaching down and wrapping your hand around the thick girth of his length, giving him experimental pumps and listening to the erotic squelch whenever your dainty hand slides down. Caleb can’t help the way his hips twitch and he bucks, a heavy blush settling over his pale cheeks. His ears somehow get redder as he involuntarily fucks himself into the palm of your hand, purple irises looking desperately down at where your soft palm domes over his sensitive tip, thumbing over the slit of his cock and collecting pearls of pre-cum to fuck it back over him.

“Fu—ha, shit, pipsqueak,” he whines, catching your wrist in his hand and pulling you away from his pulsing cock. The expression on his face is cute, flushed redder than an apple, and embarrassed that he could cum from the feel of your warm palm wrapped around his hard, throbbing dick. He aches to be flesh to flesh in the depth of your tight hole but he holds himself back, wanting to tease and torment you for just a bit longer — like he has all the time in the world.

“Caleb,” you pout, bottom lip jutting out into the sweetest expression he’s ever seen on you.

What he doesn’t expect though, are your lithe fingers, snaking down to your thighs, using your middle and ring finger (that he will definitely put a ring on), and spreading your wet, sticky folds, open for him — presenting yourself to him.

He doesn't think you know the effect you have on him. Or perhaps you are aware and he's being played like a pawn, wrapped around your little finger — Caleb decides he's happy in the palm of your hand, settled into your heart.

“Gege,” you plead, and he swears he’s just gotten harder to the sound of your pleading voice. And he knows it’s over for him when you bat your pretty lashes and look up at him with the eyes you know he just can’t ignore, “Please put it in. Look, ‘m so wet and achy for you.”

Caleb loses it. Of course, how could he not fold when he sees you look up at him with such wanton need, begging him to bury into the deepest part of you? When you’re presenting yourself, whispering coos into his ear, and pressing sinful kisses to his hot skin.

Once the words leave your lips, the pilot is immediately pressing himself into your sopping cunt, and bullying his girth into you, stretching your velvety walls to accommodate his heavy length. His hips twitch, eager to fill you up with thick ropes of his hot seed and admire you as it pools in filthy globs underneath you, seeping into his dark sheets. He wants to lay in his bed and be reminded that you were here in that moment, in all waking moments.

Your lips part and a sharp breath is sucked into your lungs when you feel his tip notch into your entrance, but then you feel his entire cock splitting you open. The stretch is more than you expect and you’re suddenly crying out and clawing at his broad shoulders, twirling the cool chain of his necklace in your fingers with pleasured whines and pleas that grow in pitch as he sinks in your velvety walls inch by inch.

“Oh, fuc-” You swear he enjoys the way that you’re squirming around his thick length, takes pride in the way you’re writhing and moaning and eating your words as he folds you into a mean mating press.

“Oh, fuck… don’t stop, please. ‘s too deep, too good.” You hear yourself whine out, head falling back onto the plush pillow. He takes the time to kiss down on the glossy sheen of your neck, pink tongue darting out to taste your salty skin and the drool that trickles from the corner of your mouth.

“It’s too deep? Okay, I’ll be more gentle.” His voice is hot and gravelly against your ear, nibbling and suckling deep marks into your skin that'll last for days to come, each a reminder of this night.

His finger latch at your hips, pinning you down as his hips pull back until his tip is just barely lodged in the warmth of your cunt, fucking you gently with just the tip like the teasing bastard he is. He can’t tear his eyes away though, enraptured at the way your cunt flutters so greedily around him, trying to suck more of him into your desperate pussy.

“It’s my fault,” he croons, licking and suckling at your pebbling nipples with his mocking voice, “I should’ve made sure every part of you accepted me.”

You love Caleb, you truly do. But when he’s like this, making you eat your own words and fucking you with his sensitive, leaky tip, you just want him to fold you until your ankles hook over his shoulder and sink his entire length into the walls of your pussy until you feel him in your chest.

So you pull him closer by the cool chain of his dog tag, whining and pleading incessantly again to sink into you, to have his cock kissing your cervix, and flooding your womb with white ropes of his hot cum. It's really the least he could do. Slurred pleas of “gimme more” are pressed to his throat, a pitiful attempt to lull him into sheathing himself into the warmth of your pulsing walls once again.

And though it seems pathetic and pitiful, Caleb is Caleb. He is a man who can never deny you, no matter how absurd, minute or simple a request is; he wants to be the only one to complete it for you. The only one you turn to, the only one you need.

“It can't be too deep or too shallow. Can't be too rough or too gentle either. You're so hard to please.” He mumbles hotly against your ear but he relents, mounting himself on top of you and sliding his thick length into the warmth of your clenching cunt once again. He falls onto his forearms, palms cupping the top of your head to prevent your head from hitting the headboard. His deep strokes are punctuated when the bed knocks against the wall with a repeated thump, thump, thump and it only serves to remind you of his need.

The air feels like it’s been knocked out of your lungs and you whine into the kiss he captures your lips in — hot and flushed with need as his cock repeatedly bullies your g-spot. Your lips part and his name falls like a mantra, the only coherent thought in your head being Caleb and how good he’s making you feel.

It’s erotic, lewdly so, the way his skin on yours reverberates in the room and yet swallowed by the obscene squelching of your soaked cunt every time the man on top of you bottoms out, chasing his high and desperately bringing yours to you. Your whines and moans of his name sound sweeter than any harmony he’s ever heard and he swears that heaven opened its gates to a sinner like him. His name falls from your lips and yours from his, a swearing of devotion in your hazy minds. Born from a desire meant only for each other.

When his hand dips lower, thumbing at your sensitive clit, you find your lower stomach coiling and growing taut quickly — too quickly that you’re pushing at his sturdy shoulders with a throaty cry, back arching, legs trembling, and toes curling when he doesn’t stop his unrelenting rhythm.

“Cal-Caleb, stop. ‘s too much, I—”

He cuts you off, devouring your lips in a sloppy, languid kiss, globs of his saliva blend with yours, tongues tangling, and salacious webs of saliva connect your lips when he pulls away with a smug smile.

“My name isn’t a safeword.”

His teasing words instantly cause the tightness in your stomach to snap and you cum with a pleasured cry. With nothing to grasp onto, your nails rake down his back, reddening lines trailing in wake of the lingering crescent marks.

“Shit, shit, fu—”

The dull pain is barely registered when he feels your walls fluttering as you cum, surging his own orgasm through him. His eyes screw shut, bursts of white flashing behind his lids, and a raspy groan of your name rips from his vocal cords, hips erratically bucking until he’s overstimulating the both of you and painting your walls white with fat loads of his seed.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face into the sweaty crook of your neck, and laying kisses to your collarbone and neck, laving his tongue over the lovebites left over. He hums in contentment when your hands card through the damp strands of his dark hair, tracing the red lines on his shoulders and back — proof that you’ve laid claim on him.

His fingers rub soothing shapes into your hips and thighs, allowing a few shared beats of your hearts to pass before he's looking up at you with a spark in his eye. Still buried inside you, he flips your positions so that you’re on top of him, hands secured around your waist, and peppering kisses to the lavender bruises that’ve bloomed on your chest.

“Think we could go for a round two?

Caleb’s words send a light laugh through you and you’re wrapping your fingers around the silver chain of his dog tags, pulling him impossibly closer, and nosing the skin of his cheek with a teasingly glint in your eyes.

“Think you can handle me for another round? You seem kind of wiped, Caleb.” You tease, scattering light kisses along his jaw and your lips curl into a smug smile when his hands tighten imperceptibly on your waist.

In a second, he’s flipping you onto your back again with a raised brow and a light smirk. His violet hues look down hungrily at you.

He won't be satiated for a while.

“I guess we won’t know until we find out, will we?” He leans closer, his breath hot on your lips and silver chain cooling on your burning skin. “This time, you can’t tell me to stop.”

You've tried every trick in the book; begging, whining, pawing, deals, hell you've resorted to straight-up asking him. To which he replies, in a smooth honeyed voice, “I just wanna make you feel good instead, pipsqueak. I feel good when you feel good.” It's absolutely infuriating in the most endearing way possible.

He must have been a robot in his past life to refuse such an eager request from you, out of all people.

It honestly makes you upset, frustrated to the point that you're positive he’s just a cruel man who enjoys seeing you tear up, tugging his shirt, begging for a small taste of him. The most you've gotten of his taste is the tang of his sticky cum off your fingers or an intoxicating cocktail of your shared climaxes, mixed between your tongues.

You want to feel him, all of him. You want his hot length between your lips, to feel the ache of his cock as it throbs on your wanting tongue. You want his dick, glossed in your gooey saliva and his pre-cum, to angle until the blunt tip bullies the back of your throat. You want to look up at him through your lashes, drops of tears collected on your waterline, and see the prettiest flush on his face as he looks down at you on your knees, worshiping him as he does for you. Internally, you want him to make you take all of him.

It's upsetting too since he's such a hypocrite, a man who understands your position exactly. Caleb could spend hours between your thighs, suckling and lapping at the soft folds of your twitchy pussy until his mouth and chin drool with your addictive wetness. He begs for it and you give in, every single time.

Can you blame him? He’s been waiting for years to get a taste of you. He just can't get enough of the way you whimper out his name, fingers pulling and tugging at the soft strands of his dark mahogany hair, writhing from the pleasure he gives you. But he also doesn’t seem to understand the brevity of your current situation; what’s so difficult about letting his lover suck him off!?

And so your final plan begins, one you’re certain will work: you will definitely achieve your dream of having Caleb's cock down your throat on the night of his birthday. Specifically, taking him in all the way until he bruises the back of your mouth and leaves your throat sore and voice hoarse the next morning. You figured it’d be a nice surprise along with all the other gifts you’ve spent days planning. After all, this is a birthday meant only for him.

Unfortunately, it’s always been difficult to surprise Caleb.

Ever since you two were young, he’s been difficult to surprise. The man simply knows you too well, every action out of order you make causes him to increase an inkling of suspicion that he immediately snuffs out of you through devious means. It really can’t be helped though, he has known you for your entire life, lived an eternity in your own skin.

And there’s another problem you figured would throw a kink in your plans. Everything about Caleb is big, his height, thighs, biceps… and especially his cock.

You can still recall the first time you two slept together, you were sore for days. The satisfying ache of your burning thighs always served as a reminder of your time together. And even now, no matter how much you took him or how much time he spent trying to stretch your tight cunt to accommodate his thick length, he always felt so full inside you.

So it'd be difficult (and unwise) to try and immediately have him balls deep in your throat, fucking and rocking his hips into your warm mouth until you're drooling and gagging.

But if Caleb had a match in determination and perseverance, it'd be you. You're willing to do anything to get that man in your mouth, you'll make him see what he's been denying himself of.

That's how you find yourself perched on your knees, the night before Caleb’s birthday, licking your lips while your eyes are locked onto the daunting purple dildo plastered on your wall. It’s out of place in your room. Honestly, the ridiculous item shouldn’t be here when you have a lover perfectly willing to go along with whatever you wish, all except for your deepest desire to give him head.

It's certainly no Caleb. The toy lacks his intoxicating warmth, his sensual musk that clings, and the satisfying thickness of his cock that stretches your pretty pussy so well, reaching into the deepest parts of you.

As you run your tongue along the cold underside, feeling the blunt ridges of the plastic veins pressing down onto your wet muscle, you can only dream that it's Caleb instead. You envision that it's his pulsing veins, throbbing for the warmth of your soothing tongue like a balm for his arousal, his cock that weighs heavily in your mouth.

Your eyes flutter shut, trying your best to take the toy in deeper until it fills the warm cavern of your mouth completely, jaw slack and drool dripping from the corners of your lips, stretched wide around the purple plastic. The tip barely teases the back of your throat but you find yourself gagging, saliva sticking to the toy in webs as you pull off.

You imagine that it's Caleb panting above you, cheeks flushed with the prettiest shade of crimson, looking down at you with a gentle hand threaded into the strands of your hair, guiding you back to his aching cock that leaks with the tang of his pre and your spit, eagerly feeding his girth to you. His eyes would be glazed with the familiar look of want and need, hips bucking sloppily into the warm wetness as you allow him to fill up the space of your throat, setting the rhythm however he pleases.

And fuck, the thought of him like that soaks you. You want him to use your mouth, claim it as nothing but a hole for his pleasure. Maybe it's his devoted personality or the contrast of his usual composure, but you want him to lose control, to fuck into your mouth without restraint, using you for all the pleasure he gives you.

Quickly, your fingers slide down your body. The soft pads of your digits tweak at your sensitive nipples and your back curves into a beautiful arch, searching for your own touch. Your free hand slithers down even lower, gliding down the expanse of your stomach, further past the waistband of your shorts, diving below the sopping fabric of your panties.

The sweetest gasp is elicited when your middle and forefinger find your clit, shivering and moaning around the plastic in your mouth as you caress in slow circles, trying your best to mimic the familiarity of Caleb's movement if he were here. It's almost absurd how sensitive you feel, like your nerves are shot, already feeling overstimulated even though you're barely gracing yourself with the wisps of euphoria.

Gradually, your slow rotations turn faster, collecting globs of your heady slick to rub tight circles around your wanton clit. The wetness allows your finger to slide into your fluttering pussy with ease, stroking along the gummy walls that clench greedily, angling into the sweet spot that has your moans vibrating onto the dildo.

But it shouldn't be this stupid toy you're moaning around, shouldn't be your fingers you're fucking yourself stupid on, it should be Caleb. It should be Caleb's heavy cock you choke on, his fingers that pump into you, pressing against that spot that has your toes curling and the tight knot bubbling in your stomach.

Even if this is his surprise, you want him here, watching you. You want his eyes to look at you like he always does, hungry and wanting. You want him to touch you, to feel his warm palms as they slide down the expanse of your body, groping at your tits, and playing with your sensitive clit. You want him here.

"Pipsqueak?"

Shit.

Before you can help it, your orgasm barrels through your traitorous body, shocking into your nervous system like igniting sparks of lightning. It's a matter of split seconds before you jump away from the toy, your body heaving with heavy breaths and your cheeks burning red. Your eyes snap up to him and the expression of shock set on his beautiful features, you look away, around the room before you realize the position you're in.

What the hell do you even say? Shouldn't he be in Skyhaven? You’re supposed to meet at his house tomorrow, so why the hell is he here?

It feels like a million beats of your heart passes by before you start hesitantly, eyes flickering up to him. "Cal-"

"What are you doing?"

He cuts you off, eyes baring down on your kneeling form, pupils roaming over your body. For a second, you wonder if he's upset, but as your gaze migrates down his body, settling on the bulge hidden in his pants, it doesn't seem that way. Rather, quite the opposite.

Well, better now than never. Your surprise is already ruined anyway.

"Just…" You trail off, swallowing the built up saliva in your sore throat. An excuse fails to rise in your mind, too far gone in the moment to even think about denying what he's just witnessed.

Heavily, you sigh, heat creeping up your neck before you find the words quickly spilling from you, created in a rush of flustered anger before even processing what you’re saying.

"I just wanna give you a blowjob and you won't let me, Caleb! What am I supposed to do but suck on this stupid toy because you won't let me give you head!? You wanna eat me out every time we have sex and I always let you, but you won't let me give you head! You're a hypocrite!"

Rather indignantly during your haphazard flurried spew of words, you reach for the wet dildo that's still suctioned to your wall, fingers clasping around it as you pull it off and fling the purple plastic his way, missing his frozen body completely.

“It’s always like this! I don’t understand why you’re denying me, I just wanna make you feel good too! I just wanna give you a special present…”

He doesn't say anything, no response to your words that are obviously created for him to take pity on you, a final surge to get what you want. He simply watches you until a small, sympathetic smile makes its way to his pink lips, pants growing taut against his arousal.

You’re just too cute.

Caleb hopes you don't blame for getting hard (or do blame him, he wants your attention). He can't help the betrayal of his body's reaction to his gorgeous lover, partly because he walked in on you with your hands between your thighs, and a toy stretching your throat, and partly because he's never realized how good you look on your knees.

It's a sight he never lets himself indulge in.

It's bad, it's something he'll get too addicted to. It’s the ripe beckon of a forbidden fruit hanging off a low branch that he must tear himself away from.

A greedy man like him should never get something like that from you, not when he should be the one pleasing you. He's satisfied enough with getting to feel your cunt fluttering around his cock, your lips on his, and the taste of you. Even with simply that, he's already too far gone.

He'd never tell you but that's a reason why he's insistent on not letting your warm mouth encase his cock. Caleb is a man who knows himself well. He knows that the moment your tongue runs along the sensitive veins, soft cheeks hollowing around the ridges of his dick — he'll be goner, reduced to a man at your euphoric mercy, even more so than he already is.

So he can't do it. Can't indulge in himself more than he already does with your body, even if it tortures him every time to rebuke your attempts (to be honest, he also likes seeing you beg). But when you're crawling to him, sitting at his feet, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, and leaning forward until your soft mouth is pressed to the strained fabric, he doesn't find himself telling you off.

"Please, Caleb?" You whine, voice sending the smallest vibrations through his cock, slithering up through his nerves to paint the apples of his cheeks red.

He was so strong and disciplined the other times so why not now? Is it because he caught you, knuckles deep in your own pussy, moaning around a cock or because he's been denying himself of this act for so long? Or because you’re doing this for him?

Perhaps both, but he blames the sight of you already on your knees, eager to please, even eagerer because it's him.

And all of a sudden, it's too hot. You're too pretty, too eager, such a pretty girl begging for something so dirty. Something he knows he shouldn't give into.

"What are you doin' to me?" His voice cracks, a whisper, a final plea before you see that reluctant look in his eye, Adam's apple bobbing with the heavy gulps of saliva.

Checkmate.

With eager hands, you're pushing his shirt up slightly to expose the ridge of his iliac furrow, taking in the quiet stuttering of his shallow breath as your lips find his hot flesh, kissing your way lower to follow the trail of his pants being pulled down.

"Thank you, Caleb." You murmur gently, mouth panting against the thin briefs that stand as the only layer between you and your well earned prize.

For a second, Caleb thinks you're teasing him, toying with him since he denied you of this for so long, but your voice sounds genuine. Too grateful, too reverent for him. He thinks he might cum just from the pressure of your wispy breath and the vibrations of your syllables.

"Don't, fuck, don't say things like that when you're on your knees like this." He throws his head back, fingers clenched at his sides as he looks down upon your kneeling form. He really can't believe he's letting you do this. But if it were anyone, it’d have to be you.

And he sucks in a breath when your soft, warm tongue swipes across his sensitive, leaky tip, a broken whine ripping from his throat at the slight pressure. The pleasure bubbles from his stomach, crawling through his nerves, climbing effortlessly to muddle his brain. He can't help the way his hips almost twitch, his body almost too eager to give into the sliver of attention to his throbbing ache, too excited to delve into your inviting warmth.

He's absolutely doomed.

You almost smile when he croaks out your name, a plea of sorts, a whine to relieve what you've started. With great pleasure, you blink up at him, your own breath hitching when you catch sight of his heaving chest, his bottom lip tugged between the rows of his teeth, cheeks flushed a heavy pink at your ministrations.

Caleb's lavender irises hold set on your kneeling form, drinking in how the head of his cock rests on your pink tongue, drooling precum, and how eagerly you lap it all up. He wants to look at you, but when you run your tongue along the thick, sensitive veins, his eyes flutter tightly shut as if the pleasure will soothe away and he can find it in himself to not shoot his load all over your face.

The mental image does not help at all. Rather, he feels himself getting harder in the walls of your mouth. It's so vivid in his mind, your cheeks stained with his hot load as you blink up at him, tongue lolled out to show how well you swallowed his seed.

It's filthy. The scenario is one he often indulges in on nights alone with his fingers wrapped tightly around the sticky flesh of his throbbing cock, stroking himself off to the thought of his cock stuffing your cheeks, and never in your presence. But now, you've got him wrapped around your finger and buried in your mouth. He's sure you're pleased with yourself right now.

And you are, quite so now that you have what you want. As you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, admiring its sheer size and how heavy it is as it rests against your face, you also notice how Caleb looks at this moment; heat blooming across his cheeks, eyes squeezed shut, and hands fisted at his side like touching you will burn him more than his body already is.

You allow yourself to wrap your lips around the tangy head of his cock, suckling softly while your hands reach for his, gently guiding them to rest on the strands of your hair. His fingers twitch, almost burying into the tendrils of hair, but he doesn't, holding onto that last bit of restraint in his muddled mind.

It pisses you off. You're on your knees for him (literally) and he still wants to hold back?

With a soft moan bubbling in your throat, you sink deeper onto his cock. An act that finally has his fingers curling around your hair and a hissing gasp to escape him. Even with only a few inches filling your throat, it nearly burns. A familiar stretch that you're used to filling up your slick pussy cunt rather than the cavern of your mouth.

Your saliva builds around his girthy dick, slickening the swift bobbing of your head, making it easier to glide down along his length. The brief practice on the toy did little to help because the way his dick stuffs your throat is vastly different. He's warm, hard, and moaning the sweet syllables of your name, all things that the piece of plastic severely lacked. And all things that have the space in your thighs growing slick once more.

Caleb can't help himself any longer. He can't help the way his fingers curl into the strands of your hair, tugging gently despite his best attempts not to. Can't help the whining and groaning of your name that fall from his lips. He's so fucking hard, so sensitive, and the gentle constricting of your throat makes it all worse. His breath hitches, fingers uncurling to pet at your bobbing head, soothing the mussed strands — a praise his mouth fails to form.

Slowly, meticulously, like he's holding himself back, his hips rock against your mouth, pushing inches deeper until your own eyes squint shut and he's reaching places the toy didn't that has you gagging. And it almost makes him feel bad when he looks down at you, face stuffed full of his thick cock, veins drooling with your saliva, hands wrapped around the ridges of his dick that you can’t take down.

But he also can’t stop, not that you want him to. His mouth releases breathy groans, hips humping against your sloppy mouth with his head thrown back, cheeks flushed and hair sweaty. The evidence of your love and lust is strewn all over his body in waves of pleasure and euphoria.

Your throat envelopes his length so well, the symphony of lewd squelching fills the hot air of your bedroom, growing louder as you try to take him even deeper. A little too deep. His cock hits the back of your throat, gagging and almost spluttering in short coughs before you pull off, mouth open and bands of spittle connecting your tongue to the angry, flushed tip.

His palm doesn't move from your head when you back off, unrestrained whines tearing from his throat at the loss of your addicting warmth. His large hand pets your head gently in a soothing rhythm while he pants heavily, crooning soft reassurances. "You, fuck, okay, baby? Did so good for me, so, so good. You don't have to keep-"

His voice pitches when your tongue is on his cock once more, swallowing him into your mouth with vigor. His eyes are trained on you, flickering from your eyes to the way your mouth envelopes his thick girth, saliva wetting his throbbing veins. Praises spew from his mouth, soothing reassurances, hips bucking with the urgent need to cum.

"So gorgeous, ha, so pretty with my cock stuffed in your throat. My pretty girl, good girl, takin' it so well."

You bask in his generous praise, soaked between your thighs as you try to take him farther into your sloppy maw again, but you're prevented by his gentle hand rebuking you, holding you still on his cock, and subdued by his gentle reprimands. "Easy, no need to be so eager. ‘S all yours, all yours."

He moans it like he's coaxing himself. It's all yours, this is just for you and no one else. No one else sees him this vulnerable, this exposed, this desperate for a touch. Only for you.

He punctuates his words with lazy humps into your sloppy maw, not too deep, not too shallow either. The familiar itch of an orgasm crawls up his throbbing cock, the tip of his dick growing sensitive as you continue savoring him, allowing him to use you as he pleases. His fingers tighten in your hair, voice dwindling into a low keening groan of your name while his body curls in, shoulders tensing, body growing overwhelmingly susceptible to the onslaught of bliss.

“Pi-pipsqueak, fuck, ‘m close.” He whines loudly, head falling forward to drink in the sight of your mouth suctioned around his hot length. Violet irises are trained on your lips stretched around the base of his cock, the schlicking of your spit, and, hell, the sight of your hand between your thighs, no doubt toying with your needy clit, dripping all over your palm.

“Gonna cum, shit, get off, baby. ‘Mgonnacumgonnacumgonncum-"

And he really can’t hold back when your warm hand reaches up to cup his balls, flattening your tongue along the blunt head of his pearly tip, swirling and sucking to milk his cum out.

His orgasm barrels into him rapidly, a groaning whimper of your name torn from his lips. His balls tighten in your fingers, body tensing while his hips lose control and buck up, deeper than he should. It has you gagging once more, unable to pull off from his fingers buried in your hair. Caleb holds you down against his thick cock, nose almost smushed against his sweaty pelvis for a second. One. Two. Three. Until the blissful spasms relieve his body.

Gently pinned by Caleb, warm spurts of his sticky, thick seed fill your mouth, flooding your tastebuds, shooting down your throat in messy, white rivulets. Even when you pull off, he’s still cumming, pleading your name when your hand replaces the friction of your wet mouth, stroking him off the rest of his high.

Ropes of his release continue to spill, ribbons splattering onto your cheeks, sliding down onto your outstretched tongue, joining the pool of his ivory cum already in your mouth. Your eyes flutter open, catching sight of your lover panting, chest heaving, and bottom lip caught between his teeth while he looks down at you.

Caleb always thinks you look pretty, but here, right now, he thinks you look the prettiest. You, down on your knees with your cheeks bathed in white streaks of his cum. His twitching cock settles on your face, the heavy weight presses on your tongue as you lap away the remaining pearls of his cum dribbling down the ridges and onto the skin of your fingers.

"Mmm, was that okay?" You question softly, voice murmured against his softening cock, peering up at him through the canopy of your lashes.

Your question is answered when he tugs you up quickly, eagerly pressing his lips to yours, his heavy tongue darting out to pry your mouth open, tasting himself on you.

"You- fuck, did so good, pipsqueak." His praise is smushed against your lips, unwilling to break the kiss, straight-laced on maintaining any connection he has with you. "So, so good."

He kisses you harder, wetter, and messier than when you were on your knees for him. Caleb kisses you like a starving man, insistent and overwhelming, pushing himself into your space until your senses are filled with nothing but his immense presence.

The tangy taste of his cum is swapped between the two of you and he's moaning at the mixed taste. The taste of him and you, swirled together more intimately than anyone could ever get, a flavor only he gets to savor on your tongue.

In the mess of your hazy kisses, drunk off each other's intoxicating taste, you both stumble through the room, the stench of blissed arousal mixing in the air. Your arms wrap around his neck, mouth open to invite his tongue to meet yours in a familiar rhythm, urging him impossibly closer to your warm heat.

Caleb takes the opportunity to latch his hands around your hips, pushing backward until the back of your knees finds the edge of your bed frame, falling backward onto your back with him following soon after. He collapses on top of you, supported by his hands on either side of your head, admiring how you look in the dim light.

Your hair splays around the sheets, framing your flushed features that gaze up at him so lovingly. Swollen lips tugged between your teeth so prettily and your breasts heaving with heavy breaths, inhaling his recognizable scent that’s lived with you for as long as you remember.

With a heavy sigh, Caleb allows himself to fall forward, headfirst into the swell of your breasts. He feels completely boneless, blissed out, and completely satisfied with the aftershocks of pleasure thrumming through his veins. But that doesn't stop his adventurous fingers from skittering along the mound of your thighs, slipping in between the space of your legs, immediately finding your clit through your soaked panties.

After all, he can't leave his special girl unsatisfied now, can he?

"Hm, so wet, aren't 'cha?" He murmurs against your breast, a loving smile on his lips. "That's alright, let me clean that up for you, sweetheart.”

With practiced ease, he slips your shirt over your head, revealing the hardening buds of your nipples in the heated air. The sensitive buds are taken into his warm mouth, suckling on the tit just as gently as you did on him earlier. His tongue is warm and wet, rolling the nipple along his tongue, moaning at the taste of your salty skin.

The ministration has your back curving into an arch, his free hand sliding under you, reaching around to grope and pinch at your other mound. He curls into your side to cradle you against his warm torso, one arm wrapped behind you, the other slipped between your thighs with practiced ease.

His fingers are lithe and long, with veins running from his wrist down to the calloused pads that roll your clit gently, coaxing the softest moans to fall from you. Caleb likes it better this way, more than when your mouth was stuffed full with his cock. He likes hearing you, seeing your cheeks bloom with heat, face to face as he toys with the body he knows so well.

He's swiping at your sensitive pearl until you're burying your face into the crook of his sweaty neck, mouthing at his salty skin, and digging your nails painfully into his strong biceps. He plays around with your cunt, making sure every calculated pressure and touch sends your mind reeling into some pool of euphoria, too mind-numbing to even consider what he's doing to you.

You want it. You want him. You want everything of him.

"Caleb," Your voice escapes as a breathy whine, hot against his skin. "Please, no need for this… I already came once, 'm wet enough."

Caleb only laughs softly, sympathetic to your eagerness. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple, a dizzying contrast to his fingers that prod around your clenching hole. You already know what he's going to say, insisting that he stretches you out, but it doesn’t subdue the ache burning at your body and restraint. Attentive, as he's always been.

"Can't do that, sweetheart." He smiles against your head, inhaling the scent of your hair as his fingers dip just barely into your sopping heat, the gentle pads of his finger feeling inside your gooey walls. A motion that has you gasping, hands shooting to hold his wrist as if he'll stop and think about your plea. "That wasn't from me, it doesn't count."

The last part is said with lingering possession, a glint in his eyes as he stares down upon you. He wasn't the one to stretch you out, it doesn't count if it's the work of your own fingers, doesn't count if he isn't the one to take care of you.

"'S just quick, honey. Be a good girl and let me take care of you, yeah? It’s what the birthday boy wants." A smile curls at his lips, kind, gentle, warm. Like he wasn't just moaning your name, humping your mouth, and shooting ropes of sticky cum down your throat minutes prior. “Weren’t you sucking that dildo for me? Practicing for my cock down your throat on my birthday?”

“Wha- how did-”

Before you can question, he silences you with a kiss, tongue drawn into yours in a quiet hush. Unfortunately, it works. Placates the ache building in your cunt, mind succumbed to the movement of his lips against yours, sucking and rolling on your tongue in languid movements.

“How could I not know? We’ve spent so many years together, do you really need to ask at this point?”

Against your thigh, you can feel his cock twitching back to life, reacting to your curves that meld against the smooth ridges of his body. A knowing sigh leaves his lips, kissed to yours when you, predictably, send your hand dancing down the length of his torso, wrapping your smooth fingers around his girth.

The steady flicks of your wrist have him gasping into your lips, pulling away slightly to meet your coy gaze, set on his purple hues.

"I left all the planning for you. Who would’ve thought that you wanted this." He says, smug and amused. That is, until your palm domes over the sensitive head of his cock, hissing out a gasp and a sharp buck of his hips.

His reaction sends a gratifying thrill through your body, all the power held in your hands, and so pleased at his body's betrayal. "Don't tease me, Caleb."

"Alright, alright, I won't." He rumbles, apologizing with a kiss on your lips and the sinking of a single finger into your walls.

His finger is long, reaching deeper than yours ever could, all the way down to his knuckle. It slides in with a prurient squelch, joining the repetitive 'schlick schlick' of your hand encasing Caleb's cock, pumping over him in rhythmic motions. Along with a quiet groan, he connects his lips to yours, swallowing the whine that escapes when he slides another finger into the slick mess between your legs.

It's erotic, the heady air stifling the room. Your hips twist, unabashed against his fingers, forcing his warm pads to brush along that special spot that has your features contorting in pleasure and your back arching into his body. Your muscles constrict, legs shaking lightly when he adds his thumb to the mix, rubbing quick circles against your sensitive bud that has your body keening instantly for him.

It'd be almost unfair if he wasn't also so far gone in your touch. Caleb can't help the way his hips buck and twitch into your closed fist. Your warm palm runs along the ridges of his cock, curving over his blunt tip so gently to collect the pearls of pre, fucking it back over his cock, sending a sensation just shy of pain up his spine. It’s so fucking sensitive, everything is. Enhanced by your mere presence, he feels like he could just combust.

Whatever effect he has on you is increased tenfold on him.

You're panting against each other's mouth, swallowing moans and swapping webs of saliva. Each push of his fingers in you sends the filthiest sound resonating throughout the bedroom, the hot air intoxicating the both of you, wrapped in each other's embrace along with the gentle stoking of euphoric bliss.

Amidst your constant moans, hips pumping sloppily over his three fingers, you manage to call his name out in broken syllables. Quiet, a plea to him.

"Caleb, enough, please." You purr his name, free hand digging crescent marks into his skin.

Everything is so wet; his cock, your cunt, your lips, your bodies. Everything is filled with an ache that needs to be filled, pieces of a puzzle only for each other to solve and savor.

You don't wait for him to respond before you're untangling yourself from his numbed limbs, pushing him onto his back to settle into his lap. The loss of his fingers almost erupts a whine to bubble in your lips, hushed by the feel of his cock straining under the warmth of your body, pulsing against your belly.

His cock stands tall against the expanse of your stomach, bigger than what you remember having in your mouth.

Caleb is, by no means, a small man. He's well-endowed in many forms, and his cock is no exception. The sight of it against your stomach makes your mouth water once more. He's big and burly, with angry, thick veins running along his shaft. Pearls of pre dribble down his length, pooling onto his abdomen, begging to be licked up.

No matter how many times you've seen it, your gaze is always caught, breath hitched in your throat at the realization that this has been inside you, streaming thick jets of seed in you, claiming you.

"You've seen it before," Caleb's voice snaps you out of your stupor, flickering up to his eyes. "Why so shocked? You just had it in your mouth earlier, scared?"

His eyes fill with mirth, an emotion he really shouldn't be feeling in the moment. A warm laugh of lasciviousness escapes him as his hands travel up the plains of your body, cupping your tits once more to roll the buds between his dexterous hands. He's always so smug when it comes to this, a sense of joy encapsulating his heart when he sees how dearly you adore his cock. And while some men may take offense at being seen for such a thing, Caleb drinks in all the joy.

He especially drinks in the way his cock drools onto your navel. It's pretty, the way the beads of pre cum smear onto your stomach, eager to sink in your tight warmth. If you want it this way, so be it. He's already given into your desires earlier, what's one more for you?

What's one more of anything for you, really?

His hips find purchase on your hips, looking up at your expression, a want that mirrors his own. Slowly, he pulls you forward, chest to chest, ensuring that your warm folds meet his burning cock, lathering himself thick with your slick.

The touch has the both of you groaning out. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, curling at the cool metal of his dog tag as your clit rolls over the underside of his cock, frictioned between a vein of pulsing arousal, sending short shocks of bliss through your nerves. It has you leaking even more, pussy drooling over his hard cock.

"Caleb… come on." You plead, hips lifting with thick strands of arousal connecting your cunt to his length. You shouldn't even need to beg, your gooey cunt is practically crying for him anyways.

In response, his hands on your hips tighten, easily pushing and pulling you over his painfully hard cock. His blunt tip kisses your clit, slit spilling his arousal over the pearly bundle of nerves, creating a slippery friction between the two of you. The friction sings between you both, squelches created with every passionate motion.

"You're the one on me, pipsqueak. You wanted to be on top, didn't you?"

And you know he wants you too, even more than you. But Caleb is mean, a bully who lives to see you whine and beg (it gets him impossibly harder to see you rely on him, needing him). Even as his cock throbs, blood flushing through the veins of his cock, felt right under the sensitive hood of your weeping cunt.

If the heat simmering between you two wasn't consuming your mind, thinking with your drooling pussy instead of your mind, you'd have hopped off and left him rock hard for teasing you so cruelly. He's lucky you want him right now.

So with trembling hands, your fingers wrap around the tip of his cock, pulling slightly off your sticky clit, strings of arousal breaking off before guiding him to your throbbing hole. The slicked head presses insistently against you, hot against your core, barely breaching through your tight rim.

Slowly, you finally sink down.

The two of you gasp at the intrusion, features twisting and curving into one of pleasure and hot relief. Your breath is knocked from your lungs, oxygen flying out as your thighs burn with pressure. Inside and out. Your eyes flutter shut, nails raking into his shoulders while he fills up the deepest parts of you.

He's just so big. A feature of him that's made even more prominent when he's angling his hips up to smooch at your g-spot that he knows so well.

Warm, wet, velvety walls pillow his throbbing cock, a low hiss escaping from his kiss-bitten lips.

"Ah, fuck, sweets… so fucking tight…" Hot palms press against your hips, pulling you both chest to chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart against his. The rhythmic cadence mirrors one another, beating in sync like a perfectly timed metronome.

Your sweat-slicked skin glides smoothly against his chest as you lift up, leaving just the sensitive head of his dick nestled inside your gummy walls before you’re sliding down with a delicate moan tumbling from your lips. The swift movement leaves you lightheaded, numbed from liquid bliss that jets through every high-strung nerve. Your pussy swallows him up so greedily, unwilling to let him go.

“Caleb.” You keen the syllables of his name, raspy and breathy.

Gods, he thinks he can cum just from that. Just the sound of his name falling from your lips is enough for him to feel the burning heat shooting up his spine, dick twitching with the need to claim your womb with his potent seed. The urge to cum flies through his mind, lips finding the seam of yours to kiss, swallow, consume every part of you.

Your senses fill with just him as his dick presses so gently in your core, enhanced every time you sink onto him, sheathing his warm length in the gooey heat of your messy cunt. The squelch that follows is obscene, a beg from your greedy pussy to keep him close, buried in you. Even if your mind, filled with the feeling of his cock thrusting in and out of you at your own pace, is incapable of voicing your pleasure, he finds that he’ll listen to your pussy instead.

In response to the salacious noise, strong arms slither around your waist to pull you impossibly closer; heart to heart, lips on lips, holding you close like a secret for himself. A secret he'd never give away, tucked into the smooth crevices of his beating heart, protected by the curved bones of his ribs.

You're a secret meant only for him, a special pedestal chiseled out in his soul for you.

The reverberation of flesh on flesh resonates throughout the room. Your hips drop down on him repeatedly, mixed with the grinding of your hips, rolling your aching clit on the surface of his body. Your arms pull him close by his neck, tongue tangling with his to devour the mantra of your name that leave his lips, trailing down to suck and mark the column of his smooth neck.

Hues of rose bloom against his pale flesh, contrasting against the silver of his necklace, cool on his heated flesh. Caleb allows his head to loll back, holding you tight against him, allowing you to bounce yourself on his cock, using him for your desires.

That’s all he ever wants from you — he simply wishes for you to use him, own him, ruin him. Caleb simply wants to be yours.

“So good, baby. Doin’ so good for me, using’ me so good.” His praise falls loosely as if you can even understand his words amidst your endless mewls of his name, helplessly clinging onto him like a lifeline.

But even clinging onto Caleb doesn’t help the burning muscles of your thighs that increase with every rise off his cock, dropping down so your greedy hole can swallow the thick length once more. And to your dismay, the slowing pace has the wisps of your orgasm slipping through your grasp, the edges of bliss teetering away that pulls a desperate whine from your lips.

“Caleb,” You beg, nails raking down his shoulders. The simple word is enough for him to know what you want, asking him for help like you always do. Running to the only person you’ve ever relied on. He’s the only person you should rely on. “Please, please, ‘m so close…”

“You’re close?” Caleb preens, voice hot and ragged against your ear. “What do you need, hm? Tell me, tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you, just tell gege."

He’s not exactly asking, the answer is obvious, even if he didn’t know you like the back of his hand. He can feel it from your fluttering walls, the pitch of your moans, the flurried babbles of unintelligible whimpers that spew from your swollen lips. He knows from the simmering of your body against his, sloppy hips losing the momentum you’ve worked so hard to build, racing to finish around his cock.

His poor girl, getting so tired from riding him. It’s okay, he thinks, he’ll take care of you. Just like he always does.

But he still wants to hear you, wants to listen to that pretty voice he’s spent years devoting himself to. He wants to listen to you plea for his help, rely on him just a little longer, need him just a little more.

“Wanna cum! Wanna cum around your cock, Caleb.” You bury your face into the crook of his neck, hips never stopping its irregular rhythm despite the aching burn in your muscles. “Please, I need you. Need you to make me cum.”

The sound of your sweet beg fills his flushed ears, prompting him to pull you closer, hands splayed on your back as his feet anchor into the soft mattress. The next feeling you receive from him is a deep, sharp thrust up into your soaked cunt, cock kissing all the sensitive parts in you.

Hard. Fast. Unrelenting.

The sharp movement has you tipping forward into his chest, arms feebly holding onto him while he bounces you on his thick length, pistoning his girth into your weeping pussy. Salacious squelches follow with every plunge, strings of wetness sticking him to you in webs whenever he pulls out, eager to delve back in. And you can do nothing but take it.

You can do nothing but take the blunt head of his cock as it bullies into your gummy walls, thumb rolling tight circles on your sensitive clit until he has your back curving into him, eyes fluttering shut from the pressure building in your stomach, electricity shooting through you in tiny bursts.

“Need me, huh?” He coos, lilting and proud. You need him. You need him to make you cum because you can’t do it yourself, you need him to bring you to the finish because only he can do it — slotting himself into your life once more.

And Caleb relishes in it. Lives for it. Lives for you. For the way you cling onto him, the seam of your lips pressing wet, hot kisses to his neck, the syllables of his name falling from your lips like a mantra. He lives for the way your cunt flutters around his cock, earning a pleased groan from the man as he feels you quickly approaching your orgasm.

“Close?” He whispers, already knowing the answer. He knows your body better than you do, aware of the blissed pulsing of your pussy and the pitches of your moans that signal your impending climax — all shooting straight to his cock, swallowed in your warmth.

Caleb keeps his persistent pace, panting softly with his cheeks dusted in rosy desire. His hips don’t stop, pulled tighter against you, a hand snaked between your heated torsos to rub at your raw clit, pushing you closer and closer towards the teetering edge of numbing pleasure.

Your body feels like it’s in suspension, torn between a foggy mist of euphoric haze and sharp bursts of electricity numbing your mind. Everything is so sensitive, so wet, so hot. Everything is too much for your body to contain, too much to process.

“O-oh, ‘m cummingcumming, ngh-”

Before you know it, your teeth sinks into the soft junction of Caleb’s neck and shoulder, igniting a sharp gasp from him as your body convulses, tensing and shaking in his hold. Everything completely whites out with a drawn out moan, muffled into his salty flesh. Static floods your mind as you cum around Caleb’s intrusive length, still pistoning in and out of your cunt, leaving it pliable, fuckable for his cum to nestle in your womb.

“Come on, cum for me, sweet girl. Go on, be a good girl, cum nice and hard for me.” Caleb groans out, voice ragged and rough with his own need to cum.

Your tight pussy swallows him whole, hips smooching against yours, cock head grinding perfectly to hit that sweet spot that overstimulates you until you’re biting at his skin, marking him up like a toy. Laying claim on him, making him yours.

It’s enough to make him cum, pushed over the edge. Enough to have him groaning out your name in a choked moan, muscles rippling with bursts of pleasure shooting through his abdomen, his erratically jerking into you. Pools of lavender squint shut while Caleb messily thrusts up into you, hands gripping the soft flesh of your ass to keep you still so the hot, sticky ropes of cum can spurt freely into your welcoming womb. Filled, and fucked back into you, over and over and over.

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘s so good—”

Your lips smush onto his, hushing his cries of pleasure. His hands alter you to rock against him, reliving and clasping onto the last aftershocks of numbing pleasure rippling throughout the stems of your nerves. Your tongues move languidly through mewls and groans while your warm palms wander along his skin, mapping out the curves and contours of his body, engraving every detail to memory. Eventually, your hands settle on the space between his collarbone and jaw, thumb massaging the reddening divots against his pale skin created by your teeth.

With a soft sigh, you’re the first to pull away to admire his flushed features, looking lovingly up at you. You lean forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, mumbling softly, “Gonna tell me why you were here?”

Caleb sighs, a wispy smile set on his lips, twirling a strand of your hair around a lithe finger, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. He's sure you already know anyway, he has a third eye just for you, after all.

“I just missed you. I couldn't wait until tomorrow to see you, but I guess I caught you at a good time though, huh?”

You flush at that, heat blooming on your cheeks even more than you already are. A gentle finger smooths along the crevices of his chest, the tip of your digit dragging with feather-light pressure on where his heart lays, beating fast and hard against the warm pad. “Was supposed to be a surprise…”

Caleb only laughs, kissing away the adorable pout. "Don't worry, I'll act surprised if you want me to. Just don't expect me to go easy on you when that time comes."

He pulls you close, burying his face into the soothing scent of your hair, mixed with the lingering stench of sex and love. He could stay like this forever, with you in his arms, cock softening in your cum-filled cunt, drowning in your familiar presence.

If he could ask for anything for his birthday, it'd be to stay like this. To hide you away from the rest of the world, curled into his protection. He wants to carve you into his heart, caged into the gaps of his ribs where he knows you'll be safe, relying on him. If not, he'd want to live in you. To be settled into your heart, webbed tight into the vessels of your pumping veins, providing everything you'll ever need.

Caleb simply wishes to be close to the one in his heart.

You wrap your arms around him too, clinging to his warmth. Caleb is your sun, always there, always shining, even on the days you forget to look up. He's always a part of your life and you want him there, no matter what. You want Caleb, just Caleb.

With a low sigh, your eyes flicker to the clock on your nightstand, showing in clear, white numbers.

12:00 am, June 13.

"Caleb?" You murmur, hushed and quiet.

His eyes, once fluttered shut, open immediately at the sound of your alluring voice calling for him. He responds with a low hum, fingers mindlessly circling haphazard lines and shapes into your skin as you relax on his chest.

"Happy birthday."

The simple words almost surprise him. He knows you've been planning for quite a while now, eager to give him the best celebration ever, but it's different hearing it like this. Especially when he has you pieced into his large frame, sweaty and sluggish and limp from pleasure. It's different when you murmur it so gently, your voice filled with the cadence of love and devotion.

There are no words that appear in his mind when you whisper to him, only the sudden need to pull you closer, press his heart to yours. He doesn't say anything, only sealing the seam of his lips to yours in a reverent kiss.

"Thank you, honey." Caleb’s lips curl into a boyish smile, charming and sweet.

"Will you tell me what you'll wish for?" Your eyes twinkle with mirth, teasing him affectionately. “I’ll make sure it definitely comes true.”

Caleb can only muster up a laugh, mussing up the strands of your hair with a shake of his head. "No can do, pipsqueak, my lips are sealed shut. If I tell you, it won't happen, you know?"

The response has you rolling your eyes, hands darting up to pinch and tug at his cheeks in retaliation. The answer doesn’t satiate the curiosity in you, only igniting your desire to extract the answer out of him. It ignites a hearty laughter from Caleb who tugs you close, rolling you two over until you're pinned under his large torso, nosing at your cheek with a wide grin.

He wouldn’t tell you. Or maybe you already knew, you always seemed to know things about himself that he didn't. Maybe you already know that he wishes for you to be his forever. In every lifetime. To seek out your soul to hold, bind, and sink into his. He wants to have your hand in his, to descend from the sky with you in his arms.

In this lifetime and every life after, Caleb only wants to be yours.

"Tell me, Caleb!" You whine, pushing him away to no avail. "Please… gege?"

That has Caleb’s breath hitching, a breathy sigh escaping his lungs in exasperation. How does he reject that? Your pleading expression, lips set in a tempting pout, and eyes begging to know his heart’s selfish desire.

Simple, he can’t.

So he lightly flicks your forehead, immediately leaning forward to soothe the touch with a kiss.

“If I tell you,” he murmurs, smooth voice vibrating against your temple, “then you have to make sure it absolutely comes true, alright?”

A smile follows his words, curving wider when he sees your eager nod. His warm palm raises, thumb brushing along the underside of your eyes, curving along delicate lashes reverently before he cups your cheek. His irises flicker over your features, a hurricane of unrecognizable emotions flashing through his face.

“I wish,” he begins, pulling you tighter against him, careful to not smush you under his comforting weight, “that I get a little more of you every year. I wish for gravity to always bring me back home to you so I can see you by my side every day.”

Silence follows his words, the air growing thick between you both. Caleb looks down at you with an expression that can only be described as love, holding his breath for your response. He isn’t uncomfortable with you, far from it, but he’s a man afraid of being weak — vulnerable to the one nestled so deeply in his heart. Even with simple colds and illnesses, he hides away from you, so how can he reveal such a profound, selfish desire that constantly consumes his mind?

“Will you grant me that?” He asks, voice low and soft like he’s afraid that you’ll turn him away, “Can you grant me my selfish desires?”

A tempered heat simmers between your bodies before you let out a quiet laugh, not amused nor mocking, just one of happiness to mirror the ripples of love in your heart. It’s moments like these when you realize your Caleb isn’t as invincible as you always conceived him to be. He’s just a man who loves you dearly so.

“Okay, Caleb. Then no matter what happens, let’s always find our way back to each other.” You run your finger over his cheeks, trailing down until your palm finds his beating heart, thumping reassuringly against your skin. “Let’s be selfish together.”

The finality of your words, assured and strong, soothes the turmoil in his soul. Caleb brings your hand to his lips, lavishing a kiss on every delicate finger, each receiving a segment of his unending love for you.

“I’ll always find my way home to you.”

He’s certain now. He’s certain that gravity will always pull him back to you, if not, he’ll crawl through heaven and earth to hold your hand once more.