#darius thots

Folio knew he place before he even tried challenging Darius, but what’s the harm in a reminder?

Both of them going at, in wolf form. Bared teeth and viscious growling, biting the fuck outta each other to get the other to submit. Folio out up the best fight he could, but in the end, Darius comes out on top. Gets him pinned beneath him, and maybe Folio should be a little embarrassed by how easily he submitted despite their brawl, maybe he should be embarrassed by how easily Darius mounted him, but he can’t find it in his stupid canine brain to care when his already throbbing and slick cock slides easily inside. All Folio can do is just take it and pitifully whine like a bitch as Darius ravages him, pants and growls above him as his own cock unsheathes and grows hard.

It's not that you mind Darius' hand on your knee. It's a welcomed source of warmth in the unusually chilled autumn air, seeping into your skin and spreading heat. It's his nonchalance that bothers you, how he shrugs when someone asks what you are. The way he's so quick to show affection when it's easy to hide and put an open field between you in public. Truthfully, you're astounded Darius is touching you at all, what with the band and a few crew present. But you suppose the table is disguise enough.

Your cocktail, something fruity and way too sweet, sits untouched, condensation rolling down the glass and creating a puddle on the too slick wood. Conversation fills the air broken only by joyful laughter. All you can muster is a half hearted chuckle or smile.

Absentminded fingertips trail paths up and down, dipping every so often to tenderly squeeze your thigh. No matter how you try, you can't help the fuzzy warmth that swirls in your blood—and despite the warmth, the comfort of his touch, you want to throw his hand back to his own body, cause a spectacular scene worthy of an Oscar.

But you don't. You sit and smile as best you can, plaster on a facade to match Darius'.

"Hey." A gentle voice speaks besides you. The hand previously on your thigh is now caressing your shoulder. At some point, Darius had slipped his arm across them.

His sudden proximity was startling, but not unpleasant. You could smell the half drank beer on his breath.

"Everything okay?" He asks softly, concern knitted in his brow.

You blinked, still stunned but manage a nod. He doesn't seemed convinced, though doesn't push. Darius sinks back into the booth, pulling you with him and giving you no choice but to lean into him. He doesn't purse his lips as he presses them to the top of your head.

Werewolf!Folio and werewolf!Darius completely having their way with Noah, tongues everywhere, licking every inch of skin, lapping at his sensitive cock and clearing the precum before it even has a chance to dribble. Each of them trying to stake claim to Noah—nibbles airing on the side of full fledged bites, but careful enough to not break skin, respect dying to fit both their inhumanly large, swollen, sticky monster cocks inside him. But unfortunately for all of them, only one can fit at a time, lest Darius and Nick tear Noah apart with their knots.

“I didn’t ask you for this,” you whispered. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“You asked for assistance, and I delivered.” Darius spoke, not an ounce of regret in his voice. In fact, he sounded rather proud of his atrocity—the blood quite literally on his hands and splattered across his face.

But, despite the sight, terror’s cold chill failed to consume you. In its place was an odd warmth, a twisted gratitude you dared not vocalize. A respected, holy man defying his own preachings, abandoning his God to protect you. You. A mere follower like everyone else, who believed his word and worshipped happily. Darius’ unspoken favorite.

“My lamb,” he breathed, bending down so he could stare directly into your bewildered eyes. He placed his hands on the back of pew, caging you in.

Long, wavy tendrils of hair framed his face; the crimson splatters complimenting his dark, intimidating eyes beautifully.

His hand was warm against your cheek, and he cared little about staining your skin with his sin.

Perhaps jerking off out in the open on the bus wasn't the smartest thing for Darius to do, but he couldn't wait another second. He was as far from the door as he could get with a pillow propped beside him, a feeble attempt at hiding the debauchery—though the sight of him with his head lolled back and the low moans spilling freely from his lips certainly did little to help hide.

From the moment Darius woke—late, at that—, he'd been achingly hard, blood hot with arousal and skin hypersensitive to any kind of touch. Morning wood or a wet dream, he didn't know; he just knew he needed to take care of it before it drove him insane, so the instant they were allowed free time, Darius bolted.

Thick cock slicked with his spit, his strokes were quick and fast. He wasn't worried about it feeling good, he didn't have that luxury. He just needed to cum.

Lost in mediocre pleasure, Darius didn't hear the bus door open or the footsteps that stopped right in from of him.

"Enjoying yourself?" You teased.

Darius jumped, eyes flying open to find you standing with your arms crossed and a smirk on your face. Humiliated, he quickly grabbed the pillow and covered himself. He tried to babble out an apology but his tongue felt heavy and impossible to move.

Before he had time to react, you reached for the pillow and ripped it away from him, tossing it aside. He watched as you climbed into his lap and drape your arms over his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" Darius asked quietly.

You grinned, leaning down until you felt the heat from his blush. You raked your nails down his chest until they found the hem of his shirt, then slowly pushed his shirt up passed his stomach. The fabric bunched just below his chin, leaving his torso bare. Darius' breath hitched when you pressed your forehead to his.

"Offering help."

A deep groan tumbled from him as you wrapped your hand around his cock. Darius wanted to protest, but your touch was ten times better; he melted into it, his gasps hot against your mouth, tongue grazing your lips as he tried to wet his.

"Feel good?" You mused; his cock throbbed in your hand and you squeezed tighter.

"Yes," Darius breathed with a shaky nod.

"Can you be louder for me? Really loud?" You worked him quicker. "I want people three buses down to hear you."

If he wasn't so desperate to cum, maybe he wouldn't have been so quick to obey, but he did. His moans and whimpering filled the bus, sounds he'd never heard come from him before. Your murmured praise fell on deaf ears, drowned out by him and the rush in his head.

But the breathless, mocking tone of "Good boy" shattered his resolve, and Darius came hard with a swear of your name; thick white coated your hand, making a mess of his cock and stomach. You didn't let up, milking him until he trembled, until all he did was babble, until he could take no more and weakly grabbed your wrist to stop.

Darius felt intensely lightheaded. There was a dull roar in his ears and his heart threatened to burst from his chest.

"Better?" You asked innocently. He nodded, breathless.

You crawled off his lap, prompting him to open his eyes. He watched curiously as you settled between his legs. You flashed him a coy smile, keeping your gaze locked as you stuck out your tongue and lapped up the mess you made of him.

The intensity in his eyes heats your already hot skin. You can feel the desire radiating from him, overwhelming him. It always amazes you easily the change happens, like a refreshing summer’s breeze. A rough, in control and dominate Darius was always a good time—but truthfully, you preferred the soft, gooey and malleable Darius, the one who craved the same blissful meanness he showed you.

The one you had right now on his knees, big brown eyes filled with awe and wonder, arms wrapped around your legs.

You didn’t have to tell him to open. Darius did it himself. All you had to do was present your fingers and he happily gave them a home inside his mouth.

Sometimes he gave you show, wasted no time turning into a desperate slut, begging, pleading with those pathetic eyes for you get them as deep as you down his throat. Other times, like now, he was gentle, teasing, savoring the taste of your skin, memorizing every little crease and knuckle ridge for the millionth time.

Darius gripped the back of your thighs, moaning quietly as he felt the cool metal of your matching rings press against his lips. His tongue peeked past his mouth, eager for a taste of metal. Another sound escaped him, a much more whiny and pathetic moan—and that’s all it took for your beloved little slut to make his appearance.

You watched his desperation grow, consume him entirely. His gaze turned pitiful, silently asking: am I doing good? Am I being a good boy?

And he is—oh is he ever. But you don’t tell you him, at least not yet. You want him to work for it, sweat for it. You know the second you agree, he’ll stop trying as hard. You want to see how desperate he can get, see if maybe he’ll cum just from sucking your fingers.