#ekkothroughtime writes

And with it, you've lost all control over your own body. Already squirming back into him before you're even ready. Shit, but Ekko's still not moving, calloused fingers digging into your skin, so tight that you know it's going to leave bruises that he'll fuss about later. 

His hips swivel. Stars sparkle in your vision, backdropped by his half-muffled groan. His sweaty forehead falls onto your shoulder, breathing hard through his nose. Mutters something. Sounds like your name.

You think it's your name. Maybe it's not. You don't get time to linger on that because all of a sudden, he's drawing back, and you can't think of anything but the overwhelming emptiness that takes over. He stops just before his tip slips out of you. Lingers there for a second before—

"Ah!" You squeal. Jerking forward. His hips flush with your ass again. And he's already moving again, and fuck—

Alive. He's alive, and he's right here, curled around you. Pistoning into you like one of you might disappear if he doesn't. But you're here. Head resting against the concrete floor. Ass high. Clenching helplessly around his cock as it strikes a familiar bundle of nerves. 

You're here. He's here. Not down in the lanes. Not dodging bullets and throwing punches. Here. Heart pounding so heavy in your chest that it's in your ears. Masking the patter of the rain against the glass and the distant sound of your cries echoing through abandoned halls.  

"Ekko." Repeating again. Blindly pawing behind yourself, brushing his chest, then his lower belly, looking for—

He pins your wandering hand next to your head. Clammy fingers laced between yours. "I've got you, baby," his thrusts are so sharp that his own voice wavers with the motion. "I've got you." 

You don't know what you're doing. Pitchy little whimpers fall off your tongue, tilting your head to rest against his forearm. He's so deep, you don't know if you can even breathe, and oh, you don't know what changed, but his balls are smacking against your clit. Little sparks of heat jolt up your lower belly, exploding in the back of your head.

"Fuck, there you go," Ekko's hissing, "keep clenchin' around me like that." 

You couldn't stop even if you wanted to. Your poor little pussy involuntarily spasming around him, legs trying to close despite his body being wedged between them. Can't do anything short of kicking your foot, like that'll somehow ease the pleasure. 

The hand on your hip disappears. Instead, curling around your waist, cinching your bodies closer. He's so warm. Still smells like oil and something distinctly metallic, the scent of the workshop clinging to him like a bad memory, but a familiar warmth remains underneath. Gentle, like the kisses that pepper up the back of your neck and the hips that have begun to slow. 

"Wanna see your face." He must mean it as more of a warning than a request because you don't voluntarily flip over. You don't even move a muscle. That's all him. Spinning you onto your back, the frigid floor biting into your skin as he slips his cock back inside. You can see it this time. The obscene sight of his fat cock disappearing between your parted thighs, pussy lips practically hugging him. 

You reach for him, outstretched arms hanging in the air for mere milliseconds, before Ekko caves and falls into them. The ends of his hair brush against your forehead, just light enough for it to tickle, and it's only when you're this close that you can truly drink in how he lights up when you giggle. 

"'s my hair getting you again?" He whispers; you're so focused on the split in his bottom lip that you nearly miss it.

"Just a little bit," murmuring, letting your arms loop around his shoulders, broad and delicately chiseled. You think the gods were showing off when they sculpted him.

"Lil' bit?" He parrots in a feather-light tone, nuzzling your noses together. A kiss, all of their own. A perfect distraction for the lazy thrust that punches the air from your throat. 

You should have known he would do this. Too hungry for your expression to let you keep your back to him for long. Him and his swollen, bruised left eye and smeared paint, streaks of white decorating his cheeks and upper lip. That might be dried blood clinging to the side of his neck, and the sleeve of his shirt is mangled in such a way that you wonder how much of that fight was actually playing in his favor.

Thunder booms overhead, rattling the crumbling frame of this old building, swaying with the wind in such a way that you can feel your body tilting with it. You'd worry about it if not for the weight of Ekko's body on top of yours, his mouth wandering across the side of your jaw. Leaving little kisses in his wake, just in case he gets lost.

Your nails dip into the muscle of his shoulders. Legs curling around his waist the best that they can manage. Securing him to you in the only way you know how. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he's hiding a secret mind-reading device somewhere in one of those pockets. You know it. 

All of that effort to keep him from moving, and yet he still manages to lift himself a few inches. Breaking through your grasp with mesmerizing ease, his forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, properly hovering over you now. Noses brush. His hair is bumping your forehead again. 

Electricity rockets up your spine. 

"There," gasping like a fish out of water, your eyes rolling back. "There, Ekko—mmh!"

There's a grin emerging onto his face, the corners of his lips twisting with that devilish glint that only comes about when he's just found a breakthrough. And oh, you shouldn't have told him because now he's repeating it. Maintaining that same torturous angle, the tiny pieces of scrap metal in his pocket clinking together as his fat tip kisses into those little nerves, over and over and over. 

It's so faint that you nearly question if you're making things up in your head.

The semblance of a moan, slipping through Ekko's parted lips like the beginnings of a melody. There and gone in the blink of an eye, the only indication it was ever there in the first place is the way he immediately forces his mouth closed. 

But one of your hands are traveling to his cheek, your thumb gently pressing on his bottom lip, urging it open again. And who has he ever been to deny you something as simple as this? 

Heat races up your lower belly. Twisting, spinning around like one of his damn hoverboards, rocketing through your veins. It's the kind of sensation that has your skin prickling, back arching off the cold ground and up into Ekko's big, warm body, your shivering legs clinging to his frame. The thump of your heartbeat rises into your ears, the strings holding you together winding tighter and tighter, breaking apart one by one until...

"Come on," Ekko hums; he picked up the signs long before you did, "give it to me."

The final string snaps.

Your vision blurs. Toes curling as your orgasm takes you by surprise, cumming around his cock without any further warning. And god, Ekko just keeps working you through it. Maintaining that same overwhelming pace, battering your poor, spasming walls, every brush of his length against your nerves pushing you higher and higher into the clouds above. 

And you must stay up there for a good minute. Drifting amongst bullets of rain and blinding sparks of lightning, completely and utterly weightless. Heaven, if only for a few fleeting moments.

"Keep going," you don't intend to be so quick about urging him on, but you can't help yourself. Not ready for the emptiness that comes with him pulling out.

Foreheads thunk together without the slightest hint of grace, and his biceps shudder with the effort of keeping his body up, gradually working back up to a choppy rhythm. Mouths clash. Not necessarily a kiss, but it's a touch of lips all the same, drinking in his heated panting as if it's the only thing keeping you alive.

You can't help the way your cunt clenches around his cock, walls almost too sensitive for those short, jerky thrusts. And he whines. Eyelashes fluttering, shivering so hard that you can feel it wracking through him. Fuck, and he's whimpering again. Long, low noises that grow pitchy at the ends.

 Close. He's so close.

Your palms curl around his cheeks, staining themselves in the remnants of white paint that clings to his handsome face. The color smears as your hands roam down his neck and across his shoulders. The tips of your nails gently glide against his skin, swirling indistinct shapes, drawing another shiver out of him.

"You gotta, your legs," Ekko sputters, his tongue flimsy in his mouth. "Baby, I can't pull—"

In an hour, you'll have to deal with the cleanup and regret ever saying this. But he's here, and he's alive, and you're alive, and god, life is too short to deny yourself of the simple pleasures. There's no point in stopping that simple, troublesome little phrase from leaving you.

"Cum in me." 

You think you can see the final spark exploding behind those sweet brown eyes of his. The final straw before it all comes crashing down, his face twisting as his orgasm washes over him and his motions screech to a sudden halt. Hopelessly burying his head into the crook of your neck, hot breath threatening to melt you away. 

Faintly, you're aware of the sensation of his cock twitching inside of you. Pumping rope after rope of hot cum into your sensitive pussy, painting you white. A sticky mess that you'll have to feel dripping out of you the whole way back. As if your post-sex waddle and his unusual displays of public affection aren't enough to tell everyone what you've been up to. 

God, he's gonna wait until you're reunited with everyone to lean over and ask if his cum is still in you, isn't he? Always too eager to see you flustered. 

...maybe you should flip the script and bring it up to him, first. Leave him the stuttering mess, for once. 

"I can hear the gears turning in your head," Ekko's lazy chuckle vibrates against your neck and up your spine, makes your head spin something fierce.

"You need to get your ears checked," but the fire in your half-assed reply is lost the moment he lifts himself up again.

Even now, with the embers of pleasure still twinging the corners of his eyes, his gaze still manages to collect a semblance of worry. His big, warm palms trace over your face, looking for something. Anything. A scratch. A bruise. A splash of blood. The slightest hint that you've been hurt. That he let something hurt you. 

And he finds it.

You knew he would. With Ekko, it's not a matter of if but of when. 

It's nothing but a minor cut. One that's your own fault, really. You hadn't seen the shard of glass sticking out until after you reached through the broken window, chasing your weapon before it could get out of your sight. A slice you didn't truly feel until now, so sore that it aches when he presses a kiss into it.

One of these days, he'll engineer a way to heal with kisses alone, just to prove a point. 

"I'm okay," repeatedly tapping him on the cheek, working a fleeting smile out of that stoic face. "I promise."

And then that smile turns upside down. "I still don't like seeing you hurt." 

For someone so strong, it sure is easy to pull him back down to you. All it takes is one little tug on the wrist for him to melt into you like ice on a sweltering day. Kissing him is like feeling the first drop of rain after the heatwave, the pressure of his lips enough to draw the tension from your shoulders and the worries from your head. 

"So how do you propose we get back home, hm? Mister 'I Can Fly Through Zaun With My Eyes Closed.'" Your smile is painfully evident in your voice, maybe a little too eager to bring up the very thing you overheard him muttering last week. 

His eyes roll, head shaking with it. But...

"There's an underground tunnel that will get us halfway there," he says it with such confidence that you don't need to wonder if he's thought this through or not. Knowing him, it's circled around his mind a dozen times now. "It'll at least get us past the chem-barons without being spotted. We should be good once we get past them."

"Should we start heading that way then?" You ask, letting your thumb trace over his cheekbone, stroking away the dirt that has long since smeared there. There's certainly more where that comes from, pooling around his collar and decorating the jacket he's discarded a few feet away, but it's the thought that counts. Right?

Ekko's eyelashes flutter. A thought flashes behind them. 

"Not yet," he starts, "let's just..." 

The sentence never finishes, left hanging like old laundry, but you've got a sneaking suspicion of what those final words were meant to be. There aren't many topics that steal the wind out of his sails quite like this, and almost all of them involve you. 

"Few more minutes?" You find yourself saying, after a moment.

He nods, eyes sparkling with his sudden, newfangled smile. "Just a few more minutes." 

Lie. From the moment he gets his head on your chest, he's a goner. 

He never lasts more than a minute once he's gotten settled, and his cock still being lodged inside of you doesn't really indicate that he's ready to move anytime soon. Still connected, in spite of the occasional oversensitive shocks and the overbearing danger of being caught like this. In the top floor of an abandoned building, with the chem-barons still warring with each other down the street. 

Only one of the hoverboards is working, and its motor has a horrible stutter that only comes about when it's about to die. You're low on options and high on your delusion of safety.

And yet, you're tracing shapes between his shoulder blades, watching as his eyes fall closed for longer and longer expanses of time until they don't open at all. Lulled to sleep by the beat of your heart, still alive and pounding away in your chest, just like his. 

Some little thing he found while sorting through the new batch of clothes collected for the Firelights. But for someone so intelligent, he sure looks shocked the moment he looks up and sees you standing in the middle of the base.

You're pretending that you notice the way his eyes go wide, feigning ignorance, as you hang these new decorative lights. Using a hoverboard would have made this easier, wouldn't have had to reach so far overhead, but there's an ulterior motive here. Shamelessly twisting your body. Blissfully unaware of the familiar gaze that drinks in your frame, like a man who has just found a glass of water in the desert.

"Please be careful," Ekko's gloved hand presses into your lower back, and you don't need to look to know that the other is in front of you. Ready to catch you the moment you slip.

But try as he might, he can't keep his attention focused on what you're doing. Distracted by something that isn't your diligent hands, securing the string of lights to the wall.

Even after you've finished with them, and Scar calls Ekko over to come look at the engine they're repairing, you can't help but feel as if you're being stared at.

It's one thing to feel the other Firelights looking you over. With so many newcomers these days, all with varying estimations of how long it's socially acceptable to stare at someone, it's bound to happen, but this is different. The script has flipped.

For once, it's Ekko staring at you.

He thinks he's being subtle about it. Looking over his shoulder every time you walk past, going out of his way to ask you questions that he definitely knows the answer to. He's up on the balcony, head swiveling to keep up with you as you walk around the tree. Just so happens to think there's an issue with his hoverboard, one that requires him to fly past you half a dozen times.

You've got a fairly good idea of what could possibly have him so distracted, but it's only confirmed later in the afternoon when you're all huddled around for a meeting. It's another one of Scar's debates about capacity issues, and this time, it sounds like they're actually making progress on it, but...oh, what the hell. You're not listening.

You can't.

Not when Ekko is sitting eight feet across from you, hands clasped in front of his face, staring dead at your chest without the slightest hint of awareness of what he's doing. As if one quick glance won't reveal that he's more focused on the shape of your breasts than the overwhelming topic of where to put everyone. No bra to alter their shape into something modest, and with the way this shirt hugs every single inch...

You cross your arms, letting the motion squish your boobs into a new position.

Ekko's eyes dart up to your face. Caught red-handed.

"Ekko, you got any ideas?" Scar tilts his head, briefly looking toward you, then back to Ekko. Seems he caught on to what was happening a long time ago.

For once in his life, Ekko doesn't have a single clever suggestion to offer. A crucial mistake that keeps him at the meeting long after it ends; the capacity issue won't solve itself, and ideas don't grow on trees.

You're settled into the patchwork couch when Ekko finally pushes through the door. Face paint smeared across his forehead, some of it mysteriously staining his cheek, as if he's wiped his head with his hand and then rested his face in it. One of these days, he'll figure out how to get the consistency right with these new materials, but until then...

"Did the kids get you with a paintbrush again?" You giggle, aimlessly reaching out for him despite how far away he is.

Every muscle in his body seems to relax at the very sight of you, tension melting away like metal under one of his blowtorches. "I smeared it all over my face again, didn't I?" His voice has already lost its usual confidence, resigned to something much quieter.

Any other day, you would chide him for walking out of his shoes, leaving them scattered across the floor to be tripped over later, but you don't think he even has the energy to carry them over to their designated place by the door. All lazy smiles and half-lidded eyes, collapsing into you the moment he's deemed himself close enough.

"And here I thought I would have an easy day," Ekko grumbles right into your collar, groggy voice vibrating through your bones.

"An easy day for the leader of the Firelights?" You tease, running your hand up the back of his neck, nails tracing against his skin. "Never."

His whine cuts through the air, long and drawn out, as if being reminded of his status is the worst thing he could possibly hear right now.

"I'm sorry," laughing, you press a kiss to his forehead, where you're certain you'll get the least amount of paint on your lips.

All he has the strength to do is groan again, tilting his head until he's fully buried his face into your chest. Maybe if he snuggles close enough, nobody will be able to come ask for another favor that he'll inevitably say yes to.

"I should have never given you this shirt," Ekko still isn't lifting his head. Content to stay here with his face smashed into nondescript fabric for the rest of his life.

"What, you don't think it looks good on me?" Feigning hurt.

"It looks gorgeous on you," it comes out a little too fast. Seems he's been sitting on that thought for a while now. "That's the problem."

"I can tell," you have to momentarily pause with that thought, preoccupied with sorting his hair back into place. "You spent half of the afternoon and the entirety of the meeting staring at my chest. I'm shocked Scar didn't call you out on it."

"Oh, he's never gonna let me live it down," Ekko's tired chuckle is the prettiest thing you've heard all day. You can only imagine what went on the moment you left.

But one can only lie next to one's favorite temptation for so long. It's only a matter of minutes before he begins to wander, using the tip of his nose as a guide, wandering across your chest until he brushes over the soft swell of your breast.

A vague, warm pressure greets you. There and gone in a matter of milliseconds, leaving behind a coolness that wasn't there before.

And he does it again, a little bit slower this time. Easier for you to catch. The swift dart of his tongue, wetting the material of your shirt, and maybe he's misplaced his concepts of shame because there's no trace of it to be found today. Content to mouth over your breast, no real end goal to be found. Doing it just for the hell of it.

"What could you possibly be doing?"

No answer.

You're making no move to stop him. It's comparable to a feather-light massage, diligently working over you, leaving no space unattended to. He'd make this his full-time job if circumstances would allow it.

The left half of your shirt is almost entirely damp, your nipple gradually hardening from the cold, poking through the fabric, only to be greeted with his burning mouth. Tongue flicking over it, the faintest pressure of his teeth sending it off.

But the right side can only be neglected for so long, stealing his attention away from your left. Marking it in much of the same way while his hand rises to cover the wet mess he's made of you, warding off the chill before it can grow uncomfortable.

"How long." Kiss. "Will you." Kiss. "Let me do this for?"

You trace the outline of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, humming. "I haven't thought that far yet."

Forever, or until you can't stand it anymore. Whichever comes first.

Enabling him is the worst thing you can do in this situation. You've only got so much time before the dinner bell rings. Even less to change shirts and scurry across the hideout before everything grows cold, but you just can't bring yourself to deny him...whatever this is.

Even if you did want to, it's so hard to find your voice when he peeks up at you. Gentle brown eyes peering through thick lashes, drinking in your expression as he mouths at your breast, drool spilling off his tongue like you're the best thing he's ever tasted.

His hand appears at the hem of your shirt, pushing it upward. Past your belly and over the stunning swell of your chest, and fuck, those eyes sparkle at the sight that greets him.

That mouth of his wobbles. Opening and closing, visibly searching for words that he doesn't have the capacity to conjure up right now. Doesn't find them until after he's pressed a kiss into the underside of your boob. "Has anyone ever told you that you're breathtaking?"

"You," deadpanning. "Every day since the day I met you."

Ekko looks away from you, suddenly very, very interested in the stitching of the couch. As if he's ever cared about the odd green square that covers up the burn mark one of his inventions left behind.

It's remarkably easy to slip your hand beneath his chin, delicately turning him back to look at you. His eyes are a tad reluctant to meet with yours, still bracing for the impact of you expressing some kind of irritation with him that has never, ever been there.

"And I love every second of it." Whispering. A secret meant solely for the two of you to share.

Oh, he just lights up at the sound of that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He's still just as slow as he was the first time. Diligently kissing at your soft skin, loving on every little inch. Hot, wet tongue tracing shapes and his fingers smearing the saliva left behind. The other hand works carefully at the side he's not playing with yet, massaging loose circles into it. His callouses are just the right amount of friction, enough to create a slight drag that you can't possibly ignore.

"And you don't mind me doin' this?" He shouldn't be talking with his lips half wrapped around your nipple, but ugh, the vibration of his voice...

You're not sure when your hand made its way to the back of his neck, but its there, stroking up and down in a manner that always makes him melt. "I would have told you if it bothered me."

If you had known that something as simple as a new, form-fitting shirt would have ended in this, you would have invested in one sooner. Scratch that, an entire clothing business. Maybe you can find a shirt that'll fit him, too. Give yourself an excuse to kiss and suck on those lovely, bulging biceps that you so often find yourself staring at.

A yawn takes over his handsome face. Contagious. Passing on to you like a bad cold. And just like that, it wanders back to him, running its course through him one, two, three more times until his eyes have watered to the point of tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your thumb swipes out, stroking them away and smearing even more of the paint across his face. Oops. "You still have time for a nap if that's what you need."

"Here?" There's that glint in his eye again. Hopeful.

The bed would be so much more comfortable, but... "I don't see why not."

And as he helps to pull your shirt back down and snuggles down into his favorite spot on your chest, you can't help but get the feeling that you've unintentionally created his new favorite thing to do with you.