#ghost scribbles

So, things are slow. He waits for you to take the lead to start, even going so far as to pull away more than once when things get a little too heated.

It takes you flat out asking him if something's wrong for him to explain. It's not that he doesn't want you - quite the opposite, really - it's that he wants you to be sure it's what you want. Of course, the mental connection between the two of you more than confirms it, but he needs to hear you say it out loud.

You'll have to reassure him that you're okay with this. That you're not afraid of him. Because, deep down, that's where his fears lie: the idea of him scaring you away.

It's the same fear he had when he first removed the mask for you. It's the same fear he had when he confessed his feelings. It's the fear of you truly seeing him for the first time and not liking what you find.

Even once the two of you have that conversation, it'll take a little while longer for Vessel to come around. Things progress past your usual heated kissing sessions one late morning, when the two of you wake up together in Vessel's bed. One kiss turns into two, which turns into so many you don't bother keeping track. He tastes into you, and you do the same in return.

You feel him against your abdomen, his length twitching as you pull a low groan from his mouth. It's now, just like several times before, that he pulls back.

But this time, something changes.

"Are you certain you want this, my heart?" Vessel breathes into the space between you, all six pupils blown with desire.

A soft yes is all he needs in this moment.

He shifts you onto your back, slotting himself between your legs. Both of you still fully clothed, he allows himself to take his time. To savor the sensation of his body grinding against yours.

It isn't until a soft "please" escapes you that he returns to himself.

"Tell me what you want," he says. "Anything you wish, and it's yours."

Your answer is quiet. So quiet he nearly misses it.

"Want you."

The simple phrase hits him like a crashing wave.

And suddenly things aren't quite as slow anymore.

His sharp canines nip at your pulse, his tongue darting out to soothe your skin when you whine in response. One of your hands finds his hair, tangling itself there as you tug. Pitch black hands slide up the shirt you slept in, groping at your chest before helping you remove the garment.

Vessel sleeps in only loose pants, so it takes little time and effort for him to discard those, as well as the rest of your own clothes.

"Please, let me taste you, beloved," he says against your lips. "Let me drown in you."

Well, how can you say no to that when he asks so sweetly?

There's something about Vessel that you hadn't noticed until this moment, and it's a hell of a time to realize it: his tongue is longer than a regular human's. He must have held it back all those times you'd drawn your own tongue against it.

He alternates between circling your clit and thrusting his tongue into you, his eyes rolling back in their sockets. Low, almost pained groans leave him, and you begin to notice his mental walls slipping away. His thoughts, normally so well-guarded, are projected straight to you, as if he's talking without needing to move his mouth away from you. They're disjointed and sporadic, a far cry from how eloquent Vessel typically is.

Good. So good. Smell good. Taste good. Feel good. I need more. Need it all. Never have enough. Won't stop until you come. Won't stop until you tell me to.

Between his enthusiasm and his own pleasure bleeding into yours through your mind, you feel yourself cresting far sooner than you'd anticipated.

"Ves-" you warn, "Ves, gonna-"

Come, he projects to you, his middle set of eyes opening to stare up into yours. Come for me. Give it to me. Let me drink you in.

Almost on command, your orgasm washes over you, your back arching as you grip the bedding beneath you in tight fists.

Yes, yes. That's it. You're so good. So beautiful like this.

You fully expect Vessel to ease you down slowly, but that's not quite what happens. Instead, he continues lazily thrusting his tongue into you, as if he's trying to savor every last drop of you.

Again, he begs. Please. I need more, my heart. I need another.

To his credit, he notices how much your hips buck when he tries to circle your clit too soon. He allows you to recover without fully coming down, avoiding any sting of overstimulation.

Your next orgasm is faster, but it doesn't find you as explosively. Instead, it's softer, as if a gentle cover of warmth is slowly pulled over your body. All the while, Vessel's soft words greet you in the ether.

He slowly kisses up your body when he's finished, your slick still coating his face. His eyes are lidded, almost as if he's in as much of a daze as you are.

"Thank you," he murmurs aloud as he kisses your lips softly. "Thank you for indulging me, sweet girl. Do you still want more? Or do you wish to rest?"

"More," you respond quietly. You want all of him.

He's quick to oblige you.

Vessel hitches one of your legs over his thigh, staring intently at your facial expressions as he guides his cock into you.

Once again, the world slows. Your brows knit together, and Vessel leans in to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

Is it too much? he asks through his thoughts.

Though your thoughts are more general feelings than coherent sentences in the moment, he's in tune with you enough to know that it's simply the stretch taking a bit of getting used to. You're more than wet enough from two orgasms, so there is no pain or sting.

Once he's buried to the hilt, he rests. His pelvis notched against yours, both of you breathing into each other. Several slow kisses are exchanged, as are silent and softly spoken words.

A subtle shift of your hips tells Vessel that you're ready to continue.

His lips find their place on yours as he begins the slow roll of his hips, the two of you only separating with quiet gasps of pleasure.

It's... strange, almost, experiencing this through the lens of your telepathic connection. Vessel can't really remember any of his previous post-transformation encounters ever feeling like this. Sure, the physical sensations are largely the same, but the emotional and mental ones are vastly different.

As he loses himself more in you and increases his pace, he finds himself unable to tell where his mind ends and yours begins. Your pleasure is his pleasure, and vice versa. The atmosphere between the two of you is one neither of you can properly articulate. All Vessel can really comprehend in this moment is that this feels good. You feel good. An undercurrent of love an affection runs deep beneath it all, bolstering the pleasure and raising it further.

He loses any track of time he had, completely unaware of the world around the two of you.

It isn't until he begins to feel the familiar coil tightening in his core that he knows this can't last forever.

"Close," he breathes against your mouth. The only sign he receives that you heard him is a brief nod before you're pulling him to you again.

You latch onto him as his pace stutters, and as he tips over his own edge, he finds himself clinging to you as well. His muscles tense as he spills into your warmth, an almost pained groan leaving his lips as he comes. His eyes glow, and somewhere nearby, he vaguely registers a sharp pop, but it is quickly forgotten.

As the heat slowly dissipates and Vessel returns to himself, the air is still aside from your combined breaths. He props himself up just enough to look down at you, and both of you break into grins, then soft laughter at the same time.

"Are you alright, my love?" Vessel asks softly as he kisses you.

"Yeah," you whisper back. "Are you?"

"Very much so."

He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him as he does. It's a slow, almost torturous shift as he pulls out of you, and he soothes your soft whine with a kiss to your forehead.

It's several more minutes spent lying together in the afterglow before Vessel notices a glint of light coming from the nightstand. When he turns to inspect it further, he notices several shards of glass there.

"By the way," you say, a grin audible in your tone, "you busted the lightbulb."

Ah. That must have been that strange sound he'd heard earlier. Looks like his powers aren't quite as under control as he thought.

. . . 

“Well,” Simon half turns on his heels, voice guttural and breathing somewhat labored because of how his hand strokes his member that is rock hard from the knowledge of what he is about to do to you. “Get on there, then” his ripped body is huge as he stands beautiful in all his glory in the middle of you and the bed that his head cocks towards. 

Your cheeks burn and though you are more than ready to climb the bed in the primal position of choice to present your own naked body to him to use, you avoid his darkened eyes. A whimperish hum is all you can let out while you chew on your bottom lip and scuffle to the bed. 

“Just like that, good girl” Simon praises you by a sharp smack to your ass that makes your tense and embarrassed form jump with a squeak. His fingers hurriedly dart down to fondle at the bruise the strike will make. A shiver sizzles past your lips and your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of the pain multiplying in his grip due to how he kneads your skin. 

“Now let's see this about here” he doesn't like how narrow your kneel is. So he roughly pulls one bent leg away from the other and you nearly fall face first into the mattress but your arms support you. “Where is she?” Your heart is thumping in your ears from how humiliating the manner in which he ‘taps about’ to locate your sopping cunt is like he doesn't know it. 

A loud and nearly fearful gasp leaves you when you feel his leaking tip rub against your pucker, causing for your poor little hole that has had its fair share of disciplining at the hands of the unfair and firm impaler that tries to kiss it like a perverted lover making it recoil in defense and blink up at Simon who is busy warming up your core with strict, rapid claps against your folds. 

“Ah…” He drawls out the cool exclamation as he gropes and squeezes your petals, making you whine and your arms give up, causing for the upper half of your body to collapse into the mattress. “There, there” Simon coos uncharacteristically to comfort you when you begin to whine when his heavy tip begins to peel into your tiny hole that puts up a vain resistance. “Almost there, you're doing so well, sweets” though his scarred fingers flex over the soft skin of your back before they caress the lower region, you are still moaning and gurgling on your own spit because penetration with Simon is always a tough sport.

“O- Ouchieee~” you whimper when his tip has successfully fought itself asylum between your gushing walls that burn just as hot as your loins. Though Simon can't see you, he can vividly imagine the pout on your lips and soft scrunch of your eyebrows.

You are such a baby and he loves it. Always shyly nuzzling into him and whispering requests in his ear for his dick only to sob up a mess when it comes to actually taking his cock. 

Simon growls when the base of his tip gives you your first meanie stretch -as you call it- and he feels your insides move around his hard skin. “Ah, fuck, look at that” he is trying so hard to be considerate of your young, priorly inexperienced and sensitive body but the visual of your pucker frenzily reacting to his cock sheathing itself in you is almost too much even for the Simon Ghost Riley to handle. 

“Such a crybaby” though it's meant to be a tease on his part, his rough voice and thick accent makes it sound like a scold and to protect your poor band from ripping around his girth, the older man decides to take his frustration out on your attention seeker of an asshole that bats itself at him constantly. “Tsk, spoilt little dirt hole.” 

“Owie!” Your voice is muffled and weak when Simon's fingers begin to give mean pats to your even smaller hole in hurried intervals and the pain and embarrassment makes you clench your bottoms so hard that your cheeks not only harden under his cruel wrath but your pussy sucks him inside until he is pulled against your ass, his heavy sack colliding with your petals.

It's in, and you're on.

Simon makes handlebars of your hair by dividing it on either sides of your head and wraps the pigtails around his large fingers until they look like some odd galaxy buns.

And then he begins to pound.

. . .

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