#imprcperdose.

scarlett exhales slowly, staying right where she is — kneeling, open, waiting — every thought circling the same truth, growing heavier by the second: she’s here to use her mouth. and she wants to be told when to start.

jude feels it everywhere at once — not just the shudder in teddy’s body, or the hitch in his breath, but the way the air between them goes thick and charged like it's been waiting for this exact moment to snap. it's familiar territory, technically. they’ve been circling each other in dark corners and sticky-floored bars for a long time. but this is different. this isn't hidden. this isn't half-drunk and temporary. this is teddy in his apartment, backed against his wall, looking at him like jude is the thing he wants most in the world. jude doesn't interrogate that thought. they absolutely refuse to. his hands stay firm at teddy’s hips, thumbs pressing in like he’s grounding himself through the contact. they can feel how responsive teddy is, how his body gives before his mouth ever does. jude has always pretended he doesn't notice that about people. it’s a lie. they notice everything. he just chooses not to name it. because naming things turns them into something else. and they're very good at avoiding something else. his mouth drifts from teddy’s lips to his jaw, to the corner of his mouth, not quite kissing, just close enough to make it maddening. their voice is low when they finally answer, roughened by how close they are. "yeah," jude murmurs. "you caught me." there's a crooked smile in it, but it's thinner than usual, edged with real intent. his knee presses in again, slower this time, purposeful, letting teddy feel exactly how aware he is of the effect he’s having. "and you’re really gonna stand there," they add, eyes flickering up to meet teddy's, "and pretend you don't want the exact same thing?" his thumb hooks at the edge of teddy’s waistband, not pulling, not yet — just resting there like a question he doesn’t actually need answered. jude leans in close enough that their foreheads almost touch, breath warm and unsteady. for a split second, the truth presses right up against their teeth: that they want teddy in a way that isn't just physical, that they've wanted him for longer than they've admitted to themself. he doesn’t say that. what they do say is simpler. safer. still honest. "i wouldn’t bring you home," jude murmurs, "if i didn't want you." and then he closes the last inch between them, mouth crashing back to teddy's, like he's choosing action over thought on purpose.

she moans, loudly this time, wordless and shaking. "that's what i fuckin' thought." they fall apart before he gives them permission. she tries not to — tries to obey — but her body betrays her, sharp and sudden and white-hot. the orgasm knocks them breathless, their legs buckling, their voice cracking open in a cry that doesn't even sound like them. she twitches under him and tries to pull away, but he doesn't let her. "too much— ben—" "shh," he soothes, though his hips don't stop. "i know. i know, baby. you're doing so good for me." and they are. ruined and pliant, wrecked in the way he promised. everything after is a blur — more pleasure, too much of it, layered and overlapping until she's shaking beneath him, clinging to the mattress like it might save her. when he finally pulls out, it's gentle. a mercy. they collapse fully onto the bed, breath hitching, body humming with aftershocks. sweat sticks her red hair to her skin. their thighs are trembling. her mouth is dry. he's behind them, tracing lazy lines along their back, dragging his fingertips over their inked skin like a closing ritual. "told you i would," he whispers again, and this time it sounds different — less like a threat and more like a confession. a promise made good. frankie doesn't answer right away. she can't. their voice is gone and their limbs are jelly. but when she finally turns her head just enough to a catch a glimpse of him, all she can manage is a wrecked, breathless murmur. "do it again."

looked at her like she was art to be studied and ruined, all at once. her fingertips traced the hem of winona’s shirt, not tugging yet, but resting there, a quiet threat. and then, softly: “stay still,” she murmured, lips barely brushing the corner of winona’s mouth. “i want you to feel everything.” her voice landed like velvet on bare skin. winona’s breath hitched, her body already trembling beneath her. she didn’t think she could move, even if she wanted to. rikkie’s hands were reverent and slow. they dragged upward, pushing fabric out of the way with a lover’s care, like she wasn’t in a hurry to see her but needed to earn every inch. the chill of air met skin first, then the warmth of rikkie’s mouth followed, hot and sure and slow. she kissed down her sternum, her ribs, pausing to suck delicate bruises into the skin that would only be theirs to see. when her lips wrapped around winona’s nipple, soft tongue flicking before drawing it in deep, winona arched hard enough to cry out. her hands found the sheets, completely useless. she didn’t dare touch. not when rikkie was orchestrating her so carefully, like every sound she made was part of a song only she could hear. and rikkie — god, rikkie — smiled against her. “that’s it,” she whispered, letting her teeth graze before easing the ache with another kiss. “you’re so sensitive tonight.” “rikkie—” her voice broke on the name, more breath than syllable. “shh.” they kissed her again. lower. lower still. “i’ve got you.” her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her underwear, slow as a tide, dragging the fabric down her thighs without once looking away. winona’s cheeks burned at the intensity of it — being seen this much, this bare — but rikkie made it feel good. made it feel like being loved, even if neither of them said the word. when rikkie touched her, it wasn’t just with her hands. it was with her mouth brushing her knee. with the weight of her body keeping her grounded. with the slow, precise circles she drew between winona’s legs, just enough to make her whimper but not enough to fall. she edged her there like it was ritual. like they wanted winona to stay on the brink, to memorize every breathless second of it. and she did. she felt herself unravel one pulse at a time, hips rising to meet rikkie’s hand, thighs shaking with the effort of holding still. her body was a live wire and rikkie touched every spark with intention, never rushing, never letting her look away. “you’re beautiful like this,” she said. “don’t hide from me.” winona didn’t. couldn’t. and when she finally came, it was all breath and light with her fingers curling, back arching, and a soft, broken sound caught between her teeth. rikkie didn’t stop. she eased her down from the edge like she’d led her there, steady and slow, pressing a kiss to her hipbone like a promise. winona lay there, undone and trembling, heart too full, skin too alive. she didn’t speak, for she didn’t need to. because rikkie was still there — draped over her, lips against her thigh, one hand still holding hers like she had no intention of letting go.