#keep vibrating

Your footsteps echo on the tiles that adorn the hallway of the Hunter Association's third floor, letting no one escape. Not even Netero manages to scurry silently from door to door, although he is a master at scaring the shit out of others when boredom gets the better of him. You, as a simple Hunter under Cheadle's command in the virus department, have even less chance of getting away unheard.

But that doesn't matter.

You want Pariston to hear you coming. You want him to know you're on your way to him, to arrive on time. He hates it when you don't stick to the given times he carefully picks out for you and he hates it even more when you show up stressed and in work clothes. Most of all because, although he would never admit it, he doesn't think much of Cheadle. She's always nagging at him, always finding fault with his behaviour and is often far too unfriendly in her demeanour towards him.

You don't know how often she has asked you how you put up with him. The fact is, however, that she has no idea of Pariston. Yes, he is a man of entertainment, but that doesn't necessarily make him bad.

The thought makes you smile. Everything today is all right. You have made yourself pretty for him. A lightly falling summer dress, although it is already autumn. But he should see that you spare no effort, even if you rarely wear things like this, maybe not even at all. Sometimes you don't really know, because it's too much to search through all your memories for the right scenes, and at the end of the day it has no value at all. The dress fits, the high heels are bearable even though not comfortable, and you took the liberty of leaving work an hour early to completely detach your head from work. There's nothing else he can find fault with.

“Hey!” someone else's voice snaps you out of your thoughts as you stop and look around. It's only when you cast a glance over your shoulder that you notice the man rushing in your direction, waving. “Stop right there!”

It takes a moment, but in the end it's not hard to categorise Ging's drained, listless visage.

"What is it?" You don't want to talk to him, but he seems to want something important from you, so you put your hands on your hips and raise your brows waiting. It takes him a moment to get to you, propping himself up on his legs to take a breath.

“Since when did this building have so many fucking stairs?” He straightens again, stretching his back through, then looks at you almost thoughtfully. “Are you on your way to Pariston?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Can you tell him-”

“Absolutely not!” Refusing, you cross your arms in front of your chest and shake your head. “You can handle your business on your own. Stop always trying to put your responsibilities on others.”

His expression grows more unpleasant with each word. He doesn't like the idea of doing his own things. At least not if they exhaust him or are sheer exhausting. That Ging and Pariston aren't necessarily friends moves the circumstances towards “exhausting”.

“Please!” He folds his hands in front of his face, while the wry grin seems almost cute, but you don't have time for his theatrics.

“No.” It's your last word before you turn stiffly, leaving Ging behind, who makes a few more starts to speak but can't find the right conviction for you. This man is worth only a shake of the head that accompanies you until you arrive at the door to Pariston's office.

You knock twice on the wood before you hear a sweet “come in” and actually enter. It looks the same as always, the same tidiness, the same smell that clings to Pariston – a mixture of honey and roses.

He has found his place on the large, u-shaped sofa, whose black leather shines as if it were new. The glass table in front of it is furnished with ashtrays and a shoe box. It seems as if the last meeting was with complete strangers.

The glass counter two steps from the sofa, on which dozens of bottles of alcohol can be found behind a serving surface, also seems to have been used once or twice. Someone has opened the Scotch and you know that Pariston prefers red wine in every way.

“You're late.” There is no lovely greeting or compliment waiting for you on his lips. In the first place, there's a slight sound of disappointment as he looks at you with that smile that seems to hold a thousand secrets.

“Sorry.” You don't know how much time has passed, but it's clear you're a bit late. “I had a little exchange with Ging.”

“Did you?” His enthusiasm seems to sink even further and you don't know what he's thinking as he rises from his seat and scrutinises you with those staring brown eyes. “What was it about?”

“He wanted me to tell you something.” Without further ado, you wave it off. “He was so desperate it was almost sweet.”

A man like Ging shouldn't act like that, you're sure of it, but something else seems to be at the forefront of Pariston's mind.

“You seem to have enjoyed the chat if it made you forget the time and pay so much attention to him.”

“As I said, he stopped me. It was only brief.” You wave it off, wanting to give Pariston a smile, but the expression on his face has given way to a rigid facade that makes your heart beat faster in a hurry, while the goosebumps on your body send a shiver down your spine. He is displeased. With you.

Defensively, you raise your hands, placating because you don't want to spend your time together arguing, even if Pariston has only ever reprimanded you until now. “There was really nothing to it, and I'm sorry I'm late again.”

His lids lower a little before his expression brightens abruptly once more and he raises a finger like a suggestion. “Then let's play a game.”

“A game?” you ask in disbelief, unable to follow his sudden change of mood.

Pariston, on the other hand, positively beams as he gestures for you to sit on the free area of the glass counter, with bottles still waiting for greedy throats in the background. Brows raised, you comply with his request, push yourself up onto the counter and find a halfway comfortable seat. Your partner, on the other hand, reaches for the shoebox still lying on the table and carries it over to you.

“We need to make some preparations,” he explains as he sets the package down next to you and a moment later unabashedly slips both his hands under your dress. The first moment you can't help but suck in the air sharply. In the next he has already grabbed the waistband of your panties and slips them over your legs in a controlled movement without you being able to stop him.

“What are you doing?!” You press your legs together uneasily as Pariston lets the slip disappear into his trouser pocket, because he can't stand mess. Then he reaches for the lid of the box, avoiding an answer because he probably thinks you're smart enough to come up with one yourself. And it doesn't seem so hard when you discover the two vibrators, nicely placed on velvet, inside the box.

He knew you were talking to Ging. And he prepared himself.

Instantly, realisation shoots across your face, making your cheeks sensibly hot to the point of burning, while your thighs appear warm and sweaty, even though nothing has happened.

“P-Pariston... What are you doing?” you ask again, your gaze averted from the items and fixed firmly on your counterpart, who meets you with a level of implicitness that is frightening.

“I told you already. We're playing a game.”

You open your mouth to protest, but don't get a chance to say anything as Pariston grabs your thighs and spreads them with force. You struggle, resisting his hold, but he is stronger than you and you know that there is not much point in defying him. He is terrifyingly dominant and you know that if you don't play his game, he will lock you in that room until you give in. He's never done any of this before, but he's mentioned it casually a few times, almost as if he's making a joke. One that you want to believe him. In those seconds you are trapped, locked like a mouse in a cage, specially chosen by Pariston Hill.

So you spread your legs, place your feet on the edge of the countertop and watch as Pariston reaches for the first vibrator. The tip of the device finds a place at the entrance to your vagina, splits the labia and penetrates slightly where nothing but dry flesh awaits. It makes you swallow tensely, press your lips together and wait. A fact that doesn't escape Pariston either, so he withdraws the vibrator.

“Take care of it, will you?” He looks at you, still with a smile on his lips that defies interpretation, but there is something mean about his look that makes the situation even more awkward than it is. You feel like crying. It seems like he is making fun of you, like little boys do to little girls in pre-school. It's not pleasant, but you also have no choice but to let the shame wash over you and feel listlessly for your clit with shaky fingers.

“You'll never get anywhere if you start like this.”

“You don't say,” you hiss back peevishly. A moment in which you come towards him far too briskly, so that Pariston suddenly leans towards you and in the same moment inserts two fingers without restraint. He pushes them into you as if they belong right there and you can't deny that it hurts. But his rough, firm movements also trigger a tingling sensation that you can't resist. His scent seems to beguile your senses and the Nen that emanates from his irritable manner literally sucks you in.

“P-Pariston...” Your voice falters into a unsteady gasp as he suddenly withdraws his fingers and inspects them. They are wet – just a little, but it seems to be enough for him for the next few steps.

Again he puts the vibrator in place, this time pressing it mercilessly into you, making you hold your breath in unpleasant torment until it's far enough in and Pariston lets go. Only for a brief moment before he reaches for the second, which is by far smaller than the first – perhaps two fingers wide. A small toy for which he takes the time to open thick liquor. You watch it while the silicone seems to move inside you, feasting on your lust that is slowly waking up. Carefully he puts the vibrator into the dark fluid, stirs it two or three times and takes it out again, this time covered in alcohol.

And he hardly hesitates to give it a place.

Before you can even prepare yourself, Pariston forces you into a semi-lying position to get better access to your ass. His intense gaze reveals pleasure in what he is doing, interest that reaches far enough to enjoy it all in silence. The squeak that escapes you in terror almost makes your heart jump out of your chest before he inserts the second vibrator anally.

This time it doesn't hurt, but feels uncomfortable on every level, so you can feel the vibrator slowly sliding out between your legs. An act that Pariston notices and corrects with a single movement, pressing it into you again until the silicone is back in place and you start gasping for air.

Pariston doesn't care too much about your well-being, you know that. He loves to ruin things he likes. That's what makes him. And yet you can't hate him for it.

“The rules are very simple,” he then starts. “I'm going to ask you a few questions. If you manage to answer three of them correctly, you win. However, if you lose one of my little toys in the process, you lose. Simple, isn't it?”

“What happens if I lose?” You are forced to look at him between your spread legs, lying exposed in front of him as if you want nothing more.

“It's a secret. You're welcome to try and guess.”

It could be anything, really. You don't even know where to start if you actually wanted to try.

“And if I win?”

“You get whatever you want.”

His words sound tempting, but you know better. Pariston is a gambler. He doesn't care about the outcome because he gets what he wants in the end anyway. It's simple and yet there's nothing you can do but play along.

“Understood.”

“Very well.” He looks visibly pleased as he takes a distance and settles down on the sofa, right on the seat opposite you so that he has your vagina right in view. “What is the exact PH value of distilled water?”

His question hits you like a bolt of lightning. He asks you chemical questions, something he thinks you know something about because you are sometimes in contact with this subject. But you have no idea, try to think about it and still come to no conclusion, so only a panicked “no idea” escapes you.

“What a pity. How about this? What is the characteristic of the fungus Cryptococcus Neoformans?”

It's not reprehensible, but the answer triggers something in you that is almost overwhelming in this absurd situation. The tingling in your abdomen has still not subsided and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. Not least because you know that Pariston is inspecting you closely down there and because it is as embarrassing as it is arousing to give him such a defenceless look between your legs.

“I-it can convert radioactive ra-radiation into chemical e-energy,” you finally bring to your lips as the vibrator in your vagina slowly slips and seems to graze the one in your ass. It slides out bit by bit and you can't stop it.

“I wonder... What genetic condition is caused by the dysfunction of the 13th chromosome?” Pariston doesn't falter, just carries on. But you don't get around to answering. Instead you press your legs together, a moment too late to hold the toy between your legs. It crashes to the floor, heavy, before it brings an icy silence and you dare to reach for the other to pull it out – followed by the arousing sensation that spreads for a single moment.

Only then do you dare to sit up. Part of you immediately wants to shove in his face that his game is idiotic and that you won't accept defeat, but Pariston is already standing in front of you and the mocking smile on his lips is missing.

“Imagine if Ging had seen how pathetically you were doing in this game.” His voice expresses honest dismay. “I'm sure he'd be disappointed that you have so little to offer. One of the reasons why no one but me will ever be interested in you in the long run. I'm the only one for you.” He moves closer to you, letting his breath brush over your skin. “I appreciate that weakness.” Then he breathes a gentle, promising kiss on your cheek, leaving you in wonder. You want him, here and now, want him to have you and show you what he does to naughty girls. But instead he sits down on the sofa again, gesturing curtly at the things lying on the floor. “Do me a favour and clean that up.”

“Is this my punishment?” Your bewilderment rises. Frustration germinates on one side, shame on the other because you actually didn't last long. Somehow you wanted to win the game and at the same time he mocks your performance. He goes far enough to insinuate that you aren't good enough for others. And at the same time he marks you. He's confusing, but he becomes clearer as you pick up the first vibrator and turn the wet silicone in your hands.

“What are you thinking?” He gallantly crosses his legs and folds his hands in front of his knees. “I told you it would be a surprise.”

“And when are you going to surprise me?”

“Who knows?” He smiles again, but this time in a way that freezes your marrow. He will surprise you, surely. Because he loves to make sure you face him with a certain aversion. And he'll probably put you on display. That also means he might make a fool of you in front of everyone, maybe in front of Ging, while you sit wide-legged on a table in front of them, begging to be penetrated.

The wetness between your legs intensifies, gnawing painfully through your bones. And you don't know when Pariston will take advantage of that feeling. You only know that you belong to him, and that you must listen when he asks something of you. With more attention than you've ever paid before.

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