#medic-simp

This is heaven. It has to be. There are no touches quite so tender to be had in the real world. No breathless gasps are quite so endearing. No wandering hands are quite so curious as they reach for a gentle handful of your backside.

You pull away from the kiss, catching your breath from the passionate whirl you got lost in. Below, Silco is panting with you, his hands idly tugging against the curve of your waist. His eyes drop low to innocently observe the swell of your breasts and the blouse buttons that hide them.

“Eyes are up here,” you pant, and Silco meets your gaze with a crooked smile.

“May I ask you a question?” Despite the almost silly grin on his face, Silco seems rather serious about this. His jaw is set behind the subtle curve of his lips, and the line of his brow is hard with concern.

“Of course!”

“Do you like pain?”

Oh.

You look down at Silco, the same genuine concern etched into his face.

Not the kind of question I had in mind.

“I– um, do you like pain?” Your voice pitches up way too much when you ask that, and you know you look like a fool, but how else are you supposed to answer that question?

Silco shakes his head. “It’s not about me,” he says sternly, “do you like pain?”

“Well…” You don’t know how to answer without embarrassing yourself, not wanting to seem like a newbie in front of a more experienced partner.

You look away from Silco. “...I haven’t ever really tried that kind of stuff.”

You wait for a groan of disappointment, an annoyed sigh, some noise or otherwise pointed reaction that your partner is irked by your inexperience. That he must teach and tolerate you. None of that happens.

Silco’s gentle fingers take hold of your chin, bringing your face back to look at him, his usually intense orange eye now an ember. You feel warm looking at him, watching how he examines you so carefully.

“Would you like to try?” he asks, voice softer than the bedspread beneath you. Of course you had heard of people incorporating pain into their bedroom activities, but you had never thought of doing it yourself.

At your speechlessness, Silco offers a mild suggestion. “I can show you a little bit,” he whispers, “and if you like it, then we can take it further.”

You nod and Silco frowns.

“I will be rough and you will need to use your words if we’re going to do it this way,” he hums, eyes raking over the column of your throat with a quiet hunger that you wish he would act on.

“Yes, I would like that very much,” you say, seeming to nearly trip over your own tongue. Silco only grins before pulling you back to him, his lips meeting your own in a stumbling, unceremonious kiss. His tongue is demanding, licking insistently until you open your mouth enough for him to slip past and taste you.

Just when you get used to him roving inside your mouth, he moves. Teeth nip gently at your chin, tongue leaves a wet trail down your neck, and suddenly his lips are brushing against your skin. It’s a mere suggestion, quickly followed up as his mouth closes over the side of your throat. Fingers tangle into the hair at the base of your skull, tilting your head back to allow him more room as he sucks a flaming mark into your neck.

He pulls away to admire his work, eyeing you down the length of his nose as a finger trails around the sensitive flesh he sucked on.

It didn’t hurt at all, but it’s different, the way your skin tingles under the gentle caress of his fingers.

“I liked that,” you say, and only realize when the words come out that you’re completely breathless.

“Did you, now?” Silco muses, but before you can say another word his lips are on you again, teeth teasing a small bite on your lower lip.

Oh.

Silco’s fingers press into your thighs, reaching up for your hips and encouraging a slow grind against him. His teeth come down harder on your lip at the same time that his pelvis rolls up, a sinful combination of sensations that has you gasping into Silco’s mouth and throbbing at the apex of your thighs.

You feel him smirking into your skin and he trails down once more. His lips are an ember against your already hot skin, every kiss threatening to light you ablaze.

He passes by the hickey on your neck, his mouth soothing the tingling ache as he continues lower to your collarbone. Teeth nip at the skin there, his hands coming up to play at the buttons of your shirt.

It’s a question.

“Please,” you whisper, and Silco wastes no time ridding you of your shirt. His fingers are like lightning strikes upon your skin as your shirt slides down your shoulders, revealing the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Silco’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, a sultry precursor to the kisses and licks he peppers on the surface of your chest. Fingers tangle into his graying hair as a shiver runs through you, relishing the wet warmth that his mouth grants as his tongue slides hot over your nipple.

Teeth come down over your nub in a teasing bite, not very hard but enough to make you gasp. The fingers you have locked into Silco’s hair pull and he tightens his hold on you, hands framing your hips as he bites harder.

“Ah!” You cover your mouth at the sudden outburst and Silco’s teeth leave you only to flash a prideful smirk, like he knows the way he’s turned your core to molten lava by now.

“Let me hear what sounds you make, darling,” he hums, soothing the tingly marks of his teeth with a warm swipe of tongue. “If you won’t verbalize I’ll rely on you vocalizing instead.”

Talented fingers roll your bitten nipple as he takes the other between his chipped teeth and delivers the same treatment. By the time he pulls away from the second, you’re panting and sweaty as you look down at the rough indents his teeth left on you.

“Please, Silco,” you whine, fingers squeezing shoulders and neck as you urge him to fill you. “I want your cock, please.”

Silco chuckles, and it makes the neglected tension in your belly wind tighter. Your needy excitement can’t be contained as Silco kicks off his trousers and you work the buttons of his shirt, stripping both of you down until you’re naked as sin.

“Take it all,” Silco grunts, guiding your hips to hover over his cock. You sink down, taking it slowly but steadily. The girth of him still stretches you, despite how many times you’ve made love to him, and the overwhelming feeling of him has your thighs shaking.

Normally you’d pause. Normally you’d ease him out and back in. Normally you’d take your time, but this is not your normal get-down with Silco. Neither of you could be bothered to be patient, least of all you as your partner shows you this new face of intimacy.

The tops of his thighs brush against your ass, a gentle reminder that you’re almost there, just an inch or so to go. Throwing caution to the wind, you let yourself drop onto him, letting loose a loud moan at how prominently he sits inside of you. All of your weight pressing down on him, nestling the head of his cock deep inside. You can feel every throb, every twitch. Part of you swears the vein on the underside is pressing just perfectly against you, but it could be just your fuckdrunk imagination.

“I’ve never…” you gasp out, unable to finish your sentence for the feeling of Silco prodding so deeply.

“You’ve never been on top before?” Silco muses, grinning at your limp nodding. With a quick jerk of his hips, Silco sends his cock somehow deeper inside, and you can’t help the way you lurch forward. A string of mixed curses tumbles from your gaping mouth and more follow as Silco thrusts up into you over and over.

“Oh, my– hnnnfuckinghell, Sil.” You gasp at every movement he makes, breathless and aching for more, more, more.

“Gods you’re so tight,” Silco grits out, rutting up into you steadily now. “Can you feel me, darling?” His fingers threaten to bruise with how tightly he holds you, nails digging into the plush of your thighs.

Can I feel him?!

“Yes–Janna almighty–yes I feel it.” You choke out the words between gasps for air, as if the very pressure of him were nudging at your lungs. It might as well be with how breathless you are.

Silco moves harder and faster, the force of his cock sliding in and out becoming relentless. You feel the knot in your belly tightening already, that coil winding and winding with every shift of Silco’s hips. He must feel it, letting out quick grunts and hisses at your tightening hold on him. 

Just when you think you’ll be able to cum, Silco pulls out and you whine pathetically at the loss, your walls clenching around nothing as you try to pull him back.

“Turn around for me,” Silco rasps, his hands on your hips guiding you to all fours. He’s behind you now and you have a lovely view of the headboard, but then his cock is pushing into you again and filling you in one relentless thrust, sending you tumbling into the pillows below you.

“Oh, gods!”

Immediately, Silco's fingers tangle into your hair and yank, pulling you up out of the pillow where there's now a wet spot. Spit dribbles out of your mouth as Silco holds you up by your hair, fucking you mindless from behind. Each sharp thrust threatens to be too much, to hurt too badly, to make you cry, but it just barely toes the line. There’s a perfect, measured balance to everything he does to you, and that’s what’s about to send you over the edge.

“Are you going to cum, sweetheart?” Silco asks, grunting out words between each breath of air. You can barely nod with the way he’s holding your head up, but he must get the message because he laughs at you.

“I know it, you’re so tight around me.” He leans forward, leaving a sloppy, wet kiss on your shoulder as he does. “I knew you would like this, getting off just from me biting you, marking you, treating you like an animal.” You whimper, the coil in your belly pulling tauter than ever as Silco grunts filth into your ear, threatening to make you cum.

“Cum on my cock,” he pants, “cum and I’ll give you what you need, I’ll fill you up until you’re leaking onto the sheets.” His mouth at your shoulder closes around your skin and he bites, the hot flare of pain proving to be the last thing you need to come undone around him.

A hard shiver wracks your body, threatening to paralyze you as Silco fucks you hard through your orgasm, dirty verses upon his tongue that you can’t even hear. You’re too lost in the rapture that he’s brought you to, tears streaming down your cheeks as he holds you by the hair.

“Beautiful little thing you are,” Silco grunts, dropping your hair to grab your hips with both hands, pulling you into his every thrust until your name punches from his chest in a harsh groan, and his teeth come down on your shoulder again.

Where he would normally press deep through his orgasm or rest against you with a low moan, his hips are rocking hard against your backside and he bites through his pleasure. His teeth light your skin on fire, stinging and burning and making your eyes roll back as his cock pulses within you.

When he finally releases you, softening against your walls, the pull of his teeth against your skin aches horribly. You haven’t the energy to complain about it though, as you collapse forward into the pillows below.

“Are you okay?” Silco asks, falling onto the bed next to you. His arms wrap around you, a warmth that comforts you even in the sticky, sweaty state of both your bodies.

“Yeah, just sore.”

Silco hums in acknowledgement, the sharp line of his nose pressed against your temple. “You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”

You try to say something back, but you’re not sure what, and it doesn’t sound out very well at all. Silco only shushes you, pulling you closer.

“Just take a moment, let’s lie here for a little bit.” His voice slowly winds down to a low whisper. “When you’re feeling better we’ll get that wound cleaned up.”

“Make no mistake,” you mumble, “I feel great right now.”

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

Your voice doesn’t echo in the confessional booth, there is no ring like there is in the rest of the church. It drops flatly into the air, it does nothing to hide the way you can’t catch a decent or even breath.

You hear the priest, Father Paul, shift on the other side of the booth, but you can’t get the words out, you can’t continue the confession. 

You can’t tell him this. 

You wrote him a letter, asking to meet him in the church this evening to confess, and you wrote it anonymously, there is no pressure to confess now. 

You could just walk out.

“Go on,” Father Paul encourages, voice gentle and smooth.

“I have lusted after someone. Repeatedly.” You say, voice quivering. Even though it’s the evening and there’s no one in the church but you and Father Paul, you keep your voice low, scared, terrified that someone will hear your confession. “I am infatuated with someone. I can’t stop thinking of him no matter how much I pray and it aches, Father.” Now that you’ve started, there is nothing you can do to stop the way your words spill from you. “He lives inside me, Father. I think of him always, his conscience lives in mine and he speaks to me every day. I can’t listen at mass anymore, I just watch him and wonder why God has cursed me to love a man I cannot have.”

“God is testing your faith,” Father Paul murmurs, and you shake your head at that, wiping the tears that are now streaming down your cheeks. “He has not forsaken you, my chi–”

“But he has, Father!” you blurt, sobbing. God has forsaken you, he has left you. Your prayers are not answered, you cannot feel his light. He is gone. He does not want you.

“The Lord is testing you. He presses your faith to see how strongly you stand by Him. His good grace will reward you if only you trust in Him–in His word.”

As if you could feel any more ashamed, you’re embarrassed by your lack of composure compared to Father Paul’s even tone, his gentle speech.

Choking back a sob, you breathe out a laugh at yourself. “I pray constantly, Father, and I have heard and seen nothing from God. He left me because He cannot love me with the gravity of this sin. The man I lust for physically–emotionally–belongs to God and God alone. I have angered the Lord.”

Father Paul doesn’t say anything for a short time, and your heart starts racing faster and faster with every passing second. He belongs to God, Father Paul belongs to God– he must know that. 

“Does this man you lust for belong to God more than most of His children?” Father Paul finally says, an air of curiosity in his voice.

“Yes.”

“What does this man do?”

You groan, conflicted. “I can’t tell you, Father.”

“The Seal of Confession protects you, my child. This is between you and God and no one else. You don’t have to be afraid.” In your head, you can see Father Paul, the sincerity in his eyes. His voice is gentle and calming, easing you away from your feverish emotions.

You hang your head forward, tears dripping down your chin as you truly consider telling Father Paul that it’s him you’re obsessed with. It’s him you can’t stop thinking about, him that’s filling your every thought.

“I have prayed every day, Father,” you say, breathless, “to get you out of my head. And it never works. My prayers are not heard and it’s eating me alive.”

The priest is silent, and you have to fill that silent space; you can’t let it sit there, you have to say something.

“I can’t have you because you are under oath, you abide by the collar. You are God’s medium in this house and I should not need you like I do but I can’t help it, Father.”

Still, Father Paul is silent, and your eyes sting with more oncoming tears as you try to plead with the man.

“Help me, Father,” you whisper, “please.”

Father Paul shifts behind the divider and you hear him step out of the booth. Your heart sinks to your stomach and you step out, eyes adjusting to the light in the church. Father Paul has his back to you, face in his hands. With the raven tousle of his hair, the black of his shirt and pants, and the dim candlelight of the church, he looks like a shadow. You reach out to him with a hand, and as soon as you lay a finger on his shoulder he flinches.

“Father, I don't know what to do,” you whisper again.

“I am your priest,” Father Paul says, evening his breathing through careful words. “I have to maintain a boundary.”

“I know!” you cry, so upset with yourself now as tears run down your cheeks. “Father, I need your guidance, please, I can’t do this alone!”

You fall to your knees, fingers locked together, praying that the priest will hear you. Your tears drip onto the wooden floorboards that you press your forehead against, hoping to hear him turn around to see it’s you that’s confiding in him, begging for his forgiveness and help.

He shifts again, shoes scuffing against the floor as he turns around and approaches you. His clothes rustle, and you quickly realize he’s very close. You look up, arms still braced against the floor and fingers still locked tightly, but he’s so close. He’s crouched on one knee, lips pressed into a thin line. You can see there’s so much happening in his head, just looking at his eyes.

You reach out to him again, your hand tingling as blood returns to it once you’ve relinquished your hold. Father Paul is close enough that you don’t have to reach far to touch him, to let your palm fit so perfectly against his cheek. His skin is warm, and you realize how flush his face is, his nose and cheeks–even his ears–are dusted with a light pink. Your thumb brushes just under his eye, middle and ring fingers teased by the dark curls of his sideburns.

“Please,” you whisper again, and Father Paul’s eyes flit down to your hand, lips parted. His own hand covers yours and you sigh at the contact, pleased, despite knowing he’ll remove your hand and send you away to pray hours longer for god’s forgiveness.

But he doesn’t.

Father Paul’s hand is soft against your own, gentle as he weaves his fingers between yours. His head turns just slightly, tilting down as his eyes close and he presses his lips against your palm in a chaste kiss. Your heart melts at the gesture but quickly skips a beat when the priest opens his eyes to look at you with heavy lids, dark eyelashes fluttering. His other hand reaches out and mimics you, holding your face. His hands are larger than yours and his fingers easily thread into your hair, pressing lightly, curious.

“I have wanted to touch you for so long,” Father Paul whispers, observing every feature of your face now that he has you so close. He tracks the way your throat bobs as you swallow nervously, and he doesn’t miss the slight quiver in your lip.

You sit up now, careful not to lose the Father’s touch as you adjust and draw nearer to him. On your knees, you lean forward so your noses are almost touching. You watch his mouth open around words he wants to say but cannot get out, a look of wonder and infatuation in his eyes, pupils dark and dilated.

“Father,” you whisper, closing the distance and watching with rapture as the priest takes in your nearing lips and the way his title sounds leaving them. “Touch me more.”

Father Paul takes the initiative, leaning into you so his lips brush yours so lightly you’re not sure they’re even there, but then his mouth slots against yours, and you do feel it. His lips are soft but hesitant, wanting but unsure. You feel a shooting pang of guilt in your chest as you realize that this is blasphemy, that Father Paul could lose his collar for this.

You pull away, and the both of you share a look of shock at one another, not sure how to proceed.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you whisper, lips still dangerously close to Father Paul’s.

He nods. “You’re exactly right, we shouldn’t.” Though his words tell you to stop, you can feel that he wants more from you–more of you. Before you can move away or manage another word, Father Paul’s lips are on yours again, more sure this time. He’s made up his mind, for the time being.

His hands move, one on your middle back and the other on your shoulder, pressing so you’ll lay down for him. His arm is secure and you lean back, trusting he won’t let you fall, and when your head rests against the floor, Father Paul leans over you. His arms cage you in on either side of your head, hair hanging over his forehead as he kisses you harder. His tongue probes at your mouth and you let him in, letting him taste every inch of you that he can find. Once your tongue meets his, he’s ravenous, mouth devouring yours with a fervor you’ve only ever seen when he’s preaching.

The warmth of him is like a fire, hot skin against hot skin as his mouth moves from your lips to your cheek, down to your jaw, and finally your neck, where he sucks a flaming mark into you. You moan, skin tingling where he’s claimed you and where his tongue now soothes, hoping you have a good turtleneck to wear tomorrow.

A low rumble sounds from Father Paul’s chest, his teeth nipping at the skin of your throat. You arch your neck, bearing yourself to him, his hot breath against you beginning to drive you insane. His middle becomes rigid as he flexes his stomach to hold himself up when he removes his hands. They fall to your waist and push up, up, until they feel the curve of your clothed breasts.

“Father, please,” you whimper, and you sound like you had before, begging for his forgiveness and guidance, only now you’re begging for him to take off your shirt and touch you.

Father Paul takes the hem of your shirt and slides it up, and you lift up your back to help him get it over your head. You hadn’t cared to wear a bra when you came to the church, only dressed in a t-shirt and some thin pajama pants. You’ve even kicked off your shoes. Now, as you lay on the floor of St. Patrick’s Church, your bare chest exposed to Father Paul, you shiver as you feel the nearness of him and his body heat, and it makes up for the chill that raises goosebumps on your arms and hardens your nipples.

Father Paul eyes your breasts hungrily, hands hovering over them, trembling. His breath is ragged, uneven, and as he lowers his hands to feel your chest, his hips slide forward, pressing his clothed cock against the apex of your thighs. You gasp, your nerves lighting up as Father Paul touches you, gropes you, soft, smooth palms brushing over your stiffened nipples. His hands are still shaking as he holds your breasts, and he squeezes lightly before shifting them to your ribs. A thumb reaches out to circle your nipple, and you inhale sharply, grinding your hips against his clothed erection in time with the gentle circles he rubs into you.

“Father,” you whisper, relishing the ironic godliness of his title. There is nothing godly about what you’re doing now, as he massages your chest on the floor of a church. At least the confessional booth is still nearby, in case you want to use it.

“Paul,” the priest corrects, a little breathless. “Please, call me Paul.”

You don’t argue with him, you don’t want to, having called his name into the empty night of your room in bouts of pleasure. You only nod your head, sighing his name into the empty church.

“Paul,” you whine, and the man on top of you lets out a shuddering breath, seemingly pleased. You say his name again, and he lowers his head, kissing your sternum before moving lower to take your other nipple into his mouth. He bites gently, and soothes the immediate pain with his tongue, lapping at your skin.

“I need to taste you,” he whispers, and your head perks up at that. You watch with bated breaths as Father Paul kisses down your body, his hands tickling down your sides until they reach the hem of your thin bottoms.

Father Paul looks up at you now, eyes dark and half-lidded. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead that his dark hair sticks to and your heart flutters seeing him so disheveled for you. 

“Please, let me taste you,” he whispers.

Neither of you have any more reservations as you nod desperately, stumbling over your own pleading and whimpering for him until he slides your pajamas down your hips and throws them off somewhere with your shoes and shirt. All that you’re left in are your panties, thin and positively soaked.

Father Paul pauses for a moment, brown eyes glued to your clothed mound. He seems caught by a thought, not sure what he should do now. Maybe he doesn’t know how to taste you? He’s been a priest for a long time now, that comes as no surprise. But it seems he’s wanted to do this longer than you have, if his highly-driven lust for you is anything to go off of.

“I can’t have you here,” Father Paul finally whispers, eyes wide with hunger. “I need you in my bed.”

You nod and he helps you up, taking your clothes and leading you to the doors. He steps out for a second, looking to make sure no one is out, and when he’s sure all is still in the dark nighttime that blankets everything outside, he tugs your hand. You tread carefully across the stone path to the rectory, clutching one arm to your bare chest. Once you’re inside Father Paul grabs you and presses you against the door. His mouth claims yours, feverish and seemingly insatiable. He drops your clothes by the door in favor of grabbing your waist to pull you close so you can feel his erection pressing insistently against you.

You anchor your fingers into the front of his shirt, clawing at him desperately as he guides you backwards to the bedroom. The door is already open and you stumble when the backs of your knees hit the frame of the bed, falling onto the soft comforter below.

Father Paul stands above you, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His hair is a mess, eyes wide, and straining at the front of his pants, his clothed cock.

“You shall not make for yourself a graven image–any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth,” he mumbles quietly, quoting the verse like it’s a part of him.

“You shall not bow down to them nor serve them.” With a gentle hand on your leg, Father Paul guides you to pivot, and you can see the candle left burning on his nightstand. Your legs hang off the edge of the bed and he joins you there, lowering himself to his knees before you.

“I hardly need to carve you,” he says, smiling up at you.

“Paul–” you start, but he cuts you off, clicking his tongue.

“I knew it was you in that confessional booth,” he says, taking one of your legs and putting it over his shoulder. “I heard your whispered prayers at the altar nearly every day.” Now the other leg. “I admit, I prayed on this very thing as well.”

You watch in awe now as Father Paul leaves gentle kisses on the insides of your thighs, nearing your wet core.

“I will not forsake you.” It’s whispered against your warm skin, a promise, and for the first time in months, you feel safe and seen.

Instead of removing your panties, Father Paul leans forward to press his lips against your clothed bud, and you sigh, laying back to rest on the bedspread beneath you. His breath is warm against your most sensitive parts and your skin tingles as his fingers tug at your panties. You lift your hips to aid him, and there is no time wasted as he flattens his tongue between your folds.

You gasp, jolted by the feeling, and between your thighs Father Paul moans, tasting you. His tongue teases your clit with feather-like strokes and nudges

“Paul– I– ah!” You stumble over your words as the priest thrusts his tongue into your hole and groans against you. The noises he makes are messy and desperate, heavy breaths fanning hot over your mound as his tongue writhes inside of you.

“God, you taste so good,” the priest groans breathlessly, prodding your entrance with a finger. You don’t have time to wonder how he is so talented with his mouth if he only uses it for preaching. You can’t think about anything other than how relieving it is to feel his finger curling inside of you. You barely adjust before he pulls it out and thrusts in a second finger, stretching you open for him.

You whimper, high and breathy, and as if he wasn’t doing enough to you already, Father Paul’s lips purse around your clit and suck, sending your hips bucking towards his mouth. His name tumbles from you unceremoniously, shocked, and your fingers find root in his hair, pulling hard. He groans at your desperate tugging and the vibration travels through you, threatening to make you dizzy as his fingers continue to curl against your walls.

His mouth leaves you and it’s a sudden loss, but you’re inwardly grateful for the moment to breathe and relax. Taking one hand out of the priest’s dark curls, you prop yourself up on your elbow to look down at gim, and you feel yourself throb around his fingers when you lay eyes on him.

Father Paul is a mess. His dark hair has been thrown about by your clawing. His face is red and covered in your slick, open and panting mouth wet from your hole. It drips from his chin and stains his shirt in haphazard dribbles. There’s a barely visible sheen of sweat on his throat, and you're struck with a compulsion to lick it.

“I want you to ride my face,” he says, failing to catch his breath as his chest rises and falls rapidly. “Can you do that for me?” He looks ravenous, eyes wide and wanting. The tendons in his arm strain as his fingers work you slowly, keeping you needing more of him. You couldn’t deny him if you wanted to.

“Yes, please,” you whimper, and Father Paul climbs onto the bed, laying down and directing you over top of him

“Use me,” he whispers, practically begging, before pulling you down onto him. His nose flares hotly over your mound as he devours you without restraint, tongue ravishing you. You take his desperate command, use me, to heart and let your fingers tangle into his hair again, grinding against his mouth.

He was going easy on you before, warming you up, because now you feel the coil in your belly winding tight very quickly. The way he sucks and spoils your clit feels less overwhelming now and your hips chase the feeling, muscles growing tense and breathing becoming ragged and quick as you near your orgasm.

You look down at Father Paul only to find he’s already looking up at you, brown eyes locked onto your face as you mumble out praises of his work and warnings of your orgasm. With his face buried in your heat, the Father moans loudly, sending you over the edge of your climax as the vibrations work through you. 

Your back arches as your orgasm strikes you, and from your mouth spills a high moan of your worshiper’s name. Through your pleasure, Father Paul does not stop for a second. He guides you through your orgasm as every muscle throbs at once and waves of bliss wash over you again and again until you’re whining and limply pushing him away.

You pant and roll off him, trying to catch your breath as the priest lays on his back, panting. You feel electric as you lay in your afterglow. Father Paul crawls over to you, leaving kisses around your thighs and soothing your sensitive nerves. As if he wants you to beg for his mouth again, his tongue darts out to lick up what wetness you’ve left around his mouth, and your walls clench around nothing. 

Whatever his tongue can’t get he wipes clean with his sleeve before leaving a wet trail up the length of your body, kissing everywhere he can. Your nerves light aflame everywhere his lips touch you, raising goosebumps on your bare skin. When he finally reaches your mouth, his lips brush yours just barely before pressing in a light and tender kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it sends your heart fluttering as reality begins to set in.

You are laying in the bed of the parish priest of Crockett Island, naked, breathless, and the priest himself is worshiping you as his own god.

“I-I need you,” you sigh against Father Paul’s lips, holding him close as the haze of your orgasm starts to clear and is replaced by a carnal want to feel him inside you. His mouth parts on yours to say something but you can’t let him stop yet, so your tongue slips into his mouth, hips rolling up to press against his clothed cock.

“I need you, too,” Father Paul whispers, hissing when he presses against you, twitching in his pants at the stimulation. His pants are rough against your bare skin and you know your wetness is staining the fabric, but neither of you care as Father Paul maneuvers you to lay on the soft pillows of the bed.

He hovers over you, kisses growing messy and impatient. You grasp at each other, his hands feeling at your chest and hips and yours working open the buttons of his shirt. You need to see him, need to balance this dynamic where you’re stark naked and he’s clad head-to-toe.

Father Paul catches on and rears back onto his knees, quickly tugging out and tossing away the clergy collar around his neck before unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a soft, pale chest. He’s mostly hairless, a small speckle of curls on his chest and a dark trail running from his navel into the hem of his pants. His hands reach down to start on his pants and relieve some of the pressure on his cock, but you stop him.

Father Paul’s eyes dart to you, concern softening the hunger and need in his eyes.

“Let me,” you whisper, eyeing his bulge as you sit up.

His hands float away and he relaxes, watching intently as you undo his belt buckle. It snaps open with a sharp clink and takes minimal effort on your part to pull through the loops of his pants. Father Paul takes it from you and tosses it to the floor, his soft stomach rippling into small rolls when he leans over.

Before you start on his fly, you cup your hand to the hard ridge of him, feeling the warmth there. He inhales sharply, hips rutting into your hand of their own accord.

“Please, don’t tease, not now, lamb,” Father Paul whispers, and the nickname he’s given you causes a small whimper to bubble up in your throat.

You do as told and quickly unzip his trousers to reveal black boxers. He sighs, pleased, and you eye the dark spot of precum on the fabric. Your fingers hook into the slightly damp material and tug, letting his cock spring out.

It’s thick, thicker than you anticipated, but his blessed size is not what catches you by surprise. Your lips part around a gasp when you see just how hard he is, sporting a bright red tip that’s weeping precum, and veins that pop out against velvety skin. His cock seems just as pale as the rest of him, only flushed a light pink with how long he’s been hard and how much he’s apparently enjoyed everything so far.

“I didn’t think you would enjoy it that much,” you mumble, lips parting when Father Paul takes your chin in one hand and tilts it up to him.

“Really?” he asks, smiling, and you nod into his hand. Father Paul leans close to you, nose nearly touching yours as he whispers, “I would take you over Communion every mass if I could.”

For such a dirty promise, his words drip like honey, and you want to taste that sweetness. You crane up to meet his lips, wrapping your fingers around his cock as you do and relishing the shuddering gasp that tumbles from Father Paul.

You pump him slowly, greatly pleased with the feeling of him in your hand, shifting and throbbing. He drips precum like a fountain, pent-up, but it makes each glide of your hand more and more slick, until a wet sound accompanies every flick of your wrist. Soon, his hips are rocking gently into your hand, and you match his pace, wishing you could bottle up all of the delightful little sounds he makes. He can hardly kiss you now as he fucks into your hand, too overwhelmed to focus on anything but your hand on his cock.

“You’re very good at this,” he manages, panting like a dog now but the sheen of sweat on his chest makes him seem to glow. A bead of sweat rolls from his damp, dark halo of hair to his temple, the heat of him radiating towards you as he works himself in your hand.

You smile, still watching intently. “Do you want to come like this?”

“No.” His answer is quick and abrupt, hips slowing to a stop. Your hand is wet with his precum and you look up at him, tongue laving over your fingers as you clean up your mess.

“You’re teasing again, lamb,” Father Paul hums, chastising, and before you can protest he snatches your wrist and takes your fingers into his mouth. You’re speechless as his tongue wraps around your digits, licking his own precum off of them. When he deems them clean, he slides them slowly out of his mouth and leans into you, lips meeting yours hungrily. He pushes you to lay back down against the pillows and you wipe your hand haphazardly on the bedspread before you grab his face, holding him close. He manages to get out of his pants and boxers, with some difficulty, but as soon as you feel the tip of him nudging your folds you know you’re a goner.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Father Paul asks, hips rocking slowly against yours, hardly relieving any of the burning arousal you have for him as his cock glides over your clit again and again.

“Yes,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Please, Paul, I need you!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice as he lines himself up and pushes into you, bottoming out in one strong thrust. A loud, low moan tumbles from you as he thrusts to the hilt, sitting hot and heavy inside of you. Father Paul isn’t very quiet either, a long, shuddering groan leaving him as he buries himself deep inside you. Your name falls from his lips in uttered praises, repeated over and over as you adjust to the feeling of one another.

Eager to have more, your legs tighten around Father Paul’s hips and grind against him hard, sending him somehow deeper inside you. He winds back, leaving just the tip in before thrusting all the way in again, a disbelieving laugh tumbling out of you as he starts to pick up his pace.

“You feel… so, so good,” you sigh, a breathless cry following quickly after as you move your hips with him.

Father Paul can’t respond–he can’t speak. His entire body trembles as he struggles to hold himself over you. Lips parted, all he can do is breathe and moan as the tip of him kisses the deepest part of you over and over.

“Good god,” he whispers, leaning forward to rest his head against your chest. He fucks you slowly, savoring every thrust as he mumbles praises against your skin.

“Paul, please, I need more of you,” you whine, pressing your heels into his lower back to urge him faster, but he denies you.

“I… I can’t, lamb,” he says, voice hoarse as he looks up at you. His face is red and whether that’s from the intimacy of the moment or his hesitance (or a mix of both), you can’t tell. Your hands come up to hold his face, skin tickled by the dark locks of his hair that hang down. He’s hot, sweat coating your fingers as you cradle him, lips barely touching his.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, and Father Paul nods, swallowing almost nervously as his hips slow to a gentle rocking. He’s anxious, out of his element, but he wants more and you can see the conflict on his face.

“Take it at your own pace,” you say, and after a moment of hesitation, after a quick flash of uncertainty, he nods again. He pulls back slowly and with a low hiss, and your walls clench around the tip of him, waiting to feel him again. When he finally rocks back into you, a sigh of his name falls from your lips, and it seems incentive enough for the Father to gain a little more confidence. His hips speed up, breath hot against your skin as he leans into you, burying his gasps and moans in your neck.

“Let me hear you,” you encourage gently, lips brushing the shell of his ear, and he pulls away, leaning over you. His eyes are glued to where you two meet, watching how readily you take his cock over and over, and it doesn’t take much to notice the small noises he makes at that, the slight force he applies to every thrust while he watches.

There’s an air of desperation now as he takes you and you join him, rocking your hips against his as he starts to fuck you in earnest. Your clit grinds against him with every roll, and it has you whining for him, the volume of your combined cries growing as you find a comfortable pace.

“I waited too long to feel you wrapped around me,” Father Paul hisses, one hand moving down to your hips and squeezing until you feel his nails biting crescents into your skin. “I won’t make that same mistake.” There’s a sudden urgency in his voice when he says this, and he fucks into you harder, hips drilling against yours now as crude, wet sounds echo in the bedroom with every thrust. Your eyes lock onto each other and you watch the clench of his teeth, the fitful breaths that escape him, and you quickly feel that coil tightening low in your belly.

“I will take you again, and again, and again, and again, until I’ve had my fill of you,” he groans, watching you closely, eyes tracking your every expression and committing the image of each to memory. “And I will never be satisfied.”

His thrusts are sharp, uneven, messy, and you wouldn’t have it any other way as his words add to the frenzy of your building climax. You gasp and whine his name again and again, throwing your arms around his neck as you pull him into you to feel somehow closer, needing more of him around you all at once.

“Paul!” you cry out, face buried in the raven black of his hair as he fucks you harder and harder. “Please come, I want it inside me!”

It’s perverse, but it’s exactly what the both of you want as Father Paul’s thrusts begin to grow frantic and erratic, hips chasing against yours to reach that high that he so badly needs. You hold on for him, stave off your orgasm as long as you can, whispering his name like a broken, hedonistic prayer until–

“Yes, oh dear god!” Father Paul gasps before quickly thrusting as far in as he can get. A sharp cry of your name punches from his chest and you shiver as he fills you up. His cock throbs with a passion, warmth blossoming low in your belly each time it does, and the subtle, needy rock of his hips against yours grinds your clit until you join him in bliss.

Your orgasm washes over you, consuming every inch of you as the push and pull of your combined orgasms drags them both out. Your walls throb around him and he pulses in response, over and over until you don’t know where you end and he begins.

When it all seems to be finished, you lie there in each other’s arms, sweaty and panting. You couldn’t be bothered to care about cleaning up any fluids, simply content to lay with each other and relish your shared highs.

After some time has passed, Father Paul pulls his softened cock out of you, slowly, the two of you still sensitive, and the priest is quick to take you into his arms. You’re hot and covered in sweat (among other things), but oddly enough, the warmth of him is exactly what you want– no, need most right now.

“Thank you,” he whispers, lips pressing anywhere on your face that he can reach. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He utters it until it fades from your stream of consciousness and blends into the ambience surrounding you.

Your eyelids grow heavy, body sinking into Father Paul’s soft bed as you absently hear him whisper, “I love you.”

The door slams shut behind you when you finally step into your home. From the bedroom of the small apartment, you hear Silco call your name, footsteps approaching you until he rounds the corner to welcome you home.

“Lovely,” he greets, a gentle smile on his face. You set your bags down and are more than pleased when he pulls you into his arms.

The deep sigh that leaves you is immediate, the tension of the day seeping out from the muscles of your shoulders and arms as you relax into your partner’s embrace.

“Rough day?” he asks, and you simply nod, burying your face into his chest, just under the sharp hook of his collarbone.

“Is there anything I can do to make it better?” It’s a gentle offer whispered into your ear, his long nose pressed against your temple and fanning warm breaths over your skin. Your arms tighten around SIlco’s form, fingers splayed over his back. Despite how comforting your partner is when he holds you, there’s still that nagging bit of tension, annoyance, frustration.

You nod again, a subtle heat beginning to coil low in your belly.

“Tell me what I can do for you, love,” he hums, and the longer that heat stews, the more salacious Silco’s voice starts to sound.

You crane your head up, planting a kiss on the bare skin of his collarbone where his shirt is open. Another kiss follows, and another, and SIlco hums in understanding, tucking a finger under your chin to tilt your face up.

His lips press sweetly against yours, a slow and gentle kiss that he lets you take full control of. You take that control greedily, fingers tangling into his raven locks and tugging them from the loose bun at the back of his head. His hair cascades over your hands, tickling your heated skin as it comes to hang around his shoulders, but it’s not enough to sate the pure molten heat that consumes you now. You need to feel more of him.

Fingers press into the firm line of his shoulders, tongue rolling against his as your wandering hands float lower along his chest until they reach the hem of his shirt. You push up, the heat of him intoxicating as you run your fingers over his sharply defined hips, up his ribs, over his shoulder blades. You pull yourself closer and SIlco grunts when the hardened outline of him presses into your hip.

You smirk and Silco doesn’t miss it, one hand coming down to your ass and squeezing, forcing a yelp from your throat.

Tugging at Silco’s waist, you urge him towards the bedroom, quickly thanking Janna that the door is already open as you tumble through the room until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. Silco eases you down, arms secure at your back until you’re laid comfortable, his lips moving to your throat.

“Mm, tell me what you need, lovely,” Silco groans, breath hot at the crook of your neck as he breathes you in, his body caging yours to the bed.

“Need you to eat my pussy,” you whine, and Silco’s smile is a sharp, knowing thing against your skin, his voice rough and low.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Fingers nimbly open up the buttons of your shirt, lips leaving a wet trail down the length of your body as more and more of your skin is revealed to him. He palms the weight of a breast in one hand, a fleeting sensation as those curious digits travel lower, vision tunneled into your request. With slow, deliberate movements, Silco tugs off your boots and socks, unbuttons your trousers, and pulls them down your hips, quickly followed by your panties.

Laid out bare for him, you let your eyes flutter closed, immersing yourself in every gentle touch. Your partner’s fingers are like trickling streams as they travel up your legs and hook under your knees to lift your thighs onto his shoulders, his breath a hot wind on your exposed mound.

Your chest deflates in a long sigh as Silco’s tongue finally delves between your folds, his nose nestling against your clit as that warm muscle slips into your entrance and curls. His tongue recedes just as quickly as it had initially invaded, only to flatten at your clit in a lingering stroke.

“Gods, Sil,” you gasp, tangling fingers into his dark hair and tugging, earning an eager moan from your worshipper.

He spoils your clit with teasing licks, a gentler treatment than the previous fervor he had originally set upon you with. He’s patient and deliberate, every flick of his tongue on your bud measured and purposeful. Even as he closes his lips and sucks, he’s tuned into what your body craves, and how those cravings present themselves. He dissects every gasp, sigh, shiver, and moan as their own unique specimens, learning your patterns and tells.

Silco’s eaten you out many times, even since before you were ever officially an item, but never like this. It’s always been rushed, like he’s starving and you’re the only meal around. There’s something to be said for the orgasm-inducing power of wet frenzy, but he’s truly studying you now.

When your climax finally crests, it doesn’t crash like you’ve known it to. Instead, it washes over you slowly, steadily, like a tide rolling onto the shore. It’s gentle and flowing, but it feels almost endless, the lines between each little quake of your release blending together. You hold onto Silco through it all, your fingers gliding through the obsidian river of his hair, tugging and stroking in time with the currents of your pleasure.

As you climb down, you feel as though you’re breathing anew, body sunken into the mattress with full relaxation. What tension had remained from the hours before now is gone, with no trace of its existence, and you feel lighter with all of that weight gone.

You don’t know when Silco took his mouth off you, but you know he’s kissing around your mound now, wetting your thighs with the slickness he’d collected on his mouth and chin. He looks up at you with those beautiful eyes, half-lidded and silver in the way that sometimes the ocean’s surface might appear silver, or blue, or green, at any given glance.

“You’re a pussy wizard, y’know that?” you say, words slurred in the haze of your afterglow.

“What can I say?” your partner purrs. “I’m bewitched.”

“By what, exactly?” “Mhmm, the taste of you, of course.” He furthers his point by licking your wetness off his fingers, humming his approval.

Despite the great relief you’ve just experienced at the capable hands and mouth of your partner, that nagging ache remains, and it only worsens when he looks up at you and lazily cleans his fingers. Unsatisfied, you shift your hips trying to get ahead of the growing need between your legs and ultimately failing, feeling your walls pulse around nothing.

“Still need me, love?” Silco coos, crawling up the length of you and wearing far too many layers for your liking.

“Please fuck me, Sil,” you whisper, snaking arms around his shoulders and trying desperately to tug his shirt off him. He chuckles at your attempt and rears back, throwing off his shirt in one smooth motion before starting on his pants. They’re shucked off sort of gracelessly and tossed over where your clothes lay in a pile on the floor, but the absolute beauty of Silco’s naked body makes up for his momentary lack of swagger.

His mouth descends upon yours, all teeth, tongue, and your taste. Hands run along the ridges of muscle and scars littering his lithe form, the heat of his body only serving to fan the flames of your desire. A sudden gasp escapes you when the tip of his cock nudges against your sensitive clit and Silco’s smug grin is sharp on your lips.

With one hand, he guides himself through your folds, collecting your wetness and spreading it along his length. His tongue works against you thoroughly until the head of him catches at your entrance.

He sinks into you without a word, a soft grunt at his lips when his hips press flush against yours. You on the other hand let out a loud, wanton moan, burying your face into Silco’s neck, basking in the relief of finally being filled.

“Tell me how you want me,” Silco whispers, his breath stirring your hair. HIs hips rock slowly against yours, a sweet pressure that has you rocking with him.

You shiver. “Slow.”

Silco ruts into you with long, lingering drags, every thrust sending a ripple through you. You can’t help the way you arch into him, or lock your legs around him, or cling to his shoulders. With every shift of his hips you lose yourself more and more, to his rhythm, to his depth, his precision, his presence. His breath is yours, your gasps are his; you’re inexplicably tied to him in a way you can’t even begin to explain.

Every whimper of his name is met in kind with a gasp of yours, every touch returned with adoration. A gentle bruising on your hips, a warm cradle on your cheek. The press of him steadily grows more and more desperate, but he doesn’t change pace. It remains deliciously slow, tender, longing.

And it breaks you.

You come undone around him with a shocked tremble, blind-sided by your orgasm. Just like your previous climax, it’s a gentle thing, like a breath of fresh air after an eternity of suffocation. Your walls pulse lazily around Silco’s cock and he’s sent over the edge with you. The steady throb of him within your walls seems to extend your peak, your bodies working in tandem as his release fills you with a hot rush.

Your senses slowly come back to you and you become aware of your and SIlco’s heaving chests. Your skin is slick with sweat, face still buried into his collarbone as you come down from your high.

“Thank you,” you mumble, voice weak with exhaustion. “I really needed that.”

Silco hums lazily. “My pleasure.”

There’s an edge to the low purr of his voice, but you’re much too tired to be inspired by it. You melt into the mattress below you, drifting off to the now calmed and patient cadence of Silco’s breathing, a soft murmur at your lips.

Five years. Five years ago Silco kissed you goodbye. Five years ago you relished the last you thought you might see, hear, feel of him. You walked with him that day–to Stillwater–as his partner in business and life. Through handcuffs and crushed between guards, watching the Talis boy’s smug stride in front of you, you held Silco’s hand; felt his fingers between yours; savored the warmth of him: your hero, the savior of Zaun who founded a sovereign nation with his sacrifice.

For five years you were cold, left with his shadow, Jinx. She was just as depressed as you, hardly touching her projects, staying in her lab all day. Fishbones was left on Silco’s desk, his office quickly becoming a relic room. You didn’t use it when you stepped in to oversee the Last Drop. Even when Jinx took up the helm of his presence in the newly independent Zaun–alongside Sevika–she didn’t work out of his space or use any of his supplies. She didn’t look at any maps, charts, or notes. Nothing of the sort. There was a dead coldness to her look as she ripped every ounce of control from the chembarons and fought not for Zaun, but as Zaun.

Since then, she has only grown and flourished as her own. Still a reckless fighting spirit, but one you are proud of nonetheless. One that, every time you look at her, you see Silco’s passion and light evolved and shifted into her own. How he walked for her to run.

When you heard a knock on the office door, the last person you expected to see was Silco, but there he was. In second’s time, all of the breath leaves your lungs and you wait for this phantom of your dreams to leave you.

“Hello, lovely,” the ghost of your partner whispers. His hands, calloused and worn harder than you remember, hang at his sides. He looks different, but still the same as before. His hair is longer but still decently kept, tied to a tight bun, save for a few stray tendrils that tickle at his cheekbones. There’s a new abundance of gray strands at his temples that thins the jet black that used to reside there. You’re happy to not see him in a prison uniform, but his wardrobe that was returned to him hangs too loosely on his form. There’s a slight stubble of facial hair on his hollow cheeks and jaw, but only on the right side of his face; the darkened skin of his left not allowing any hair to grow. The lines of his face have been etched deeper and longer with time, but the scars look the same; familiar, like you could draw them with your eyes closed.

“I wish I could have told you I was coming,” he says, quieter this time, in such a gentle tone that only your Silco could say it.

Tears prick your eyes as you stumble through the doorway to make sure he’s real, actually there. Your fingers grace his cheeks, and the warmth of his skin sends a euphoric tingle up your spine. His cheeks, under his eyes, across his lips, in his hair–you touch him everywhere you can reach until tears are pouring so heartily from you that you have to wipe them away.

“It’s really you,” is all you can whisper, and Silco cracks a gentle smile, nodding. Without another word, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms. He smells different; a little more musty, with a hint of bleach, but you couldn’t be bothered less. Not when you can, for the first time in five years, feel the warmth of him consuming and dissolving every stress, worry, and fear you’ve ever had. He holds you tightly and you return the gesture as you wrap your arms around his ghastly skinny form and cry with all your heart.

How long you stand there, you’re not sure. Long enough for your tears to dry and your eyelids to grow heavy. The rush of bliss at having him once again in your arms is too much, too exhausting, too comforting, and you want to fall asleep with him like you did for so many years.

“I need to see my girl,” he whispers against your temple, placing a chaste kiss there. He doesn’t move until you pull away first, and when he heads for the bedroom instead of the hall you make a confused noise.

“I don’t want her to see me like this,” he says, before stepping into the bedroom. He doesn’t go for the wardrobe right away, but instead looks around a little bit. You didn’t change much of anything when he left–you actually made a point not to. Even his side of the bed remained untouched, made just as he had fixed it five years ago.

He seems to notice this very thing, chuckling. “I half expected you to take the whole bed in my leave.”

You smile at that, glad to hear his teasing voice again. “I thought about it this morning. You were gone so long it figured it didn’t matter anymore.” You’re only half joking, because it did feel like an eternity that he was gone, even though he’s back earlier than the original sentence of ten years.

Silco turns to you now. “If you want the whole bed you can have it– I’ll give you the world if you ask for it, lovely.” His voice is barely above a whisper now as he pulls you close again, a hand wrapped around your waist.

“I’m just so happy to have you back,” you say, unable to contain your smile as Silco leans down to kiss you. Like a flower blossoming, your heart bursts with a fluttering pace as your lips slot against Silco’s and he sighs into your mouth. It feels better than you could have anticipated it feeling, better than the many times you had imagined it in the five years on your own. The stubble of his right-sided beard tickles your chin, and you can’t help but smile at the foreign but amusing sensation.

As if he wasn’t gone for more than a minute, Silco reads this effortlessly and pulls away.

“It’s despicable, isn’t it?” he asks, gesturing to the lopsided beard on his chin and thin mustache above his lip. You smile wider, beaming up at him, and shake your head.

“I think it’s rather charming.” You bring a hand to cradle his face where the stubble has grown, giggling as it tickles you still.

“I think it’s rather not,” Silco huffs, making for the bathroom, “I can’t stand it for another moment.”

He doesn’t idle when entering the bathroom like he did entering the bedroom, and instead goes immediately for his razor and shaving cream. He seems to be quietly pleased that everything is in exact order as it was before.

You watch with awe as he works the routine like he hadn’t been absent from it for a week, and when he’s done with shaving he adjusts the lapels, buttons, and straps of his vest to fit a little more snugly around his thin frame.

“She’ll love to see you,” you assure Silco, holding back the tears that brim in your eyes.

“In her laboratory?” Silco guesses, and you affirm by a small nod, following Silco’s lead to Jinx’s workspace.

You watch from afar as Silco approaches Jinx, her back turned to him and tinkering with something. He says something, and she whips around, every bit of her features softening as she takes in that he’s really there, that he’s back. You can’t say your reaction was so dissimilar to hers, the disbelief at his appearance and the joy that he’s truly there. Jinx runs, embraces him, and they stay like that for a long time, her crying all the while. It’s like watching yourself from half an hour ago, except with blue hair.

Some conversation takes place, Jinx gesturing around the room at all of the things she’s changed, what she must show him and catch him up on. Conversation is a strong term for the few words that Silco can manage between Jinx’s excited comments and remaining sobs.

At some point, Jinx takes notice of you standing in the corner and beckons you over with a wave of her hand. You join the two, and Silco looks absolutely delighted to see his daughter all grown up. Though, pride and admiration are not all you see, there’s a melancholy in his eyes, a sorrow that he was not there to see his joy, his life light, take control and grow into her own.

Silco always humored Jinx’s gadgetry rambles better than you, so it’s no surprise that Jinx, puffy-eyed and sniffling, is set on catching her father up to speed on all of her projects. He nods along, the gentle smile on his face warming your heart as you watch him engage in Jinx’s excitement. Whether or not he understands the technical jargon she’s spewing out at incredible speeds is difficult to discern, but he seems more than happy to let her ramble to her heart’s content.

“We should get you something to eat,” you suggest after a short while, and there seems to be no complaint from either person, especially not Silco.

“I like the new haircut, silly,” Jinx says around a mouthful of fruit, courtesy of Ran who went to get some local market delicacies for the returned boss.

Silco smiles and runs a hand through the overgrown locks. “You think so? I should cut it all off.”

“No! It’s charming,” you chime in, and Silco watches both you and Jinx with a little teasing glimmer to his eye.

“I suppose I’ll keep it for the general public’s opinion,” he settles, taking a forkful of cake into his mouth. You’ve never seen Silco indulge in his sweet tooth before, but you suppose the time away from such privileges as having cakes and cookies made him more appreciative of the high sugar foods Jinx is always so fond of.

Between bites of food the two of you make witty banter back and forth, discussing the practical aspects of a ponytail, and how doubtful it is that Silco really got his sentence shortened for “good behavior”. Conversation continues until you and Silco become more engrossed with each other and Jinx dips out due to “gross parent things”. You sit and talk longer with Silco, ever grateful to have him back in your presence for the wonderful conversation if not the comfort.

You soon find yourselves back in Silco’s office as you fiddle with the record player, trying to put on something light and romantic. It finally starts playing and you spin around, beckoning Silco forward. He indulges you, taking your hands as you both sway gently to the music.

You stay like that for a while, Silco’s arms around your waist and your hands cradling his face. Happy or glad would be understatements for what you feel at having this man back in your arms where you can see him, touch him, smell him. Though, while your content and sentimentality is nice, it quickly takes a turn as you feel a hot flush rise to your cheeks. A storm of firelights starts to kick low in your belly as you realize what you can really do with Silco now that he’s back; what you could only dream of for five years.

“Silco,” you hum, and he makes a noise of acknowledgement back at you, his good eye closed. “I’m so grateful to have you back.”

This makes Silco smile, and he looks at you now. “I’m grateful to be back.”

You grin, your hands slowly slipping from his face as they run down the length of his body. Over his chest, across his shoulders and back, tickling at his sides. Your eyes follow them before you look up at Silco again, giving your best bedroom eyes.

“We should do something big to celebrate,” you suggest, voice low and gentle. You’re sure Silco catches your drift by the way his eyes darken and his smile becomes something sharp and bladed.

“We’ve practically been celebrating all day, what else do you have planned, lovely?” He asks like he has no idea what you’re talking about– he wants to hear you say it.

Normally you would beat around the bush and tease him, make him frustrated until he snaps and takes you before you can even beg for it. But you’d just be teasing yourself doing that now.

You pull Silco close, getting up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

“I think I forgot what your cock feels like inside of me, you should fuck me until I remember.”

Without another word, Silco’s lips crash into yours, his tongue searching for yours as he pries your mouth open. His hands are all over you, feeling everything that had been out of his reach for five years: your hair, your waist, your ass, your breasts. Likewise, you relish his hard body pressing against you– his hardness pressing against you, and you cup your hand to him through his pants.

A low growl sounds from between your connected mouths and suddenly Silco is pulling you towards the bedroom, pressing you against the door until you turn the knob and stumble backwards into the room.

Silco breaks the kiss only to slam the door shut and pick you up, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he takes you over to the bed. How he can carry you with his diminished frame, you don’t know, but you don’t question it as his cock presses against your core as he lays you onto the bed.

“I want to taste you, lovely, but I’ll have to do that later,” he hisses against your skin, leaving teasing bites on your neck. He begins to work his fly and you make a small noise from your throat, somewhere between a hum and a whine, asking for him to elaborate. He groans between heavy breaths, “I need to fuck you right now.”

You don’t need to be told twice as you shimmy your pants and underwear off just in time for Silco to whip out said cock and kiss you again. He presses against your entrance and you can feel how very hard he is. In all the years you had been having sex with him you don’t ever remember him feeling like that.

His cock slips against your entrance over and over and he lubricates himself with your wetness. He grins against your lips before pulling away. “Are you ready, lovely?” You throw your arms around his neck, legs wrapping over his sharp hips to lock behind his back.

“I’ve been ready for five fucking years,” you grit out, and Silco pushes into you.

Your breath catches and he bottoms out with the hard thrust he had entered you with, your exhale leaving you in a long, low moan. He responds to your body in kind, breathing out moans between disbelieving laughs.

“I thought about you every night I was locked up in that hellhole,” Silco grunts, pulling back just to thrust into you again, the shock of it forcing another breathy moan from you.

“I thought about all of the pretty faces you make when I fuck you–” another thrust. “I thought about all of the noises I can pull from you.” You clench around him at his words and he throbs inside you in kind. “I thought about how well you’ve always taken me,” he hisses, watching with rapture as he quickly changes the pace and begins to fuck you in earnest. “Like you were made for me.”

You can’t be bothered to listen to anymore of his rambling, as wet as it makes you, not when he’s fucking you within an inch of your life. His cock feels like magic, it makes you dizzy and brings you back and removes all thoughts from your brain until there is nothing in your head but Silco, Silco, Silco–

“Silco!” You cry out, as if it will do anything. You have to say something, make some noise other than incoherence to let him know, if he can’t already feel it, how much you missed this.

Already you’re so close, on the brink of orgasm just from the relief of having him inside you again. Throwing coals into the fire, Silco’s hand comes up to wrap around your throat, fingers squeezing the sides with enough pressure to give you difficulty breathing. Your eyes widen as you look at Silco, your breath catching where his fingers press.

Silco must be just as close as you because he seems to struggle to hold himself up over you, and while he would usually talk you to, through, and past your orgasm, he can’t seem to manage more than animalistic grunts right now.

“Sil,” you gasp, beginning to feel dizzy as Silco threatens to make you come undone quickly now with the way he fucks you fast and hard, hand tightening around your throat. 

“Come for me, lovely, let me see you– feel you when you come on my cock,” he grunts, the rough timbre of his voice unfamiliar but alarmingly sexy. “I know you’ve missed it, show me how badly you missed me.” The vicious growl of his voice, the clench of his teeth, the mess of his hair as it falls from his hair tie, you can’t deny yourself the pleasure of the display before you.

All at once, your orgasm rushes through you. The stress, the tension, the longing that had built up over the last half decade expelled through every nerve of your body as ecstasy burns through you. As soon as you tumble off the peak of your climax, Silco releases your windpipe, oxygen rushing back to you. You gasp, your orgasm feeling more powerful as clarity returns to your mind and senses, bringing a sort of smaller climax along with it. You shiver, moaning, limbs tensing around Silco as you hold him close, legs locking tight at his lower back to press him deeper inside of you.

Looking down at you, Silco mumbles words you can’t understand even as your high fades away and his thrusts grow frantic and uneven, hands clawing at your hips as he gets himself closer.

“Please,” you mouth to him, over and over, until your walls clench around him and he’s sent over the edge. His hips press against you hard as he pushes himself in as far as he can, cock throbbing against your walls. The sounds he makes are entirely feral, harsh grunts and moans as his head falls to rest on your collarbone, breath fast and labored as he rocks his hips through the pleasure that works through his very bones.

Finished, Silco slackens against you, breath hot against your skin as he collects himself. You feel him soften inside you but neither of you move from the other, content to rest a while and recover.

“First time, in five years,” Silco says, head still resting against your chest.

“Yeah I missed that a lot,” you laugh, bringing your hands up to comb through Silco’s hair.

“Well yes, the sex, but I haven’t…” Silco trails off, and very quickly your brow furrows in confusion.

“Are you trying to say that’s the first time in five years that you’ve had an orgasm?” You can’t believe you’ve just said that outloud but even more unbelievable is the fact that Silco nods in affirmation.

“Surprisingly, being locked in a concrete room with a bunch of foul-stenched inmates is not a turn-on.”

“Even while you were thinking of me?” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows.

Silco laughs before he adds, “there were no clean-up materials at hand.”

You nod your head with a quiet “ah”, letting your fingers continue playing with Silco’s hair.

“I feel bad now,” you say, “I’ve been fucking my fingers all the while that you’ve been a celibate.” Silco laughs at your comment and sits up now, finally pulling out of you with a low hiss.

“I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself.” A small peck on the lips. “I’m sure your fingers didn’t feel as good as mine anyways.” A shit-eating grin spread across Silco’s face, but you can’t find it in you to deny the accusation. Teasing is always an option though…

“It’s been so long, I’m not sure if I can remember that being true or not,” you sigh dramatically, looking up at Silco as he stands over you.

“Worry not, lovely, I will yet again jog your memory.” Silco gives you a patient smile, and you forget for a moment that you’re teasing each other back and forth until he directs you to get entirely on the bed instead of laying on the edge.

Your heart flutters as you watch Silco straighten up and unbutton his vest and shirt, slowly peeling away the fabric and letting it fall to the floor, revealing the flesh and bone that you had missed all this time. You watch as he does the same to his pants, eyeing how visible his ribs are at his sides, how thin his arms are, the lack of corded muscle in his legs. It saddens you to see his condition, but you don’t linger on it.

You’re speechless as Silco mounts the bed and straddles over your bare hips, fingers reaching for the hem of your shirt. You lift your back slightly to help him get it up over your head and finally off, and Silco’s shuddering exhale at seeing your bare chest is nearly worth the five year wait.

He palms the weight of your breasts in his hands, breathing shallow against your skin as he leans down to kiss your sternum. You let your head fall back against the pillows, relishing the way Silco’s teeth graze your nipple before his tongue darts out to soothe his own teasing, all the while his release leaks out of you and onto the bedspread.

Leaving kisses and bites in his wake, Silco moves down the length of your body. His mouth blesses your skin anywhere he can reach, worshiping with reverence. Especially when he gets to your mound. Like a man starved, which he very much is, Silco parts your folds with his tongue and goes directly for your clit, flattening against the bundle of nerves and pressing in one long stroke.

Like a bolt of lightning, that single lick sends a shock through your entire body. Your legs tense as you fight the urge to lock them around Silco’s head, but he encourages you. His arms wrap around your thighs as he hooks them over his shoulders and really starts to eat away at you. His tongue spoils your clit, licking and sucking, as one hand massages your hole, pressing not enough to dip his fingers in but enough to have you whining.

You can’t find words, not when Silco’s mouth ravishes you so entirely, and not when he’s moaning all the while. Each vibration rumbles through you and you grind your hips up into his eager mouth, earning another moan, and the cycle repeats.

As soon as Silco’s two fingers press and curl into you, you’re done for, quickly approaching your second orgasm. Your partner draws it out of you effortlessly, fingers curling and tongue flicking, letting your hips take the lead as you grind out your climax with high, panting moans.

You don’t realize until you begin to climb down from this crest that you’ve tangled your fingers into Silco’s hair and pulled it entirely out of its bun, graying tendrils coming to hang along his cheekbones and tickling your thighs.

Silco pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and licking it back up. Before you can manage a word he’s kissing you, hands pinning yours down to the bed as he grinds against your sensitive mound, already hard again.

“I love you so much,” he gasps against your lips, letting you taste yourself with every swipe of his tongue against yours. You want to hold him, grab his face, anchor into his hair again, anything, but you keep your hands beneath his.

“I love you too– marry me, Silco,” you say between kisses. When you think Silco will be surprised, that he’ll stop, that he’ll think for a moment, he does none of these things. What he does is kiss you harder, abandoning your wrists to hold your face so gently you might be mistaken for glass.

Breathless, he whispers. “Always, a thousand times over.”

No words, no thoughts, the heady rush of love makes you dizzier than necessary when Silco grabs your hips and rolls you over so you’re straddling him. Neither of you need to say anything, it just feels right to lift up your hips until you’re hovering over Silco’s cock and slowly sinking down onto him. 

Sitting on top of Silco, he reaches even deeper than he did before and it has your back arching, your mouth falling open. You can’t even cry out for him, it just feels too good. You’re still so sensitive from the fervor with which he put his mouth on you and you shiver hard when your clit grinds against his pelvis.

Silco tips his head back with a low moan as you circle your hips, bracing one hand on his lean stomach and the other on his thigh. His hands find your waist, urging you on as his hips roll with yours.

“I never stopped loving you,” Silco whispers, his long hair fanning out in a darkened halo around his head. “I thought about you everyday, I imagined you with me, I talked to you.” His voice grows raspy and breathless as you start to ride him in earnest. “You were always there, in every waking moment, every dream.”

Slowly, up and down, you sink onto Silco’s cock over and over, amazed each time at how he fills you. As he speaks with reverence, and a catch in his throat, Silco’s thumb reaches from your hip to your mound and starts slow circles on your clit. His hips pulse up to meet yours, pressing deep each time he bottoms out and your breath leaves you in uneven gasps and whimpers, astonished that even after all this time Silco can work you so effortlessly.

So badly you want to tell Silco you felt the same, that you thought of him everyday, had silly banter with him in your mind, that you went to sleep every night pretending your pillow was his body hugged close to you. But words fail, and you can’t get them out, not when he picks up the pace of his hips and his thumb works you in perfect rhythm.

You roll your hips with Silco, bracing both hands on his thighs to send the head of his cock into the perfect spot, over and over again. Your mouth falls open and Silco watches with wonder as you work yourself, eyes wide and face flushed.

“Just like that, lovely,” Silco pants, watching where you two meet as he disappears inside you again and again. “Use me, let me see you come one more time.”

How can you deny a request like that? You shiver as your orgasm washes over you in a slow wave, not the frantic heat that burned through you before but rather a soothing rush, like a breath of fresh air. You clamp down tight around Silco, his grunts and labored breathing evidence enough of that fact as the roll of your hips slows.

“That’s it, good,” Silco coos, still breathless. He only stops moving when he grabs onto your hips and rolls you onto your back, settling between your thighs while still very much inside you. His mouth slots against yours, hips bucking into you again as he chases his high. You can hardly kiss him with how your mouth falls open around gasps and moans. Your arms are around his shoulders, and you’re reminded of the previous round, only now that you’re both on the bed Silco seems to surround you much more.

“I love you,” Silco whispers between kisses, and you manage to mumble it back against his lips, relishing how breathless he becomes as he gets closer and closer to his climax. Your overstimulated clit still grinds against him with every thrust, and it still leaves you speechless even as you adjust to the sensation with Silco’s quickening movements.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, Silco’s hips press as deep as he can get them. He trembles as his orgasm works through him and the pulsing of his cock within your walls awakens a smaller, gentler climax that pulls a startled cry from your throat.

You feel your body melt into the pillows beneath you as you climb down from your high, and Silco rolls over with an exhausted breath, pulling you close to him to pepper light kisses on your face and neck. You giggle, trying to catch Silco’s lips with your own but he’s too fast for you, leaving a quick peck on your nose.

“Sil, kiss me,” you whine.

With a look of smugness, he teases you. “I am kissing you.”

You groan, fed up, and when Silco stops for just a moment you take the opportunity to grab his face and press your lips to his. You both sigh into the kiss, floating in the pleasant afterglow of what might be your most satisfying sexual episode yet. Silco’s long hair dangles at his cheekbones and tickles your face with slight touches, and you start giggling again.

“I really must cut all of this off,” Silco says, and you shake your head at him.

“You’re just afraid of change,” you reply and tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You’re telling the revolutionary he’s afraid of change?” Silco asks, chuckling at you. “The only changes I hate are the ones that take me away from my lovely wife.” Silco grins and his hands snake around your waist to pull you closer, pressing you flush against him.

“As much as I love the way you say that word, I’ve only proposed to you.” You can’t help how contagious Silco’s expression is as you start to smile back at him. Desperate to get closer and feel more of Silco’s embrace, you tuck your arms to your chest and curl up your legs, letting Silco adjust as necessary to hold you in your half-fetal position.

“We also don’t have to be officially or legally wed,” you muse, and immediately Silco makes a negating sound.

“Absolutely not,” he says, “legal marriage means the next time I happen to be incarcerated I can get visits from you.”

You frown, remembering the pain in the ass that was talking to the Stillwater guards and trying to convince them to let you see Silco, but they wouldn’t let you. He was in such a holding cell that only family members could enter. Of course, since it’s a Piltover facility, even with Zaun’s independence, they made that hard for you, only accepting paperwork-proven relations and, as a result, not even letting Jinx see him.

“I’m sorry,” Silco whispers, filling the silence that had quickly grown between you. “I will never let that happen again.”

“You made a sacrifice for the thousands of people in the Undercity,” you say, looking up at him now. “I have never been more proud to love such a sincere and driven man.”

Silco smiles, mouthing a quiet thank you. He’s about to add something else but you quickly cut him off with a strict remark.

“But you are never doing anything to get you a sentence over one month.”

The raw tenderness on Silco’s face shifts to amusement at your words. “Never,” he agrees.

“You know, when I said you needed– fuck– pussy, this wasn’t e-exactly what I had in mind.”

Silco ponders your statement over a handful of thrusts, hips drilling into the backs of your thighs hard enough so you know they’ll be sore come tomorrow.

He offers a coy little smirk that you can all but hear in his voice, “Do you want to stop?”

Gods, why would he even ask that question; who would want to stop? You don’t want to think about how good he is at fucking you, how godly his cock is. You don’t want to think about how every fuck before this pales in comparison to the precision and skill that Silco has. You don’t want to think about how divine it feels to be filled over and over by the bastard, but as he threatens to make you come rather quickly, these thoughts are all you can comprehend in your fuckdrunk mind.

You grit your teeth. “No.”

“Good,” he grunts, “I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”

You hadn’t meant much with your off-handed comment in the first place. Sure, you don't mind the thought of fucking your boss, but it wasn’t quite how you planned your evening to go.

Silco was slumped over his desk, glaring down his bladed nose at a looming stack of papers. Your quips started out more modest, commenting on how he looked “like the living dead” and something about melting into the expensive mahogany of his desk.

“Do you perhaps have a solution?” He had groaned, a futile attempt to hasten your visit to his office.

That was when you said it–you need some pussy–and Silco went stiff, in both ways, as soon as the words left your mouth. He'd shot up out of his chair and you were ready to start running until his hand snapped out and snatched your wrist.

“Is that so?” You could see the way his tongue flicked behind his teeth, and how his eyes drank you in.

It was only a matter of time before you were bent over the desk and his cock was pushing into you.

“How long have you wanted this, sweetheart?” Silco’s voice is ragged with the depths of his pleasure, a sadistic rasp that echoes over and over in your fuckdrunk mind.

“Fuckin’, uhhnn…” you trail off in thought, lost in the rapture of a particularly good few thrusts that have your eyes rolling into your skull.

You can feel Silco's smug gaze raking hot over your backside, the press of him a questioning prod now. “Well?” He taunts you cruelly, leaning close to wind an arm around your middle and circle your clit, purring in your ear, “don’t be shy.”

“Oh, gods,” you sigh, “since that fucking interview.”

Your cheeks are hot with that confession. You hadn’t planned on fucking Silco, but you couldn’t deny you thought he was a good serving of dick when you met him. The way he carries himself, the manner in which he speaks to those below his level, the way he certainly looked over your body during that interview.

“Mmm, I remember that day,” he groans, “I even remember what you were wearing.”

You clench around him in surprise, your nails scratching against the wood of the desk as Silco settles for grinding his hips into your ass.

“Sheer tank top, and those coy little shorts.” Silco’s voice is still deep and rumbling as he fucks you, but it goes without saying he’s rather fond of this memory. “You were ready to give me a show if I didn’t want to hire you.”

His lips tease against your back, the edge of his smile nipping at your skin. “You had me tempted, but it was well worth the wait.”

He's right, you did underdress. So many employers had rejected you that week and you were fully prepared to suck dick for a job, or maybe more. But you can't let him have that.

“It was hot outside,” you retort, but your vocal chords abandon the firmness you had wanted, words melting around a whine. Silco leans back, rooting both his hands on your hips as he drills into you, working towards his climax.

“I don't care for the weather, you were mine the moment I hired you,” Silco hisses, delivering a quick pinch to the back of your thigh, “now touch yourself.”

You couldn't resist if you tried, already so close to your peak that denying yourself would be too much. Your fingers are on your clit in a matter of milliseconds, and your walls must clamp down tight when you do because Silco grunts, thrusts becoming arrhythmic.

With just a few swipes on your clit, your back is bowing, hips rocking against Silco as your climax spears through you. He fucks you through it, fingers bruising your hips and pulling you into each frantic snap against your backside.

Eventually Silco abandons your pleasure to work on his own, rutting into you until he buries himself as deep as he can get. A long groan accompanies his orgasm as his cock throbs against your walls, filling you until his release starts to leak out.

He collapses on top of you, nearly crushing you as he catches himself with a hand on the desk.

As he begins to soften inside of you, he laughs to himself.

Pain. It was so painful, but so momentary. A moment of agony before it all washed away. How long you laid there on the bed in just a shirt and underwear, you don’t know, but it only seemed like a moment before you shot up, gasping.

“It’s okay, I’m here, breathe.”

It’s Paul–he’s holding you. His voice in your ear is a low ringing, a hum of overtones and harmonies and it sounds so sweet. You crane towards him, the warmth of his body against yours like a fire in a snowstorm.

“That’s it,” he coos, “just breathe for me. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Slowly, your eyes open, and everything is still dark. Your face is buried in Paul’s neck, the smell of him a welcoming kind of overwhelming as it consumes your senses. You can smell his shampoo and bodywash, his crisp-ironed shirt, and the sharp iron tang of blood.

You pull away from him, vision blurry, but the lamp on the bedside table glows brightly. You stare at it, waiting for the shimmer to dissipate, but it doesn’t. Your vision sharpens but the illuminated globe around the lamp doesn’t fade.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Paul says, voice low and soft.

Your eyes flicker around the bedroom, the window panes glowing in a similar fashion to the lamp. As does the light coming from the kitchen, and the usual quiet of the room seems to have a more active ambience than it did before.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice hoarse, and your gaze lands on Paul. His face is stained red with your blood, a wet glistening that makes the pit of your stomach curl with hunger, but your attention is caught by something else entirely.

What light there is in the room seems to gather around Paul’s head like a halo, glowing softly around his black tousle of hair. He looks like an angel.

“You’re hungry,” Paul whispers, reaching over to the bedside table and grabbing the sacrament bottle. He had filled it with blood in advance, laid towels on the bed, told you everything that would happen. Everything was set up perfectly for you.

Your stomach curls again when you take the bottle from Paul, the metallic tang of blood filling your nostrils. Blood has never tasted good to you, even causing you to gag if you ever accidentally cut your finger or bit your lip too hard. But as you drink from the glass, all you can think about is how good it tastes. It’s strange how badly you need that metallic liquid, warm and thick on your tongue; it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Stranger still is that you know it’s Paul’s blood–you can smell it–and you drink it down greedily until it runs out and you’re licking the rim of the bottle for the remaining drops.

Paul reaches for the bottle and you fight him a bit when he tries to take it, but your sense comes back and you relent. He knows better than you.

“It’s okay, you’ll get more later,” he assures, pressing a wet, bloody kiss to your cheek. Your skin tingles where he touches you, his comforting hands sending little lightning shocks through your body.

You shiver and lean into Paul, content to let his fingers wander under your shirt and over your skin. Like slow-rolling waves, his hands caress you, and a low hum leaves you.

“I know,” Paul says, grinning against your temple. “It’s all so vibrant, everything becomes so profound.”

You nod your head, feeling heat start to coil low in your belly as Paul’s fingers reach up to your ribs, tracing the underside of your breasts.

He cranes toward your lips, slotting his mouth against yours and swallowing the satisfied mewl that leaves you. Your tongue swipes against his lips, tasting your own blood on his skin, and you press further into him. You shift in Paul’s embrace and let your hands wander over his chest, tracing over the seams and stitches of his cardigan and his button-up shirt, tongue lapping at your fluids on his mouth. His own hands follow your lead as he palms your breasts, mouth working slowly as he kisses you between your desperate licking at his cheeks and lips. You can’t help the moan that leaves you as Paul takes a nipple between his fingers and rolls it gently, kissing at the blissfully open corners of your mouth.

The subtle heat that had started spreading like an ember is now a hot sun of its own, demanding attention as every point of contact you have with Paul seems to set you alight. Every kiss of his mouth or flick of his fingers is shot to your core, like a lick of flame that heats your body and soaks your panties.

You lift your knee over Paul’s legs and effectively straddle him, settling your weight in his lap. You’re not the only one with an itch to scratch now as the hardened outline of his cock is pressed flush against your sheer underwear.

“Paul, please,” you whine, grinding down onto him. “I need you.”

“You’ll have me,” he says, voice a low murmur. His hands run through your hair, framing your face as he brings his forehead to yours. It soothes you, eases the frenzy burning through your nerves just a bit. “Let me show you something first.”

You nod and become pliant, letting Paul flip you so you’re under him. He takes care to shuck off his cardigan before his mouth descends in a blur of wet kisses that make their way down your body. He pushes your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the side as his tongue leaves the briefest caress on either breast before continuing to your belly.

“May I?” he whispers, fingertips toying with the edge of your panties. He looks up at you with eyes that almost appear to glow with how the lights around you look in your new state. His breath is warm against your clothed mound, and you can’t help but notice how your skin seems to tingle with anticipation.

“Please,” you beg, and Paul wastes no time in pulling your underwear down your hips. He kisses the wetness of your core and your hips jump, a whine trickling from the back of your throat.

It feels different.

“Is this alright?” Paul asks, and as soon as you see his knowing smirk you realize he knows exactly what he’s doing. You nod, eager for more, and tangle fingers into his dark hair to steer him closer. He obliges without hesitation and purses his lips around your clit in a way that has you keening his name. You writhe when his tongue carves a wet path through your folds, easing the prod of his first two fingers at your entrance. They slip into you and curl, pressing firmly against your fluttering walls as his tongue swirls around your clit.

It feels so different. But so much better. You can feel everything so distinctly, like every individual atom of him brings a completely new sensation. A lightning strike here, a spark there, a hot flame somewhere else; a constant stream of stimulus.

This is only his mouth and fingers, your mind sings, what will his cock feel like now?

“Paul– oh god– please!” Your voice trembles with a moan, breath narrowly escaping you as you rock your hips up into Paul’s ministrations. He smiles against you, you can feel it, and you can almost visualize the waves and vibrations of his voice moving through you.

“Please what?” he murmurs, shifting his hand so his thumb can take over for his mouth, drawing slow circles around your clit. He sits up, watching you squirm under him, hair tousled and mouth wet with your desire. Around his lips is still stained slightly red from your blood.

“Please fuck me!” It comes out as a needy cry but you don’t have the capacity to feel ashamed for it. You can’t feel anything other than the godless euphoria that his hand is delivering between your thighs.

Paul’s eyes crinkle with pride as he crawls back up to you, lips claiming yours in a searing kiss. He tastes like you as he pulls his fingers from you and starts to work on his pants. With shaking hands you reach for the buttons of his shirt and start to pick at them until they fall open one by one. As soon as Paul has his belt and fly undone he’s leaning back, taking everything off as fast as he can. Shirt and pants join your clothes in a pile on the floor before he’s coming back down to you.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” he whispers into your hair, hands hooking under your knees and pushing them up. You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist and feeling the hot press of his cock to your entrance. You feel as though your skin is burning and you might catch fire if Paul doesn’t help satisfy the needy clench of your walls around nothing. He rocks against you, letting the mix of your wetness and his saliva coat his length, nudging your clit with every shift. And finally, his hips move back and the head catches at your hole.

“Deep breath in,” he says, his forehead resting on yours. You follow his lead and inhale through your nose, your body thrumming with excitement, muscles twitching. “And out.”

Just as you start to slowly release that breath, Paul eases into you, and you can’t hold back the moan that tumbles from you. To hell with breathing; breathing doesn’t do a damn thing when Paul fills you up slowly, steadily, letting you feel every inch sinking into you. Breathing becomes so irrelevant to you that you don’t even remember to do it as Paul’s hips press flush against yours, your mouth falling open around a silent cry.

So full, so full, oh god, so full.

You can feel his heartbeat through his cock, a faint but insistent rhythm against your walls. The weight of him inside and on top of you, his hands on either side of your head, his breath hot against your face. From his chest comes a shuddering groan, breathing already ragged. And you’re just getting started.

He starts with shallow thrusts, making sure that he’s pressed deep. Then he begins to inch out of you, the drag of him against your walls a sinful delight like nothing you’ve felt before. Even better when he nestles deep again. And then he pulls out more and more, until just the tip is left inside you, before he thrusts in hard, forcing a sharp breath breath from you.

He builds it slowly, carefully, both of you adjusting to the increasing speed with whimpers and sighs leaving you in steady succession. As he picks up the pace, Paul straightens to look down at you with half-lidded eyes. He looks hungry, no– starving. There’s depravity in his flushed cheeks and messy hair, and again there’s a little halo surrounding him. His fingernails bite into your skin when his hands find your hips, rutting into you hard enough for it to almost hurt a little. But it feels so good. You’re more than content to take everything he’s giving you, your head lolling back against the pillows, probably drooling a bit. You stare up at the ceiling but swear you can see past it, a myriad of constellations and solar systems weaving and swirling above you with their bright halos.

“Once you find out– ngh!– what it’s like,” Paul grunts, drawing your attention back to him. “You need it; you crave it endlessly.” His words are interrupted by the sound of his skin against yours; your shared panting; your mutual gasps, and he grips you tighter in his excitement, cock growing impossibly harder inside you.

“But that’s okay,” he says softly, a prideful smile spreading across his parted lips as he watches you take him so eagerly. “I’ll be here, and you can have it whenever your body craves it.”

Words come to your lips but none sound out, just a heap of gasps and whimpers, teeth biting into your bottom lip as the tell-tale coil in your belly makes itself known. Your hips rock in time with Paul’s, hands fisting the sheets on either side of you as your orgasm starts to speed towards you at an alarming rate.

“That’s it,” Paul coos, breathing quick and frantic now, hips nearly vibrating against yours. “Cum for me, please. Let me feel you when you unravel.” One hand shifts from your hip to your mound and he brings his thumb to your clit. Doesn’t even have to move it, the rocking of your bodies provides enough movement in of itself, and Paul watches with rapture as your climax swells.

It strikes with startling finality, forcing the breath from you as your body jerks. Your back arches when the first wave works through you, and then your legs tighten around Paul’s hips almost hard enough to stop his thrusting. Finally your breath leaves you as a cry dislodges itself from your chest, hands clinging to Paul’s arms and leaving angry red marks in their wake as you anchor yourself to him. Your core pulses madly, walls clenching hard enough for you to feel him twitch in response before he buries himself one last time.

Warmth spreads through your belly in rapid bursts as Paul’s cock throbs hard, filling you with his release. A shattered moan leaves him and he grinds against you, pressing himself as deep as possible and nearly collapsing forward when he does. His peak extends yours, the frantic pulse of his orgasm in perfect sync with yours as you hold onto each other with clawing fingers and trembling hands.

Finally, once you’re both relinquished from the throes of your passion, your muscles relax. Your arms fall to your sides and Paul slumps forward, resting his weight on slightly shaky arms. His breath is hot against your neck as you both come down from your highs, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat.

Paul shifts and straightens up, still buried inside you. You’re tuned acutely to the thrum of his body, his energy weaving with yours. He glows, not with life, but with presence. You can sense his existence now, as you assume he’s been able to sense yours all this time.

He looks so good, looking down at you with those rich, brown eyes, full of adoration. With his hands smoothing up your thighs and wrapping them around him again. Your walls clench and he throbs in return, and you’re more than surprised when you feel him beginning to grow hard again.

Your sleep is a dreamless one, like an endless drifting. Time passes slowly, every hour taking its sweet time instead of rushing past like any other night. You only wake up when the sound of heavy footsteps rings out nearby.

Without thinking, you know it’s the staircase, just by the subtle creak. Then the office door opens and the heavy footsteps continue for a few seconds, followed by muffled voices.

“Here’s their clothes. How are they?” It’s Sevika.

“Alive,” Silco responds. “Shaken and bruised, but alive.”

A few seconds of silence pass and you’re entirely awake now, propped up on your elbows and listening closely, the darkness of the room around you growing brighter as your eyes adjust.

“Any idea what happened?”

“Attacked at their apartment.”

You wince at the reminder.

“You think it’s related to why they had to crash here in the first place?”

“It is.” Even past the door you can hear the rumble in Silco’s voice, the agitation that’s seeping into his words.

He continues. “I will get detailed descriptions for you at a later date but all I know is there were two men.”

“I’ll keep an ear open then.” Sevika’s heavy footsteps begin once again and the door opens, closes, and she recedes down the stairs.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, listening closely as Silco rolls his chair back and his footsteps come closer. The door opens softly under his hand, and he peeks inside.

“What time is it?” you ask, and Silco’s body follows his head through the doorway.

“Almost noon.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep for that long.” You’re a little embarrassed now, not sure when you even went to sleep yesterday. Just adding onto the pile of stress, you had hoped to sleep off whatever Silco Fever you had last night, from fantasizing about him to kissing him. But your temperature is still rather high in that department.

“No apologies needed,” Silco says, waving you off as he wanders over, “you needed the rest.” He drops some clothes on the bed next to you before veering off to the closet.

You pick them up, and quickly recognize them as spare threads from your locker downstairs.

“Thanks, I forgot about these,” you say, looking up at Silco who’s grabbing his coat from the closet.

He’s going somewhere, you think to yourself, and ignore the pang in your chest. He feels distant, and this is making it worse.

“Are you going out?” you ask, almost scared of the answer you might get.

Yes, I’m leaving you because you’ve crossed a line. Be gone by the time I’m back.

“We’re going to get food. I’d think you’re rather hungry now,” Silco says, shrugging on his coat.

Oh finally!

You’re so hungry by now you can’t be bothered to worry about your feelings and complications with Silco. Without thinking, you jump up and grab your clothes, running to the bathroom to change. It feels good to be in your own stuff, no offense to Silco. He has provided you with a lot so far, but his old clothes are sort of scratchy, and big on you.

You emerge from the bathroom to find Silco has already left, so you quickly rush out to meet him. He’s not in the office, the hall, or the bar; he’s somehow made it all the way outside.

“How did you get down here so fast?” you say, a little breathless from your hurry.

“How did you take so long to get dressed?” he quips back. If it weren’t for the hint of a smile on his lips you would be more offended by his comment, but you're instead pleasantly reminded of your banter the night you hit him with a pillow. You brush it off with a shake of your head and follow when Silco starts off down the street.

“Where to?” You’re inwardly hoping it’s Jericho’s that you’re headed to.

“Anywhere you’d like,” Silco answers passively.

“Jericho’s,” you say quickly, and Silco smiles.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

Silco digging into the greasy, messy delicacies of Jericho’s Seafood and Snacks is a funny image, but you’re not surprised. Silco’s rather old, so he’s probably eaten at every place in the undercity by now.

Usually traveling with Silco includes backroads and hidden alleyways, but you must have caught him in a good mood because you’re treated with a stroll through the main streets of the Lanes. The walk feels longer than it really is, with your growling stomach and all, but it is very amusing. The amount of room allotted to you and Silco by other passersby is comical, the sight of so many cowering from him sort of empowering.

I could get used to this, you think to yourself.

Upon making it to Jericho’s, you promptly order and Silco pays, not getting anything for himself but instead striking up conversation with the large, Fish-looking chef known as Jericho. When your food is ready, Silco sits down next to you and watches, amused, as you begin to scarf down your meal.

The food takes away from the awkwardness eating away at you, but it still weighs heavy. The worst part is you thought kissing Silco, or feeling the need to, was just some part of your emotional and exhausted delirium. It wasn’t. The only thing you regret is what he said after–how uncomfortable he looked.

“About last night,” you start, watching the grease dripping from your sandwich as you find it incredibly hard to look Silco in the eye. You take a breath to say something else, another apology, some half-assed excuse, but he stops you.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it.” When you look up there’s a gentle smile on his face, and all of the breath leaves your lungs at once.

Thank Janna.

You continue to eat your sandwich, savoring every bite. The pauses you have to take to swallow and breathe are as quick as you can make them, trying to fill the bottomless pit that has become your stomach.

“Can I ask you a question?” Silco says, and you look up at him. “About what happened at your apartment.” 

You nod, not sure you can rely on your voice to keep steady if you speak.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” His voice is soft, gentle. “I would have handled it quietly–I will handle it quietly–and it bothers me that those men are still out somewhere.”

He’s irritated, angry, but not at you. His anger is justified and it makes you feel justified. It’s validating. But, he is asking a good question. You never told him what was happening until it was too late. Despite his power, his influence, the means and will to hunt down a man. You’ve seen all of these things, witnessed them first-hand, but still you didn’t say anything. Why?

“I was just hoping it would blow over,” you answer meekly.

“Don’t take that risk again,” Silco says, looking at you now with those earnest red and green eyes. “I will be here to help and assist in any way I can. I will not judge, ridicule, or reject you. I would prefer, for your sake, that you tell me if something even feels wrong.”

You nod, a little taken aback by the genuine look in Silco’s eyes, the one you thought you would only see last night, especially after your actions. But he bears his trust and his heart to you again.

Warmth blossoms in your chest as those words sink in, the reality that you can really trust Silco and that he trusts you in return bringing a fluttering sensation to your chest.

“Thank you,” you say, before picking up your sandwich again. That’s all you can manage to say without choking up with tears.

You continue eating in silence until Silco pipes up again.

“There’s an assembly with the barons I must attend today,” he sighs. “You are welcome to join me. I would rather not leave you by yourself, but it is ultimately your choice.”

You swallow and reply. “I’ll stick with you.”

“Very well then,” he says with a nod. “We’ll go once you’re done. We’ll be early.”

You nod back and, after polishing off your sandwich, head off with Silco. You quickly realize food was an excellent idea, as you feel more energized and stable–mentally and physically–now that you’re working on a full stomach.

In all the years you’ve worked for Silco, you have gone to one other chembaron assembly, and it was not a good experience. Boring, long, very redundant, and full of horrible people. Killers, old farts, and wannabe tyrants. Worst of them all was Finn, with a loud mouth in place of his brain. You had the displeasure of holding a small conversation with him, which turned into him getting very much in your face and hitting on you. Nothing more than an annoyance really, but you do hope he won’t try that again. Or, even better, you hope he won’t be at this meeting at all.

You take the elevator up with Silco and it’s all vaguely familiar, with a few things changed since you were last there a few weeks ago. Upon getting to the assembly hall, you find that you and Silco are not the only ones early, even though you are a good twenty minutes ahead of most of the other attendees. Much to your dismay, you’re immediately greeted by Finn, who throws a sharp comment that you ignore entirely. Silco ignores him as well and the two of you stand off to the side.

“How he’s managed to not be killed yet is beyond me,” Silco huffs, obviously talking about Finn. “I’ve come close to doing the favor myself.”

You smile at his quip, and are about to say something yourself when you look over at Finn in his yellow jacket. He’s in the opposite corner of you, and your words die before they reach your tongue as you see the two men he’s standing next to.

“You run The Last Drop, don’t you?”

Your voice echoes a little flatly under the concrete bridge, standing between Piltover and the Undercity as you watch the man before you turn on a heel. He takes a drag of the cigarette pinched between his fingers, green eyes raking over you.

You’re pleased with yourself for finding someone down here, especially with your particular intentions. So lucky for it to be this person too. 

You’d seen him around the Drop every time you were there. Sitting around writing, behind the bar talking about the booze stock, outside smoking. He’d always seemed too busy for you to make a decent move, and regrettably so because he looks like a good time. Lean build, jet black hair, sly glances. There’s something magnetic about him, and you’re feeling the strong pull to him now.

“I just run th’ numbers,” he says, smoke flowing past his thin lips. There’s a bottle on the ground next to his feet, but he doesn't look or sound drunk quite yet. Maybe a little tipsy, going off the gentle pink tinting his cheeks.

“Service not your forte?” you ask, coming a little closer. He leans his hip on the wall next to him, one hand in his pocket and a narrow smile on his face.

“They don’t let me serve anymore,” he says, and you’re drawn in by the gravel of his voice. “Customers wanted me more than they wanted a drink.”

You grin and he returns the look, his smirk a bladed thing as he looks you over again. Eyes flicker over your face, to your low-cut top, and your skirt. You’re not leaving much to the imagination, but he doesn’t seem to have many qualms, and neither do you.

“I don’t blame them,” you hum, and he takes your comment well.

“Silco,” he says, holding out the cigarette in greeting. You respond in kind with your name and take a quick puff. There’s a low noise at his throat as he steps closer, and you give him a quizzical look.

“Pretty name,” he says, unabashedly taking in the feast of your cleavage. 

“You sure you’re talking about my name?” You hand the cigarette back to Silco but he tosses it to the ground without so much as a glance, twisting it under his boot.

“Your friends down there are of commendable appeal as well,” he purrs, and he manages to sound unbelievably sexy despite the fact that you just met him. You can even smell the booze and smoke on him, and it’s not nearly as deterring as it should be.

Wanting to test how far this could go, you let your mouth run without a filter. 

“Nice place for a fuck, isn’t it?” you say, smiling coyly.

Silco huffs out a quick laugh, eyes narrowing.

“You’ll find out if you can be good for me.”

“If I can be good? What a bold assumption,” you coo, greatly pleased that this stranger is matching your energy, if not challenging it.

Warmth rushes through you as Silco really starts to undress you with his eyes, your heart beating steadily faster as he begins to approach you with slow steps until you’re toe to toe.

“Think you can try to behave? Hm?” His hand comes up to pinch your chin between his thumb and first two fingers, green eyes darkened with lust.

“Don’t know if I want to,” you hum, a coy little smile spreading across your lips. Silco holds your face a little tighter, his smirk turning into more of a sneer.

“Need me to beat it into you?”

Your breath catches in your chest, and you struggle to get your next desperate words out.

“Gods, yes.”

In a sudden flurry, Silco is pushing you against the wall, lips crashing into yours. He’s all teeth and tongue and lingering smoke, hands roaming over your body as he pleases. Fingers digging into your thighs and pushing up the hem of your skirt until he can take handfuls of your ass.

You moan into the kiss and Silco swallows the sound greedily, forcing his tongue into your mouth. Fingers hook into your panties and yank them down your legs, pressing his hips forward to pin your back to the wall. You can feel the hardened ridge of his cock through his pants and you reach down to feel him, shocked by what you find.

Even through his clothes, he’s big. You want to pull him free and take him into your mouth, but Silco’s two fingers are delving into your soaked folds too quickly for you to even think. 

“You like playing all coy and teasing to get what you want,” he says, breath hot on your skin as he nips at your jaw, sinking those two fingers into you. “But you’ll find I’m not very tolerant of that.”

His fingers curl and scissor inside you, opening you up and weakening your knees. His thumb angles up to roll your clit in messy circles and a whimper slips from you.

As wonderful as his hands feel on you, he’s taking them away before you can savor his touch, deft fingers working at his fly. He spins you until he can push your front against the cold concrete, pulling your skirt over the swell of your ass.

You feel the head of him drag through your folds, spreading your wetness along his length. The heat of him at your back has you almost dizzy and the feeling intensifies when Silco’s voice rings at your ear.

“Tell me you want it, love,” he purrs, and the teasing nudge of him at your entrance has you bucking your hips into him.

“I want your cock, please,” you whine, but he doesn’t relent.

“You’re not very good at begging,” he says, slipping just the head of his cock into you before pulling back. You nearly sob, your walls clenching around nothing.

“Gods, Silco, please fuck me, I need it!”

“Atta girl,” he coos, filling you with one strong thrust.

Your previous observation was correct; he’s big. He prods against the deepest parts of you and it knocks the wind out of you, sending you up onto your toes with a breathless gasp.

“Fuck,” Silco groans, fingers bruising your hips with his iron grip. He wastes no time pulling out and thrusting back into you, and the moan that leaves you echoes off the bridge's concrete structure, hands reaching behind you to grab onto him. Silco is quick to snatch your hands and firmly plant them on the wall he’s fucking you against.

“Keep your hands right here,” he hisses, and, despite the vulnerable position he’s got you in, you snap back.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll leave you here soaked and needing.”

His voice is a low, promising growl, and you find yourself not wanting to test his patience much more. 

At your silence, Silco mutters some praise, but you don’t catch what he says as he grabs your hips and ruts into you again. He fills you perfectly, hot and twitching against your walls. His pace picks up steadily with every thrust, and it’s not long before he’s pounding into you.

“So glad you stopped by tonight,” Silco grunts, fingernails a rough pinch into your skin. “You feel fucking incredible.”

You whimper at the praise, the coil in your belly tightening quickly now that his voice curls into your ear with such dirty comments. Despite how badly you want to touch yourself or cling to Silco, your hands remain obediently on the wall.

“And look how good you’re being for me.”

He begins to lose rhythm but the vigor with which he fucks into you doesn’t wane.

“You’ve earned a reward.”

One hand leaves your hip to wrap around your front, a sharp gasp leaving you as his fingers play with your clit. It only takes a few swipes before your back is bowing, nails scratching against the concrete as your climax burns through you. Your entire being pulses and twitches, hips rocking frantically as you try to balance yourself between his fingers on your clit and his cock burying into you.

Silco’s grunt of your name is a rough, sharp thing as he’s thrown into his orgasm, thrusting into you as far as he can. Warmth fills your belly in steady throbs, low curses whispered under his breath as he sags against you with a hand on the wall for support.

“Kindred almighty,” he huffs, catching his breath. He pulls out of you with a hiss, tucking himself away and fixing your skirt back down over your ass. 

Silco is a mess, but it’s a good look on him. His tied-up hair has come loose to fall around his sharp jaw. His cheeks are flush with exertion and his chest rises and falls with his come-down. 

“Come to the Drop anytime and ask for me,” he says, grinning. “I’ll pay for your drinks.”

“Nothing comes free down here,” you say, giving him a sideways glance as you pull your panties back on, feeling his release begin to leak out of you.

You’re suddenly hit with a rush of deja vu as Silco’s grin sharpens and those brilliant green eyes darken to an earthy emerald, his voice a rough murmur.