#mimi.inbox

most of the stuff caleb says and does comes off as nagging in the eyes of mc. he'd have to establish some sense of quiet authority over you to shift the narrative. making you feel protected and taken care of. maybe he cuts back a bit on the teasing from time to time, and whenever you start to edge into an argument (hah), it's then that i imagine he takes control of it. he did it before, surely; instances of him treating you a parent would their child. it kind of leaves you a bit more meek. not as resistant.

you'd cross the line in one way or another. he was trying hard to not really go too far — it wasn't that big of a deal, it was simply about your tendency to come home late when visiting skyhaven. but, the words leave you with such startling sharpness that it leaves the both of you reeling. and you watch, in real time, as caleb slips and slides from your fingertips.

"you know you were wrong to say that, right?" he starts. nothing gives away any sign of anger, irritation, nor vexation. the words come out measured.

he isn't chastising you. not yet.

and you know you were wrong, you knew that saying that obviously wasn't the smartest decision on your part. and yet, the bitter phrases still left you with ease. he's watching you now, expectant.

you're quiet. he notices.

"i'm not mad," he says, voice softer now. from where he's standing, he's tall and looming and pressuring. but with every tentative step taken toward you, subtracting the distance separating your bodies, there's nothing intimidating.

his hands find yours, tightly clasped on your lap. each digit that was wringing itself slowly undid the curl, the tight clasp. the expertise in his manner of undoing you was methodical.

"but you gotta be kinder, you know that." the assurance comes in a subtle form of advice, not at all suffocating. and yet you're nodding along with his words, letting him pull, wind you up in his arms, and sway side to side.

it's oddly soothing. you can't really curse at him like this, not that you'd try.

"so well-behaved. that's it."

your face buried in his chest in silent apology, his lips on your hair. when he uses his fingers to hold your chin and experimentally move your head, you don't resist, looking up at him. you don't know when you started looking for approval in those quietly commanding eyes of his.

"good. that's good," he whispers, smiling.

you blurt the words on instinct. "i'm sorry."

he hums. "you're forgiven. you gonna do it again?"

"no."

in missionary, caleb's got so much control. but unless you've purposefully riled him up prior, he won't be rough. underneath the tough exterior of the colonel is still your dearest childhood friend or brother (contextualize this accordingly if you are more comfortable with en or cn material). it's only natural that he craves you in every way, shape, or form.

he's hoisting your legs upward at first, contemplatively squeezing your calf with a thoughtful expression. it takes a moment before he's instructing you — "keep 'em up, yeah, like that" — and lowering himself onto you. (you don't realize until later that he was contemplating having your legs up on his shoulders instead.)

kisses with him were almost always needy. starting off with an almost hesitant connection of your lips, like he was afraid you'd dissolve. but all it takes is either his own desire or your encouragement before he's pressing harder, heated breaths fanning over your face and his groans falling low into your mouth.

his hips buck in time with his fueled desire, little grunts ripping from caleb's pursed lips in agonizingly dragged out thrusts, the veins of his length like threads of a corkboard mapping your interior. always moving as if he was determined to merge your body with his.

and those biceps. your eyes tracing the flattering bulge of skin and muscle on either side of your head, sometimes trailing down to his abdomen and watching the muscles flex with every sticky withdrawal and introduction of himself inside you. the breathy sighs and whispered i love yous that leave his mouth were almost always accompanied by a knitted brow and concentrated gaze.

it's all overwhelmingly attractive. but the most attracted was caleb's damn dog tags.

whenever you'd keen, lost in the violin strings of a harmonics that carried you into ecstasy, the jangle of the chain and the light tap of cool metal met your chin. caleb doesn't notice it past the first few thrusts, his eyes wrenched shut in concentration as the hottest groans known to mankind leave his open mouth. but you do.

your laughter is what makes him open his eyes. the violet hues fall upon your crinkled eyes, the curvature of a smile he's memorized with his lips and tongue greeting him instantly.

it's contagious, and he smiles too. "well, aren't you a beauty today. what's got you smiling like that, huh?"

blown pupils meeting yours, you find it in yourself to reply as he slowed to a halt. eyes falling down to the offending object around his neck.

"your necklace keeps hitting me," you comment.

not at all are you mad; simply amused by a thought that emerged in the middle of your entanglement. the sweat that dots his hairline matches the rosin-like finish to his bare chest, and you place a hand over one pec.

"ah. does it hurt?"

"no."

"do you want me to take it off?"

your frown was so quick to form, it makes caleb laugh above you. the asshole was clearly pulling your leg.

grouchy, you grumble, "never say that again."

a charming tilt to those chapped lips is all it takes for you to shift beneath him, walls tenderly contracting around his girth. he bows his head, forehead narrowly missing your chin as he stutters out a low moan. the glare he shoots you is playful. serves him right.

you sigh and grin, relenting. "i just think it's a good view. it's a good look on you.

he murmurs an "i agree," (though you aren't too sure if he was referring to his view or yours) while propping himself up more securely. you could feel the heat from his arms as they shift beside your head, how his legs shift slightly further apart, thus nudging yours.

the openness makes the penetration all the more apparent. the look on his face tell you he's more than pleased, the crescent moon fold of his eyes reflecting your closest person when they open.

"cute, pipsqueak. real cute, tellin' me all that while i'm like this. you planned this out." caleb moves down, stealing a languid kiss from your lips. teeth teasingly pulls at your lower lip. he likes to do that now — the little thief. two can play that game.

there's movement once more, like he was rewarding your honesty. your back slides against the bed in time with the expert grind of his pelvis, pleasure jolting your your body with a vengeance.

it takes a moment, but when he moves, the dog tag swings. the metal apple glints, and you raise yourself, snagging it between your teeth. and before he could question what you're doing, you dig your nails into his back and move up, just enough so you could kiss him.

when you fall back on the soft, cottony sheets, the spit-glistening metal glimmers between his lips. the famished glower appears, and your body responds with harsh pulsations like a heartbeat. he looks famished.

"mine, now." one hand lazily cups his face, thumb sweeping over his cheekbone and kiss-swollen mouth, then dropping to your side. you're smiling before you even realize it, a giddy giggle escaping you as you say, "good dog."

there's nothing but heavy breathing between your two bodies. you barely have time to register the heavy throb and swelling of him inside you.

until he huffs, galactic gaze thinning into a cross-section of disbelief and mirth. "huh."

his mouth is sinful in its smirk, and he thrusts. hard. a garbled gasp leaves you, the bed creaking and the headboard thudding precariously.

heartbeat kicking up a gear, you're wide-eyed as caleb readjusts his position. completely sinking down onto you and into you, your hips tilted up and legs freely in the air. all oxygen escapes you in that very moment — you swore you could feel him in your throat, stars decorating the outline of your vision.

"good dog? so i guess it wouldn't hurt for me to misbehave a little bit?" he taunts, honeyed words vibrating against your cheek. he's nuzzling you, cooing at the drunken state of your expression.

then, you feel his lips ghosting your clavicle, cool steel on your chest as he presses impossibly deeper into you, drawing back to just the tip.