“I’m getting old.” Leon mutters, pausing momentarily to sip at his mug full of coffee that you’d brewed for him a few moments earlier. You raise an eyebrow at this; head turning ever so slightly to meet his gaze. It’s been a few weeks since he’d been on the mission to Alcatraz. There’s been a personality shift that’s come over him in this time—at first, you just chalked it up to self-reflection from a near death experience.

Maybe there’s something else to it.

“You keep saying that,” you note, attention back on the kitchen counter as you prepare breakfast for the both of you. “You’re not.”

“I am. You can’t deny it. And you know, well…” he sighs, setting the mug down. “I’ve been thinking about some things. About us.”

This gets your attention. You turn fully to face him now.

He stands, advancing towards you, trapping you in between his body and the counter behind you. Leon’s lips are on yours nearly immediately—and while you appreciate the gesture and the taste of hazelnut coffee creamer that lingers in his mouth, you’re feeling a bit…

Nervous.

Your nerves quickly shift into a feeling of something else, the sensation of Leon’s hands squeezing on your waist quickening your heartbeat—that familiar aching between your thighs reddening your face at his touch. His eyes are on you as you part, examining the pretty slopes and curves of your face—but your nerves quickly shift back to that feeling of uncertainty.

“I love you,” he starts, hands furthering up your torso. One hand runs over the curve of your stomach, shifting back to the fat of your hip. “And I’ve been thinking about just how good you’d look pregnant.”

Your breath comes out in slight pants at the feeling of his hands tracing over the contour of your body. Leon leans in, placing feather-light kisses over the soft skin of your neck—the feeling of his lips and the prickle of his stubble admittedly making your knees weak. He smells good, like home; like aftershave and cologne from the night before when he’d fallen asleep with his arms around you.

His hands snake up the long shirt that you’re wearing—one of his that you’d fished from his dresser ages ago—traveling from your waist up to cup your breasts. His tongue runs over the shell of your ear, warm breath fanning over the sensitive feel of your skin. You shudder.

“Think about it. Me, you, a family…” Leon’s tone is hushed as he speaks in your ear, thumb toying at the sensitive peaks of your nipple. You feel him smile as he places a kiss on your temple, something you can hardly focus on from the feel of his hand caressing your breasts. “Don’t you want that?”

“I—” Your breath hitches at the feeling of deft fingertips running along the now sodden cotton of your panties, thighs shifting and molding around the shape of his hand between your thighs. “I… yes, of course. I mean, I’ve thought about it, but…”

“But?” He questions, tugging the wet fabric aside enough for his fingers to drag along your sticky folds. Leon’s breath fans on your neck, his cock stiff against the inside of your thigh. It’s thick and hard and throbbing and has your walls clenching around nothing—needy from just the idea of him being inside of you.

“But…” Your voice is low, teetering out pathetically at the feeling of the pad of his thumb toying with your clit. His movements are slow and methodical, circling—almost too much while simultaneously being not enough. “Your job, and…”

The way your bottom lip catches in your teeth makes him want to kiss you—and fill you with his cum—all the more. It’s been plaguing his thoughts ever since Alcatraz.

“We can work that out,” he mumbles, finger hovering around your entrance, collecting the arousal that seeps from you in anticipation. Your nails dig into the muscle of his forearm, head hanging low at the feeling of the digit threatening to breach inside of you. It’s too much. But not enough. “Work’s been slowing down. Doubt that they’d want to keep an old man like me out on the field too long anyway.”

You go to speak—you want to scold him for calling himself old, even though it’s undeniably true—but you’re cut off by the sound of your own whine at the feeling of his finger pushing its way inside of you.

He only goes as far as the first knuckle… but the gasp that falls from your lips coupled with a low moan has him a bit too eager to hear more from you. Leon inserts a second finger, the pad of his thumb pressing a fleeting amount of pressure on the sensitive bud of your clit. He’s patient as he finger-fucks you, scissoring you open with methodical movements that have your knees weak and your face hot.

You’re too busy whining his name to realize the way he’s looking at you.

Too needy to notice the way his cock throbs at the feeling of your wetness around his fingers; too drunk on his touch to see the way that his blue eyes are trained so intently on the sight of his fingers slipping out of you and pushing their way back inside. He slides his fingers out of you, marveling at the strings of sticky arousal that cling to them.

“So,” he pauses momentarily—brings his fingers to his tongue—and wraps his lips around them. “Did I convince you?”

You nod.

It’s not long before you feel the coldness of his fingers—wet from you and from his own mouth—hooking along the lace hem of your underwear to tug them down. The cotton pools at your ankles.

“You’re fucking me on the counter?” The question falls from your lips breathlessly; the feeling of his hand squeezing at the fat of your ass eliciting more noise from you than you’d be willing to admit.

“Sure am,” he mutters, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he pulls the fabric of his pants down just enough to free his cock. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time to make up for this. I intend on—“

He hoists you up properly, arm keeping you suspended in the air, eyes on the slick sticky mess that’s littered your thighs. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist. The head of his cock prods at your entrance—leaking precum enough to leave you wondering if he’d left a sticky stain on the cotton of his gray boxers.

“—stuffing you full of cum everyday until I see a positive test.”

Something tells you that he plans to make good on his promise.

He slides into you slowly; the pace agonizing as his cock stretches and splits you open—your walls shaping around his size, nails digging further into the skin of his arm. You shudder at the sound of his voice in your ear; low and needy and whiny for the feeling of the warmth of your walls instinctively gripping around his shaft.

“Leon,” he audibly groans at the sound of his name from your lips—how breathless and pretty and needy you sound for him. “Please, I—“

His fingers leave indents in the skin of your ass, his hips pressing into you so agonizingly slow to the point where you’re beginning to ache from the feeling of needing him so desperately.

“Come on,” Leon buries himself to the hilt—reveling at the feeling of the softness of your body against his. The granite edge of the counter digs at your back; a non-issue considering the fact that you’re struggling to keep your composure at the feeling of Leon balls deep inside of you. “You can take it.”

You nod.

Crescent moon shaped indentations are left on the muscle of his back, red and angry—unnoticed by the feeling of him plunging into you; his hips flush against yours with each slip of his cock inside of you. Sticky strings of arousal begin to line down his thighs—the creamy ring pooling at the base of his cock fueling the pathetic whimpers that slip from your and his lips.

Leon roughly fucks into you, pace unforgiving as your insides uncontrollably quiver and squeeze around him. You pray that no one can hear the both of you through the opened window of your kitchen—the sound of his balls slapping against your skin entirely too loud—coupled with the noisy moans that seep from your lips and the low grunts that seep from his. You can hardly tell the color of his eyes; his pupils blown so wide that you’d mistake them for brown if you weren’t aware they were blue.

He leans forward—hips still snapping against your own—and presses his lips against your own. It’s uncoordinated. It’s needy. It’s wet and sloppy as he struggles to focus on the fact that he’s supposed to be kissing you when you feel so good and tight and wet and warm around him.

He greedily tongues at your lips and greedily ruts into your pussy, movements bordering on feral at the feeling of you and the thought of stuffing you with his cum. The pretty noises that fall from your mouth drive him forward, lips still on your own as he swallows every semblance of a mewl that you make from the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls.

Leon pulls away for a moment—lips reattaching to your neck, trailing to your throat, savoring the taste of your skin. He’s losing himself. Losing himself to the overwhelming urge to put a baby in you; to the idea of your body softening and breasts swelling and hips widening—to the idea of just how perfect you’d look with his kid in you.

You squeal at the feeling of the pad of his thumb on your clit, thighs clenching and trembling and shaking around his waist—nails digging further into the meat of his back as his relentless pace falters and rhythm stutters towards sloppiness. Leon coaxes you further towards your orgasm, motion of his thumbs pulling an orgasm from your swollen, throbbing clit; the pulsating of your walls pulling him deeper into you and effectively milking his cock.

The sight of you—back arching, legs trembling, jaw slack, body spasming—it’s too much. His cock twitches, his hips sputter; his grip on you borders on pain—and you can’t do anything but take it. You feel it before you realize it. You feel the slight quiver of his body against yours. You feel his lips on your throat, tongue pressing on the rapid pulsing of the vein on your neck. You feel the warm, sticky ropes of his cum that he’d stuffed in you with no shame.

He places slow kisses along your jawline—cock still stuffed in you, plugging his cum inside—and again, you feel the ghost of a smile on his lips.

It’s evident in the way his hips snap into your own, his cock buried in the warmth of your sex. Evident in the way he has little regard for your feelings or your own pleasure—clearly displayed in the cruel way he fucks into you and the punishingly cold grip that he has on your body. It stings—the icy feeling of his fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips.

“You belong under me,” his voice is low and even, nearly drowned out by the obscenely wet sounds that have you clenching tightly around him. “Be glad that you have this opportunity.”

You don’t respond. It’s not like you can, anyway—your face is buried into the mat of the floor, lips bitten as you desperately try to prevent any moans that Bi-han forces out of you. Your wetness pools around the base of his cock, sticky strings breaking with each pull out of you and reforming with each brutal push inside of you. It dribbles down, down your thighs, staining the mat under the both of you. Messy enough to be clinging to his balls and painting his thighs. Had you not been turned away from him—face down and ass up—you’d be able to notice the way he’s struggling to hold back the noises that threaten to escape his throat. You’d be able to see the way he bites his lip; see the way that his eyebrows are so tightly drawn together and see the way his cheeks are painted a rosy shade of pink. There’s a reason why he only fucks you from behind.

You are glad, though. It’s beyond you why Bi-han has taken such a liking to specifically you—despite being Lin Kuei, you perform significantly worse than your peers and struggle to keep up with the intensive training that you’re all forced to endure every day. It’s clear that he only keeps you around for one reason. Stress relief.

There’s a part of him that secretly relishes in the way you’re so much weaker than he is.

Bi-han doesn’t ever touch you. Doesn’t truly ever lay claim to your body through possessive touches as much as you secretly would like—but you don’t complain. You never complain. The fact that your Grandmaster comes to you of all people to relieve his stress is enough—and you do your best to help him. You really do. It’s not shown on his face, evident in his words or displayed in his actions, but Bi-han does truly enjoy how easily you bend to his will. He finds himself reveling in how easily controlled you are—and you don’t mind. You never do. It’s okay for him to use you… he is your Grandmaster, after all.

Cold fingers snake their way up your body, resting on your back—dipping in the center to push you further towards the ground. You shudder. Bi-han, for once, decides to not be (so) rough with you. This time, he won’t bury your face into the mat and grip your hair and force you to take the brutal pace of his cock until you’re cumming all over him. He’s in a good mood today.

Bi-han takes advantage of the way he’s forced you to arch under him, his cock drilling into you faster and a tad bit harder than before—the loud noises of your arousal probably audible to anyone who’d walk by the room. You can’t help but whine at this. It’s unintentional. Something that you can’t hold back… usually, you’re better at keeping yourself quiet. Bi-han likes it when you’re quiet. That’s what you thought, at least.

“Who’s your Grandmaster?” Bi-han’s hand grips your hair, pulling you back and forcing your neck to crane. He’s not feeling so benevolent anymore. His pace increases, his cock pumping inside of you harshly enough to the point where you can’t help but moan. He makes an effort to tilt his hips ever so slightly—the blunt tip of his cock rubbing alongside the spots he knows makes you cream around him. For someone that claims to only care for his own pleasure… he knows your body very, very well. Your walls flutter and clench around his cock, hands clawing at the mat below you as his grip in your hair tightens. His tone is gravelly—low—and you find a strong feeling of need throbbing in your lower body at the sound of his voice. “Say it. Don’t disappoint me.”

You could never dream of it.

“B—Bi-han…” Your voice comes out as a long, drawn out whine. You’re usually more mindful of your volume—but the feeling of him pressing into you like this, so relentlessly—you can’t help it. Hands gripping the mat to steady yourself, there’s nothing to stop the sounds that you make from escaping. You try to bite your lip—but he just presses deeper into you. Making you whine more. Your body trembles under him—legs shaking—as he draws back to plunge further into you especially roughly.

Bi-han is starting to find that he doesn’t mind listening to the sound of you moaning under him like this.

“You belong to me,” he reiterates, his hand moving from your hair towards the junction of your legs. Cool fingertips make their way towards the bud in between your legs—two of his fingers rubbing your clit in soft circles, a stark contrast to the punishing pace that he’s set for you. “No other man can have you like this. Say it.”

“Y—yours,” your words come out in babbles, barely intelligible as you struggle—squirming and writhing under him as he toys with your clit and drills inside of you. “Yours—I’m—”

The feeling is too much. His cold fingers ghosting along your clit—the other hand gripping your hips harshly enough to leave bruises. It doesn’t take a long time for your squirming to become borderline uncontrollable; matching the way your walls flutter and tighten around him like a vice and matching the way your cream and arousal stain his cock. Bi-han fucks you through it. He always does—more focused on finishing himself than having any regard for you—his hips stuttering at the feeling of you creaming around him and his grip on your hip tightening even more.

He stuffs his cock inside of you, burying himself to the hilt—leaving no space between the both of you. You can feel his seed leaking inside of you—it’s warm, and hot, and unfamiliar.

“You’ll give me a son.” He tells you, voice akin to a demand as his grip on your hips keeps you in place.

It’s one of the most distinguishable traits about Zaterrans. They’re reptiles. Cold-blooded. Which means that they have to seek warmth in other ways. Most opt for warm clothes. Others choose to stay by a fire. Syzoth, though, prefers to be warmed by you.

You’re his favorite warm-blood. He loves burying his face in the crook of your neck—wrapping his arms around you as tight as you can handle and basking in the warmth of your skin. He savors it, in fact; skin to skin contact with you is something he’d do all day if he had no responsibilities. It’s number two on his list of favorite things to do with you.

Number one, though…

“So… warm.” Syzoth’s words come out as a hiss, his face wedged in the crook of your neck—inhaling your scent—as the head of his cock spreads you open. His arms are wrapped tightly around you; serving as a way to keep you in place while simultaneously siphoning the heat that radiates from your body. Syzoth's body weight is nearly fully pressed onto you—sealing your fate under him. It's not as if you'd want to be anywhere else.

The artificial warmth of clothing is nothing compared to being stuffed so deeply inside of you.

Your thighs are clenched tightly around his waist, leaving little to no distance between the both of you; Syzoth's arms locked around you and his cock buried deep inside of you—to the hilt—being enough evidence of your closeness. You can feel him shudder on top of you, his breaths shaky as his grip around your body tightens.

"Your arms," his voice is hoarse as he mutters in your ear, "Your arms—wrap them around me. Please." And you do. You wrap your arms around him, offering some more of the warmth that he's constantly clamoring for.

Syzoth is greedy. It's never enough for him; he needs all of your heat and he needs to feel all of you. The feeling of your soft skin wrapped around him leaves him hissing once more; his grip on you tightening—leaving finger-shaped indents where he grasps so tightly on your warm flesh. Your body is on fire under him, serving only to make him more needy for your heat. He doesn't bother to reach down and rub circles on your clit, either—he can't even think straight.

Just as much as Syzoth is greedy, he is sloppy. Uncoordinated—his hips rut into you, squelching noises of your wetness drowned out by the sound of his raspy whines in your ear. It's almost instinctual, the way that he moves. His thrusting into you is messy—his hips constantly shifting and twitching and struggling to keep up the deprived pace he's set for himself. Your slickness smears all over him—his haphazard thrusts only adding to the way that it leaks out of you. Somehow—knowing that he can't even control the way that he fucks into you makes it feel better.

He fucks into you like an animal. His hips rut and twitch and Syzoth is unsure if he'd even be able to pull out—just because of how good you feel. It's like he's on autopilot; he's not even thinking, really. Just feeling.

"More. Please, I need more..." Syzoth's voice is barely audible over his loud, strained breathing. As much as he wants to look at you, he can't. His mind is so fuzzy. He can't think or concentrate on anything that's not the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him like a vice—his arms squeeze around you harder, his hips pressing inside of you as tightly and as fast as they can go.

He ruts into you, hips stuttering as he buries his face further in the crook of your neck; needy noises slipping from his lips as he continuously rolls his hips into your slick sex. Syzoth squirms on top of you—and if you weren't being fucked into so quickly and depravedly, you'd be able to feel it. Feel the way his hips twitch with each thrust inside of you; feel the way they spasm with each particularly tight squeeze around his cock.

"Please," he whines again, voice all urgent and no patient. Syzoth's tongue drags along the pulse of your neck, leaving a wet trail in it's wake. You shiver—your walls tighten around him, clinging—and he whimpers. "Please. I can't take this."

“Fuck—“ Leon shifts under you, his grip on you tightening momentarily. The pads of his fingers dig into the skin of your thighs… a very, very desperate attempt to ground himself. “I can’t… slow down, please.”

Leon’s head thumps against the leather backseat of his Jeep. His eyes are screwed shut as he lets out a shaky breath, the calloused pads of his fingertips releasing and gripping you—squishing you. You can feel him throbbing inside of you. You can feel each and every twitch and motion of his hips as he’s desperate to keep his cool and not cum inside of you after just two minutes. It’s cute.

Leon is cute.

“You’re so sensitive,” You coo at him, your hands reaching to feel the muscles of his chest through his shirt. He’s clothed still—as are you, save for the way his pants and boxers are haphazardly bunched at his ankles and how yours have been thrown somewhere else. “I just started. You already can't take it?.”

It’s dark. You can barely see your boyfriend’s face, but you’re almost certain that there’s some semblance of a pout on his face as you tease him. It’s always like this when you’re on top. He can’t focus on anything but you. How you make him feel good. How pretty you look on top of him, even if he can’t fully see your face.

“Just… just give me a few seconds, okay?” Leon’s tone is shaky as he speaks, hushed as his hands start to roam further from your thighs and up towards your torso. They rise, higher and higher, the palms of his hands dipping under your shirt and exploring every inch of skin that he can reach. His cock throbs inside of you again. “Don't make fun of me. I can't... can't help it when I'm with you.”

You can practically *feel* the heat radiating from his face as you hold back a smile, squinting to see him from the darkness that surrounds the both of you in his Jeep. The tinted windows and the fact that it's the middle of the night do nothing to help... but Leon really couldn't wait any longer. He needed you now.

"I'm not making fun of you..." You reassure, cupping his face with your hands and making him look at you. It does nothing to stop the borderline possessive way that his hands caress your body. The feeling of his hands on your body isn't unfamiliar—it's welcomed. He seems to know all the places to touch that make you whine and press further down on his cock. "It's cute. Does that make you feel better?"

"No." He leans forward, his lips brushing against your own in a chaste kiss—before his hand escapes from under your shirt and cups your cheek, bringing you closer to him. The kiss is sweet—just like he is. He’s always sweet. Wetness pools between his thighs, staining the leather seat of the Jeep as he shifts under you again. Leon’s hands travel downward again, anchoring themselves on your hips as he pulls away from your lips.

“You’re so…” He trails off as he slowly brings you up, temporarily releasing himself of the vice you have around his cock. His breath is warm as you feel him let out a deep exhale—less shaky and more anticipating than before. “So good to me.”

With slow, deliberate motions, he sinks you back down onto his cock. Savoring the way you feel around him. Mindful to not be too rough with you. He can barely make out the features of your face in the darkness, but that doesn't stop him from trying. Doesn't stop him from imagining the way your eyebrows are probably drawn together and how your mouth is probably slightly ajar.

“I love you… fuck. I can’t…” Strings of praise and you feel so goods slip from his lips as he begins to guide you up and down, soft gasps accompanying them as the slick sounds begin to fill the air of the Jeep once more. It's only been a few moments, but he already feels himself obsessing over the way you clench around him once more. His eyes are trained on the junction where the two of you meet; his breaths quickening to match the pace that he's beginning to set.

Unsurprisingly, Leon’s hips are starting to press up into yours as he guides you down onto him. He wanted to be more gentle. But he never really was good at controlling himself. Especially when it comes to you.

“L—Leon—“ Your words come out in hushed gasps, cut off by the sounds of your own moans as you grip desperately at his shirt. He’s handsy as he fucks up into you: gripping your shirt, his free hand reaching up to grab onto your hair, his fingers pinching at the meat of your thigh, hand trailing along the curve of your stomach—desperate to feel all of you.

The slapping of your skin onto his gets louder and louder, his hands pulling you down onto his cock as he thrusts up into you to meet halfway—his moans in your ear as all of his inhibitions seemingly leave him at just the feeling of you. You can’t help it, at this point. Can't help the sticky mess you’re making on his lap. The way your face is buried into his neck only seems to spur him on more.

You can feel the SUV rocking in tandem with his movements. His hips tilt ever so slightly, desperate to meet that spot inside of you—to pull those noises out of you that he’s come to crave every single time. Leon always gets what he wants, too. The sound of your whine, pathetic and wavering in his ear makes him smile—his own sighs and groans as he slips in and out of you not much better.

“So good—you’re so good to me. Fuck. You feel so—“ He fucks you like he means it. He kisses you like he loves you. And it’s too much. Leon is quick to kiss you. His soft lips latch onto your own, splitting from you only to place more kisses on the side of your mouth and pressing more onto the skin of your neck. “So good. Come on, you can take it.”

The words are meant to be more encouraging than anything else… yet, he can feel the way you tighten and clench around him—can feel the way drool slips from the corner of your mouth and leaves wet spots on his shirt—can hear the muffled moans that you can’t hold back in his chest.

He wishes he could see your face. See the way your eyes are lidded and how they roll toward the back of your head when he hits the spots he knows you like... but from the way his thighs are flexing and twitching under you, he's not doing much better. Just the image of it in his head is enough to make him squirm.

Broken strings of praise and groans fall from his lips, the pads of his fingers digging into your hips nearly painfully as he shifts under you.

"Can't... can't, Leon. Please, I'm gonna..." You sigh out, barely managing to piece together the sentence from his nearly punishing pace as he fucks into you like it'll be the last time you'll ever be together. You feel his fingernails digging into the skin of your ass.

Even in the darkness from the tinted windows of the Jeep, you can see how his head lolls from side to side as he's so desperate to hold on to his control. To get you to cum first. Leon is a gentleman like that.

Well... he tries to be.

But the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him... the way you paw at his shirt... the way your skin ripples each time it meets his own from his brutal pace.

To think that he'd even lasted this long truly was a miracle.

It’s not hard to tell when Leon’s about to cum. His hips tremble, he grips you with really no regard for his strength—he whines and whines and his hips stutter and lose their pace quicker than he was able to gain it.

“Fuck. Fuck. You feel so good—you feel too good—“ His tone is higher, his body taut and thighs flexing as his hips twitch and jolt under you. Leon pulls you down onto him, keeping you in one place as his hips uncontrollably rut into you. Thick ropes of his cum sputter inside of you as he cants his hips on you, grinding and pulling you as close as possible until he’s whining more because it’s making him feel too good.

It's silent for a few minutes after. Really, the only thing that can be heard are Leon's shaky and rapid breaths and the long forgotten music from the radio playing in the background. He trembles beneath you, hands loosening on the nearly punishing grip that they held on you only a few moments ago.

Leon's hands rub along your hips, his thumb pressing gentle circles into the spots he was just tugging on. You can't see his expression... but something just tells you that he's flashing you that toothy grin that he always does whenever he wants to charm you. "That was—"

"You lasted longer this time."

"On your back." You abide. You always do. Bi-han's voice is low as he speaks, one hand pinching the fat of your hips as the other grazes over the swell of your stomach. He's a man of few words—with you, at least.

"I have to—"

"Quiet. Move your hands." You hesitate, for once. You've always been quick to heed his words—desperate to impress him in one way or another. But... the pregnancy has been hard on you. Hard on your body; hard on your mental state. It's been hard coping with the changes that've come upon your body. The toll is evident in the way you carry yourself. In your hesitance.

It's hard not to notice the frustration that lines Bi-han's face. Your shyness—though not new—only serves to anger him more. He doesn't understand why you're like this. To him, you're, for lack of a better word, perfect. You listen well. You're pleasing to the eyes. You're carrying the next true heir of the Lin Kuei. What more can he ask for?

His brows furrow.

"I won't ask again. Move your hands." He pauses for a moment, his expression still drawn in—yet, he decides to be nicer with you. "I want to see all of you."

He wants to.

You move your hands. It doesn't take long to feel his icy touch on your body again—slipping up the gown that he'd had custom made for you. Bi-han's calloused hands graze over your warm skin, relishing in the feeling of the softness that so directly contrasts his entire being. It's intimate. It's intimate to feel his hands on yours, so adoringly. It's intimate to be on your back for him... when he'd only ever kept you on your stomach.

"You're not allowed to hide from me." His tone is clipped, fingers squeezing at the flesh of your breasts, eliciting a gasp from your lips. "You can't deny me what is mine." He savors the feeling of your swollen breasts cupped in his hands, his aggression muted in favor of your comfort.

Your hands can't help but follow his own. The palms of your hands rest on top of his—wanting to cover yourself—but still regarding his word. You've never touched Bi-han like this, if at all.

He doesn't stop you.

"Bi-han..." You feel his fingers dancing along the hem of your gown, threatening to pull it over your head. Threatening to expose the changes and new state of your body... something that you aren't particularly fond of. You open your mouth to speak, to ask him to leave it on, but you catch sight of the way his eyes look over your body. It's hard to miss. Hard to miss the way his eyes hungrily graze over your body—and for once, your protests seem to die in your throat.

"Again," Bi-han pulls your gown up just far enough to expose your breasts. "Say my name again."

He pinches the bud of your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It's not lost on him the way you whine ever so slightly—or the way his name falls from your lips in a pathetic and needy whimper. Bi-han puts a hand on each thigh, effectively separating them enough for him to fit himself in between your legs. The protrusion in his pants presses against the soft skin of your thigh—and if you were concentrating enough, you'd feel how it was throbbing just at the sight of you.

His hands run up and down your body, firmly but gently. They cover every inch of you—starting at your neck, moving towards your breasts, feeling the soft skin of your arms, pinching at the fat of your ass. It's almost as if he's trying to commit this very moment to his memory. Bi-han's expression is... soft, in its own way. Soft for only you.

"Don't question me." His voice is low, but insistent. Once more, his hand slides over the swell of your belly. "You insult my choice by hiding from me."

That's the last thing you want.

This time, you make no protest at the feeling of his fingers over your tender nipples. You don't stop him when he's tugging your panties down, past your ankles. You don't stall in an attempt to hide your body anymore. He likes you. All of you. You can hear the sound of your blood thrumming in your ear, quickened at the feeling of the pad of his thumb on your clit. It's gentle. He's gentle.

You feel vulnerable under his gaze. Nervous at the feeling of his eyes trained on you so intensely—and a secret part of you lavishes at the attention your Grandmaster gives only you. His thumb rubs sweet and slow circles on the sensitive bud, gauging your reactions while his other hand toys with the swell of your breasts. You don't miss how Bi-han's lips are parted—don't miss how the tips of his ears are red along with the skin of his cheeks. Only you can see this side of him.

"I'm not satisfied with just one." Bi-han mumbles, hands withdrawing from you to untie the cloth belt that rests on his waist. "You'll give me another child after this."

You're barely listening; too focused on the way his cock springs from his pants—focused on the way precum leaks from the tip and focused on how the stiffness rubs along the slick of your folds. Bi-han is like this for you. For your body.

He's gentle as his cock urges your folds open. Before you were pregnant, everything Bi-han did with you was fast and rough—no concern for you or how you would've wanted to be fucked. Now... Bi-han finds himself putting more thought into the way that he touches you. You liked it before, and you like this now. Bi-han, though, finds himself preferring these slow moments much more—preferring to take his time, to focus on how you feel and eliciting those pretty noises from your mouth that he's come to obsess over. His cock slowly splits you open, filling you inch by inch—coated in your slickness that threatens to slip down the curve of your ass in sticky droplets. His hands grip on your hips, not harshly, as he keeps you anchored under him. The hunger in his expression is palatable; the wet noise of him sinking inside you to the hilt stirring a feeling of arousal deep in your gut.

He watches. Bi-han watches the way your jaw slacks, watches the way you grip onto the muscle of his arms, revels in the feeling of your tightness clinging to him so desperately.

"Bi-han..." Your voice is a pathetic whine, teetering into nothingness as he fully sheathes himself inside of you. "Please... I want more."

Yes. Bi-han prefers you like this.

"More? You're in no position to make requests of me." His cock drags slowly along your sensitive walls, hips rolling into yours almost lazily as his eyes stay trained on your expression. Despite his words, he seems to be giving you exactly what you want. His touch is bordering on possessive as he continues to slowly, agonizingly stretch you open with movements that edge on the feeling of love.

“You’re good to me.” The words are foreign falling from Bi-han’s lips. He’s never been one to compliment anyone, at all, but he seems to be breaking a lot of the previously set expectations of him for you. His tone is hushed… needy, even. To him, you’re beautiful—not that he’d ever say it out loud—but his actions tell you that enough. The way his eyes are hungrily watching the bounce of your breasts or the way they’re trained on the sight of his length sloppily and languidly sinking inside of you tell you everything you’d ever need to know.

Bi-han is less reserved as the rhythm of his hips quicken, the squelching slapping of your bodies joined together forgotten in favor of the audible noises that freely fall from his lips. He’s never let his guard down like this… so quickly, without another thought. You’re the only one that can make him lose his inhibitions like this.

“Bi-han—” His name falls from your lips like second nature, the fluttering and spasming of your walls around him pulling a grunt from him. The way you mewl; the breathlessness of your voice, it serves to only increase the pace of his hips against your own. You’re all glassy-eyed and needy and so wet for him to the point where he finds himself nearly losing control. Your nails dig into the skin of his arms—and he doesn’t stop you.

The rock of your breasts is intoxicating to him, his free hand gripping and kneading at the soft and swollen flesh that’s only become more sensitive with each week that’s passed. More accurately, every part of you intoxicates him beyond belief. He can’t get enough.

It’s not long after that until his hips begin snapping into your own, pumping inside of you with such a fervor that has your thighs trembling wrapped around him and squeaks falling from your lips with each particularly angled thrust of his cock inside of you. Your mind is fuzzy at the feeling of him rutting so desperately inside of you; clouded by the feeling of his hands gripping and greedily squeezing at every part of you that he can reach.

Had it not been for the pronounced shape of your belly, he would’ve opted to swallow the pretty noises he drives from your lips with his own.

Your skin is hot to the touch—and when you feel his icy fingertips in the apex between your thighs, you struggle to hold back the squeak that the sensation forces out of you. The pad of his thumb toys with your clit once more; his ministrations rough and sharp and coaxing you closer to an orgasm. Bi-han grunts at the sight of you—the sight of your back arching and head lolling to the side and the sight of your lips parted and moaning for him. His thumb presses into your clit harshly, providing pressure that matches the particularly deep thrust that he couples with it.

His cock drives into you; burying to the hilt at the feeling of your slick walls clinging and clenching and squeezing around the shaft—thighs unconsciously jolting at the sensation. His hips grind against yours—serving to only heighten the sensation that has you trembling under him so desperately—your orgasm washing over you in waves so intense that you’re whining and shaking and your toes are curling as you keen out intelligible babbles about how good it feels. You don’t even realize how he’s spilt thick ropes of his cum inside of you until the sensation of it seeping out of you.

Which is why today of all days is especially difficult for you. It's like the world is taunting you—everywhere you turn, there's an advertisement for Valentine's Day specials or a couple making out on the damn corner or a guy beaming as he walks down the street holding a box of chocolates and flowers in both hands.

You love Leon... but god do you hate Valentine's Day. It's one thing to only see your boyfriend a few times in a year, and it's another to be constantly reminded about just how lonely you are without him. Which is why you're currently sat on your couch, lights off, snuggled under the blanket that he bought you some odd few years ago. It still smells like him.

It's not something you've ever bothered to bring up to him. Just how lonely you are and how you miss him so often—he already has so much on his plate, why add more? That's what you tell yourself. Still, the feelings are starting to bubble over into... uncharted territory. Each time your phone buzzes, you find yourself excitedly grabbing it to see if maybe, for once... he'd call you on Valentine's Day. Or call you at all for that matter.

But he doesn't.

He never has.

He probably never will.

You really don't mean to be so upset about it... you knew what you were getting into. But still... at least one call a week, right? That's what he's promised you.

It's been two.

And it's far from the first time that he's skipped calling you. As much as it pains you to admit, there are more important things that he has to deal with—and as much as you want to be, you're unfortunately low on his priority list.

But again, you deal with it.

Because you love him.

Even if he doesn't always get the chance to call you on your birthday because he's so busy with work. Valentine's Day always goes the same. You're alone. Your boyfriend doesn't call you. You're left to watch the stupid, cheesy romance movies that you wish you could force Leon to watch and cuddle up with him on the couch like a normal couple would.

But... you're not a normal couple. You've long since accepted that... or, tried to. You've tried. Here you are, just as you have been for the past however many years, crying on your sofa as you imagine what could have been. What your relationship could be if Leon didn't have such an intensive job. It's not long before the tears start to flow freely down your cheeks.

The guilt eats you alive. You feel bad for wanting to demand some of Leon's attention. You feel bad for even feeling bad, for crying out loud. Even though, if Leon were here right now, you know that he'd comfort you and tell you just how appreciative he is of you for even sticking around for someone like him—a government agent with too much baggage.

"Damn it..." The frustration is evident as you speak to no one in particular—the noise coming out of your mouth more of a pathetic mutter than anything as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. Grabbing the remote, you very quickly turn off the scene in the movie where the two leads were about to confess their love for each other and share a kiss. God, you could use one of those right now. Being without Leon kills you. Not being able to feel his biceps around your body, squeezing the life out of you, kills you. Not being able to wake up next to him and see the way that he smiles when you're the first thing he sees opening his eyes.

It kills you so much, in fact, that as you trudge towards the front door after hearing a few short knocks, that you're not even bothering to mask your sniffles or the fact that you're feeling less than hot right now.

You hate Valentine's Day.

Opening the door with a sigh, you wipe your tears away with the back of your hand—again, not being exactly too mindful of the person who's at your front door. Cluelessness and a lack of situational awareness has always, truly, been your downfall. Of course. It's Leon. Now you're just feeling guilty again—having spent the whole day cursing him out in your mind only for him to show up at your door to surprise you.

"Are you..." You feel a familiar hand cup your face, the warmth of his calloused palm pressing and squishing against your cheek as Leon's fingers press into the soft skin. The sound of plastic wrap crinkling fills your ears; if you were to look up from your feet, you would be able to see the bouquet of flowers. Flowers. For you. From Leon. On Valentine's Day.

A part of you wants to jump into his arms. To plant kisses all over his face. To thank him for even thinking of you, even if what he's done is just the bare minimum. Another part of you just can't help but feel frustrated. Knowing that after this, after the one day that you stay together, he'll be called in to another other-worldly mission that leaves you up at night with knots in your stomach anticipating his next call to know if he's okay.

Leon's touch leaves goosebumps in it's wake. His thumb wipes the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, and then trails down to feel the skin of your neck. He can practically feel the heat radiating off of you.

"You're crying." A statement, more than a question. Your eyes are red, your pretty lips turned into a frown, and your red nose is enough of an indication of the truth. How are you going to get yourself out of this one? You really, really don't want to burden him with your feelings. You're happy, really. He doesn't need anything more on his plate.

"I...'m fine. Really, I'm just..." A sigh escapes your lips. An involuntary one. Looking up finally, you meet his gaze. Leon's icy blue eyes bore into your own, his brows drawn in and a taut frown visible on his lips. "Just was watching a sad movie." He hates to see you upset. Leon knows it's wrong of him to neglect you like this. But to see the effects of what he's done... to say that he feels horribly guilty and responsible would be an understatement. And he is responsible.

"A sad movie on Valentine's Day?" He questions, his tone slightly teasing as you step aside to let him inside of your apartment. Leon takes a deep breath—the scent of your apartment and warmth enveloping him, finally, after months. He always preferred your apartment over his... it feels like home, in his words. "I got you these."

You don't respond as he walks in your apartment like he owns it. You follow him as he makes his way into your kitchen, the silence thick and unbearable and equal parts uncomfortable. You missed him. Badly. And yet, still... you're finding it hard to open up to him right now. Maybe it's the years of bitterness of this specific damn day that are catching up to you. Leon opens your cabinet, taking out one of your mason jars to fill with water and put your hydrangeas in. As much as you want to appreciate them... and his presence, you find it hard.

"Leon, I—"

"I'm sorry." His voice cuts you off before you can continue; his tone low and just as apologetic. The mason jar full of baby blue hydrangeas is cast off to the side of your countertop as he makes his way towards you. The scent of his favorite aftershave (that he only uses to impress you) fills your nostrils as he breaches the distance between the both of you.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. I want to apologize. I need to..." His hands reach, gripping the skin of your forearms as he speaks. Leon sighs after a few moments, one of his hands reaching to run through his dirty blonde hair in a rare display of uncertainty from him. He's not good in these situations. "I haven't been the best." That's... certainly an understatement. And he knows it, too, judging from the look of guilt on his features.

Silence fills the kitchen for a few moments. Leon struggles to find the words that he wants to say—and he does have so many things to tell you. He wants you to know just how much he's missed you. He wants you to know how thankful he is for you always sticking around. He wants you to know how sorry he is for not being the boyfriend he thinks you deserve.

But... Leon was never really that good at expressing himself. Communication is one of his weakest points—he's closed off. Hard to read. But he's trying. Very hard, right now, just for you.

Because Leon loves you.

"I haven't called you. I'm sorry. I've been..." Leon swallows, shaking his head for a moment, as he then lets out a sigh. "There's no excuse. I'm sorry."

Eye contact with Leon is something that you've always savored. He's the kind of man that makes you weak in the knees just from the looks that he gives you. Of course, yes—that extends to this very moment. His eyes are full of so much... love, is it? Appreciation for you? Whatever it is, it's making your face turn redder and your heart beat faster and your hands clammier than they have ever been for the past year.

"I know you're busy, Leon... you don't have to apologize to me." The feeling of his hands running along your arms has you breathing a little quicker than before. "I'm not upset at you for it." You are, though. And he knows it. And he knows that you're just refusing to admit it because you don't want to stress him out any more than he already is, considering the state of his job.

Another long, tense silence fills the room as the both of you struggle to find the words to say. This isn't how he wanted your meeting after God knows how long to go—even though, realistically, after being neglected by him for so long... this was the only possible outcome. Still, he savors the feeling of your skin under his fingertips. He savors the pretty color of your eyes and the way you look at him so intensely that it makes his knees weak. Not that he would ever admit that last part.

"I love you. More than you know... I'm sorry." Another apology slips from his lips as he continues to feel the skin of your arms. The way his thumb rubs circles on your shoulder makes you want to explode and melt into putty right then and there. "I want to do better. To show you how much you really mean to me."

"How do you plan to do that?" The question comes out softly; the tone of your voice unconsciously sweet as you find the anger and bitterness seeping out of you by the second. It feels good. He's only touching your arm, and yet, it feels too good. You needed this. He needed this more than you did.

Leon, once more, is not a man very adept at communication. He keeps his feelings bottled up. A defense mechanism—he has to, in the line of work that he's in. What is good at, though, is showing you. You barely register it at first, the feeling of his lips on yours. It's so familiar yet alien at the same time. It's been so, so long.

His lips are soft as they're on your own. Leon's hands gently wrap around your body: one clinging to your upper arm, the other perched right on your waist. His favorite place to touch when you're kissing like this—something you'd nearly forgotten. You respond nearly immediately, almost instinctively, as your lips match his own. The tears that were just falling from your face ten minutes ago are long since forgotten now. He pulls away, much to your dismay.

"I missed you." Leon's lips are back on your own before you can respond; his touch and kiss sweet and soft and loving and essentially everything you've ever wanted for the past however long. He pulls away again, hovering over your lips. "I love you."

"I missed you more." You respond, gripping to pull him closer. He leans in again, the ghost of a smile on his lips at the way you quip back at him. These are the moments that he truly relishes in. Being inside of your warm apartment, feeling your lips on him, being able to touch you all over without having to worry about the constraint of time. Just being with you. If he had his way, it would be like this every day. He'd wake up next to you. Tell you how much you mean to him. Feel you. Every day.

"The thought of you is the only thing that kept me going." Leon says softly, his hands riding up your arms to cup your face in both of his palms. He places one sweet, soft kiss on your lips. Then another. "Knowing that I'd be able to come back to you one day."

The admission has you speechless—you think, at least. It might just be the way he's kissing you, the way he's guiding you closer to him and the way his lips are beginning to move with just the slightest bit more passion. You’re putty in his hands, and he's equally putty in yours.

It's not long before his hands start to... travel. He can't help it. Leon is a disciplined man. His job requires it of him; self control is an aspect of his personality that's saved he and many, many of the other people that he's come to work with. When it comes to you, though, he finds it... particularly hard to keep himself in check. It's evident in his restrained motions against you.

The way his hands flutter to your waist, squeezing the flesh slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough for you to not be able to ignore it's presence. His breath quickens, the warmth fanning over your face as you swear his pupils are blown further than you've ever seen them. He doesn't want you getting the wrong idea, though. He really did just come to give you some flowers and apologize... but it's you.

How can he not want to lose control?

Leon is a very selfless man... times like this, however, he finds himself to become increasingly selfish. "I love you," he repeats, his fingers running along the hem of your shirt. Cold fingers press against the warmth of your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as they travel further up your torso. "Let me show you how much I love you."

"In the kitchen?" The question comes out more teasing than angry, the breathlessness of your tone making Leon's grip on your skin tighten. There's no response for a few moments—not because he's ignoring you, but because he's focusing on placing wet, hot kisses on your neck and lining them just below your ear. He knows you're sensitive there. He breaks away from your neck for a few moments.

The way his eyes are trained on your own have your heartbeat quickening even faster; the lack of a response making you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You're not even naked, and still he manages to make you feel so exposed under his gaze. One of his hands begin to bunch up your shirt, not enough to fully reveal your body.

You try not to focus on his arms too much—try not to focus on the way the veins line the muscles that he's built over the years. You try not to focus on the protrusion in his pants. His labored breathing. The way that he looks at you.

"In the bed." he uses the hand gripping your shirt to begin to guide you down the hallway. Towards the bedroom.

Leon makes good on his promise of showing his love for you.

It's been too long since you've been with him like this. Back flush against the bed, shirt pulled up just under your chin, his hands roaming all over the soft skin of your body, squeezing on the sensitive flesh of your thighs. His fingers ghost over the fabric of your underwear for a few moments, eyes trained on your reaction as he relishes in the way that you squirm under him.

"Just as sensitive as I remember," he muses, his knuckle applying pressure slightly—a smile on his face as he anticipates your reaction. "It's been too long."

"Mm," You can only hum in response, the sound of your own pulse thrumming in your ears as your body unconsciously reacts to his touch. "Yeah. I missed you."

The two of you have said the phrase at least a dozen times by now—and yet, still, the meaning of it isn't diminished in even the slightest. You missed this. And he missed this more than you could ever even know. So many nights of him staying up late, imagining you pressed up against him. Imagining himself between your thighs.. hands pressed under his pants, eyes screwed shut as he reminisced on the sounds that you'd make.

Leon can't wait anymore.

He's toyed with you enough. Propping himself on his knees, slotted between your legs, he begins to pull at his belt buckle. Your breath is shallow, paused even as you watch him unzip his pants. He uses one hand, tugging on the button as the other reaches for you. Leon's fingertips ghost along the curve of your body, feeling along the swell of your hip, reaching to the indent of your waist. His hand presses into your chest, feeling the flesh below him—his fingertips pinching your nipple and eliciting a whine from your lips.

"Leon—" The sound of his belt and pants crumpling to the floor cut you off. You tremble beneath him, body taut and awaiting his touch. The tips of Leon's ears are pink as he wraps his hand around his shaft, breathing labored as his thumb swipes over the slit of his head—collecting the precum that very freely seeps in need for you.

It's big. Like the rest of him. Big enough that each time you two have sex, he has to press inside you slowly, slow enough so that you could adjust to the size. Still, despite this, he splits you open each time.

He lines himself up. Your thighs wrap around Leon's hips, hands perched on his arm that rests on your own. The blunt tip of his cock presses against you, smearing his precum as your back instinctively arches again upon feeling his touch. Leon's breath is very, very audibly labored.

"You okay?" The worry in his tone is evident as his cock spreads you open, slowly but surely slipping into you. Inch by inch. One hand grips onto the skin of your hip, keeping you in place as his swollen cock splits you open. You can't respond, of course. The way that he bullies his way inside of you leaves you all but breathless, your nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in the skin of his forearm. All you can do is nod.

"Good," his eyes on you are full of nothing less than pure adoration, his voice raspy and low and full of desire. "You feel so good already."

You're caged between Leon and the bed. The scent of aftershave and his cologne engulfs you just as much as his body around you does, his lips hovering over yours ever so often as he whispers praises in your ear and tells you just how sweet you look under him and how well you take his cock. It's not long before he's fully sheathed inside of you, the imprint of his cock shaping your insides and filling you completely.

"You feel—" Leon sheathes the rest of his cock inside of you, the last couple inches pulling a drawn out whine from you as you take all of him. A groan escapes Leon's lips, his head hanging low for a few moments as he steadies himself and struggles to adjust to just how good and warm you feel wrapped around him. In the moment of respite, his hands roam up and down your body, dedicating the shape and the curve to his memory as he elicits whimpers from you by rolling the peaks of your nipples between his two fingers.

"Leon... please." He slides his length out of you slowly, a sigh to his voice that compliments the whine you let out at the overwhelming feeling of him slipping in and out of you slowly. He craves this; craves the feeling of you under him, the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him, the touch of your lips on his own. His obsession with you encompasses his thoughts every second.

"You're too good to me..." Rasp lines his voice as he looks at you underneath him. The way your hair is a mess, the expression of your face as he presses his cock back inside of you. The sight of your body, bare, for him. And only him. It's hard not to get lost in the feeling of you. The slow pace Leon sets only quickens with each passing moment, his hips snapping against your own as he makes a conscious effort to pull out all the way each time to slam his hips back and press inside of you.

The feeling is unrivaled; the sight of this handsome man—your boyfriend—sighing and groaning on top of you at the feeling of you around him. The way that he's splitting you open—his hips brutally pounding into you with all of the strength that he can muster.

Leon hungrily watches you. He watches the way your eyebrows are raised, the way your eyes roll towards the back of your skull with each particularly hard thrust inside of you. Watches the way your body ripples with each pounding of his cock into you. The way you look up at him, your expression so fucked out and pretty... it takes everything in him to not cum right then and there.

"C—can't—feels too good, Leon—" Your whines and moans come out in unintelligible babbles as the skin slapping sound reverberates in the small walls of your bedroom. Leon doesn't stop—he can't stop, even. The groans from his throat are low are raspy, each one sending a throb of need throughout your body.

"Fuck," His hands pull at your hips, lifting the bottom half of your body up slightly to better angle his cock as it slams into you. "Feel so fucking good. Needed this." The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust of his hips, the springs of your boxboard even creaking as he fucks you into the mattress. Leon is rough.

But you like it.

You like the underlying tender current in his movements, long for the way his hands pull as you and maneuver you as if you weigh nothing. You like the way you can hear the squelching sounds as he pounds into you. You're sure that he's going to leave little finger-pad shaped bruises on your hips by the time that he's done with you—not that you're actively thinking of it; too busy focusing on the mind-numbing pleasure that your boyfriend gives you as he fucks you harder than he ever has before. It'll be a reminder of the night you've shared together.

The pleasure is too much. It's all-encompassing, making your toes curl as Leon's eyes screw shut in response—head hanging low as he struggles to keep whatever semblance of control that he has left. It always seems to escape him when he's with you. Especially when he's with you like this: buried inside of you, making you remember who you belong to, and pulling those pretty noises out of your mouth that he touches himself to every night he's not with you.

Leon's memorized your body by now. He has to, to survive every night he spends away from you. Every crevice, curve, and every motion that you make. From the way your back is arching, the way that your hands claw at his own—leaving angry red marks—it's clear that you're close. The way that you squeeze around him, leak around him... it's obvious.

"Gonna cum in you," he states, doesn't say—doesn't ask, he tells. "And you're gonna take it all." There's nothing you can do but take it. He leaves wet, sloppy kisses all down your neck—drawing back for a moment to place another right on your lips. He swallows up your whines, the noises muffled by his lips spurring him onward. His hips twitch, and stutter—but he keeps the pace. Leon wants to show you how much he loves you, remember?

His hips drive into you, burying his shaft to the hilt inside of you every time. It's almost like a game to him—fucking you as hard as he can—the prize being the sounds you make each time he impales you with his cock. You grip at his hands, pulling on them—pulling on his arms, the sheets below you—anything. Anything to ground you.

He doesn't stop. Even as you're whining his name, babbling about how you're gonna cum, even as you're arching and shaking under him as you cum around him—hard. Your hands and fingers are nothing to the feeling of being filled by him. Leon fucks you through your orgasm, his own voice shaky as he talks you through it. Telling you how beautiful you are. How well you take him. Telling you to keep squeezing his cock like that, because he's so close.

Leon's hips sputter and twitch, his pace faltering as he groans—deep and raspy—his balls squeezing as he empties himself inside of you. He presses his hips into you still, buried to the hilt so that not even a modicum of space separates him from you. Thick, hot ropes of his cum spurt inside of you. You can even feel him shaking from the intensity of his orgasm.

Still buried inside of you, Leon leans down, pressing his body on top of yours as he seeks out your warmth and the comfort of your arms wrapped around him. He almost doesn't want to pull out—and in another act of selfishness, he decides to linger in you for just a few moments. You don't stop him.

A comfortable silence befalls the room. Save for the sounds of your breathing, the room is quiet. It takes a few moments of riding out the aftershocks and gaining your conscience back (since he did fuck it out of you) for you to speak.

"I don't want you to leave." Leon knows that you're always sappy after sex. It's why he spends extra time cuddling you. Reminding you that you're the only one for him. That only you make him feel so much love. Your hands hug him tighter, bringing him even closer down on to you.

"Not leaving." He mutters, voice slightly muffled as his face is buried in the crook of your neck.

Your best friend, Leon, is a sweetheart. No matter what it is that you're going through, he's always there for you.

That extends to this very moment—where the both of you are sat on the couch of your one-person dorm, watching TV in attempt to drown the stinging feeling of your breakup. Or... trying to, at least. In reality, you've been venting to him about the sorry state of your now failed relationship. You have all of his attention, of course. You always do.

"I should've listened to you the first time," You mumble, head resting on the shoulder of your best friend, tone laced with sadness. Leon's warmth is comforting, a welcome reprieve to the icebox that is your dorm. "You were right. He was a jerk. A selfish jerk."

"Selfish?" He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer. His chest is just as, if not more comfortable than his shoulder. You take the opportunity to shift closer to him, settling yourself in his arms... just like old times, really. He's lucky his hair covers the bright red of his ears at the feeling of you sitting on his lap. "L—like... how?"

"He was just... selfish," You mutter, sniffling for a few moments as you absentmindedly toy with the hem of his shirt. "It was always about him. He never bought me anything or made me feel special or..." He notes the way you trail off, icy blue eyes trained on the pretty features of your face as his heart squeezes at the sight of your frown. He really did try to tell you... he also wanted to tell you that you could do so much better with him.

"Or?"

"He never..." You pause for a moment, gnawing on your bottom lip in attempt to find a tactful way to tell Leon the truth. He's your best friend, though. You can tell him anything, right?

"Never...?"

"... you know. When we were... together, he never really... took care of me. Helped me," Your voice drops in volume. "finish."

"Oh."

There's silence for what feels like forever. With your head leaning on his chest, you can feel his heart rate picking up—matching the pace of your own heart. Leon is having an internal conflict right now. His mind feels fuzzy, his hands are clammy—and most importantly, he's as hard as a rock in his red-and-black checkered pajama pants. Go for it, He tells himself, The worst she could say is no. Be a man.

"S—so you've never..." He swallows, Adam's Apple visibly bobbing. "He never, uh... got you to cum?"

"I feel like you're making fun of me."

"No! No. I'm not, I swear. I was just asking. Well, I wanted to know because—well, I..." Leon swallows again, face turning red, as his eyes dart across your room. Posters, the TV, your bed, anything that's not your face. "I—I just... you know. I'm not selfish."

"...what is that supposed to mean?"

"I just... I know he was your first, and everything, but..." He wishes he was your first. "You know, sex isn't all selfish. I could, uh... show you, maybe—you don't have to say yes or anything. Just... letting you know that the option is there."

"O—oh..." The air of the dorm room is suddenly uncomfortably stuffy at Leon's offer—you find yourself no longer nervously playing with his shirt, instead playing with your own hands. He thinks it's cute. Not like he'd say that, though—in his mind, he's already fucked up too much.

"Just.... just forget it. Forget I said anything. Uh... sorry," Leon swallows again—a nervous tick of his—as he avoids your gaze after the nervous stuttered words fall from his lips. His mind is racing now—Was this a mistake? She doesn't even see me that way, does she? Did I just fuck up our friendship?

"No! No—it's okay. I'm not... mad or anything." You still avoid his gaze, face disturbingly hot at the prospect of your best friend since forever making you cum. "Um, actually..."

"Yeah?" It's hard to not notice the way he instantly perks up at your response—blue eyes widening and trained on you and facial expression akin to an excited puppy.

"... it... won't change anything between us, right? Because I—"

"No! No, it won't. I swear... it can be a one and done type thing. Just... I can help show you how it's supposed to be done...?" Leon doesn't even really sound sure of himself. He can't even really think, actually—his cock is throbbing so hard that his mind is all jumbled. All he can think about is how you'd look under those clothes. Deep down, though, he really does just want to make you happy. He loves you, after all. As a friend. "Yeah."

You'd be lying if you said your panties weren't soaked through right now.

"Okay... well... show me..." And Leon wastes no time reaching for you, shuffling so that you're situated under him on the couch. His hands tug at the thick material of the sweatshirt you're wearing—his sweatshirt. He makes quick work of it, pulling it over your head and tossing it on the arm of the couch. Big hands run up and down your body, taking a moment to savor the softness of your skin. Something he's wanted to do for a long, long time. He pauses, looking you in the eyes. You feel vulnerable under his gaze.

"Just... tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable in any way. We could stop." His hands, then, continue to feel along your body. Leon hesitates for a few moments—but you feel his hands ghosting along the skin of your breasts. He's gentle. He always is with you. "Can I?"

He waits patiently, focusing on the expressions of your face, hands pressed on your ribcage. He's handsome like this, you realize. Leon was always handsome to you—and everyone else—but to see his face flushed, pupils blown, and lip red and bitten for you is... something else. You nod, and Leon takes the opportunity to give your breasts a tight squeeze. Another thing he's wanted to do to you for a long time.

"You're beautiful," He comments, absentmindedly, hand traveling to the hem of your matching blue-and-black checkered pajama pants. He fiddles with the hem of it, half teasing and half awkward fumbling. It's not long before he's pulled them out from under you, tossing them across the room in a subdued fervor. "That guy is really missing out."

"You—" A gasp slips from your lips as you can feel Leon's finger gliding along the cloth of your panties—light in pressure as he drags it down from your clit to the hole. "D—don't have to... bring him up."

"I want to," He leans forward, lips pressing on your own with certain softness. His lips are cool as they meet yours, and they taste like ice cream. You're sure yours do too, considering the fact that you were both drowning in it just a few moments ago and watching a movie that's long been forgotten. "He's a good reminder that you should listen to me more often."

You mumble a shut up that gets lost in the sea of kisses he places on your lips.

"Did he touch you like this?" Leon questions in a low tone. His finger drags over the cloth of your panties again, his eyes trained on the dark-colored wet spot that stains them. You watch him, eyes half lidded, noting the way his tongue darts out across his bottom lip with each motion he makes up and down your clothed pussy.

You nod.

"Were you wet like this for him, too?" You swear there's an undercurrent of jealousy in his tone.

You shake your head.

"Good." His tone is slightly clipped as he hooks a finger under the crotch of your panties. Once more, he drags up and down your folds—collecting the sticky slick that's seeping out of you more each minute. A needy moan slips from your lips. One that he's desperate to hear more of. His free hand pulls on the hem of your panties, slipping them out from under you.

"C'mere." He mutters, gripping the underside of your ass to pull you further on your back. Leon drags you closer to him, hands resting on the skin of your hips as he lowers himself down.

It takes a few moments in your horny-induced brain fog to realize that he's about to eat you out—the only thing snapping your mind out of it is the feeling of his cool breath fanning on your folds. You grab his hair quickly, stopping him from dipping into uncharted territory.

He hates to admit that he might've whimpered a little at the feeling.

"H—hey... Leon, you don't have to... I—I mean, it's... embarrassing—can't you just finger me or something?" You question, voice meek and legs threatening to close at the sudden wave of nervousness washes over you. You trust Leon. With your life... but still. Being this exposed...

"Embarrassing?" He questions, hands gripped around your thighs to prevent them from closing any further. One eyebrow of his is raised. "It's not embarrassing. You're hot."

"That's—" You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I'm just... he never—"

"I thought you didn't want to bring him up anymore." It's hard to miss the hunger that burns in his gaze, evident in the way he looks at you. You think maybe, just this once, it won't be so bad to let Leon be right for once. Loosening your grip on his hair, you very slowly and hesitantly open your legs for him once more.

He settles, bringing his head further in the valley between your thighs. Leon even goes as far as to pepper kisses along the soft skin of your inner thigh—which only makes your hips uncontrollably squirm at the feeling of him teasing you. You don't even realize the way you're holding your breath.

"So pretty," He mutters again. Your face only just feels hotter at this—not even from the fact that his face is buried in between your thighs, but from the genuine way that he's complimenting you. You're aching, by now—your arousal leaving little trails where it drips down onto the couch. "I'm the only one that can do this to you."

You mean to question what he means by that, but the words escape you at the feeling of his tongue dragging along your slick folds. The words you want to say come out as a whiny moan—something you would've been far more embarrassed about if you were cognizant right now. You're not. Too focused on the feeling of his tongue languidly working over your folds; collecting the wetness that now dribbles down his chin. Your hand unconsciously reaches for his hair again, tangling in the dirty-blonde locks as an anchor.

Leon's tongue laps at you, prodding at your needy hole—lips wrapping around the bud of your clit and sucking lightly. His fingers are dug into the meat of your ass, keeping you in place—pulling you closer as he drowns himself in your pussy.

There's nothing that compares to this, truly. The feeling of Leon's tongue on yours, the sight of him in between your thighs, the eye contact you make with his eyes half lidded and pupils dangerously blown.

His tongue is merciless against you, breaching the tightness of your hole one time too many; your hips bucking against his face and moans freely falling from your lips at the sensation. Your best friend is really, really good at this. Of course he is. He's only imagined doing this to you about a thousand times.

"L—Leon, I can't—feels good, 'm gonna—" Each thought is cut off by another, your hips writhing under him with no escape. You're hovering on the edge of something, vision going spotty and body trembling and shuddering on it's own. The taut grip of your fingers tighten in his dirty brown strands—earning an especially hard suck from his lips to your clit. Leon's motions grow needier, tongue rubbing sloppy circles on your clit as your thighs clamp around his head. He's not even using his fingers and you're this close to cumming. It's too much.

It's not even been five minutes, and you're already tugging on Leon's hair as you cum on his face. Pulling him closer; pushing him away—you don't know what you want. You can't think—the feeling of your aching pussy throbbing too much as it clenches around nothingness and spasms on his tongue. You cum hard, and it washes over you in waves. You moan something that sounds similar to his name and an oh god please—unintelligible as his hands dig into the fat of your ass.

Leon laps at your folds through your orgasm, desperate to collect any of your slick arousal left. It's only a few moments after that you're really pushing him from the place between your legs.

"You're..." He's dazed. His face is covered in your wetness—his tongue darting out to collect what's left on his lips. "You taste amazing." He really wants to tell you that he'd live in between your thighs if you'd let him... but for now, Leon decides to take it slowly.