#phantain

Mountain’s room is quiet.

Phantom steps inside without knocking, lets the door click closed behind them.

They’re expected. Wanted.

Amber light spills across stone and carved wood, catching on thick dark textiles and the tall gleam of the mirror opposite the bed. A folded cloth rests neatly on the dresser nearby.

A polishing rag.

Phantom’s grin sharpens.

Mountain meant to make it ready.

They like that.

The care of it.

The intention.

“Oh,” they hum, stepping forward with delicate grace. “You cleaned up just for me? That’s so sweet.”

Their smile says you’re already ruined.

Mountain doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Sits at the edge of the bed, eyes on them, jaw tight with focus. He knows what kind of creature just crossed his threshold.

Phantom smiles slow and cutting as they turn to face the mirror.

Their robe slips from their shoulders. Slides down their back like poured silk, pooling at their feet in a shimmer of lace and gauze.

Beneath, something sheer and dark clings to their narrow hips. Barely panties, if someone wanted to be generous.

The golden light catches at their waist, their sternum, the delicate dip of their throat… but they’re not interested in that.

No. They’re watching Mountain through the mirror.

They let him see all of it. The arch of their back. The glint of their piercings. The way they roll their shoulders back to frame the lines of their body just so.

One hand drags down their thigh, slow and intentional. They tilt their head, considering their reflection like it’s a thing to be worshipped before their gaze flicks back to Mountain’s, held in the glass.

His eyes are glued to their hips. His jaw’s tight, his knuckles white where his hands grip the bed.

Phantom can see it, of course. Their voice is sugarcoated sin.

"What," they murmur, turning and stepping close, pressing a palm to his chest, "you thought just because you’re big, you'd be in charge?"

They push him back onto the bed with the inevitability of gravity itself. He lands with a soft whuff, stunned.

Phantom climbs after him, slow and sweet and smug, straddling his hips like they belong to them. They lean in and drag their mouth along the edge of his throat, teeth grazing.

Mountain shudders. His hands flex at his sides.

Phantom grins and lifts their chin. Locks eyes with him.

“You’re going to watch,” they say, voice rich and cruel. “And you’re not going to look away.”

Mountain’s breath catches before it shudders out on a sound too soft for his size, almost a whimper.

Phantom rolls their hips once, slow and firm. Mountain groans, already gone.

“Poor thing,” they croon, soft and mocking. “So worked up and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

They reach behind themself, catch his wrists, and drag his hands up to their thighs.

“Hold tight,” they say. “I’m going to take my time ruining you.”

Phantom shifts, lining them up just so. The mirror catches everything — Mountain’s wide, trembling frame; Phantom's jersey-stretched thighs; the bloom of want between them.

They lock eyes in the reflection.

“Eyes on me,” Phantom murmurs. “I want you to see what you do to me.”

They rock forward once. Mountain jerks beneath them, jaw dropping. A noise breaks out of him that goes straight to Phantom's head.

They smile as they drag down again, slow, heavy, friction blooming between them. Mountain’s clutches their thighs, obedient and trembling.

Their voice grows thick like syrup now. Almost as sweet.

“You think you can take it?”

A lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“Think you deserve it?”

Another grind. Harder. Precise. Mountain lets out a sound that could be a moan or a prayer.

“Then you’ll answer every time I ask.”

A roll of their hips, cruel and perfect.

“Yes, Phantom. Please, Phantom. More, Phantom.”

A sharper grind. The sound it draws from Mountain is shattered.

Phantom hums, satisfied.

“Say it like you mean it,” they whisper, “Or I stop.”

Mountain’s eyes stay locked on Phantom’s in the mirror. His lips part. He tries once, fails.

Breathes.

“Yes, Phantom,” he rasps, voice wrecked and low.

Phantom waits.

Mountain swallows hard. Tries again.

“Please, Phantom.”

That one gets to them. They feel it in their belly, in their teeth. In the way their hips rock again, slow and devastating.

“More, Phantom—” he gasps, almost a moan. “Please—”

That earns him a sound. Something soft, feral, and deeply pleased.

Phantom reaches down with trembling grace and finds the edge of his shirt. “Good,” they murmur. “I want to see all of you.”

Fabric peels away leaving Mountain bare and obedient and aching, waiting to be undone.

Phantom's fangs poke into their bottom lip as they admire him, all corded muscle and restraint.

The climb back over him and settle their weight, tilt their hips with a roll that turns anticipation into contact. Mountain exhales like he’s been punched, his hands returning to Phantom’s thighs—huge palms swallowing their shape. But he doesn’t move otherwise, not until he’s told.

Phantom braces one hand on his chest, the other teasing down the line of their own stomach. Their eyes never leave the mirror, not even as they start to grind.

Fabric pulled tight between them, soaking fast, clinging like a second skin. The panel at the crotch leaves nothing to the imagination—just enough to torment. Mountain twitches beneath them.

Phantom rolls their hips slow and deliberate. Up and forward, down and back, catching the thick head of his cock between their folds, dragging slick against sensitive flesh. Every stroke paints a fresh stripe of arousal across that strained sheer jersey.

“Fuck, Mountain… you're so big.”

A breathless laugh, pitched too high to be casual. Phantom's voice is syrupy with arousal, full of awe and wicked delight.

They grind down again, harder this time, and Mountain makes a noise like he’s being tortured. Phantom leans forward slightly, arching their spine, giving the mirror a perfect view of their flushed thighs and ruined panties.

“You feel it, don’t you? How small I am. How tight.”

They shift again—grind in a lazy circle, letting the head of his cock nudge their entrance through the soaked barrier.

“I can’t wait to feel you in my stomach again.”

Mountain groans, louder this time. Phantom turns their head, catching his eye in the mirror, holding it while they roll their hips one more time.

“Ask me,” they say sweetly.

Mountain, blessedly, remembers his words. “Please. Please, Phantom. More, Phantom. Let me—please—”

Phantom’s grin is all teeth.

“Keep watching, big guy. I want you to see me split on your cock.”

Mountain groans, low and guttural. His cock jumps between them, flushed and heavy, leaking like it knows it’s about to be used. Phantom lifts themself with a slow, serpentine grace, tugs their panties to the side. They drag their cunt up Mountain’s length, until the tip catches—

—and then they drop.

Mountain's head slams back against the bed with a choked, “Fuck!”

Phantom doesn't let him breathe. They grind, velvet walls pulling slow and tight around him, milking every inch like their body was made for this exact shape. The mirror catches it all. The flutter of Phantom’s lashes, the slick drag, the flush creeping down Mountain’s chest as he claws at control and fails.

“There,” Phantom smiles. “That’s the face I wanted.”

They bounce, just once, just enough to hear the smack of skin and the ragged noise it pulls from Mountain’s throat. Phantom grins wider, sweat beginning to bead at their temples.

They move with rhythm and hunger, one hand braced behind on Mountain for balance, the other tugging their panties further aside as their own arousal glistens in the mirror. Every roll is met with a ragged breath from Mountain, a pulse of heat between their bodies that slinks out and lingers.

Phantom leans forward, hands on Mountain’s chest now, back arched beautifully. They begin to pick up speed. The clap of their hips rings out with each descent, louder, wetter, more obscene.

“How’s the view, baby?” Phantom asks, breathless with pleasure and wicked delight.

Mountain moans, fists tight, eyes locked on the reflection. Phantom pushes up and leans back, lets him see everything.

“That good, huh?” Phantom smirks, grinding slow just to watch him twitch.

“Yeah. Thought so.”

Phantom watches themself, now. How their body takes and stretches, thighs trembling. They roll their hips, watching the jiggle of their ass, the obscene dip of their waist, the exact moment Mountain’s cock bulges their belly.

They trace it with their fingers.

“Fuck, look at that,” they moan, tone delicate and unhinged at once. “You’re so big—look what you’re doing to me.”

Mountain groans, loud and torn from the core. His hands grip Phantom’s thighs, big enough to cover one completely, but he doesn’t move.

“My pretty little stomach,” Phantom sings, breath hitching as they circle their hips again. “Gonna watch it move every time I clench.”

Phantom bounces once, and the ripple—of thighs, of belly, of Mountain inside them—makes the room feel smaller, hotter, like the air itself is holding its breath.

Phantom purrs, watching the bulge.

It’s obscene and perfect. Round and taut just beneath their navel, a swollen press of Mountain inside them, visible from the outside. Their hand slides over it. Traces it. Pushes on it gently, until Mountain groans again beneath them.

“Look at you,” they murmur. “So deep I can feel you under my skin.”

They press a little harder. It pulses under their hand. They grin.

“Think I’ll come, just like this,” they hum, dreamily.

“Fuck—Phantom,” Mountain rasps, voice hoarse and wrecked.

Phantom leans forward, eyes glittering.

“Say it louder,” they croon, rolling their hips. “Say it like you mean it.”

“Phantom—fuck, you’re perfect, I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” they pant. “You will. You’re gonna make me come, pretty thing. And then you’re gonna give me every single drop.”

They plant their hands against Mountain’s chest, and ride him properly. Harder. Like they want everything he could give them and more. Like they were born for this.

Mountain’s head thunks back. His eyes roll as he pants beneath them, hands trembling where they grip Phantom tight, teeth clenched to keep from finishing too soon. His eyes have gone glassy—somewhere between overwhelmed and worshipful. His whole body twitches with restraint.

They love it.

Tilt their head with a smile, slow and sweet, watching him. Watching the tremble in his arms as he holds himself back. Their hand rubs over their own stomach one last time, lovingly. Then they lift their gaze, lashes fluttering—sensing it.

Mountain shifts beneath them, arms tightening, cock still buried to the hilt. His breath is ragged. His voice, when it comes, is low and gone.

“Fuck, you feel like everything,” he murmurs. “You’re clenching so tight—gonna lose it if you keep that up.”

“You can’t,” Phantom pants. “Not till I say. Not till I've had my fill.”

He whines, nods, rocks up into them as Phantom squeezes their thighs tighter around his waist. He groans into it, desperate to be good.

It builds slow, like champagne foam spilling over the lip of a glass—sugar-high and glinting with control.

Phantom isn’t even sure if they’re breathing. Their thoughts are split between pulsing points of contact.

Mountain’s tongue, dragging across their collarbone. His cock, still hard, still deep, twitching with every squeeze of their cunt. And the mirror, where they watch it all—like a dream they built for themself. One they can hardly believe they are living.

Power hums under their skin like stormlight. They’re glowing with it, a full-body quake.

Their spine arches. Muscles clamp down around Mountain so hard he gasps, hands gripping them tight to ride it out. Phantom’s nails dig into chest, pressing almost too hard, but he moans like it’s a thank you, like he deserves it.

And then, finally, they spill.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it,” Phantom praises, voice shaking. “You’re such a good toy.”

The air is thick with scent now—shadow and musk, sweat and cedar and magic. They tip their head back, pupils blown wide, curls stuck to their temple, mouth still parted in the afterglow.

“You can come,” they whisper down to Mountain. “You earned it.”

They clench, just to make their point, watching Mountain groan and obey.

It's not quiet. Not subtle.

Just two hard thrusts and Mountain is painting them from the inside, clutching Phantom’s thighs like they’re the last tether to divinity.

The mirror reflects all of it. The shine. The mess.

The worship.

Phantom leans over Mountain’s chest, still seated so deep, and smiles.

“That’s better,” they purr, petting over the noticeably bigger bulge in their belly.