#smuffmas

She glances over at Billy in the passenger seat of her battered VW Polo. He looks fucking miserable, eyes heavy with fatigue, his head rested in the palm of his hand with his elbow propped against the window. 

The family gathering/present swap/intervention or whatever the fuck it was, didn't end the best.

It was the first Christmas since Billy's incident in the Summer, the one that nearly cost him his life. She still remembers the way her heart leapt into her throat when she found out what may or may not happen to him. 

When she thought she might lose him.

It was a feeling she wouldn't wish on anybody.

She even remembers the way she squeezed the life out of him in the police station. He smelled of sweat and fear, and she felt his desperation in the way he clung to her, as if he couldn't imagine ever entertaining the thought of letting her go.

And of course, the family gathering started fine, but ended with some choice words about what had happened. It got so heated that Lana nearly leapt over the table at a distant uncle, her accent so thick with anger that even she could barely understand her. In other circumstances she might have laughed. But one glance at Billy beside her, his knee bouncing erratically, jaw tense, half a sunday dinner still sat lukewarm in front of him, all she could do was hold his hand under the table.

When it had gone on too long though, even she couldn't hold back. If she had seen Billy's face, there was the slight glimmer of love and pride, that someone he loved would stand up for him.

He was doing so well, she thought, he didn't need this. Especially so close to Christmas. She almost thought about ditching her plan altogether, but thought that there was a slither of a chance he might enjoy it still.

She pats his knee lovingly as she drives, her eyes still on the road, but her gesture is enough to show that she was thinking of him.

Billy sighs, and slides his hand over hers, “sorry.”

“Don't be sorry,” she says easily, “it was shitty of them to bring it up.”

He glances over, the street lights passing by illuminating his blue, sad eyes. “Thank you for sticking up for me.”

“Always,” she smiles, squeezing his hand. "I should give your sister a medal as well, didn't know she could move so fast."

It was sad, exhausted even, the smile he gave back. But it was something. And it made her heart flutter all the same.

She sighed in relief as the central heating of Billy's flat hit her skin, pulling her coat off her shoulders and toeing her shoes off at the front door as Billy made his way to the kitchen. The flat smelled faintly of those knockoff Yankee Candles that Billy always bought from B&M. 'Fresh Cotton', my arse, she thinks as the acrid scent hits her nose.

“Brew?” He asks, filling up the kettle with anticipation that she'd say yes anyway.

A grin rose to her lips, leaning against the doorway, “um, you still have one present left?”

He half turns, his face set in confusion, “do I?”

She nodded, her grin widening as she folded her arms across her chest, “Course you do.”

Billy places the kettle on its base, his curiosity piqued as he turns to lean casually against the counter. “Alright then, where is it?” He asks.

She presses her lips together to suppress the desire to outright smile, her hands coming to the buttons at the front of her dress, unfurling the fabric, revealing inch after inch of tantalising skin. Billy's eyes follow, his jaw on the floor at the layer of red lace that adorned her curves. He swallowed hard, momentarily speechless as her dress rippled to the floor, leaving her stood in a crimson ensemble that rendered him stupid.

He said nothing, but simply made his way to her, making no attempt to touch her yet. And sank slowly to his knees, large hands bracing the spot above her waist beside her breasts, pressing his face to her bare stomach and exhaling.

“Good boy,” she praises softly, running her fingers through his hair as he raises his eyes to her, a flicker of hunger in them. She didn’t need him to speak. His body said it all, how much he craved her, how willing he was to please.

She let her fingertips trail down his face, her smile softening. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

He gives the slightest nod, his hands itching to touch her more. “Please, baby, don't…” he breathes, as if it physically pains him to be teased.

Her smile deepened, equal parts tender and wicked. “But you look so good like this,” she murmured, her fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. “On your knees, desperate for me. You’re perfect.”

Billy’s breath hitched at her words, the praise sinking into him like fire. She took his hand, guiding it to her thigh, letting him feel the heat of her skin through the delicate lace. His lips parted, and without waiting for more, he leaned in, pressing reverent kisses against her stomach, each one slow and deliberate.

“Good boy,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair as he worked his way down, his lips trailing lower, his breath hot against her skin.

When he reached her waistband, he glanced up, waiting for her nod before carefully pushing the lace aside. She gasped softly as his tongue flicked out, the warmth of his mouth teasing her entrance, trailing up to her clit. Billy gripped her thighs, pressing her back against the cool counter as he buried himself between her legs.

“That’s it,” she praised, her voice breathy and warm. “Just like that, baby. You’re so good to me.”

His eyes met hers briefly before he doubled down, his tongue moving with purpose down to her entrance again, fucking her with his tongue as if he himself drew pleasure from it. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as her breathing grew more erratic, thighs shaking as his fingers made bruises in flesh.

“God, Billy,” she moaned, her head tilting back as the tension coiled tighter in her core. “You’re perfect. My perfect– ah.”

The praise strained his jeans, combined with the taste of her, having her all to himself, his knees burning against the floor. He thought, this was the best fucking meal he'd ever had in this kitchen. She was sweet, warm and needy, all he ever wanted.

He groaned against her, the vibration sending a white hot wave up her spine, the pleasure tightening in her gut. Her head threw back against the cupboards, her grip on his hair so hard she was sure she might have been pulling too much.

His hands slid up to her waist, pulling her down to his mouth in rhythmic movements. His nose brushed against her clit, and that was what sent her finally spiralling.

Her thighs trembled around him, her nails digging into the countertop for support as her climax crashed over her. Each wave of pleasure wracked her body, pulling a guttural moan from her lips. Fuck the neighbours, she thought, completely lost in the moment. Nothing else mattered but him and the way he worshipped her with his mouth.

Billy didn’t relent, his tongue working her through every last tremor. Even when she was fully spent, humming in the afterglow, he kept this slow, lazy pace of forcing her hips to roll over his face.

“Billy,” she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Too much…”

Only then did he ease off, placing one last reverent kiss against her sensitive flesh before looking up, his lips glistening, his eyes heavy with satisfaction. He pressed his forehead against her stomach, his breath hot against her skin as he waited for her to come back down.

“You’re amazing,” she murmured, her voice shaky but full of warmth. She cupped his face, gently lifting it so their eyes met. “So good for me.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. She pulled him to his feet, her lips finding his in a slow, intense kiss, tasting herself on him, stoking a flame inside her. Their lips moved in sync as she guided him toward the bedroom. Her legs were still shaky, but she didn’t care. She wanted him, all of him, and nothing was going to stop her.

When they reached the bed, she pushed him back onto the mattress, climbing over him with predatory intent. His hands immediately found her hips, but she pinned them down against the sheets, her eyes gleaming with playful dominance.

“Not yet,” she whispered, leaning down to nip at his jawline. “You’ve been so good for me tonight. Let me take care of you now.”

Billy groaned, his hands flexing under her grip, but he didn’t resist. He trusted her completely, and that trust only fueled her desire. She kissed her way down his chest, her hands following the trail of her lips, savoring every inch of him.

When she finally reached his waistband, she looked up, her gaze locked onto his. “Tell me what you want, baby,” she murmured, her fingers teasing at the fabric, stroking his erection through his jeans.

“You,” he managed, his voice a low growl. “Just you.”

General Taglist:

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

December 12th - candlelight and collaring

December 13th - presents and praise kink

December 14th - blizzard and blowjob

December 15th - mulled wine and mutual masturbation

December 16th - fireplace and face fucking

December 17th - tinsel and talking dirty

December 18th - board games and breath play

December 19th - holly and hair pulling

December 20th - stockings and sex toys

December 21st - dressing up and dry humping

December 22nd - party and position changes

“And what did your brother call you?” 

She smirks, her silken robe slid almost entirely off her shoulder, nipples half-hard in the low, dim room, lit entirely in candlelight. This room was like a womb. Throbbing with life, primal, but safe, secure. Encompassed with warmth that did not judge.

Oh how highly they held royalty.

They lived high above them, looking down at the smallfolk with contempt down their noses. Wrapped in lavish clothing, eating the finest foods whilst wasting most of it without thought and sleeping in the softest of beds. Never having known discomfort and cold.

It was no secret King Aegon sought pleasure on the Street of Silk. But that was because he was a drunken, lust-filled beast, thinking he could find validation in the eyes of whores with their sweet words bought with coin.

But Prince Aemond? He sought something she would have never anticipated.

Humiliation.

If she were a scholar, she would commission a Maester to write a book on how those with all the privileges and power in this realm went out of their way to seek pain. To seek that feeling of smallness. Of vulnerability.

“As loyal as a hound.”

His voice was low, firm, but only because he was currently on his knees, hands on his thighs and palms facing upwards. His clothes were thrown carelessly about the space, eyepatch long removed, but his gaze was trained forwards, to the floor, away from her seated at the other side of the room. As if he did not wish to look upon the whore he paid to feel small.

A man so tall, cut with rigid muscle after so many years of training, of perfecting himself, was kneeling, naked, before her.

She hummed, her finger circling over the rim of her cup, a smile rising to her features.

“As loyal as a hound,” she repeats, her voice soft and lilting, smooth as Dornish wine.

She stood slowly, the fine clothing rippling across her body like sand. Gliding across the room to him, looking down as he has done to every commoner all his life, she smiled down at him. His hair loose around his shoulders, the angry scar down his cheek and through his eye, the sapphire sat there, there was a strange beauty to him.

“A hound,” she mused, “needs a collar. Does he not?”

She reaches across, upon the side table, her fingers brushing against something smooth and sturdy. A collar, dark leather with gold accents, gleams under the dim light. She holds it out before him, letting the cool metal rest against his skin for a brief moment, savouring the way he flinches.

“Such a pretty thing,” she murmurs, her hand sliding gently around his neck. 

The collar is placed carefully, as if she’s fastening something that belongs to her, her fingers brushing the delicate skin of his throat. She tightens it slightly, feeling the subtle pulse beneath her touch.

She can see the gentle swallow of annoyance as the leather is tightened around his neck, enough to dig into his moonlight, pale skin. But not so he cannot breathe at all. And at the sound, between a wince and a growl, she sharpens her eyes at him, but he does not meet them.

“Tell me, My Prince,” she says with a soft, amused lilt, her finger scooping through the ring at the front of the collar, “how does it make you feel?” She asks with a small tug, “to be a hound, beckoned only when you are needed. And then kicked to the side once you have done your dirty work.”

Aemond swallows hard, his jaw clenching as her words strike something deep within him. His pride demands he bite back, but the collar around his neck reminds him of the precarious position he is in. The one he pays her for.

“I do what is required of me,” he says finally, his voice low, though it wavers slightly. He doesn’t meet her gaze, his eye fixed somewhere over her shoulder as if looking at her might shatter what little pride he has left.

“Oh, how noble,” she purrs, leaning closer. Her breath ghosts over his cheek as she whispers, “But you didn’t answer my question, did you? How. Does. It. Feel?”

Her hand tightens on the leash, tugging it sharply, forcing his head up to meet her eyes. “Does it make you feel small? Weak perhaps?”

His brow twitches slightly, lips press together as if he restrains himself from breaking this act that teeters on the edge of his control. She sees it. Knows that he could stop at any moment and he would be back to his usual stiff-backed, stoic princely self. 

But he does not. 

“Did you want to say something?” she asks with a smirk, evident in her tone. “Perhaps it’s this”, she tugs once more on the leather, “you’re realising how perfectly it suits you.”

She steps back suddenly, releasing a fraction of the tension in the leash, rounding his kneeling form to circle him, she retrieves the candle from a nearby table. The flame flickers as she holds it delicately in one hand, looking down at him through her lashes, how the muscles of his shoulders catch the light.

“Or perhaps,” she pauses, lowering so she ghosts at his back, “we should test your limits?”

Aemond turns his head slightly, following her movements out of the corner of his eye, his breath quickening. He feels the heat of the candle before he sees it, the flame casting a warm glow against his skin.

“You’ll tell me, won’t you,” she murmurs, holding the candle aloft. “Tell me when it becomes too much.” Her voice is low, teasing, a cruel edge hidden beneath her soft tone, her breath against his ear as she leans over his shoulder. “Or perhaps you’ll beg me for more instead.”

She tilts the candle ever so slightly, and the first drop of wax falls. It lands on the bare skin of his shoulder, sharp and searing, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. His back stiffens, his hands clenching into fists. 

“There it is,” she breathes, her eyes gleaming with delight as she watches his reaction.

Another drop of wax falls, this time trailing down the side of his neck, just below the collar. His hiss of pain is sharper now, but so is the way his breath catches, the way his body betrays him. From where she hovers, it’s easy to see, his member hard and throbbing between his legs, aching for touch as if he had never felt it before.

“You’re trembling,” she observes, her voice almost gentle now, though her smirk never wavers. “Does the pain humble you? Does it remind you of your place?”

“Yes,” he breathes, the word slipping out before he can stop it. His pride feels like ash in his mouth.

The relief is clear on his face when she rounds him again, standing before him, she settles onto his lap, the only thing separating his aching cock from her warmth is the fine silk of her robe. One he would have no difficulty ripping had the tables been turned. The pupil in his seeing eye dilates, and she finds herself looking between them, finding something quite beautiful about the darkness of desire in one, and of the sapphire in the other. 

She smirks, tugging at the leather to pull him slightly closer, the candle still held deftly in her other hand. “Good,” she says, satisfaction dripping from her tone. “Then we’ll continue.”

She tips the candle again, letting the wax drip deliberately along his collarbone, close to his nipple, each drop a burning brand. He shudders beneath her touch, his breaths uneven, and she laughs softly. Watching as his eye slips shut, and she takes that one singular moment to relinquish her hold on the leather, to his length, giving two mere languid strokes before guiding his hot cockhead to her centre. Sinking down as if to surprise him, engulfing him in her warm, pulsing cunt. 

“You take it so well,” she murmurs, leaning close to whisper in his ear, her own voice strained as if to mirror the feeling of how his girth stretches her around him.

“Such a good little hound, aren’t you?”

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

“Dibs says there’s gonna be a solar storm soon. With any luck it’ll take us with it”, Mink mutters distastefully between bites of lumpy, cold rations.

“Hm..” 

“What’s that old cunt gonna do when it hits? Not like we have any escape pods.”

“Yeah…” she murmurs half-heartedly in response, only partially listening. Lost in the repetitive motion of pushing her food around her plate with a fork. It doesn’t even look edible, she thinks with displeasure. They’re all dying on this stupid ship, and somehow the rations look worse off.

Mink flicks her hand against her arm, prompting a sharp look, “Ow! What the fuck—”

“You’re not listening to me.”

She scoffs, rubbing her arm in more of a theatrical way than to show it actually hurt. “So?”

“The hell’s wrong with you? You’ve been weird a few days now.”

It’s been longer than that, is all she thinks with bitterness. About a week now she’d wager. 

Longer than that, really, she thinks with a familiar bitterness. About a week, she figures, maybe a little more. She’d known getting involved would be a bad idea. She knew better than to get involved with him, to anyone on this miserable tin can. But there had been that inescapable pull, that sharp ache that was part loneliness, part hormones maybe, stupid as it seemed now. And now, she was paying for it.

Mink’s voice pulls her back. “Is this about… Ettore?”

The name hangs in the air like smoke. She freezes, doesn’t answer, just stares hard at her plate. Mink leans closer, her brows drawn.

“Oh, come on. You think I didn’t notice?”

She wants to lie, but somehow, she doesn’t have the energy to. So, she shrugs, and that’s enough to make Mink snort.

“Thought you were smarter than that,” Mink says, and it’s not unkind, exactly, just blunt in the way only Mink can be. “You know what kind of guy he is.”

She sighs, finally pushing her tray aside. There’s no point pretending the food’s worth eating. "I’m not exactly winning any prizes for smart decisions lately, am I?"

Mink snorts. Glad she’s finding this amusing, she thinks bitterly, but really holding no resentment. 

“We have enough on our plate without getting tangled up with wanting dick. Not to mention it’s against the rules.”

“I’m aware,” she states bleakly, feeling that familiar flicker of irritation at the reminder. As if she needed another living soul to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. She’d done the worst things imaginable to end up here, as had everyone else, and yet that slimy, smirking doctor was gonna tell her she couldn’t fuck whoever she wanted? 

That was the reasoning initially anyway.

Now, she knew there’d be consequences if Dibs did find out. Punishment in the form of what metal instrument she could shove into their bodies next. 

As much as she enjoyed the release. It wasn’t worth that. Besides, she knew there was never any future in it. Never anything more than a few stolen moments in the middle of the night. A bit of relief in the endless monotony of living in the hollow, metal hell of this ship.

“I’m done, anyway,” she says, almost to herself, “should have stopped it before it started really.”

“Should’ve, but you didn’t. But you’ve given him a taste now. Who says he’ll want to stop?”

She sighs, eyes closed. Yeah, I’d considered that.

Ettore wasn’t the type to let go of his toys easily. Especially when he’d been given something he wants, something forbidden that he knows could be taken away. It seemed that the thrill wasn’t even in the sex, it was breaking the rules that had half the appeal. 

“If he pushes, he’ll get the message I give him.”

“Sure, but he’s not exactly the type to take ‘no’ for an answer, is he?”

“No,” she admits, looking off. As usual, Mink was right there. 

She had seen that look in Ettore’s eyes, the one that says he’s already decided what he wants, and nothing will stand in his way to get it. The thought had been exhilarating at first, that singular, dangerous focus. Now, it feels like a liability, a choice she wishes she could rewrite. 

“As much as I hate to give you ammunition, you are right,” she adds, “I gave him an inch, and he’ll think he’s got the whole mile. But I’ll handle it. Somehow.” She doesn’t know exactly how yet, but one thing was clear.

She could not keep going down this path, not with the risk getting sharper and closer by the day.

When she’s alone again, the silence presses in, heavier now, weighted with the knowledge of what comes next. She takes a breath, bracing herself for the inevitable fallout. Ettore may come looking, but this time, she’s ready to hold her ground.

Maybe, she thinks, the clean break will be worth it, if she can manage it before he pulls her back in again.

The worst part of trying to keep her distance from Ettore was the way it left her awake at night, her body a knot of unresolved tension that refused to let her sleep. She lay there, wide-eyed in her bunk, staring up at the dull, metallic ceiling and then over at the other bed, where Mink was already sound asleep, breathing evenly.

Bitch, she thought with a pang of envy. 

Mink never had trouble sleeping in this place, not like she did, tossing and turning every night, gnawed at by this frustrating, white-hot need she couldn’t shake.

She shifted, but no matter how much she tried to will it away, her mind continued to drift back to the last time she’d been with Ettore. How it had felt to give in, to let that need unravel. She could still feel the press of his hands on her hips, the roughness of his touch as if he needed it as much as she did, the intense look he had given her that made her forget the rules and her situation. The risk. Everything but him. She’d wanted to stop it, she really had.

But when she had him once, that familiar fire burned in his eyes, and it was hopeless to resist.

Now she was paying for it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the memory. But the tightening in her stomach, the craving, was near unbearable. 

Must be ovulating or something, she thought bitterly back to her last appointment with Dibs.

She was sick of lying here, wallowing in horny self pity. Glancing over at Mink, she saw she hadn’t moved an inch. The cold air hit her bare legs as she swung out of bed, not even having the effort to pull anything else on as she made the mercifully short journey to the Box. She hated using it. But any relief at this point was welcomed. 

Making her way down the steel ladder, she groaned and wanted to smash her head against the nearest wall when she found it occupied. 

At least the washers are on. Whoever’s in there better be out in ten seconds flat or else–

The door slid open with a hiss. Ettore stared right back. Surprise at first perhaps. But the shadows darkened over his eyes, looking her up and down.

Fuck.

And if that wasn’t bad enough.

The alarms blared to life, shrieking through the narrow corridors as the ship jolted under the force, lights flickering wildly. A shiver shot through her, but before she could shove past him, he reached out, his fingers closing firmly around her arm.

“Ettore, let go,” she hissed, trying to pull back, but his grip only tightened, and there was a glint in his eyes that made her pulse jump.

“Not a chance,” he murmured, a dark edge to his voice.

He moved quickly, pulling her into the Box with him as the door slid shut behind them with a heavy clang. The sound of the emergency lock echoed around them, trapping them in the confined, dimly lit room. She tried to turn, to make for the door controls, but it was useless, the ship’s emergency protocol had sealed them in tight. 

Emergency. Solar Storm. Automatic shutdown is in effect.

She was locked in with him, and judging by the way he was watching her, Ettore had no intentions of keeping his hands to himself.

With an annoyed huff, she slammed her palms against the door, the low light in the Box now charged with thrumming red glints of warning lights. Steadying her breath, she turned to him, schooling her expression to something calm in the face of his low, dangerous one.

He was not happy.

“You've been avoiding me.”

It wasn’t a question. He stood tall, blocking her like some predator in a cage, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with accusation.

“Maybe I have,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall, trying to appear calm even though her pulse was racing. “Take the hint.”

Ettore’s lips curled into a humourless smirk. “That’s not how this works.”

“And here I thought this wasn’t supposed to be anything,” she scoffed right back.

“It wasn’t.” He stepped closer, and she pressed her back to the wall, her defiance faltering. “But then you decided to ignore me, and now it is.”

She swallowed, trying to do the same to the rising discomfort as he caged her in, trying to cover how she felt with her voice.

“You're all talk,” she says low, firm. “Trying to intimidate me. What you gonna do, hm? I bet you can't even get it up.”

The flash of anger in his eyes made her breath hitch. And yet, there was something about it that made her want to push him more.

He moved then, so fast she barely had time to react. One hand slammed against the wall beside her head, his body crowding hers. She should’ve been scared, should’ve shoved him away, but the sheer heat rolling off him pinned her in place.

His other came to her neck, fingers curling around her flesh, slow, deliberate, as if daring her to stop. But her lips parted slightly, exhaling so soft it was near imperceptible. She watched the pulsing red light on the side of his face, casting sharp shadows on his skin where his features were carved out.

And found she didn't want him to stop.

She swallowed hard, her bravado crumbling as his touch ignited something low and insistent in her belly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d come here to forget him, to regain control, but now, locked in this room with him, her control was slipping fast.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“No, you don’t.”

Ettore’s hands were on her, firm and unyielding as he grabbed and pulled her toward the bench that stood in the middle of the dim room. She stumbled, jerking against his grip, but he didn’t let go.

“Ettore, what the hell are you doing?” she demanded, her voice rising as she struggled against him.

“Stop fighting,” he muttered, the edge in his voice sharpening as he manoeuvred her onto the bench.

She tried to push herself up, her palms bracing against the hard surface, but he was already lowering her down, his strength undeniable as he guided her head to the edge of the bench. Her neck arched uncomfortably as she twisted, glaring up at him.

“Ettore, I mean it, what the fuck are you doing?”

His hand gripped her chin, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to look up at him. The dark hunger in his eyes sent a jolt through her, half fear, half something else entirely. Stood tall over her, head level with his strained crotch.

“I’m gonna feel your throat around me.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears, watching as he pulled his erection free of his sweatpants. Her mouth went dry, a mixture of anticipation and panic rising in her gut.

“And you're gonna take every fucking inch.”

She barely had a moment to even speak, before his cock head was prying her lips apart, his length sliding mercilessly into her mouth without care of comfort. Just the idea that he was looking down, watching, as she took him, her throat trying to close around him.

Her hands instinctively rose to push at his hips, her palms flat against the hard muscles beneath his sweatpants, but he didn’t stop. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place as he drove himself deeper, filling her mouth until she could feel the head of him brushing against the back of her throat.

Her eyes watered, her nails digging into his hips, but he didn’t relent, his other hand gripping the edge of the bench for leverage as he rocked his hips, sliding deeper with each thrust.

Just the idea that he was looking down, watching her struggle to take him, sent a strange thrill coursing through her, a mix of frustration, humiliation, and something far darker.

He groaned, his grip on her hair tightening as he angled her head just the way he wanted. “That's it,” he breathed darkly.

Her throat clenched around him as he pushed deeper, his hips rocking with steady, deliberate thrusts that left no room for her to adjust. The stretch was intense, her lips aching as they strained around his girth. Her gag reflex fluttered again, her eyes squeezing shut as she tried to suppress the instinct, but Ettore wasn't about to let her hide.

"Don't close your eyes," he said sharply, following with a light smack to her cheek.

Her cheeks burned with humiliation, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The smug satisfaction on his face only made her breath hotter, stuck in her chest.

"God, you're such a mess," he said, his voice dripping with mockery as he watched her struggle to accommodate him. "Look at you. Choking on me like it's the first time you've ever done this.”

Her lungs burned for air. He was relentless, thrusting into her mouth as if it were just another hole for him to claim. Each slide into her throat was deeper than the last, and the vibration of her whimpering around him made him groan out loudly.

His hand slid to her neck, as if to feel himself in her throat, squeezing experimentally, stimulating himself through her flesh in some lewd, completely wrong but erotic way.

"You feel that?" he said, his voice low and strained, using the grip he had on throat as leverage to pull her onto him harshly. “Bet you can't even breathe.”

His pace grew erratic, his grip tightening painfully as he chased his release. "Fuck," he growled, his voice breaking as his head tipped back for a moment.

Suddenly, he pulled back, his cock slipping from her mouth with a slick gasp of air that left her coughing, her chest heaving. Before she could gather her bearings or even protest, his hand was still firm in her hair, holding her in place as he stroked himself roughly.

Her stomach twisted, shame and anger warring with the simmering heat in her belly. "Ettore, don't-"

"Shut up," he cut her off, his tone sharp as his thumb angled her face up toward him. "You wanted to push me? Then take it."

She barely had time to process the words before his release hit her skin, hot and thick. He groaned deeply, his body jerking with each pulse, the sound low and guttural as he painted her face with his cum.

The humiliation burned hotter than her anger, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as he finished, the sticky warmth dripping down her cheeks, her lips. She wanted to wipe it away, to shove him off, but the way he looked at her, satisfied, smug, and utterly in control, froze her in place.

"Look at you," he muttered, his thumb smearing the mess across her cheek almost mockingly. "So fucking pretty like this.”

She glared up at him, her voice hoarse as she spat, "You're disgusting."

Ettore only laughed, the sound dark and unapologetic as he tucked himself back into his sweatpants. "You're the one who came crawling to me."

The door hissed open as the emergency protocols finally deactivated, the solar storm subsiding and red lights receding to normality. Ettore stepped back, the smirk never leaving his face as he looked her over one last time, his eyes lingering on the mess he'd made.

"Clean yourself up," he said lazily, turning toward the door. "Wouldn't want anyone to see you like that, would we?"

General Taglist:

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

To Billy, as with most years he gathered at his parent’s house, it was just another opportunity for his parents, sister and extended family to badger him with the usual abundance of questions.

How’s the job hunt going? Not well? Aw, well there’ll be something out there for you. Just have to keep at it.

No girlfriend yet?

You’re still looking for a job?

Lana not here yet? She’s doing well isn’t she?

He felt that if he had to go through yet another year of it, he’d go ballistic.

Aunties. Uncles. Cousins. He hugged them all on arrival, but felt very little.

But this year was different.

There was an element of protection she provided. A buffer, so to speak. And Billy being Billy, didn’t want to lean on her for that buffer, but was relieved all the same when she didn’t mind.

How did she do it?

How did she smile through it? Remain polite, despite the fact that it was socially sapping and emotionally draining to be around this many new people at once, all bombarding her with questions.

She was the shiny new item to a mischief of magpies, and all his aunties were babbling like turkeys at her, taking all the attention away from him. To his relief.

He watched her with a warmth to his face, a can of cheap beer in one hand, leaning against the radiator in the hallway to warm his backside.

She entertained them with brief, vague answers, but still somehow managed to keep that smile to her face he loved so much. Perhaps he was just wavy from the alcohol, he couldn’t tell. But he did realise he was flushing with embarrassment when her eyes clapped on him from across the room, and he realised he’d been caught staring.

His heart rate skyrocketed as she excused herself and crossed the room like she was floating, the Christmas cracker tissue paper crown was still somehow perched on the top of her head, whether she realised it or not.

“What you doing here by yourself, Wash?” she smiled.

He’d almost forgotten to move his lips to reply, his face was so hot.

“Making use of the central heating to warm your arse?” she prodded with a cheeky smile, turning to stand beside him, pressing her own back to the radiator and sighing as the warmth spread through her body from the middle outwards.

“Have my aunties bored you to death?” he asked, smirking beneath the rim of his can as he sipped.

She laughed through her nose, “That obvious?” she smiles, “Nah, it’s alright. Much better company than my house on Christmas Day, anyway. At this point, my dad’d be a snoring mess on the sofa and mum’d be fretting about Boxing Day lunch”.

In his alcohol-addled state, the raising of Billy’s eyebrows was a bit unmatched, alongside the lazy smile on his face, “I can picture that”.

She raised her own eyebrow at the way he seemed to subtly sway, despite being stood.

“What number’s this?” she asked with a knowing smirk.

And she watched with amusement as the cogs inside Billy’s head visibly turned, trying to form a memory of how many cans he’d swiped from his dad’s fridge before now.

“Um…4? I think?”

“You think?”

He pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh out of embarrassment.

The heat once again rose to his chiselled features, something she would never not find endearing about him. Sometimes it was worth saying something risque or embarrassing just to see this beanpole of a man blush.

His baby blue’s glimmered with drunkenness as he looked over at her, for a moment searching her face as if he was ticking off all boxes that were labelled with her features. Her eyes. Her lips. The gentle slant of her cheeks. The shape of her nose. How her dimples sank in when she smiled lovingly at him.

He was sure nobody in his life had ever looked at him the way she did.

It made him feel good and also like he wanted to hide at the same time.

“You wanna get home soon?”

He nodded without even thinking. God, he fucking loved her for that. The way she was able to know when he was socially complete without him having to say it.

Leaving in any British household, especially on Christmas Day, is an event in itself.

It takes twenty minutes minimum, to pack up all the things you have, piling the presents you’ve received into various bags for life, and giving a ceremonial hug and a peck on the cheek to all who are still awake and present. Often people who you’d circle back to once you finally made it to the door, graced with yet another hug goodbye.

It was solemnly enchanting, the clear roads on Christmas Day, the ice that clung to the side of the roads, and the grit that coated the middle. Christmas music blared through her radio, muffled by static, and about the sixtieth time that BBC Radio 1 had played ‘All I Want For Christmas is You’. And they’d both laughed, delirious from over-socialising, when she’d realised only halfway through the drive back home, that she was still wearing the shoddy tissue paper crown.

“Was Santa good to you this year?” she’d asked jokingly, briefly turning her head from the red light.

He huffed a laugh, “He’s about to be when we get home”.

She rolled her eyes, shifting the car into first, but unable to help the smile that rose to her face.

Billy’s flat was donned with the basics of Christmas decorations.

Fairy lights along the headboard of the bed, a tiny plastic tree on the side table, several tea lights along the TV stand and finally, the pièce de résistance, the scented faux pine candle sat in the middle of the coffee table. Lit and extinguished this morning, but still managed to fill the room with a pleasant woody fragrance.

Billy talked big when he was a bit drunk. But she knew him better than that.

And though Billy might have wanted to tear all her clothes off, pull her to the nearest flat surface and let her know all he’d wanted for Christmas, all he was able to do was snuggle in behind her on the sofa, throw one arm around her waist and kiss the top of her head as his brain swam.

It was just noise mostly, something to fill the comfortable silence as the late afternoon became late evening, the tea lights illuminating the front room with a pleasant atmosphere. She was sure he’d fallen asleep, the hand that was over her middle now firmly in hers, his long digits intertwined with her small ones. Not that she minded. She simply held his hand, using her other to scroll through her phone with the volume turned down so he wouldn’t wake up.

She clicked her phone off when she felt his arm tighten around her middle, tugging her back closer to him and turned her head up to smile at him, “Billy”.

His eyes were closed as if half asleep, his dark blonde eyelashes moving to betray the fact that he was indeed awake, but he only hummed, his hips chasing hers to grind against her backside. The alcohol had fuelled his desire, but had hindered his actual ability to act on said desires, and he made a noise of frustration when his body hadn’t reacted the way he wanted.

“...‘m sorry…”, he mumbled quietly, speech slurred endearingly.

“For what?”

“...’ts my little soldier…can’t…”

She had to press her lips together to stifle a laugh, not used to or remembering Billy being this loose-lipped under the influence of alcohol. All the while he was still pressing his soft and clothed length against your backside, willing his ‘little soldier’ to life, to no avail.

It was both endearing and amusing, that even in the state Billy was in he was trying, and god he really was trying, to initiate intimacy, fully knowing that the likelihood was that he wasn’t going to be able to. Much much too drunk to even think straight.

“It’s alright, Billy, just go to sleep, ok?”

He huffed much like a child would when you refused him something.

“...but it’s Christmas…”

“Sex on Christmas Day is no better than sex on any other day. Just get some sleep, okay?”

He sighed, slumping his head onto the cushion in something akin to defeat, fingers still threaded through hers on her stomach. But not a moment later, she heard his steady breaths and threw the blanket over him as well as her and laid her head down as well.

Waves of consciousness kept pulling her to the surface, a pleased sound falling from her lips as she parted them, feeling all warm both against her flesh and tugging in her gut as well.

She could feel Billy’s hot puffs of air against her neck and ear, the hair there reacting to his quickened breaths as they stood on end, her brain failing to realise quickly enough what was going on, and why her boyfriend lay behind her, was breathing so quickly.

That was until she heard him whimper, a stuttered moan following it.

“Mm…Billy?..”

Her eyelashes fluttered open, and instead of the warm ropes of sleep tugging her down it was something else, something hardpressing against her and chasing friction. His grip on her hands was so tight, his knuckles were almost white from the effort of holding back.

By now the candles had all burned out, save one, and the sky outside was pitch black, with the smallest flurry of snow decorating the darkness.

Hours had gone by.

She jumped when she felt his hands, colder than she expected, dip beneath her jumper and shirt, pressing his large palm against the flesh of her stomach, his little finger teasingly sliding beneath the waistband of her underwear.

“Sorry - babe, I need you…”

She could feel how impossibly hard he was through his jeans, chasing friction with every cant of his hips, using one hand to unzip them with difficulty as his other held onto her like she might disappear.

Freeing his length from his boxers, Billy almost moaned aloud when he saw that she was pulling her own jeans down as well, having woken more than aroused at the idea he was grinding against her searching for pleasure. So he made use of his hand and turned her face towards him, enveloping her soft, puffy lips with his own in a warm, wet kiss, not pausing for a moment to think about anything else other than having her right now, as he’d dreamt of doing since Christmas morning.

She nearly gasped when he slid his thick manhood into her, sheathing himself inside her in one, smooth confident movement, as if nothing, nothing, was going to stop him from basking in the warmth she offered.

In this position, with her thighs squeezed together, and his hand on her hips, pulling her back to him with each desperate thrust, it felt like so much more. And every blow to the sweet spot that lay deep inside her felt so utterly maddening, that her brain, still rising from sleep, felt like it was being shaken around.

She came with a choked cry, her grip on his wrist where his nimble fingers were applying frustratingly little pressure to her bud as he continued to piston into her. And when she was so close to begging him to stop from overstimulation, Billy leaned back a little, his teeth grazing against her neck and one hand palming her backside to push himself deeper as he too came with a long, broken whine.

His chest moved against her back with his heavy breathing, sucking in air into his lungs after the craze he’d just fallen over.

Billy pressed kisses to her neck and jaw in a sort of admiration, moving slightly with his length still buried inside her, eliciting a whimper from her as well as the friction.

She felt his eyelashes move against her cheek when he opened his eyes, “Did we really just shag with Die Hard on in the background?” he chuckled breathily.

This time, she couldn’t hold back her tired laugh, swatting his arm playfully, “you’re such a dickhead.”

He smiled wearily, turning her face once more to capture her swollen lips in a kiss, more tender this time without the urgency of desire.

“What was that about Christmas Day sex?” he prodded.

She furrowed her brows and double-tapped her phone.

23:49.

Cheeky fucker.