#smuttastic

You ignored Wing’s texts for two weeks, and they were the longest two weeks of your life. Every message he sent made your stomach grow heavy, and your chest grow tight.

“Can I see you again?”

“Are you all right?”

“Can you please let me know if you’re okay?”

You knew that the wisest, kindest thing to do would be to respond to him. To tell him that you didn’t think seeing him again was a good idea. That you wished him the best, and that you were sorry. And yet, you couldn’t. Despite knowing that you didn’t have it in you to leave your husband, and that the double life you were leading was unsustainable, you couldn’t. Wing had opened a window to happiness and warmth, and you couldn’t bring yourself to close it.

As the days passed, his texts dwindled, becoming less and less frequent until they finally stopped altogether. It was a heartbreaking relief.

If Pariston had noticed any change in your demeanor, he didn’t let on. He didn’t pay you any special attention, good or otherwise. He stayed out late at the office most nights, and came home smelling faintly of expensive perfume more often than not. Once, you’d noticed a smudge of red lipstick on his collar. It was so glaringly obvious, so very cliche, that you were sure that he’d done it on purpose. That he wanted you to see.

The calm, almost smug look that he gave you when your eyes rested on the incriminating red smudge that night almost seemed like a taunt. A challenge. Like Pariston was daring you to say something. You refused to give him the satisfaction. Refused to let on just how much it hurt. Despite everything Pariston had done, despite the gleeful sadism he injected into your marriage every day, you still loved him far more than he’d ever loved you. And Pariston knew it.

Your resolve not to contact Wing cracked a few nights afterwards. As you composed a text to him, guilt flooded your chest; you were lonely, hurting, and desperately in need of affection. Wing could give you that and more, and yet you knew that you could only offer him part of yourself. Wing deserved better.

Still, your guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop you from sending him an apologetic message and a request to meet again. Nor was it enough to make you feel any remorse when he responded less than five minutes later, suggesting you go over to his place when he got off work. You knew that what you were doing, meeting him without making any plans to leave your husband, was utterly unfair to him. And yet, when you thought about the way Wing looked at you, the way his dark eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled, the gentle way in which he touched you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

***

You hadn’t intended to be overly emotional when you showed up at Wing’s apartment, but the second he opened the door to let you in, you flung yourself into his arms and buried your face in his chest, mumbling a series of muffled apologies into the rumpled fabric of his shirt.

Wing stiffened at first contact, but soon enough relaxed and wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft, tender kiss to the top of your head. He held you like that, softly, securely, for a few minutes, neither pushing you away nor bringing you closer. When you finally pulled back, you fixed him with an apologetic stare.

“Wing, I’m so sorry, I owe you an explanation.”

He shook his head, his dark eyes gentle. “No, you don’t. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” You sighed. “I- I couldn’t… I thought if I…” Your voice stopped working when you found that you were unable to turn the jumble of words and thoughts swirling through your head into coherent sentences.

And Wing, sweet, kind, patient Wing understood. He sighed softly, ran his fingers through his messy hair and gave you one of his gentle half-smiles. “___, it’s okay. Really. I get it. You don’t have to-”

You cut him off with a kiss. It wasn’t intentional. You had wanted to talk more, to make him listen, to somehow convince him that you weren’t worth his time. But instead, you kissed him, and he reciprocated.

No words were exchanged as the two of you made your way to the bedroom. Wing’s lips were on you most of the way, his hands firmly on your hips as he guided you. You undressed yourselves quickly without shyness or reverence; the two of you had your minds set on being in bed, joined together, your bodies pressed close without any barriers.

As soon as he undressed himself, Wing was on you again, his hands running up your sides, over your breasts, his mouth on your neck. You allowed him to back you towards the bed, falling backwards when the backs of your legs hit the mattress. Wing went with you, pulling back just enough to let you reposition yourself amongst the blankets and pillows. Once you were situated, he crawled back on top of you, caging you in with his arms as he lavished you with kisses, soft, gentle, with just a hint of a bite.

You ran your fingers through his hair, biting your lip when he nipped at your collarbone before moving lower towards your breasts. When he ran his tongue over a nipple, you let out a soft whine. Your eyes fluttered shut as he began to suck, his hand moving up your body to cup and knead your other breast.

When he pulled away, you expected him to settle between your thighs, but instead he pressed a kiss to your sternum and worked his way down, between your breasts, over your soft stomach, towards your sex. You let out a choked gasp when you felt his tongue, warm and wet, swipe over your folds and swirl around your clit.

Wing was a clumsy man, but there was nothing clumsy or sloppy about the way he lapped at you, the way his tongue ran over every sensitive inch of skin. When you felt him begin to work you open with his long, tapered fingers, you ran your hand over his scalp, your fingers raking through his hair.

All too soon, he withdrew his fingers, kissed his way back up your body, and slotted himself neatly between your spread legs. You spread your legs a bit more to better accommodate him, and grabbed his shoulders to steady yourself. When he kissed you as he pushed inside, you tasted yourself on his tongue.

Wing paused for a moment, breathing heavily, his cock buried inside you. The two of you exchanged lazy kisses; you could feel his cock twitch deep in your heat. Finally, he began to move, taking you with deep, lazy thrusts.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, eager to keep him close. As Wing continued to move against you, you felt that deep, hot tautness in your abdomen taking shape, and clung to him even more desperately. You were sure that if you didn’t, you would fall apart.

“___, you feel… you feel…” Wing’s words were interrupted by a throaty groan as his hips snapped forward to bury himself in you again. He shifted his weight for a moment, reaching up to grab your hand and pin it to the bed, his fingers interlacing with yours. His lips pressed against your neck, his teeth grazing softly along your jugular, careful not to leave a mark. 

You did not have any such reservations, and when his cock bumped against a particularly sensitive spot, you gasped and bit his shoulder. The action spurred him on, and he increased the pace, fucking into you earnestly with hints of desperation. His breaths had begun to grow ragged and uneven, and a series of deep, masculine groans emanated from his chest as he moved.

You soon found yourself on the precipice of release, the tautness between your legs reaching a dizzying intensity. When Wing moaned out your name and nipped at your ear it became too much, and your world fell away. The clenching of your muscles proved too much for Wing to withstand for long, and he reached his own peak just moments later, slamming into you and finishing with a deep groan of your name.

He remained atop you for a few minutes after, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks and mouth. When he finally rolled off, he immediately gathered you into his arms.

“Was that okay?” He kissed your shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“More than okay.” You smiled at him. “Perfect.”

He laughed sheepishly, and reached over to the bedside table to retrieve his glasses. “I want to be able to actually see you,” he explained, somewhat shyly as he put them on.

“I hope it was okay, that I uh… finished. Inside. I’m sorry, I should have asked.” He cleared his throat, his hand running over the swell of your hips.

“It’s fine. I’m on the pill. Nothing to worry about.”

“Still. I should have asked.” He lapsed into thoughtful silence, which he broke a few minutes later.

“___… do you want to leave him?”

The question caught you off guard. “Hm?”

“Your husband. Are you happy with him? Do you want to stay with him?”

You sighed. “Wing…”

“You should leave him, you know. Not necessarily for me. But just, in general.”

You glanced at him. He was staring at the ceiling, brow slightly furrowed.

“I know. You’re right, it’s just-”

“Complicated. I know.”

You sighed and nodded. You hoped it would be the end of the matter, but Wing had other ideas.

“Do you love him?”

You stiffened in Wing’s arms, unsure of what to say exactly.

“I… I think I’m just… I don’t know. Maybe I do. Maybe I love who he used to be.”

Who he pretended to be.

Wing nodded, eyes still thoughtful. “Look, I can’t force you to do anything. This is ultimately up to you. But for what it’s worth, I think you should leave him. For your own sake.”

There was nothing forceful or insistent about his words; Wing was being sweet and reasonable, his voice as kind and patient as always. Yet, you felt a surge of irritation at his words.

“I’ll handle it, okay? Can we just… drop it? Please?” You immediately regretted your sharp tone of voice. “I’m sorry. It’s just been rough. And confusing. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah… I know. I’ll let it be.” Wing gave you a soft kiss on the cheek. “What time do you have to go back?”

“I don’t know…” You thought about it. About returning home to wait for Pariston to return, dick still wet from his latest infidelity. About the saccharine way he’d ask you about your day. Anger flared in you, and you came to a decision.

“You know what? Who cares?”

“___…” 

“No, really.” You turned in Wing’s arms to face him. “Why should I hurry home to greet the man who is probably fucking his secretary as we speak?”

Wing sighed. “He’ll suspect something. You know he will.”

“Let him. He’s taken enough from me. I don’t care what he thinks.”

As you snuggled against Wing, resting your head on his chest, you found that for the first time in a very long time, you truly didn’t.

*** 

You ended up staying with Wing until the early hours of the morning. When you saw your husband’s car in the driveway, you ignored the nagging nervousness that tugged at your chest. Pariston didn’t have a leg to stand on, after all. He’d been having affairs for years, and put very little effort into hiding it. Taking a deep breath, you braced yourself for the barrage of questions that were sure to be thrown your way when you went to bed.

To your surprise, however, Pariston didn’t stir when you entered the bedroom. When you showered, dried off, and got into bed next to him, he didn’t move either. This was odd, because Pariston had always been a very light sleeper, but you figured that he must have tired himself out.

“Do you want more?”

The four simple words were all it took to get you into your current position, said position being splayed out on the bed with Uvogin’s face between your thighs.  You moaned at the way his tongue lapped at your slit, the way he flattened it against your clitoris, sending pleasurable tremors down your legs.  You arched your back, your fingers raking through his hair; you were rewarded with an appreciative grunt.

A gasp escaped your lips when Uvogin gave your sex a broad-tongued lick followed by a quick flick to your clitoris. Large strong hands gripped your thighs, keeping them parted to give him better access.  A shiver went down your spine as he lapped at your clitoris; you moaned softly as his tongue circled the nub of skin.  Your legs had begun to quiver; had it not been for Uvogin’s grip on your thighs, they would have clamped around his head.

Your face began to heat up when you felt his tongue prod against your entrance; when he pushed his tongue in between your folds, your face became almost unbearably hot. A deep, hoarse moan rumbled through Uvogin’s chest, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body.  You bit the back of your hand to stifle a groan as the wet muscle moved between the folds of your sex; Uvogin was quite literally fucking you with his tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” You cried out, arching off the bed again as Uvogin moved a hand from your thigh to rub your clit.  Pressure had begun building within you; it didn’t take long for the tension to snap and send you gasping and spasming into orgasm.

“Did you like that?”  Uvogin reappeared from between your legs with a triumphant grin on his face.

You panted, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to form words.

Uvogin took your silence as an affirmation, and chuckled.  “I know you did, ___.”  He leaned over you, his mouth at your ear.  “I felt you clench around my tongue.”  He drew his tongue along the shell of your ear before drawing back and kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed. “Come here.”  It was an unnecessary order; Uvogin grabbed your hips and brought you down to the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on your cunt.

“Now…” he grinned at you playfully.  “You still want more, right?”  As he spoke, he dragged a finger along your slit.

You nodded, still unable to speak after your orgasm,

“Heh.  Good,”  Slowly and with uncharacteristic gentleness, Uvogin pressed a long, thick finger into your tight heat.  “You’re so wet,” he observed, “so tight and warm, ____.  Are you ready for me?”  He pumped his finger inside you before adding another, pumping, scissoring and stretching you out as you squirmed at his touch.

“Fuck, ____…”  He gave a few more slow, languid pumps.  “You’re so, so tight.  You’re going to feel incredible around my cock.”  He added a third finger, chuckling when you cried out.

“Is it too much?”

You shook your head, knowing fully well that you were only lying to yourself.  Uvogin had stretched you to the breaking point, and these were just his fingers.  You had no idea how you were going to handle his cock.  

“You’re taking my fingers so well, ____,” Uvogin praised, gently giving a few more pumps.  His voice was starting to grow hoarse; you realized with a jolt that he was stroking himself. When you answered him with a whine, he gave a throaty laugh and withdrew his fingers.  “Do you think you’re ready for me now?”

It was now or never.  You nodded, eager for the challenge of taking him.  You’d never taken his cock before now, but damn it, you wanted to try.

“Good.”  Uvogin smiled at you before standing up.  “I want you to get on your hands and knees for me, ____, can you do that?”  

You obeyed, noting the strange gentleness in his voice.

Uvogin ran a large hand down your back and over your ass.  “Spread your legs a bit more for me.  That’s a good girl.”  He gave your ass an affectionate squeeze.

You looked back over your shoulder at him and your eyes were met with the sight of Uvogin languidly stroking his impressively hard cock.  You gulped at its size.  You’d seen it before, but the idea of it going inside you… you suppressed a shudder of anticipation and turned back around.

“Are you worried about it fitting?” Uvogin chuckled darkly as he gave himself a few more strokes.  “Don’t worry, it will.” Without further delay, he lined his cock up against your entrance.

Your eyes widened when you felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against your folds, and widened further when he began to push in.  You cried out at the massive intrusion, wiggling your hips from side to side in an effort to get the discomfort to abate.  

“You feel so good already,” Uvogin growled, inching in a little bit further.  “You can take more, right?”

It wasn’t really a question; you bit your lip to stifle a cry when he pushed in further, inch by agonizing inch.

“I know,” Uvogin soothed, his thumbs tracing gentle circles over your hips, “you’re doing such a good job taking me.”  He pushed in more, filling you more than you’d ever thought possible.  You yelped when he bumped against your cervix, causing him to let out an amused hum.  

Your body was on fire; you spread your thighs a little wider to better accommodate him, all while wondering why on earth you decided to try this.  

“Relax, ____, fuck, relax!”  Uvogin grunted, pausing momentarily before reaching around your body to rub your clitoris.  

The distraction was a welcome one; you moaned appreciatively, twitching around his cock as his fingers worked on your clit.  You felt so vulnerable, so spread open, so incredibly impossibly full… you had no idea how much more you would be able to take.

“Almost there,” Uvogin gritted out, pushing in a little farther.  “Just a little more.  That’s it, good girl…”

Finally, finally, he bottomed out, his balls resting warm and heavy against you as he ran a soothing hand down your spine.  Without pulling out, he ground his hips against you for a moment, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut and stifle a gasp.  It was too much.  

Without warning, Uvogin pulled out, only to thrust back in, hilting himself inside you.  Your eyes flew open and you let out a surprised cry as the previous fullness you’d felt returned tenfold.  “You like this?” Uvogin asked, rocking his hips back and forth, battering you with his enormous cock.  When you didn’t answer, he paused, his dick halfway out of you.  “____, do you like this?”

“Y-yes,” you groaned, not quite sure why you wanted more.

Satisfied with your answer, Uvogin grabbed your hips and pushed into again with a bone crushing thrust. “You’re so tight,” he growled, his voice hoarse and rough, “you love being taken like this, so full of my cock.”  His pace increased as he began to fuck you in earnest.  “You love being stuffed like this, don’t you?”  Another particularly hard thrust made your arms give out, and you fell forwards, your cheek resting against the mattress.

A dark chuckle was the only warning you got before Uvogin increased the pace of his thrusts; his hands held your hips with inescapable strength as he pistoned in and out of you.  With a growl, Uvogin leaned forward, wrapping his arms around your middle so he could reach up and cup your breasts.  “Tell me,” he panted in your ear, “tell me how much you love it.”

Having been fucked to near incoherence, formulating a full sentence was nigh on impossible. All you could manage was to slur a few fragments together.  “So...good.  Love… it.”

Your fragmented sentence seemed enough to pleased Uvogin; he hummed approvingly.  “Good.  Girl,” he gritted out, punctuating each word with a thrust.

Your legs, already trembling, had begun to shake so violently that you were sure you were about to fall.  Just as they gave out, Uvogin caught you around the waist and continued to fuck you.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as your mind blanked, incapable of coherent thought.  All you could sense now were Uvogin’s grunts, the growing pleasure in your core, and the ache between your legs.  

Uvogin seemed to sense how close you were to orgasm, and doubled his efforts.  His earlier restraint had given way to desire; he was fucking you raw.  

Somehow, the relentless pounding drew your orgasm out of you; you came with a high-pitched whine, your body spasming and clenching around Uvogin’s cock.  The large man laughed, seeing you so fucked out and exhausted, and continued his onslaught, pounding into you until he reached his own peak.

With a low groan, Uvogin came, spilling his release deep inside you.  He stilled, his cock twitching as he panted above you.

You whimpered when he pulled out, the sudden emptiness feeling alien to you.  Your entire body felt boneless and weary; you longed for sleep.

“___, you okay?”  Uvogin joined you on the bed, pulling your comparatively tiny body close to him.

The war-tent in which Uvogin had left you was large but sparsely furnished.  There was a table, a chair, and an enormous bed covered in a variety of fur pelts.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Uvogin said as he unceremoniously deposited you on the ground, “and don’t even think about leaving.”

“And what if I do?” You felt defiant then, spurred on by the rage of seeing your village ransacked.  Using all your strength, you stood, glaring up at the giant before you.

Uvogin smiled predatorily down at you and stroked your cheek with a long, bloodstained finger.  “___, I just destroyed an entire village.  Laid waste to the local militia.  Imagine what I could do to you.”

He turned and left, laughing as though the idea of crushing you was the funniest thing he could imagine.  As soon as he was gone your resolve disintegrated; your knees buckled and you fell to the floor, your body wracked with sobs as the reality of the situation slammed into you.  Your village was gone, your family was gone, your friends were gone. Now, there was only Uvogin.

You supposed that you should count yourself as lucky.  After all, you’d been spared… but what kind of life awaited you?  Did Uvogin expect you to be his kept woman?  His plaything? Bile rose in your throat at the thought; you rushed to the side of the tent and vomited into a chamber pot.  You coughed and sputtered, trying to regain some semblance of composure as thoughts rushed through your head.

Where was Uvogin?  Would you be able to sneak away?  Could you make a run for it?

No.  You remembered what he’d said, and you knew it to be true; he could crush you like an insect.

You covered your eyes with your hands, groaning as you wiped your tears away.  Who would have thought that the affable giant you’d met the night before would be the blood-stained, ruthless warlord who had carried you away?  Last night, when Uvogin had laughed at your jokes, drunk your alcohol, and fucked you against the back of the bar, you’d felt so light, so carefree.  Yesterday seemed like an eternity ago.

You looked down at yourself, at your filthy, blood-smeared clothes caked with mud and wondered why Uvogin had even bothered to take you with him.  You’d put up a fight of course, but terror and exhaustion had soon overcome you, and you’d allowed him to carry you away.  To here, wherever here was.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the tent flap opening.  A small woman flashed you a shy smile as she entered the tent, carrying a large bucket full of water.  You studied her briefly; she must be stronger than she looked; the bucket looked extremely heavy/

“You must be ____.” her cheerful voice contrasted sharply with your despair.  “I was told to bring you this.”  She set the bucket on the ground before you, smiling expectantly.  “To wash,” she explained.  When you still didn’t move, she sighed.

“Still in shock, eh?  Poor thing.”  Without asking your permission, she immediately began removing your clothes.  You resisted, but only for a few moments.  You were too exhausted to resist anything anymore.

The water was icy cold.  You winced when the woman dabbed your neck with the wet washcloth.  “I know,” she soothed, dunking the cloth into the water and ringing it out.  “You’ll get used to it.”

You didn’t get used to it, but you endured it.  After what felt like far too long, you were clean and in new clothes.  They were far too big and hung off your frame, but anything was better than what you’d been wearing before.  A large part of you wanted to balk at the idea of wearing anything that Uvogin- for it surely it had been him who had sent the clothes- had given you, but unless you wanted to keep wearing clothes stained with the blood of your family and friends, you had no choice. 

You were so deep in thought that you didn’t notice the friendly woman slipping away.  By the time you realized, she was gone, leaving you alone again without so much as a name.  You looked around the tent and saw that there was nothing you could amuse yourself with, nothing with which to pass the time until Uvogin inevitably returned.  Resigning yourself to your fate, you crawled into the giant bed and fell asleep.

You were awoken by heavy footsteps, and you opened your eyes to see Uvogin towering over you. He was filthy; his wild hair stuck out in all directions, and his face was smeared with ash and blood.  Fresh blood.  You shuddered at the sight.

Seeing the obvious fear on your face, Uvogin let out a bark of laughter.  “What is it, ____?  Aren’t you happy to see me?”

You trembled before him; your hair stood on end, shivers ran down your spine… had it been full, you would have emptied your bladder.  The man in front of you was just so big, so imposing, so… 

Terrifying.

“Please don’t hurt me.”  Your voice was small, weak, barely above a whisper.

More boisterous laughter.  “I’m not going to hurt you, ___.”  He bared his teeth in a feral grin.  “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead already.”  With another bark of laughter, he headed over to the bucket of water in the corner of the tent and splashed some onto his face and arms.  It did little in the way of removing the more caked-on grime, but most of the blood washed away.

Uvogin returned to the bed, leering down at you.  When you curled into a ball and scrambled to get away from him, he merely grabbed your leg and tugged you towards him.

You froze, powerless to break his monstrous grip.  Pain shot through your leg; he was holding you too tightly.  For a moment you thought he was going to crush your tibia, but Uvogin let go. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” His lip curled in a snarl.  “Be careful.  You’re starting to try my patience.”

“What.. what are you going to do to me?”  The feral look in his eyes made you wish you hadn’t asked; you knew what he wanted.

A large hand ran down your thigh.  “What a little thing you are,” he murmured, his hoarse voice growing softer.  “So small, so soft… so easy to break.”  The bed dipped as he joined you on it. 

You shivered at his touch.  His enormous hands were warm and rough, and yet, there was something oddly soothing about the way he was stroking you.  You again remembered the night at the tavern when he’d taken you so completely; it had felt so good, so wonderful then.  And now…

“Uvogin,” you mumbled softly, “please don’t…” Please don’t what?  You were in no position to be making demands.  “Please don’t break me.”

“Break you?”  Uvogin sat back on his heels and grinned down at you.  “I have no intention of breaking you, ____.  Although, you are mine to break.” Before you could say anything more, he bore down on you, covering your mouth with his own in an all-consuming kiss.

You squeaked in surprise, as if you didn’t know exactly how the night was going to end.  The kiss seemed to ignite something within Uvogin; he drew back, and within seconds he tore your clothes from your body.  “I’ll have more brought to you,” he promised as he kissed you again, softer this time.

Despite everything, you found yourself relaxing into the kiss.  Something about having him on top of you was strangely comforting.  As comforting as a giant, murderous man could be, that is.  Memories of the previous night, of just how good Uvogin had felt inside you, came flooding back, manifesting as a little twinge between your legs.

With a soft growl, Uvogin turned his attention to your neck, nibbling and sucking on the delicate skin.  For a man of his stature, he was being surprisingly gentle, a fact you appreciated.

“____,” he moaned, stroking your thigh again, “____…” Drawing back, he lied down on the bed, seizing your hips and pulling you on top of him in a quick motion.  He smiled wolfishly up at you.  “Look at what you do to me.”  He thrust his pelvis upwards as his thumbs rubbed warm circles onto your thighs.

You glanced down and immediately noticed his massive erection straining against his pants.  You gulped.  How had you taken that last night?  With shaking hands, you carefully undid his pants, allowing his erection to spring free.  You could feel his gaze, and slowly raised your eyes to meet his.  You wondered if he could see the terror in yours.

“What, don’t you want it?” He thrust his hips again.  “I thought you would, after last night.”

Had you been less wise and more brash, you would have retorted that murdering an entire village is something of a turn-off, but you kept your mouth shut.  It was for the best.

Uvogin looked at you expectantly, clearly wanting you to do something about his achingly-hard cock.  Slowly, tentatively, you wrapped your hand around its base, and lowered yourself down so you could lick along the shaft.  Uvogin’s breath hitched when you swirled your tongue over the head.  “That’s good, love, so good.”

You froze.  Love? How dare he use that word, after what he’d done?  You continued as if he hadn’t said anything, and took his cock into your mouth.  Uvogin groaned as you sucked and began to pump his shaft, his hips bucking slightly.  It was clear that he was doing his best to hold back.

“That’s enough, love,” he rasped, tangling his fingers in your hair and pulling you off of him.

Love.  There was that word again.  You looked into his eyes and saw nothing like love in them.

Thick fingers pressed against your lips; you obediently opened your mouth.  You gagged at the intrusion, and Uvogin merely laughed at your discomfort.  “You’d better get them nice and wet,” he threatened, “or else you’ll regret it.”  Satisfied with how much you’d licked his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth with a slick pop and reached between your legs.

You winced at the prospect of him slipping into your core, but you parted your legs and repositioned yourself to allow him access all the same.  Better to go along with it, you told yourself.  Better to pretend to like it, to want it.  You felt no tenderness towards this man, but you would force yourself if you had to.  You wanted to live. 

Uvogin’s fingers entered you, and you cried out in pain.

“Too much?” he asked, withdrawing a bit.  When you nodded, he sighed and pulled his fingers out, only to slip one inside you again.

You bit your lip; it wasn’t painful anymore, but it was certainly uncomfortable.  Again, you asked yourself how you’d taken him the night before.  After pumping into you a few more times, Uvogin added another finger.  You groaned at the stretch.

“Do you think you’re ready for me?” Uvogin asked.  He’d begun stroking his cock in time with each pump of his fingers.

You nodded shakily.  Better to get it over with.

With a groan, Uvogin drew his fingers out of you and, grabbing your hips, positioned you above his cock.  Slowly, with far more caution than you’d come to expect, he lowered you down onto him.  You hissed as you stretched to accommodate him.

“That’s it,” Uvogin gritted out as he eased you onto his cock, “just like that.”

You whimpered when you took him in as far as you possibly could, and bit your lower lip hard enough to bleed.  Uvogin felt impossibly big inside you; he was in so very, very deep.

With a grunt, Uvogin lifted you up, only to slam you down onto him again.  You cried out at the suddenness of it.  When he did it again, you cursed.  “Shit, Uvogin!”

He grinned up at you.  “Say my name again, ____.”  As he spoke, he began to bounce you up and down on his cock at a much faster pace than before.

You obliged, and cried out his name once more.  Despite it all, despite your fear and hatred of the man below you, wicked little flashes of pleasure were beginning to flit through your core.  You closed your eyes and cast your mind back to the night before, when Uvogin had been so funny, so charming, so caring.  You remembered the ways he had touched you, and the way he’d taken such care not to hurt you when he’d fucked you.  So engrossed were you in the fog of your memories that you didn’t catch a moan of your name.  At least, not at first.

Uvogin was groaning out your name repeatedly as he fucked into you, his hips snapping up to meet you as he slammed you down onto his cock.  You opened your eyes and looked at him, really looked at him, then; his eyes were closed, his jaw clenched, his hair fanned out on the pillows.  You felt a little tug in your chest; under different circumstances, perhaps, you could have felt some affection towards him.

Another groan from the man below you signaled that he was close; he slammed you down onto  him a few more times before finding his release.  With a deep grunt he came, filling you up with his cum.

His hands fell to his sides as he panted, leaving you to gingerly lift yourself off of his now-softening cock.  You made to get off of the bed, but a large arm wrapped around you and pulled you down to Uvogin’s chest.  You lied there for a moment, feeling suddenly sleepy, finding confusing enjoyment in the warmth of Uvogin’s skin and the rise and fall of his chest.  You were about to fall asleep when Uvogin spoke.

“____, you didn’t cum for me that time, did you?”

“Hm?”

“Be honest.  You didn’t.”

Too afraid to lie, you answered that you hadn’t.  “But it’s okay!” you quickly added.  “I don’t mind, really.”

“We’ll have to fix that next time.”

Next time?

“Oh no, that’s fine, you don’t have to--”

To be honest, you’d half-expected an indignant Hisoka to come pounding on your door almost immediately, but when he didn’t appear, you figured that he wasn’t overly bothered. You found yourself wondering whether he’d actually shown up for the match anyway. As time went on, you noticed that he’d scheduled other matches. Part of you wanted to watch them, but you ultimately declined, knowing too well how they’d all end anyway.

So, instead of watching one of Hisoka’s matches, you’d spent the day in your suite. You’d just registered for a fight yourself, a match with a decently-known enhancer who called himself Ajax. You weren’t worried; in your opinion, you’d fought stronger, smarter opponents before. You knew better than to get cocky, however. You’d need to be prepared, to be ready to fight with a cool, level head…

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud series of knocks at the door. You stiffened. You weren’t expecting anyone to come by, and even if you were, you didn’t want the company. Not now. You stood, ready to go and tell whoever was at the door to leave you be, and immediately froze. That aura. You knew it well.

Hisoka.

Icy fingers of dread ran down your spine. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be fighting? You looked at the clock and realized with a lurch in your stomach that he’d probably finished. If he’d shown up at all, that is. You stood, frozen in place as the knocking started up again, each knock setting your teeth on edge. What did Hisoka want? As the knocking persisted, you realized that your only option was to answer the door and face whatever awaited you on the other side. 

You weren’t necessarily afraid of him. Sure, you felt like you could take him in a fair fight, but cornered like this, unprepared, was different. You felt small all of a sudden. Vulnerable. You weren’t sure what exactly Hisoka wanted, but the tendrils of bloodlust seeping into the room made it clear that he wasn’t dropping by for a friendly chat. Your stomach twisted into sick knots as you approached the door. As you turned the knob, you struggled to regain your composure, to make it look like you weren’t two seconds away from escaping through your window just to avoid this upcoming confrontation.

Swinging the door open, your eyes widened in shock at Hisoka’s appearance. His clothes were splattered with blood, presumably not his own, and he had a large bruise on one of his sharp cheekbones. You looked him up and down, and a split second later, the words were leaving your mouth before you could even think to stop them.

“What are you doing here?”

Hisoka’s mouth twisted into a leer.

“May I come in?”

That threw you off. If Hisoka had come to kill, maim, or otherwise inflict bodily harm upon you, he’d probably have done so already. Ignoring his request, you posed another question.

“What do you want?”

Hisoka shrugged. “To talk.”

To talk? People didn’t show up on other people’s doorsteps covered in gore just to talk. You eyed him suspiciously. When he didn’t press the matter further, you sighed and shrugged, stepping back and holding the door open to allow him in.

Hisoka sashayed past you, turning to face you as you closed the door and fixed him with a firm look.

“Well?” You crossed your arms over your chest and set your jaw. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Ah, _____…” He smiled at you, lowering his eyelids. “I wanted to talk to you about our little agreement that you failed to honor. Our fight.”

Ah. You should have guessed he’d come to settle that score sooner or later. Deep down, you’d known what this was about the second you’d discerned that it was him outside your door, but you couldn’t help wondering why he was bothering you about it now? The match had been scheduled two weeks ago. Why was Hisoka only now seeking you out?

“What about it?”

“You didn’t show up for it, ____. And I was so looking forward to it.”

You hummed and bit your lip. Of course he was.

“What I was to know, is why you didn’t show up. Scared?” He drawled out the last word, long and syrupy.

You shook your head. Truthfully, you hadn’t been scared, but something had stopped you from going through with the fight. Maybe you just hadn’t been feeling your best that day, or maybe you’d just wanted to stay in bed for a few more hours. Perhaps you’d figured that Hisoka wasn’t going to show up anyway. Deep down, in the recesses of your core, though, you knew the truth: you didn’t want to give him what he wanted.

Hisoka’s eyes narrowed, as if trying to stare into your mind. “Whatever your reason, ____…” he smiled, “you owe me a match.”

“I owe you shit,” you scoffed, surprised at your forwardness.

“Don’t you?” A split second later, Hisoka was behind you, his hand on your throat as he pulled you into himself. He chuckled as you struggled to break his grip, his crotch grinding into your ass.

You fruitlessly clawed at Hisoka’s hand around your throat. You were confident in your nen abilities, but you were a distance fighter. When it came to physical strength, Hisoka had you beaten ten times over. Just as your vision was beginning to cloud over, Hisoka relaxed his grip and you stumbled forward, coughing and sputtering as you sucked air into your lungs.

He chuckled again, low and smooth, and cocked his head. “What, ____? No fighting spirit? No counterattack? I’ll go easy on you.”

You glared at him from across the room, wanting to attack him but knowing there was no point. You knew how Hisoka was; he definitely had a plan.

“I don’t want to fight you here,” you stated bluntly, rubbing your throat.

“Then where?” He was approaching you again, with long, slow strides. You instinctively backed away, step for step. As you backed away, you became acutely aware of the way your body was heating up under his gaze, just like it used to before. You hated it.

“Hisoka…” you said raspily, warning him to back off despite showing no aggression yourself. You yelped quietly when your back came in contact with the wall. You’d run out of space to retreat.

“Yes?” He stopped, just inches away from you.

“I think you’d better leave.”

“And what if I don’t?” He leered down at you.

“Then… then…” You trailed off, cursing the tremble in your voice. He was just so close to you, and your body was beginning to respond. It had been a long time since you’d been with him, but the effect he had on you was still the same.

“Then what?” To your surprise, he dipped down to press a soft kiss to your neck.

Your skin crawled at the contact. You longed to push him away, to tell him that you’d sworn never to fuck him again, that fucking someone you were previously scheduled to fight to the death with was just plain lunacy. But you didn’t. Instead you found yourself tilting your head to the side to give him better access. He moaned against your skin, and the sound snapped you back to reality. Jerking your head away, you shoved him back, and before you could consider whether or not it was a good idea, you smacked him across the face.

Hisoka’s eyes widened at the contact, and he pressed his long fingers against the reddening welt. You’d put a lot of force into the slap.

“____…” he said, his voice deep and raspy, “that was lovely.”

Half a moment later he was on you again, kissing you with tongue and teeth. This time, you let him; you decided to give in to your basic urges. If you weren’t going to fight him just yet, you might as well fuck him one last time.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Hisoka lifted you with ease, pinning you against the wall as he kissed you. You moaned into his mouth and grabbed fistfuls of his clothing. A cacophony of thoughts whirled through your mind. You wanted him gone, you wanted him out of your life completely. He filled you with disgust, hatred, resentment. And yet you wanted him there, on you, in you, panting between your legs.

You tightened your legs around his waist as he drew back, taking you with him and walking over to the bed before throwing you down unceremoniously onto the soft mattress. You gasped, sitting up then standing to hastily disrobe as Hisoka did the same. You couldn’t help but notice that his skin still had the dried blood of his unfortunate opponent on it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care all that much. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Falling back onto the bed, you spread your legs, suddenly very aware of how wet you were growing between them. Hisoka climbed on top of you, his cock already hard, and positioned himself at your entrance. Inwardly, you cringed, knowing that there would be no foreplay, no gentle preparation; there would be only rough entry, the sudden fullness, the ache and sting of the stretch. It was what you needed.

Hisoka seemed to sense this, and without wasting another moment, pushed into you, bottoming out in a few deep thrusts. He paused, letting out a deep masculine moan at the depth, at your tightness. The heat. You barely had any time to adjust before he was moving again, his hips snapping against yours in an almost frenzied rhythm.

You needed something to cling on to, so you gripped his shoulders. You were somewhat surprised that you were able to do so; in previous encounters, Hisoka had taken a liking to binding your wrists with his damn bungee gum, but not this time, it seemed. You reveled in your freedom, and dug your nails into the pale flesh of his back.

“____,” he panted out letting his head loll back for a moment before burying it in the crook of your neck. “Yes. Let me feel all you have to give me.” He bit your neck then, hard, and you dug your fingernails into his back even harder. You were sure you’d drawn blood.

Hisoka grunted into your neck before sitting up grabbing your hips and holding them in place before pounding into you again. For a moment he slowed, a grin spreading across his face as he removed a hand from your hip and pressed two of his fingers into your mouth.

You bit him. His eyes widened, his smile never faltering as he withdrew his fingers. “I love it when you look at me like that,” he drawled, digging his own nails into the meat of your thighs as he pumped into you. His grip was like iron; hard, cold, and sure to bruise. You gave up trying to contain your noises, and you moaned incoherently when his cock slammed against your cervix.

“That’s good, ____, let me hear you,” he panted, somehow tightening his grip even more. When you moaned again, he paused, removing a hand from one of your hips so he could rub against your clitoris.

You bit your lip as you fruitlessly tried to contain the pleasured sounds that threatened to tear themselves from your body. It was all for nothing; Hisoka knew your body well, too well, and he was using his knowledge to his advantage. It only took a few more rubs of your clit, a few more thrusts, to send the white heat of orgasms pulsing through your body.

You felt your entire body go limp; you were exhausted, overstimulated beyond belief, but Hisoka wasn’t done. He thrusted into you a few more times before withdrawing and flipping you over onto your stomach, grabbing your hips again and pulling your ass into the air. You whined in overstimulation when he pushed back in again; you were so full, so sensitive, so exhausted, but Hisoka didn’t care. He was using you for his own pleasure now; he was pulling your body into the exact position he wanted, exerting his superior physical strength as he did so.  You moaned weakly in protest when he set another hard pace; you tried to let your forehead rest against the soft mattress, but Hisoka tangled a hand in your hair and wrenched your head back, forcing you on to your hands and knees.

You gasped in pain as his grip on your hair tightened, completely at his mercy as he continued to fuck into you without restraint. He was chasing his own release now, and if the way his breathing was becoming ragged was any indication, he was close. The room was filled with Hisoka’s hoarse breathing, your moans, and the obscene slap of his hips against your ass; part of you wondered whether the whole floor could hear you, but at the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your entire body felt as though it was on fire; your nerve endings were so beyond overstimulated that you were fairly certain that you were going to die if Hisoka kept fucking you the way he was.

Luckily for you, Hisoka found his release after a few deep, sharp thrusts. He came with a moan, holding your ass flush against his body as he spilled deep inside of you. His hips gave a few spasmodic jerks as he came. When he finished, he withdrew with a gasp.

Surprisingly, Hisoka wasted no time in picking up his clothes and dressing himself. You marveled at the sight. During times past, you virtually had to shove him out the door. This time, he regarded you coolly as he dressed, as if deep in thought. You didn’t bother dressing again. You wanted a shower, to wash him off and out of you. When you felt his release trickling down your leg, you winced as little hints of disgust began to eat away at you.

“Now, ____,” Hisoka spoke, his voice low and smooth as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion, “about our match…”

“What about it?” you snapped, groaning as you stood. You really needed that shower.

“I am going to challenge you again. And I expect you to accept.”

You sighed. So it had come to this again. Wearily, you nodded. “All right, all right. If it will get you out of my room.”

Hisoka only smiled at your annoyance.  “It’s a pity, really. We won’t have much time left to do this,” he gestured toward the bed, “again.”

No, you supposed you wouldn’t, but you kept your mouth shut. No sense in engaging with him. Not now.

When he failed to get a rise out of you, Hisoka’s face lapsed into one of boredom. He shrugged. “Remember our match,” he stated again as he headed towards the door. “And be sure to show up this time.”

“Having a good night?” you ask, flashing your teeth at him as your smile widens.

He glances at you and says nothing for a moment, as if deciding whether or not you’re worth talking to.  Finally he shrugs, takes a sip of his drink, and speaks.  “Could be better.”  He shrugs again.  “Could be worse.”

“Same, really.” He hadn’t asked you about your night, but you decided to volunteer the information anyway. Anything to keep the conversation going. “So,” you continue, realizing that it’s going to be a struggle to get a conversation out of the reticent man, “what brings you here?”

Once again, he shrugs.  “Sometimes I just want to feel anonymous.”

You nod your head in understanding. “That’s fair. Long day?”

“You could say that.” He finishes his drink. “So what brings you here?”

“The alcohol is cheap and the drinks are strong.”

“No, I mean, what brings you here.  To me specifically?”

“Oh.” You bite your lip, unsure of what to say.  “You looked lonely.”

“And did it not occur to you that I might want to be alone?”

Your smile fades momentarily. “No, not really.  Do you want me to leave you be?”

He’s silent for a moment, looking you over with large brown eyes. “You might as well stay,” he grumbles finally.  “The bar’s about to close anyway.”

“On that note, I’m going to get one more drink.  Do you want one?”

He shakes his head.  

“Suit yourself.” With a shrug, you go and order your last vodka tonic of the night. As you close out your tab, you’re somewhat surprised that the man hasn’t left by the time you get your drink, but you head over to him again, drink in hand. 

“What’s your name?” you ask, not particularly caring whether or not he answers.

“Ging.”

“Ging?” The name strikes you as a bit odd, and vaguely familiar, but you pay it no mind.  “My name’s ____.”

He grunts in acknowledgement, and you know that pleasantries are going to be kept at a minimum.  It’s good, in a way.  You prefer to get right to the point.

“So, Ging,” you begin, resting your hand on his forearm, “what are your plans for the rest of the night?”

“None, really.” He looks you over again, thoughtfully this time.  Perhaps he’s guessed what your intentions are.  Not that you’re being coy about them or anything.

“Tired?”

“I rarely sleep.”

You lapse into silence, you take another drink. Slowly, the other patrons begin to filter out of the bar.  The night is almost over.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

The bold question takes you by surprise.  “Now?”

Ging nods his head in affirmation. It’s clear that he’s a man who gets straight to the point. You shrug, finish your drink because there’s no way in hell you’re going to finish the night with anything less than a good buzz, and stand to follow him out into the night.

The night air is refreshing, much cooler and fresher than the stale, smoke-filled air of the bar. You breathe deeply, as if you haven’t had a breath of fresh air in ages, and look at Ging questioningly.

“So…” you begin, unsure of how to proceed. Normally you try to get straight to the point when taking someone home from a bar, but something about the dishevelled man has thrown you off.  He’s quiet, unreadable. “So,” you try again, knowing fully well that you’re unlikely to fuck things up no matter what you say. The night is going to end with you having a stranger’s cock in you; it’s just a matter of where.  “Are we going back to your place?  Mine? Or…”

Ging shakes his head.  “No.” He flashes you a quick grin. “Here.”

“Here?” You look around, incredulous. At first you think that he must be joking; drunken hookups in the alleys behind bars are the stuff of tall tales, and yet, the way Ging’s looking expectantly at you shows that he’s completely serious.

You weigh your options. You could attempt to persuade Ging to go back to yours. Briefly, you consider it. After all, being fucked on a bed is far preferable to having your back scratched up by grimy stone walls. However, one look at Ging tells you that it’s the alley or nothing, so you decide to just go for it. You didn’t spend your time trying to wring conversation out of the man just to go home alone. You stick out your lower lip and shrug while nodding. “Okay,” you exhale.  “Let’s do this.”

Ging moves quickly, tugging you to a dark shadowy corner untouched by the electric glow of the streetlight, and for a minute, you wonder whether you’ve made the wrong decision. When your back hits the moist, hard surface of a wall, you cringe, knowing that your dress is not coming away from this encounter unscathed. 

Ging wastes no time in hiking up your dress.  You shuffle awkwardly pulling down your underwear and stepping out of them while he occupies himself with getting his cock out. He gives himself a few strokes, more or less leaving you to your own devices for a few moments before pinning you against the wall.  You briefly consider asking him whether he has a condom, but when he pushes against you, you close your eyes, give a big “fuck you” to your conscience, your concerns, and your feelings in general, and allow him to proceed. With surprising strength, he lifts you; you instinctively wrap your legs around his narrow waist, hoping he doesn’t drop you. Luckily, he’s stronger than he looks; with a soft grunt, he positions the head of his cock against your entrance and pushes inside.

You gasp at the intrusion and battle down the indignance at being taken without so much as a kiss. It occurs to you that Ging isn’t one for such courtesies, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and try to pull him in closer. You probably should have known it was going to happen, but Ging forgoes the kiss you offer to him and instead buries his face in the crook of your neck as he starts to move. It’s rough at first; normally you would prefer something in the way of preparation, and Ging has failed to do the bare minimum. The discomfort you feel doesn’t last long however; it’s soon borne away by little jolts of pleasure when his cock hits you just so. You let out a gasp when it hits you that way again, and for a moment you forget that you’re being fucked in a dark alleyway behind a seedy bar.

The scraping of the wall against your back jolts you briefly back to reality. With a soft groan of discomfort, you tighten your legs around Ging’s waist, urging him deeper, pushing him to go a little faster. Ging obliges, and with a deep grunt, he picks up his pace. His breath is hot against your neck as he pants against you; through the foggy haze that has begun to cloud your mind, you register his teeth grazing against your skin.

Never in a million years would you have thought you’d be able to orgasm in such a place as this, but the way Ging’s cock is hitting you, the way his hips are snapping against yours, tilts you into an almost begrudging bliss. With a soft moan you grab at the fabric of his shirt, desperate for purchase as your legs shake around him. Ging continues to thrust into you, either unaware of or apathetic toward your overstimulated state. After a few more pumps he’s cumming, groaning against your neck as he fills you with his release.

You stay wrapped around him for a moment, desperately trying to cling to the little aftershocks of the pleasure that have up until now been coursing through you. Almost too soon, he draws back and sets you down, and suddenly you’re back in the dimly-lit alleyway, your back is damp and somewhat scraped, and his cum is already starting to trickle out of you. You take a furtive glance around you before hastily pulling up your underwear; Ging chuckles at the way you futilely try to straighten out your dress.

“You good?” he asks, his face barely illuminated by the grungy lamplight.

Words momentarily fail you, so you nod.

He nods back. “Good.”

“So now what?” you ask, vaguely wondering how long you’ll have to wait to get a cab home at this hour.

Ging shrugs. “I guess we go home. I’m tired.” He conspicuously doesn’t offer you his number.

“Yeah. Me too.” You scratch your arm, suddenly feeling the urge to shower.

“Can you get home okay?”

You cock your head to the side, surprised that he’s being so courteous as to ask about your wellbeing.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I can wait with you. Until you get a cab. If you want.”

You consider his offer for a moment before nodding. “Thanks.”

Luckily for you, it doesn’t take long for you to call a cab. Ging sees you into it, giving you a small smile as you buckle yourself in.

“I’ll see you around then?” you ask, not really caring whether you do or not.

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see.”

You hadn’t seen Chrollo in a few months. Par for the course, really. At the entrance to your apartment, you wiped your feet to remove any dried leaves or mud as you fumbled around in your purse for your keys. You cursed under your breath at the dimness of the hall’s lighting as your fingers finally closed around your key.

The key clicked in the lock, the doorknob turned, and you entered the dark apartment. It was a lot later than you would usually arrive home; you were eager to shower, fix yourself some tea (or perhaps something stronger) and fall into bed.

You were reaching blindly for the lightswitch when an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand clapped over your mouth. You struggled, desperate to twist out of your assailant’s grasp. Blood pounded in your temples as you wriggled, mentally fighting away the unforgiving fact of the matter: whoever this was, they were much, much stronger than you were. Their grip was like iron. A scream was about to tear itself from your throat, but a harshly whispered threat killed it before it could escape.

“Scream, and you die.”

Your blood ran cold as the words shot straight through your chest. A certain, unplaceable familiarity about the voice was beginning to tug at your insides. Could it be? No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Chrollo?”

The name, a mere whisper in the dark, was muffled by the intruder’s hand. Whether or not the attacker heard, you couldn’t be sure. Just as you were about to ask again, everything went black.

***

You opened your eyes to a dimly lit, unfurnished, unfamiliar room and an ache in your arms. Groaning, you tried to stretch but found that you couldn’t move; your arms were tied. Your stomach lurched at the realization. In the corner of the room, a dark shadow caught your eye. “Who the fuck are you?” you spat, all self-preservation instinct replaced by rage. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you—”

A laugh, light, airy, and all too familiar filled the room.

“Don’t you recognize me, ______?” Chrollo stepped forward, the dim yellow light illuminating his pale face. “I’m surprised- I was sure you knew… but I suppose that was just a hopeful guess.” He cocked his head, smiling at you with a softness that did not match the current situation.

“Chrollo… untie me now.”

He laughed. “What’s the matter? Can’t get yourself out?” He leaned in closer. “I thought you could take me. Any time, any place, you said. If I recall correctly.”

“Fuck you Chrollo, this isn’t funny. You scared me.” Your voice shook, overcome by a mixture of relief, terror, and rage. “Chrollo, please, untie me.”

“Very well.” Disappointment flashed over Chrollo’s face as he complied. He leaned forward as he began to untie your bindings and let his lips ghost over your jugular.

“What’s the hold up?” you asked, impatient.

“Fear smells good on you.” Chrollo pressed his lips to your neck as he finished untying you, effortlessly catching your wrist when you made to punch him. “I’m afraid that won’t work, Darling,” he murmured, lightly sucking at your skin.

“What are you doing?” you asked, seething; regardless, you tilted your head to the side to allow him better access.

Chrollo’s mouth curved into a smile against your neck. “Calling your bluff.”

A rueful bark of laughter erupted from you as you finally pieced everything together. “Was your ego really that bruised?”

“Perhaps.” Chrollo tightened his grip on your wrist as he bore down on you, pressing you to the floor. “You might not know this about me, ______, but I don’t enjoy being challenged by those who can’t back themselves up, and if I have to fuck that habit out of you, so be it.” He hiked up your skirt and ripped your underwear down.

As excited by the situation as you were becoming, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes in the darkness. Only Chrollo could be so verbose while having a raging erection. Said erection was pressing insistently at your thigh; you wondered if he’d been edging himself throughout the whole kidnapping. Chrollo shifted above you, and you instinctively spread your legs to better accommodate him. It struck you then that you were making things far too easy for him; you were being too compliant, too obedient. No, that wouldn’t do. If Chrollo had wanted a challenge, a challenge he would get.

“Fuck you!” You spat in his face the second you felt his cock nudge against your entrance and rocked your hips to jostle him away.

Chrollo recoiled, confused, but only for a moment. An instant later he was on you again, gathering your wrists in his hand and pinning them both to the floor as he lined himself up again.

“You’re trying my patience,” he gritted out, sliding the head of his cock into your surprisingly wet cunt. “Stop pretending you’re not enjoying this.”

“I’m not,” you deadpanned, trying and failing to break his grip.

“This says differently,” he replied, bottoming out in one sharp thrust.

You cursed, thrashing from side to side hoping to break his balance. When Chrollo leaned in to kiss you, you snarled and bit his lip.

“Bitch,” he swore, his refined mask slipping as he began to pound into you with hard, deep, uneven thrusts.

Fuck, that was good. Your back scraped against the floor as Chrollo fucked into you; you wanted to fight him some more, and yet… having him on top of you like this, flushed with exertion, his lip bloody, compelled you to wrap your legs around his slender waist and draw him in.

Chrollo seemed to sense your sudden change in demeanor, because he relaxed his grip on your wrists. Moments later, you were digging your fingers into his back, clinging to his shirt, marveling at just how muscular he was.

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” Chrollo panted in your ear. The smoothness had vanished from his voice, instead replaced by a deep hoarseness reserved only for moments of intense exertion. “Like a slut on the dirty floor?”

You hated to admit it, but you did. You couldn’t tell him that, though, so you bit his shoulder. “I can barely feel it,” you taunted, digging your heels into his ass cheeks to spur him on. “Christ, Chrollo, are you even hard right now?”

A deep growl rumbled in Chrollo’s chest as he quickened his thrusts and sank his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. He didn’t respond, not verbally anyway, but you could tell he was livid. You continued.

“Is this what gets you off now, huh? Kidnapping people weaker than you and—ah!” Chrollo’s cock had hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Fucking them?”

“Keep talking.” Chrollo began to lap at where he had bitten you. “See where it gets you.”

Who were you to deny that order?

“Pathetic,” you sneered, allowing him to kiss you before continuing. “I can’t believe—”

You were cut off by a sudden jolt as his cock bumped against your cervix. “Sh-shit.”

Chrollo chuckled infuriatingly, his calmness having returned. He drew back, continuing to thrust as he reached a hand between your bodies to rub at your clitoris.

It really amazed you, just how quickly you came. No sooner had Chrollo begun stroking your clit than you were cumming, spasming and clenching around his cock. Your cheeks burned with shame at your body’s betrayal of your own dignity, at just how easy it had been for Chrollo to get you off.

Chrollo smirked down at you, rocking back and sitting on his heels. He seized your hips and pulled you with him, changing the angle of his thrusts. He clearly wasn’t interested in prolonging things; his breathing soon became erratic, as did his thrusts; he released into you with a deep, soft groan.

You cursed at the dimness of the room, and at Chrollo’s preference for fucking while clothed. You would have loved to have had a better view of his face and body in that moment. He stilled, panting, his fingers digging painfully into your hips as he looked wide-eyed down at you. For a moment you thought he was going to pull out, straighten himself out and leave, but instead he collapsed forward. You huffed under the sudden weight.

“Chrollo…”

He was kissing you again, his lips pressing reverently against the bruises he’s sucked into your neck and the angry wound where he’d broken the skin. “Are you all right?” he asked, nuzzling the crook of your neck.

“I’m fine,” you replied, not quite sure if you actually were. Your clothes certainly weren’t. You grimaced at the thought of what the hard, unpolished granite floor had done to them.

“But are you really?” Chrollo stroked your hair for a moment before pulling back to kiss you deeply; it was the first non-anger-filled kiss of the encounter. “Perhaps I was a bit… overzealous.” He shifted his weight, rolling off of you and onto his side. His fingertips brushed against your wrists, softly tracing over the blossoming bruises. “You bruise easily.”

“Obviously.” You yawned, suddenly exhausted. “Chrollo… where are we?”

He hummed. “Somewhere you’ve never been to before.”

Ah, so here came the cryptic bullshit again. “I know that, Chrollo, but seriously. Where are we?”

“We’re still in the city.”

“Are we close to my apartment?”

“Not particularly.”

You huffed. “Well, does this place have a bed? And more importantly, a bath?”

“It does.”

“If you take me to it, I’ll consider forgiving you.”

***

You had to admit, when he was being contrite, Chrollo really knew how to treat you well. He’d drawn you a bath, filled it with sweet-smelling salts and even sweeter bubbles. He’d even washed your back, a gesture which you greatly appreciated, considering how scraped up and bruised it had become after your earlier encounter.

Later, after you finished washing and drying yourself and slipped between the bedsheets of the large, enticingly comfortable looking bed, Chrollo joined you. You were about to complain about how he’d never taken you to this place before, but he silenced you with a featherlight kiss.

You weren’t sure how he was able to do it, but he managed to undress both of you in a matter of moments before lazily rolling atop you, peppering your face, neck and breasts with soft wet kisses. You moaned when he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking at it with his tongue.

This time, there was no resistance when he sank into you, no sudden jolts of pain mixed with pleasure. There was only warmth and a feeling of impossible closeness. Chrollo’s mouth skated along your neck, worship each bruise he’d put there as his hips lazily rolled forward to meet yours.

It didn’t take long for either of you to finish; Chrollo came first, spilling deep inside you with a gasp. You followed soon after, crying out when Chrollo’s mouth latched onto your breast again.