#smutty

For as long as you could remember, you'd been obsessed with Spider-Man.

You'd first heard of him in your sophomore year of high school. Everyone had seen the YouTube videos of the strange hero in red spandex swinging around the city. When MJ would criticize him—he's probably an old man, or even worse someone our age—you'd always be quick to defend. He was a good person, an Avenger. That meant something.

You'd never grown out of it. Not really. Even now, at twenty-one, with a shitty apartment in Queens and a job that barely paid rent, you still felt that flutter in your chest whenever you caught a glimpse of red and blue against the skyline. MJ still teased you about it, but at least Ned understood your fascination.

Spider-Man had saved your life numerous times. In Washington during your decathlon championship, in Europe one summer. He'd been there for you and all your friends in the times when it counted. But it wasn't just about the mask or the mystery or the fact that he'd happened to save you a few times. It was about what he represented. Hope. Safety. Someone who gave a fuck about the neighborhood.

However, the world had changed in many ways since you were fifteen—in some ways you couldn't quite explain. Sometimes you felt as if there were gaps in your memory, holes where something important should have been. You'd go through old photos on your phone—group shots from high school with faces you recognized and one you... didn't? Couldn't? A blurred figure in the background, or a space where someone should have been standing. The feeling was unsettling, like trying to remember a dream that slipped away the moment you woke up.

There were other gaps too. Muscle memory that didn't make sense. You'd reach for your phone to text someone and then forget who you wanted to text. You'd wake up reaching across the bed for a warmth that wasn't there. Sometimes you'd catch yourself trying to remember someone you couldn't remember.

Your phone felt too dry. Your bed felt too empty. And you couldn't explain why.

But you remembered Spider-Man. Everyone did.

That's why, when he saved you a month ago, it felt like fate.

You'd been walking home late from your shift at your part-time job—a bar a few blocks from your apartment—cutting through an alley you'd taken a hundred times before. This time, though, three men had other plans. They'd cornered you against the brick wall, and your phone was already on the ground, screen cracked, useless. Your heart had been hammering so hard you thought it might burst.

This was it. This was the moment when your worst fears would finally come true. 

But then he was there.

A flash of red and blue, the sound of webbing, and suddenly your attackers were stuck to the wall, struggling and cursing. Spider-Man landed in front of you, and even though you couldn't see his face, you felt his attention lock onto you like a physical touch.

"You okay?" His voice was younger than you'd remembered. And somehow achingly familiar in a way you couldn't place.

You'd nodded, unable to form words, and he'd stepped closer. Tilted his head. "Are you sure?"

"No—I mean yes," you'd stumbled over your words, starstruck. "I'm good."

Something shifted in his posture. His hand came up like he was going to touch your face, then stopped halfway. Dropped. "Okay. Good. That's—that's good."

There was something in his voice. Something that sounded like relief and grief all tangled together.

"I've—" God, this was embarrassing. But your heart was still racing and he'd just saved your life and the words tumbled out. "I've kind of had a crush on you since I was fifteen."

You couldn't see his expression, but his whole body went still. When he spoke, his voice was almost...pained. "Yeah. I—yeah. I know."

You blinked. "You know?"

"I mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck. An oddly familiar gesture. "You've told me before. Whenever I've saved you. You mentioned it."

That made sense. Sort of. Except you couldn't remember telling him that before, and the way he said it sounded like he meant something else entirely. You also found it hard to believe Spider-Man remembered saving you. He saved hundreds—if not thousands of people all over the world. But you didn't think too much of it.

Spider-Man had walked you home that night. Insisted on it. And then he'd come back the next night. And the night after that.

At first, it was innocent. He'd perch on your fire escape and you'd talk through the open window. He'd ask about your day, tell you stories about his patrols. You'd make him tea that he'd sip through a straw slipped under his mask. It was sweet. Comfortable. Almost... familiar.

Too familiar.

He knew things he shouldn't have known. That you took your tea with honey, not sugar. That you had a habit of tucking your hair behind your left ear when you were nervous. That you hummed when you were concentrating. Little things. Intimate things. Things only someone close to you would know. 

"How do you know that?" you'd asked once, when he'd mentioned you always kept your window unlocked.

He'd frozen. "I—patrol this area a lot. I notice things."

As if that wasn't strange enough, you noticed something was changing beyond that.

You noticed it in the way he looked at you—or seemed to, even behind the mask. The way his body would tense when you laughed. How his fingers would flex and curl like he was fighting the urge to reach for you. He started sitting closer. Touching more—a hand on your shoulder, your arm, once brushing hair from your face with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

"Sorry," he'd said quickly, pulling back. "Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"It's okay," you'd told him. And you'd meant it. More than okay. His touch felt right in a way you couldn't explain.

Last week, he'd shown up with a cut on his shoulder, visible through a tear in his suit. You'd insisted on cleaning it, and he'd let you. Your hands had been shaking as you'd dabbed antiseptic on the wound, hyperaware of the heat of his skin, the way his muscles moved under your touch.

"You're always taking care of everyone else," you'd murmured as you worked. "Who takes care of you?"

Your fingers had moved with practiced ease, like you'd done this before. Like you knew exactly how to tend to his wounds.

His hand had caught your wrist. Gently, but firm. When he spoke, his voice was wrecked. "You do. You always—" He'd stopped himself, released you abruptly. "I should go."

But he hadn't gone far. You'd felt him out there, on the roof, for hours.

Tonight, you weren't surprised when you heard the window slide open.

You were in your bedroom, wearing an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, your hair still damp from the shower. You turned to find him climbing through—not the window in your living room where he usually appeared, but your bedroom window.

"Hey," you said softly. "Everything okay?"

He didn't answer right away. Just stood there, chest rising and falling like he'd been running. Or fighting something.

"I shouldn't be here," he said finally. His voice was strained. "I should—I need to go."

But he didn't move an inch. You continued to stare, your confusion probably written all over your face. His chest was still heaving, and suddenly you noticed that his fists were clenched at his sides—hard. Something was wrong. 

"Is it your head?" You moved to take a step toward him, and he simultaneously took a step back. "What's going on?"

"Don't." The word came out sharp. Desperate. "Don't come closer."

You froze. "Did something happen? Are you hurt?"

"No. Yes. I don't—" He took a deep, shaky breath. "Something's wrong with me. Has been for a while. It's getting worse."

"What do you mean? The headaches?"

"Yes, sort of—I haven't been completely honest. The spider that bit me. The DNA. It's... changing things. Changing me." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "It started with the headaches but it's getting worse. My senses get overloaded, and now I keep—fuck I can't stop thinking about you. Can't focus on anything else. I know where you are every second. I can hear your heartbeat from three blocks away. I know when you're scared, when you're happy, when you're—" He cut himself off. "It's not normal. It's not... human."

Your heart was pounding now. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying it wants to—" His voice dropped to something almost guttural. "I want to touch you. Mark you. Claim you. Make you mine. And I know that's fucked up. I know I sound like a psycho, we're just... friends, but I can't—I can't make it stop."

The words lingered in your head for a moment. 

Mark you. Claim you. Touch you. 

To anyone else, such words would cause fear or at least a sense of being uncomfortable. But you didn't feel any of that. Instead, you suddenly felt too warm, heat pooling deep inside you. And something else. Something that felt like recognition. 

Mine.

That word specifically rang through you like a bell. Like an echo of something you'd heard before. 

"That's..." You swallowed, and you saw the way he clenched his fists even harder at the sight. "Alright. Okay. And what if... what if I want that too?"

His head snapped up. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes, I do." You took another step forward. "I've had a crush on you for six years. You think I'm going to run away now?"

"This isn't—" He backed up until he hit the wall. "This isn't some romantic fantasy. I'm barely holding on here. If I touch you, I don't know if I can stop."

"Then don't stop."

"Fuck." The word was punched out of him. "You can't—you can't just say things like that."

"Why not?" You were right in front of him now. Close enough to touch. "I'm an adult. You're—however old you are—"

"Twenty-one," he said hoarsely. "Same as you. I'm—we're the same age."

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache. We're the same age. Like it was important. Like it meant something.

"Then we're both adults. And I'm telling you I want this. I want you." You placed your hand on his chest, felt his heart racing beneath the suit. "Whatever this is, whatever you need—I'm saying yes."

For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Then his hand came up to cover yours, pressing it harder against his chest. "You have no idea what you're agreeing to."

But his thumb was stroking across your knuckles in a pattern that felt familiar. Soothing. Like he'd done it a thousand times before.

"So show me."

The last thread of his control snapped.

He moved faster than you could track, spinning you around and slamming you face-first against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your heart race. His body was a solid line of heat against your back, one hand splayed possessively across your stomach, the other braced beside your head, caging you in.

"Last chance," he growled against your ear, and his voice was all wrong—too deep, too rough, barely human. "Tell me to leave. Tell me to stop. Because if you don't, I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember anyone else. Until the only name you know is mine."

Your knees went weak. "Stay," you breathed. "Please stay."

"Fuck." The word was guttural. His hips pressed forward and you could feel how hard he was, the thick length of him grinding against your ass through his suit. "You have no idea what you're asking for. What I want to do to you."

"Tell me," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me what you want."

His hand slid under your shirt, fingers spreading across your bare skin, and you gasped at the contact. His palm was burning hot, almost feverish. "I want to mark every inch of you. Want to bite you, scratch you, make you bleed just a little so everyone knows you're claimed. Want to fuck you so hard you feel me for days." His other hand came up to wrap around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, a promise of control. "Want to make you scream my name until your voice breaks."

"Yes," you whispered. "Yes, all of it, whatever you need—"

"Jesus Christ." Suddenly his voice changed. It went higher—the voice you had learned to know over the past month. The hand on your throat jerked away like you'd burned him. "Wait, wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—that's too much, that's way too much, I shouldn't have—"

You turned in his arms to face him. Even through the mask you could sense his panic. "Hey. Look at me. I want this. I want you. All of you, including whatever this is. I want to help you in any way I can."

"You don't understand." His hands were shaking. "I could hurt you. I'm so much stronger than I used to be and I can't—when I get like this I can barely think and—"

"Then we need a safeword," you said firmly. "Something I can say if it's too much. If I need you to stop."

He went very still. "You... you'd do that?"

"Red," you replied. "If I say red, you stop immediately. No questions, no hesitation. Okay?"

"Okay." His voice was rough. "Okay, yes. Red means stop. I can do that. I will do that." His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with a gentleness that contradicted everything he'd just said. "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure you want this? We've never really—I mean have you ever done anything like this?"

You went still this time. You knew you'd had sex before, but the only real memory you had was a random hookup with a guy in your freshman year of college. It had felt wrong, almost as if something inside you knew you shouldn't have done it. But you couldn't remember any other experiences, despite a lingering feeling inside of you telling you that you had done it countless times. 

"I don't think so," you finally answered. You reached up to cover his hands with yours. "But that doesn't matter, I've never been more sure of anything. I want to help you—to do whatever I can. You've saved my life multiple times, maybe this time I can save yours."

The way he touched you then—gentle, reverent, like you were something precious—made your chest ache with a longing you couldn't name.

The sound he made was barely human—a low, possessive growl that vibrated through your entire body. "Mine," he breathed. "You're mine. You've always been—" He caught himself. "You're mine."

"Yours," you agreed. "Now stop holding back. Take what you need."

He kissed you the moment you said it. 

Somehow, the lower half of his mask had shifted before you could even register it, leaving his mouth and chin exposed. His mouth found yours with a desperation that stole the breath from your lungs—not gentle, not tentative, his lips moving against yours like he was trying to remember something. Like he was starving for it. You made a sound against his mouth and felt him shudder in response, his hands coming up to frame your face with a gentleness that didn't match the intensity of the kiss at all. 

Then he pulled back just enough to breathe. 

"Off," you managed. Your fingers had moved to the fabric of his suit. "Can you—get this off?"

"Yeah." His hands were already moving to the spider emblem at his chest, pressing something that made the suit loosen all at once, peeling away from his torso. He shrugged it down to his waist. "Is this—"

"Yes," you cut him off. "I want to see you." 

You'd imagined it, of course. With six years of fantasizing about Spider-Man, you couldn't not have imagined what he looked like under the suit. Everyone had imagined it. But imagining and seeing were two entirely different things. He was extraordinary—not necessarily in a photoshopped, magazine-cover way, but in the way of something built for a specific purpose. 

Every line of him was functional, precise. His shoulders were broad, his chest defined, his stomach a ladder of muscle that flexed with each breath he took. Scars scattered across his torso in pale constellations—healed clean but numerous, evidence of everything he'd survived. 

You reached out and ran your palms up his arms. He went impossibly still under your hands, like touch was something he'd been holding his breath for. His muscles jumped under your fingers.

Then something changed. 

It wasn't gradual. One moment he was watching you with barely-restrained control, the next his hands were on your shirt and the fabric gave way with a sound like tearing paper—not a slow rip but an immediate, total destruction. The shirt fell from your body in two pieces before you'd fully registered his hands had moved. The cool air rushed over your bare skin and you felt your heart stutter. 

He was looking at you. 

The silence stretched for three full seconds. 

"You're perfect," he said, and his voice cracked down the middle. "God. I've—" He stopped. Swallowed. Something moved across his expression. Despite the mask still covering half his face, you could tell. Something complicated and aching. "You're beautiful. That's all."

Before you could ask what he'd almost said, his hands were on you again.

His palms slid up your sides with a pressure that wasn't quite bruising but wasn't gentle either, and when they cupped your breasts the touch was firm and certain and made you gasp. His mouth dropped to your neck immediately, kissing down the column of your throat with an intensity that felt desperate, his lips and chin warm against your skin—the only parts of his face you could feel. His teeth grazed your collarbone and you tilted your head back on instinct. 

His mouth moved lower.

When his mouth closed around your nipple, you expected warmth, suction, the usual mechanics of it. Instead his teeth sank in with sudden, sharp force and the pain that shot through your breast was immediate and bright and it made you cry out before you could stop yourself. 

He didn't pull back. He bit harder. 

The sound you made surprised you both. Not a protest—something more complicated than that. The pain was radiating through your chest, throbbing, and underneath it something else was building that you didn't have a name for. Heat. A low, spreading ache between your thighs that had nothing to do with pain. You could feel yourself getting wet and the realization disoriented you.

He moved to your other breast and this time you knew what was coming. You braced for it—but bracing didn't help your extremely sensitive skin. The sharp clench of his teeth made your back arch and your fingers fly to his head, gripping the back of his mask. 

"You like this," he suddenly said against your skin, and his voice had gone low and certain. "You like when I hurt you."

"I don't—" You were breathing far too hard. "I don't know. It's—I've never—"

His thumb and finger found your abused nipple and pinched, and the word you'd been about to say dissolved entirely. You squirmed against him, your thighs pressed together, and he made a sound that wasn't quite human. 

He moved you. Not a suggestion—a fact. His hands gripped your waist and he walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your mattress and you fell. He followed you down before you'd finished falling, his body covering yours with a weight that was extraordinary. Not crushing—controlled—but you became quickly aware that this was not the weight of a normal person. This was something else. Something that knew its own strength and was managing it carefully.

His hips settled between your thighs as if they belonged there. Naturally. Without adjustment.

You could feel him through the remaining material of his suit—how hard he was, the length of him, and the slow grind of his hips against yours made your breath escape in an embarrassing rush. 

"I remember—" His mouth was at your jaw, your throat, his voice barely above a murmur. "I remember the sounds you make when I—" He went still. His whole body locked. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep—"

"Keep what?" You breathed. "What do you mean you remember?"

"Nothing," he responded tightly. "I just—you're so responsive. I mean—can I keep going?"

"Yeah—don't—" You took a deep breath. "Don't stop." 

He made a low sound and moved down your body, his mouth dragging over your sternum, your stomach, your hip, each spot left with a mark. His hands hooked into your shorts and underwear together and yanked, and the motion was so effortless it startled you. One smooth pull and they were gone, somewhere on the floor behind him, and suddenly your thighs were exposed to the cool air. 

He parted them with both hands.

You felt suddenly, completely exposed. The dark eyepieces of his mask caught the low light and for a moment you felt the full weight of the strange position you'd gotten yourself into. Spider-Man, the hero of your city, and your celebrity crush, was in your bedroom, his hands on the insides of your thighs—

His mouth found you and thought dissolved. 

The first stroke of his tongue pulled a sound from you that you'd never made before. Long and slow and devastating, and you grabbed for his head on instinct, your fingers finding the edge of his mask and gripping. A desperate sound left him then, and he moved his tongue again, and you couldn't breathe. 

There was no hesitation in him. No searching, no adjustment, no learning curve. He moved like he was reading from a map—tongue circling, pressure shifting, finding the exact angle and rhythm that made your thighs shake within seconds. When he sealed his mouth around your clit and sucked, you cried out loud enough that you distantly registered the embarrassment of it and immediately stopped caring. 

"I've dreamed about this," he said, muffled, his voice thick with something that sounded like grief and want tangled together. "Every night. The way you sound. The way you—" A sharp exhale against your skin. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking."

"What do you mean you've dreamed—" But then his fingers pressed at your entrance and pushed inside and you lost the question. 

Two fingers. Thick and stretching and immediate. He curled them as he thrust and found the spot that made your toes curl hard, and his mouth was still on your clit, and the combination was—

"Oh God," you gasped. "Oh—"

He worked you with the same focused, already-knowing precision, his fingers finding the right angle like muscle memory, his tongue in that specific rhythm that climbed you toward the edge faster than you'd thought possible. Your thighs were shaking so hard it would be embarrassing if you weren't so lost in the pleasure. Your free hand was fisted in the bedsheet. 

"Say my name," he murmured against you, and his voice broke on it. "Please, I just—" Then, quietly: "Never mind. Just let me make you feel good." 

"I don't—" The pressure was almost unbearable, the finish line right there. "I don't know your name—"

"I know." His voice was wrecked. "I know you don't."

His fingers drove deeper and his tongue pressed flat against your clit, and suddenly you were crossing that finish line, cumming with a cry that scraped your throat, your thighs clenching around his head. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, and he worked you through every second of it. Every aftershock, every clench, until you were pushing weakly at his head, oversensitive and shaking. 

He pulled back. 

"Red?"

"No," you said, your breath ragged. "Not red. Just—I need a second."

His hands stroked the outsides of your thighs, slow and gentle. The contrast with everything that had come before was dizzying. 

"Take your time," he mumbled softly. Something moved into his voice—something quieter and more careful than the dark thing that had been there before. "I used to love watching you come down from it. The way you'd go all soft and—" His voice caught. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I keep—"

"Kept doing that," you said. "You keep saying things like that." 

"I know." He pressed a single, careful kiss to the inside of your knee. "I know I do." 

You looked down at him—at the mask, at the exposed lower half of his face, at the tension in the set of his jaw. 

"I want you," you admitted. "I still want you. Don't stop."

He made a sound like something wound too tight finally giving way. 

His hands went to the suit at his hips, working it down, and then he was free and you subconsciously held your breath at the sight of his cock. He was bigger than you'd prepared yourself for—thick and flushed and already leaking with pre-cum—and the nervousness that moved through your chest was real. 

"Is this—" His voice cracked. "I could get a condom, I think—"

"IUD," you managed. "And I'm clean. I don't really do this."

"I know," he said, and then froze. "I mean—the spider bite, it makes me clean. Immune to most things. But if you want me to use one anyway—"

"I want to feel you," you cut him off. "Just you."

"Christ." He dropped his forehead toward yours, stopping short of contact, the mask a barrier between you. "You have no idea how long I've—" He stopped. Breathed. "Tell me if it's too much. The second it's too much tell me. Promise me you will." 

"I will," you agreed. "I promise." 

With that, you reached between your bodies and wrapped your hand around his cock and he jolted, a rough exhale escaping him, his hips pressing forward into your grip. He was hot and very hard and pulsing. You felt the specific way his breath hitched when your thumb moved over the tip. 

"Please," you mumbled. 

His hand covered yours and guided himself to your entrance. Then he pushed in slowly.

The stretch was immediate and intense. You made a choked sound. He stopped. 

"Too much?"

"No." You breathed through it. "Slow. Just—slow."

He did as you said, slowly. Inch by careful inch, his breathing shallow, his arms braced on either side of you holding himself above you with a rigidity that told you how hard he was working to stay controlled. You could feel the restraint like a physical thing—like pressure before a storm. 

"You feel—" His voice was barely above a breath. "Perfect. God. Just like—" He caught himself. "Perfect. That's all."

When he was fully seated inside you, you both went still. 

The fullness was overwhelming. Not just physically—something else, too. Something that felt disorienting and familiar all at once, like a word on the tip of your tongue you couldn't quite reach. 

"Okay?" he asked. 

"Yeah. Keep going," you answered. 

He pulled back and thrust slowly and you made a sound that surprised you both. He did it again. The rhythm he set was deliberate and measured, each movement hitting that spot that made you practically see stars. Even holding back—even barely giving you anything—it was already more than you'd had before. Your fingers found his shoulders and held on. 

"Is this good?" His voice was strained to breaking. 

"Yes," you said breathlessly. "But you're still holding back."

"I know." His forehead dropped toward yours, stopped short of contact. Every line of him was coiled. "If I stop—"

"Don't." You dug your heels into the backs of his thighs and pulled him deeper and felt him shudder to his core. "Take what you need." 

One of his hands shot up to your headboard. 

The wood cracked. 

Not bent—cracked, a sharp splitting sound, and the entire bed frame shuddered under you as his fingers closed and sank into the wood. You looked up and saw deep impressions gouged into the headboard where his knuckles had gone in, splinters peeling away from his grip like paper. His hand was shaking. 

Then he moved. 

The thrust drove the air from your lungs completely. Not slow, not careful—deep and sudden and overwhelming, his hips snapping forward with a force that rocked yours up off the mattress. You made a sound you could barely recognize as your own voice. He did it again before you'd recovered, and again, setting a brutal pace that was nothing like before—relentless and enormous, each movement forcing sounds from you that you couldn't contain. 

The headboard cracked further. A second fracture, spiderwebbing out from where his grip had sunk in. 

"Oh God," you gasped. 

He didn't answer. Despite the mask, you knew he was watching your face with something that went past human—pupils blown wide and dark, tracking every flicker of expression, adjusting angle with each thrust until he found the place that made you make a sound that was completely involuntary and raw. His whole body responded, another deep shudder moving through him. 

"There," he said, low and certain. 

He thrust again, hitting the same place deliberately. 

"There." 

His voice had changed. There was nothing tentative in it anymore. Almost nothing human in it anymore. 

The pain when he drove deeper was sharp and bright and knocked a cry out of you—real pain, immediate, blooming through your whole pelvis. He stilled. 

"Red?" The word was ragged. 

"No." Your voice was shaking. The pain was flaring, white-edged, and already beginning to dissolve into something else—something liquid and spreading and overwhelming in a completely different direction. "Not red. Don't stop." 

A sound came from low in his chest. A warning. One last chance to reconsider. 

Then his free hand locked around your hip. 

You felt his fingers press in—really press in—and the pressure was immediate and total, deep bruising force moving through your hip bone, the kind of grip that had nothing in common with what a person was supposed to be able to do. You knew he wasn't trying to hurt you. He'd simply stopped calculating. 

He moved. 

This was different. This was him—whatever the deep, instinct-driven part of him was—finally off the leash, nothing held back. Each thrust rocked you hard up the bed and you grabbed the headboard above his hands on pure reflex, your own fingers finding the wood just above where he'd already destroyed it. The frame slammed against the wall in a rhythmic, structural way that suggested neither the headboard nor the wall was going to win. You could hear the cracking—low and continuous—beneath every impact.

"Mine." His mouth was at your temple, his voice a growl that vibrated through your skin. "You're mine. You've always been mine." 

You clenched around him without meaning to—reflexive and overwhelmed—and the sound he made was pulled from somewhere so deep in his chest it barely sounded human. His thrusts stuttered, then redoubled. 

He thrust so hard the headboard gave. Not cracked—gave, a chunk of wood breaking free with a sound like a gunshot, hitting the wall hard enough to leave a mark. You heard it distantly through the rushing in your ears. 

Neither of you stopped. 

His grip on your hip shifted and tightened and you felt the bruising go deeper and the heat that followed was frightening in its intensity. You'd never wanted anything like this. You'd had no idea you were capable of wanting anything like this—the force of him, the roughness, the impossible sense of being completely held down and claimed. Your body was responding in ways you were still catching up to, heat pooling low and urgent, wetter than you'd thought possible. Every thrust was edging you back toward something unbearable. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, his fingers found your clit. 

Immediate and precise, no adjustment, and you gasped so sharply it scraped your throat raw. 

"Right here," he murmured, and it was entirely the dark voice, certain and intent. He worked tight, deliberate circles and the pressure built almost instantly—embarrassingly fast—your hips rolling into his hand against your own will. 

He kept moving—deep, relentless, hitting the same place on every thrust—while his fingers worked in counterpoint, and the combination was devastating in the best way possible. You could hear yourself. The sounds you made were unfamiliar and unguarded, pulled from somewhere you hadn't known existed in you, and you couldn't stop them even if you tried. 

"I'm close." You could barely speak. "I'm—"

"Cum for me." His voice was rough and urgent against your ear, his breath hot. "Please. I need to feel you. I've missed—" His rhythm fractured. A crack in the dark voice, something real bleeding through beneath it. "I've missed the way you feel around me when you cum. The sounds you make. The way you—please. Please cum for me." 

"What do you mean you've missed—"

His fingers pressed harder. 

The question was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. 

You came with what could only be described as a scream, your whole body seizing, clenching around him so hard your vision practically went black at the edges. He groaned—broken, wrecked, desperate—and his rhythm truly stuttered for the first time. 

"Fuck," he moaned. 

He held there, buried deep, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck. You could feel his heart pounding through every point of contact. His breathing was ragged and uneven. The hand still locked on the headboard had gone white-knuckled, the remaining intact section of wood groaning continuously under the pressure. 

Then he pulled out and you made a sound of protest before you'd even decided to. 

He flipped you onto your stomach in one motion. 

Effortless. You weighed nothing to him. The repositioning took less than a second—one smooth, total movement—and he pulled your hips back toward him and pushed back inside of you and the angle was completely, devastatingly different. 

You cried out into one of your pillows. 

He was deeper like this than you'd thought possible. You felt him everywhere, the fullness of it making your eyes sting, your fingers clawing at the sheets. 

"Like this," he said suddenly, and his voice was the dark thing now, nothing hesitant remaining in it. "I need you like this." 

Both hands locked on your hips. Thumbs pressing hard into the small of your back, fingers wrapping around your hip bones, and he set a pace that was brutal and utterly relentless. With each thrust, the headboard—or at least what was left of it—hit the wall. The frame groaned beneath you in a way that told you the structural integrity of the bed itself was a question mark. 

Suddenly, the remaining intact section of the headboard gave with a sound like a crack of thunder. A piece of it hit the floor. Neither of you registered it as anything worth stopping for. 

It was too much. The force of him, the depth, the bruising weight of his hands, the sensation of being fully pinned and overwhelmed. Your eyes were burning and your thighs were shaking so hard you knew if he weren't holding your hips, you'd collapse. You could no longer tell where the pain ended and pleasure began because they had become the same thing, indistinguishable, braided together into something you had no prior reference for. 

And you didn't want to stop. 

The realization hit you almost as hard as everything else. You didn't want it to stop. You caught yourself pushing back into him, meeting his thrusts, your body having made a decision your mind was still catching up to. You had stopped bracing against it somewhere along the way and started reaching for it, and you didn't know what that meant, but you knew it was true. 

"Red?" Sharp, tight, dragged out of him like it cost something. 

"No," you whimpered. "Don't you dare stop. Please—please—"

One of his hands tangled in your hair and pulled your head back. 

The sting at the roots was sharp, and the sound you made when it hit made him moan in response and thrust harder. His other hand came to your shoulder—not painfully, just holding, just pinning—and he was moving again with something renewed, and you were crying into the pillow you'd somehow managed to get a hold of through all of this, genuinely crying, overstimulated past any point you'd ever reached before. Your whole body was wound so tight your teeth ached with it. 

"I've missed this." His voice cracked. Not the dark thing—his normal voice, young and grief-stricken and real. "Missed you. Missed—all of you. I've missed—" His pace faltered, unsteady. "I'm sorry. I can't stop saying it. I don't know why I can't stop." 

"Don't be sorry," you practically sobbed. You didn't understand it. You didn't understand any of it. But the grief in his voice was doing something to your chest even as his body drove thought from your head. "Don't be sorry, just—please—"

He moaned and his hand moved from your shoulder to your clit, finding it immediately, and you were already so over-sensitized that the first touch made you convulse. 

"Where?" he gasped, his pace erratic.

"Inside," you told him. "Inside—"

He drove in deep and held there, and the noise he made was broken and reverent and devastated all at once. You felt him—felt the heat of it, the pulse of him—and it crested into something that swept through you in waves so intense you stopped being able to hold yourself up. Your arms gave out and you went flat and he followed you down, still deep inside you, one hand pressed flat to the mattress beside your head. 

Then his mouth found the curve of your shoulder. 

A half-second where you felt only his lips—just his lips, warm and soft, and something in you registered it as tender, as familiar, as something you'd felt before. 

Then his teeth closed down. 

The pain was white and total and entirely separate from everything that had come before, a completely different register of sensation—sharp and breaking and real. You cried out. He bit harder, gone completely, nothing human left in the moment, and you felt the skin give and the wet heat of blood and then—

He stilled. 

One second.

Two. 

He released. 

His whole body went slack against yours, heavy and trembling, and the sound he made against your shoulder was quiet and horrified and very, very young. 

"Oh God," he whispered frantically as he pulled out of you and away from your body entirely. "Oh God. Oh god. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I hurt you, I lost control, I shouldn't have—I would never have done that, I've never—" His voice fractured entirely. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Stop—stop apologizing. I'm okay. I wanted it," you mumbled, despite the wet tears that were still escaping your eyes. 

"I left marks." His voice was devastated. "I can see them. Your hips. Your—" He exhaled, broken, as if he were about to cry too. "I bit you. Oh my God, I can taste it. You're—you're bleeding."

You reached back weakly and touched your shoulder. Your fingers came away with a thin smear of red. The pain was a dull, distant throb now—present but separate, like something happening to someone else. 

"I'm okay," you reassured. 

"You're not," he said quietly, not arguing, just stating a fact. "I could've killed you. Oh, Y/N, I'm so sorry. Let me—let me fix this. Please."

Only then did you notice the full extent of what had happened to your room. The headboard was no longer a headboard so much as a wreck of splintered wood, one broken section lying on the floor where it had struck the wall. The bed frame had buckled beneath the mattress, which had shifted almost completely out of place. He looked from the damage to you.

"I'm fixing that," he said immediately, voice shaking. "The bed, the wall—everything. I'll fix all of it."

You felt his presence disappear for a moment, then you heard the tap run in your bathroom. The sound of it was ordinary in a way that felt surreal. No one had been in your bathroom before, not so naturally, at least. And yet, it didn't feel wrong. 

When he returned, he had a warm washcloth, and he cleaned you with hands that were steady and careful and nothing like the hands that had gripped your hips almost hard enough to break the bones. As he moved the cloth over you, you hissed once and he stopped immediately.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, tell me where—"

"It's alright, really. I'm just sensitive." You looked over your shoulder and gave him a weak smile. "Keep going."

He did, and when he finished he set the cloth aside. Then he turned you gently onto your back. Even through the mask, you could feel the weight of his attention as he looked at you—really looked at you—cataloguing the marks he'd left. His expression, what you could see of it at least, was undone. 

"These are going to bruise," he mumbled, his voice full of shame. His fingertips hovered over your hip bones without quite touching. "Bad."

"I know."

"And your neck, all these hickeys, they're going to be really sore."

"I know."

"You should be angry with me." 

"I'm not."

He sighed, frustrated, and stood. It was then you realized he was wearing a pair of your sweatpants—the pair that you'd had forever that was far too big for you, the pair of men's sweatpants, and somehow ended up in your closet without you remembering how. You watched him cross to your bathroom again, heard the soft thud of cabinet doors. When he came back, he had the arnica gel from the top shelf of your medicine cabinet—not the bottom shelf, not the drawer under the sink. The top shelf. He'd gone straight to it without searching. 

"How did you know where that was?" you asked.

He paused his movements.

"Lucky guess," he answered. But he didn't look up.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and began applying the gel to your already forming bruises with the same careful focus he'd used to clean you—tender, delicate, his thumbs moving in slow circles across your hips. His touch was so impossibly gentle now. Nothing held back in either direction. 

"You've been saying things all night," you said quietly, unable to stop yourself. "That you've missed this. That you remember how I sound—how I feel. That you've dreamed about it." You watched his hands still on your skin. "What did you mean?"

He didn't respond for a long moment. 

"I can't tell you yet."

"Why not?"

"Because—" His voice frayed at the edges. "Because if I tell you, everything changes. And if I tell you before you've actually... met me, before you know who I am, it won't mean the same thing. And I can't—" He pressed his lips together. "I need to not be Spider-Man when I tell you."

You hesitated for a few seconds before you weakly sat up. "Then take off the mask." 

The room went very quiet. 

"You sure?"

"I let you—" You gestured at the destroyed headboard, the empty space on the wall where a piece of it had struck. You gestured at the bruises that were already visible on your body, the bite mark on your shoulder. "I think there's enough trust established between us now. Take it off, if you want to."

He exhaled a long breath, his hands moving to the edge of his mask. They were shaking—visibly, the fine tremor of someone trying very hard to hold themselves together. After a few seconds that felt like hours, he pulled it off in one motion. 

For a moment, your mind refused to make sense of what it was seeing. 

Brown eyes. Messy curled brown hair, pressed flat from sweat and the mask and springing back unevenly. A face that your chest recognized a full second before your brain did—something clenching and lurching, some deep memory firing before the name arrived. 

He smiled. Nervous and hopeful and terrified, the exact smile you had found utterly adorable. 

The name came out of you like a breath. 

"Peter."

And then it wasn't like remembering. It was like a wall coming down. 

You remembered him all at once—not in a sequence, not carefully, but in a flood that hit every sense at the same time. The smell of his cologne. The specific warmth of his hand. The way he laughed at something stupid you said in chemistry class, ducking his head like he was trying to hide it. The day he sat next to you and said, totally unprompted, "your hypothesis is wrong but I like how you got there," and you'd thought, I'm going to like this person. 

You remembered the friendship. The late study sessions. The nervous flirting because you were both fifteen, and you had no idea how romance actually worked. 

You remembered him walking you home one night after studying had gone a little late. The streetlight. The way he'd been so quiet for the last block that you'd thought you'd said something wrong, and then he'd just—kissed you. Soft and clumsy and then less clumsy, his hands on your face. How he'd pulled back and looked at you with an expression like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be this happy.

I've wanted to do that for a long time, he'd said. 

You remembered the Empire State Building at night, the city spread below you, the wind cutting cold through your jacket. The way he'd been nervous about something the entire train ride and finally turned to you and said he needed to tell you something. And you'd looked at him and known—not in the way you'd guessed or theorized, but in the bone-deep way of something you'd always known and just not let yourself name. 

You're Spider-Man, you'd said. 

The look on his face. The absolute undoing of him. 

How long have you known?

Long enough. 

You remembered the first time Aunt May had let you stay the night, the awkward talk she'd given you and Peter, and the box of condoms with a strict instruction to be quiet. A year into the relationship, the two of you tangled on his narrow bed, him asking permission at every step, apologizing twice before you'd even started. You'd taken his face in your hands and said, Peter, I want this. Stop apologizing. You remembered the way he'd looked at you after—stunned, like something he'd been afraid to want had actually happened. 

I love you, he'd said, in this quiet disbelieving voice. I've loved you since the day we met.

You remembered loving him back. The weight of it. How easy it had been. 

It hit you then, finally. Spider-Man, Peter Parker. You had never been in love with Spider-Man, you'd been in love with the boy underneath the mask. 

You remembered, and the remembering was so total it left no room for anything else. 

"Oh God." Tears were already forming in your eyes again. "Peter. We were—"

"Yeah." His voice was barely audible. "We were."

"I forgot you." The tears started falling, hot and fast, and you couldn't stop them and didn't try. "I forgot all of it. How did I—how did I forget you?"

"There was a spell." He reached for you, his hands cupping your face with a care that was so familiar it made your chest ache. "To make everyone forget me. To keep everyone safe who was associated with me. Do you remember the last thing I told you?"

You thought for a moment. Mysterio revealing Peter's identity, May dying, Peter two and three, the battle, the decision to erase Peter Parker so no more villains would come after him. His last words to you:

I'll come find you when the time is right. I promise. I love you so much, it'll all be okay. 

A sob escaped you and you did the only thing you could think of, finally, after four years. You pulled him into a tight embrace, your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried in his chest as your tears continued to fall. 

"Oh, Peter," you cried. 

He was crying too, you could feel the wetness of his tears falling into your hair. "And I really am so sorry about tonight. I would never have—the way I was tonight, I've never—that's not me. That's not how I ever—"

"I know," you cut him off. "I know it's your DNA, you said so earlier. It's okay, Peter. I promise. You did scare me for a second, yeah." And you saw the flash of shame instantly show on his face. "But you checked with me. You gave me a way to stop you. You stopped when you realized I was actually hurt. You're still you. That's still you." 

"I made you bleed Y/N."

"I know." You pulled back to look him in the eye, and the sight of him crying made your chest ache. "And I'm telling you I'm okay now. I chose the intensity. I chose to keep going. The bite was different—but you stopped, and you're taking care of me now." You held his gaze. "You're still the same person. You're just dealing with something new. Something hard. And we'll figure it out together, like we always did."

For a long moment he just looked at you. Then something gave way in him—a sound that was barely a sound at all, grief and relief pressed into the same exhale—and he pulled you back into his arms. 

"I love you," he said into your hair. "I've loved you this whole time. I've been watching you not know me and I—" His voice gave out. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you replied, and it was true in the way that the oldest things are true—not discovered but remembered, like something that had been waiting in you the whole time, untouched by the spell because it was too deep for a spell to reach. "I never stopped. I just forgot."

You pulled back just far enough to find his mouth and kissed him slowly, the way you remembered—soft and unhurried, the specific warmth of him, the way he sighed against your lips like every time was still something he couldn't believe he was allowed to have. 

This. This was the Peter you'd remembered. The one who was careful with you. Who apologized too much and asked permission and held you like you were something worth being gentle with. 

You kissed him again. And again. Relearning the shape of his mouth, the way he tilted his head, the small sound he made when you bit his lower lip softly and felt him smile against your teeth. 

"We have a lot to talk about," you said finally, forehead pressed to his. 

"Yeah," he agreed. His hands were moving through your hair, slow and careful. "We do."

"Not tonight though."

"Not tonight."

Tonight there was only this—his arms around you, the weight of him, the soft press of his mouth against your temple. The rest of it could wait. The spell, the DNA, the years of missing him without knowing why. All of it could wait until morning. 

Except.

"I expect a whole new bed frame from you by the way," you mumbled as the two of you laid beneath your sheets, engulfed in each other's arms. 

Ping! - The phone notification startled you. Almost causing you to mess up your careful application of eyeliner.

“Oh Gods! Really!?” You had but a moment to prepare yourself before you felt an all too familiar tongue dive into your portal.

You braced against the sink, manicured nails clawing at the porcelain surface as your velvety walls were assaulted by a heated attack barely reaching your cervix.

He felt hungry. Maddeningly desperate to brush the tip of his pointed tongue against that part of you that had your walls clamping down on him.

Within seconds your Regular had your breaths turn to gasps and your thighs parting, as if waiting for a thicker intrusion.

"Getting one last taste in before I close for the night, huh?” You asked no one in particular. It wasn't like the hunk of a reptile on the other end of your portal could hear you.

You squeezed around him, rolling your hips in time with the strokes of his mouth. You were rewarded by two fingers spreading you wider and your back arched with the welcome penetration.

Your legs nearly buckled out from under you when his claws scraped along your inner walls. A cry bouncing off the bathroom walls as the Regular began fingering you at a rapid pace.

Even when this man was stuffing you with his long, slender digits- he was so utterly careful it was sinful.

Other Monsters had attempted to use their hands while pleasuring themselves with your portal. But every time their talons caused discomfort or pain. Twice your Handlers had to remove a Patron that had gotten too frisky with your portal, causing small cuts in areas you found excruciatingly painful.

But this Regular? A Lizard-Man who visited your portal every Friday evening, paying for a full afternoon in a private room- was the exception to your ‘no claws allowed’ boundary.

He was just…so dominantly tender with your pussy it made your head spin. He took his pleasure from you like you owed him a life debt. But he was always mindful of your body’s limits.

On days your walls couldn't handle both his cocks- he wouldn’t shove them in or get aggressive. Instead, he’d work you up to it. Talking you through it, even if he thought you couldn’t hear him.

You occasionally stayed in the Portal Hostel on your shifts, especially on a Friday, just to watch him. You used to think he knew you were there behind that one way mirror. But your Handlers explained that was impossible. Their Workers, unless they asked otherwise, were kept anonymous. And the rooms you could use to watch were completely sound proof- there was no way the Lizard-Man knew you were watching.

Meaning every praise and compliment, every tease, was for his own enjoyment.

He was your faverite…and you would admit you had a fleeting bubble of disappointment when you had to close your portal off this afternoon. You kept the option for oral open- but ultimately closed all appointments so you didn’t reek of sex on your date.

You didn't expect anyone to take the last slot. Oral appointments weren’t usually that popular. But your Regular never did like to disappoint you.

The Lizard-Man’s fingers didn’t stop their rapid thrusting until your bathroom filled with the sloppy sounds of your sex. He then withdrew them with deliberate slowness, making you groan out a frustrated curse, before his tongue returned.

Messily- greedily -slurping up your slick until he forced your climax from you. You felt him purring. Making you writhe until you were sitting on the tiled floor, twitching and moaning with the steady vibrations from his lips crushed against your portal edge.

He licked you clean.

A habit your Regular commonly performed after your sessions together. Taking care to swipe his tongue along the rim of your pussy before withdrawing from the portal with one last careful nip to your folds.

The portal closed with a notification from your phone displaying the session was over and your portal had been disconnected from the Hostel.

What should have been a quick trip to the bathroom instead turned out to be a thirty minute long stand-off between your body and the Lizard-Man’s mouth.

He won. Every damn time.

“Gods…you’re going to ruin other men for me.” You laughed, breathless, while hauling yourself up by the edge of the sink. Your legs trembled and every inch of you tingled with a fuzzy heat.

You had to take a second shower to remove the mess from between your legs. Having half a mind to choose a different outfit in case the material reeked of your arousal.

But despite the hassle of washing yourself down again, you felt a lot less nervous about tonight now your body was buzzing with post-fuck endorphins.

“I should thank that man with a free session.” You joked to your reflection in the mirror. It was getting harder and harder to keep the pre-date jitters down now the reservation time was getting closer.

At least you had something to keep you relaxed- the afterglow of your Regular’s tongue ravishing the deepest parts of you.

It wasn’t exactly a great thought to have when you were on your way to a blind-date set up by a friend.

But anything was better than spiralling into a mess of nerves and exaggerated thoughts of how horribly this date could go.

You only knew two things about the man you were on your way to see.

The first is that your friend Joane spoke nothing but good things about him. Her exact words being; ‘He’s really charming! Super sweet. He helped me out of a few problems at work and I have a feeling you’d both get along great! You’re both workaholics! I promise he’s not some weirdo.’ It had been a playful jest. But you weren’t sure how to feel about this ‘amazing guy’ that your friend has kept all hush-hush about. She gave almost nothing away about him.

The second piece of information given to you was that he was a lawyer. You weren’t sure how good of a lawyer or any smaller details; just that Joane had said he was very good at what he did.

“And what happens if he’s a creep?” You asked Joane one time. During one of her long and nagging attempts to get you to agree to a blind-date with her ‘awesome, very handsome lawyer’ friend. “It’s even worse that you are setting me up with nothing, Joane. What’s wrong with him? Why can’t I see a picture of him?”

“Because that’s no fun!” Joane had huffed in return. “Come on! You can have me on speed dial and I will pick you up no questions asked if you feel things aren’t going well. I’m doing the same for him too. No offense.”

You had rolled your eyes and brunted another hour of constant begging until you finally gave in and agreed to the stupid date.

For a while, you tried not to think about it. Happy to continue your life pushing back the rising dread of stepping out of your comfortable routine and meet someone completely new. With how popular your portal was and your job doing well, dating had been put on the shelf for a later time.

Previous relationships were either lacking or downright horrible, you didn’t mind taking some time for yourself. Your sexual desires have been met almost every night. And you had your own money flying into your account every week.

You were in no rush to meet someone new.

But alas, time moves on and before you knew it; you were approaching the restaurant Joane had reserved a table for the two of you.

You’ll definitely give it to Joane, she knows how to pick a good place for a first date.

The establishment was beautiful. Fancy enough that you needed a reservation dating back weeks but casual enough that you didn’t need a million dollar outfit to fit in.

Your waiter was Humanoid, with dark fur neatly combed flat against his tanned arms and a face similar to a wolf’s. He greeted you with a smile and led you to an outdoor table when you gave Joane’s reservation name.

And there, bathed under the warm glow of the countless strings of fairy-lights, was your date.

And Joane had been right, he was handsome.

But you already knew that. Because he was a Monster you recognized immediately, having had him balls deep in you on more than one occasion. His attire was much more elegant than your usual appointments- a dark emerald suit with a black tie and white undershirt.

But those liquid gold eyes gleamed just the same. And the scales peppering his dark leathery skin along his neck, were just as tantalizing here as they were back in the Hostel.

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you. I’m Xavier.” His smile was as warm as his words and a soft purr layered his tone. When he stood from the table to greet you, he towered over you. Easily so, even in heels- you only reached his chest in comparison.

Fuck this pussy feels so good…A-Ah! I-I’ll pay extra- please -let me cum inside you.

He didn’t harbor the same heavy husk that usually made your insides liquify. But when you shook his hand- larger than your own and with a strength hidden under a gentle embrace - introducing yourself, your little horny mindset came screeching forward. Reminding you of the many times you’ve fantasized about the feeling of his palms on your skin.

You had to beat back the heated flush that crept through you with a mental bat. Smiling through your inner thoughts of absolute insanity “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.” You offered as an ice-breaker. Xavier pulled out your chair and then slid you smoothly back against the table when you sat down. “I rarely visit this part of the city.”

“I only just got here myself.” Xavier replied, dismissing your words with a chuckle. “I was looking over the menu. Did you have a drink in mind?” He let you order a beverage first, still deciding himself.

You tried not to stare.

You really, really tried not to. But it was difficult when you’ve watched this man come undone with your walls suffocating his thick cocks.

Not to mention that he had eaten you out only half an hour earlier. You were still deciding if it was worth fussing over; that your date had gone to a brothel, used a portal and in the same hour arrived to have dinner.

But a part of you swelled wickedly knowing that it had been you he licked clean. Whether it was a means of exhausting some pent up nerves or a greedy hunger- you might later find out.

“Have you visited this restaurant before?” You asked as the waiter took your orders and hurried away.

“It was all Joane’s doing.” Xavier sighed. A knowing curl pulling at the corners of his wide mouth. “I’m sure she also wrangled you into agreeing to let her pick the place?”

You nodded, kicking a leg over one knee and it was a thrilling sight to see how his primordial gaze followed the movement. Almost as quickly returning his attention back to you.

You pretended not to notice.

“I didn’t bother fighting her on anything once I agreed. She has an uncanny ability to annoy me into doing what she wants. Lovingly, I should clarify.” You said laughing. “I don’t think she’s fought so hard for anything more than getting us to go out.”

Xavier nodded, taking a sip from his drink. And you hated how closely you watched his throat bob with the swallow of the amber liquid. You forced your eyes to move elsewhere.

“The moment she told me about you, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be something I can wriggle out of.” His claws clicked against the glass nestled between his fingers. It looked so small.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. But I..did agree to this to get her off my back.”

Some part of you wobbled with relief. Your shoulders even relaxed a little, to your surprise.

You quickly waved away his worried expression, “Don’t worry about it. I was dubious about this date as well. I haven’t had the motivation to date or go looking for dates lately. I was trying to figure out a way to let you down nicely. Nothing against you. I guess you could say I’m in my ‘me era’.”

Xavier released a breath. Heavy, and on a sound like you felt deep in your stomach. “By the Gods, I’m glad to hear that. I was very worried there would be an awkward miscommunication tonight.”

You couldn't help but smile at how genuinely relieved this Monster looked. His tail, once resting tightly around the legs of his chair, now swooped along the floor beneath the table. Out of the way of anyone walking by but with enough room between you two it wasn’t impeding on your space.

“Well, we can at least have a nice meal out.” You said, raising your glass towards Xavier. “There’s no harm in that.”

Xavier’s smile showed a row of fangs thicker than your fingers. And his eyes had a sparkle to them that made the ghostly brush of a shiver run up your spine.

“To a nice dinner.” He clinked the glass to yours and you very quickly hid yourself behind the rim of your drink.

Come on beautiful- I know you can take both of me. Just a little more…Good girl..that’s it…

That husk was there. On the edge of his tone and you internally screamed because of it.

You damn well nearly combusted when his tongue made an appearance to lick his lips after placing down his glass.

You chatted while waiting for your meal. Going through the usual topics of work and hobbies outside of the office.

Xavier answered your month-long question of what type of lawyer he was. It somehow didn’t surprise you that he worked in criminal justice.

You had half the mind to somehow slip in about the portal side-hustle, but it just didn’t seem appropriate. And you were still unsure how Xavier would handle such news.

Would he even be the type of guy who was ok with knowing who was on the other side of the portal?

He’s so different here outside the Hostel. You found yourself thinking as Xavier bashfully told a story of an embarrassing work story. It was endearing. He was endearing. He had a smile that was too cute to be real and his whole face was so frustratingly nice to look at, you wanted to take him home after the date.

But he’s not looking for anything outside this nice meal. You grumbled to yourself.

Don’t you dare clean up. I’m going to go buy another hour and I’m going to fuck my cum properly into you.

I wonder if that confidence in the room is an act or if this is an act. You started wondering half-way through the date. With the alcohol starting to trickle a bit of fire into your veins, you didn’t mind the occasional horny memory coming to the surface.

And a part of you was juggling with openly asking Xavier if he would be interested in extending the date back to your place. He was open with you at the start, so you saw no reason why you couldn’t continue the communication further.

But after dessert. You cowardly decided. Unable to shake the worry that your idea of this Monster was a facade built by him and your fantasies.

Dessert came and went. Followed by some more drinks and more chatter. The conversation became friendly…very friendly. Jokes and banter started to flow from your lips and Xavier countered each one with a grin and a laugh.

“I’ve had more fun than I thought I would.” Xavier said after polishing off his latest glass. He had moved closer during the night. Subtly, in a way you didn’t realize until his hand reached over and brushed his fingers along the back of your palm.

When you didn’t flinch away from the scrape of his claws, Xavier grinned and properly intertwined his fingers with yours. “I don’t want to seem too forward…but would you be comfortable continuing this date elsewhere?”

There he was. Just when you started to think it was all a hoax, your hungry eyed reptile emerged through a half-dazed gentleman.

Either it was the alcohol that made his mask slip or he was feeling a little more comfortable with you, his body language shifted entirely. And you eagerly leaned towards him when he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles, breaking your thoughts with the soft brush of cool skin.

It took you a full second to recalibrate your voice under such a searing gaze, “I would be more than comfortable.” You nibbled on your lower lip. Your pulse galloped when his eyes bounced between the drag of your painted lips and your gaze.

“There is something I should tell you first.” You bit the bullet before your nerves took the words away.

You weren’t sure what would have been worse; Xavier pulling away from you or how his tail grazed along your thigh under the table. Hidden beneath the tablecloth as it coiled around your leg, squeezing lightly.

With how easily you welcomed his touch, you almost begged him to lean away so you could properly breathe.

“If it’s your first time with a Reptilian, I don’t mind.” His gaze softened. Liquifying his jeweled gaze into something close to reassuring.

Your face went hot and you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. “No. I’ve been with a Reptilian before…” You lowered your voice and motioned him closer with a stroke of your forefinger against the soft underside of his jaw.

His eyes fluttered closed but moved closer so you could whisper into his ear. “You used my portal just before our date.”

His tail tightened along your thigh and his body went rigid beside you. For a brief moment, you feared the worst. But just as quickly, Xavier relaxed and the cool breath of his throaty laugh fanned over your cheek.

“I thought you smelled familiar.” Molten fire flooded through your veins when his voice took on that proper husky drawl. He leaned away, just enough so he could meet your gaze again. “You’re not…upset that I used your portal before our date?”

He was so adorably worried. You gave his hand a squeeze, mimicking the way you gently clasped your thighs together around the rings of his tail against your leg.

“Are you upset I left my portal open before our date?” You countered. And you weren’t sure if he didn’t have an answer or you had distracted him too much with the warm embrace of your thighs.

You smiled and moved your legs so you rubbed his tail between them. He jerked with a low hiss and you chuckled lightly at the reaction. Rewarded with that returning want in his eyes again.

“At least you know I can take both of you.”

His nostrils flared and the darkened look turned your insides to puddy. “I’ve always tried visualizing what you might look like.” He said. You released his tail from your thighs when you felt him tug on it lightly. “I could never think of a face that could suit such a-” He caught himself before he spoke. Clearing his throat, he stood from the table. You caught a glimpse of his growing bulge as he led the way from the table to the counter to pay.

You followed after him. Unable to keep down your smug grin.

“And am I an acceptable face?” You said, meaning the question to be a tease. But the glance down at you created a very, very warm pool to form between your legs.

“Oh, yes. “ Was his replying growl.

You made it to his car. But you didn’t make it much further than that before Xavier had you pinned against a wall and his lips crushing yours.

It was a dance of teeth and tongues with your back pressed against a cold brick wall, standing on your toes and his large hands cradling your face to angle you up to him. Bent over like he was to reach you, you were completely shielded from the dark parking lot. The street-lights weren’t working. Giving the two of you the perfect shadowy corner to relieve some of your pent up need.

His thigh pushed between your legs and you eagerly welcomed the hard muscle pressing against your core. You’ve been wet for the majority of the date. And finally with some friction you could breathe a little more easily.

“Fuck- I can smell how wet you are.” Xavier hissed against your lips. Pulling away long enough to lick a long strip along the exposed ‘V’ between your breasts. “The scent of you is burned into my mind. I thought I was going crazy in that restaurant smelling your slick. What a small world we live in.”

You couldn’t reply like you wanted. His hand was now crawling up under your dress to rub hard against your soaked underwear. Tracing the curve of your thigh, squeezing the plush flesh once, before gliding under your skirt to eagerly feel the wet material. The feeling of his fingers down where you needed it most pulled a shaking gasp from your lungs.

And oh, how Xavier enjoyed that sound.

“I’m never going to be able to use that portal again without you being right here.” He emphasized his words by slipping his fingers around your panties and pushing the tips into your core.

You had to grip onto his arms to keep yourself from falling. “Can I take you home? Please.”

Through the fog of ecstasy, his begging fueled a needy part of you that had you nodding in earnest.

And in a fumbling blur of groping palms and sloppy lips against your throat and lips, you were in his car, one clawed hand between your thighs and your half tipsy fingers trying to undo his belt as he drove the late night traffic.

You rocked your hips against his hand. Uncaring of the light pricking of his talons against the supple skin down there. Whining when he withdrew his fingers once, hissing softly. “Slowly.” The word rippled through the air in the car like a prayer. And you nodded, impatiently lifting your hips towards his hovering touch until your skin was flush with the rough pads of his fingers.

You ripped down his zipper once the belt was free and with a slight shift of his waist, the first cock slipped from its confined prison.

It was no wonder Xavier could pull climax after climax from you

You got brief glimpses during your sessions at the Hostel; but now you could finally see what has been ravaging your walls so perfectly for the past few months.

They were a pale green in color that deepened to a black at the very tip. Thickest around the middle, rolling into an oval peak that curved with a slight sharp summit. Near the base, just before the beginning of the steep slope of Xavier’s shaft- were numerous waxy spikes. But you don’t ever recall feeling these against your walls.

The very thought of them had your thighs closing around Xavier’s hand and the smirk he shot down at you was viciously wicked.

“The portal was always too small for me to fit both of them to the hilt.” He explained, rolling his hips so you managed to glimpse the second, larger, member still trapped in his pants. “I hope you don’t mind if I try tonight.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” You replied and Xavier’s next breath rattled on a hiss-like growl.

Your mouth was near watering as a bead of pre-cum appeared on the apex of his cock.

He was much thicker than you thought. And cool to the touch as you wrapped an experimental hand around the girthy middle.

A whisper of a grunt escaped from Xavier’s lips and you grinned at the sweet sound. “I always wondered what you would taste like.” You murmured. Tilting the rounded peak towards your lips, you gave the bead of pre-cum an experimental lick.

You felt the car jerk and Xavier’s hand fisted around the back of your head. Holding you above his bobbing length. You felt the tip of his claws scratch against your scalp and something deep within you bristled keenly at the sensation of your hair tangled between his fingers.

Your core fluttered around the empty space that now replaced Xavier’s hand. And you looked up at him from where he held you near his hips.

But he didn’t push you down or pull you away, instead held you a tortuous inch away from his cock.

“We should wait until we’re out of traffic.” Xavier breathlessly laughed. His pupils were blown wide. A black pool rimmed by gold. “I can’t concentrate if you use your mouth.”

You pouted but lifted your head further away from him. You felt no restriction, but his fingers stayed curled around your hair. “Can I stroke you at least?” You asked.

Xavier nodded. The passing street-lights flashed him briefly in pools of white. Giving you the illusion of a fanged nightmare looming over your bowed body.

“Slowly…Please.”

The manners felt like an after-thought. As if he just remembered he should be using them.

But you obliged his command with a slow drag of your hand along his shaft. The hard muscle barely gave way under your tight grip. And your palm found smaller, unseen nubs coating Xavier’s cock. They were much softer than the spines near his base, but nonetheless massaged your fingers in a way that felt very familiar.

Looking up at Xavier, you noticed the dazed look overcoming him. The traffic at this hour was near non-existent but you still felt you needed to help the poor Monster concentrate on getting you both home.

“Why do you visit the Hostel only on Fridays?” You asked, moving your hand in a continuous squeezing, slow motion.

“Lets call it a little treat for finishing the week.” Xavier grunted. The bob of his throat seemed to be caused by your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his trousers. His breath hitching when you carefully scraped your nails along the second cocks firm spines. They felt…longer than what the first cock’s protrusions. And just a touch less pliable. “And a refreshing start to my weekend. Better than any stiff drink or spa-day.” He tried to joke, you knew he did. But with the heaviness layering his words, he sounded like he was spitting out his reply.

You hummed in agreement, resisting the urge to lick the thick teardrop of pre that was collecting on the valley of his slit. Instead you used it to wetten your palm so your hand stroked him more easily.

“I open my portal hours for longer durations for the same reason.” You told him. His cock throbbed in your hand, as if it grew more excited at the mention of the device. “You’re by far my favorite client. But being used late into the night by others does wonders after a stressful week.”

The hand around your hair tightened and your eyes watered in response. You peeked up at him, smirking when a passing light reflected off his ivory white fangs. “Don’t tell me you’re a jealous type.”

“I think territorial is more fitting with my kind.” Xavier nearly growled. Something whispered to you that he was restraining himself. And to calm him, you wrapped your other hand around the hilt of his shaft. Massaging the spines there while your first hand continued to stroke him.

“Is it horrible that I found that incredibly sexy?” You chuckled.

A shaking hiss whistled through Xavier’s jaw. His entire body seemed to vibrate against your waist. The thigh you were half draped over was as firm as a rock. “If I do start making you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me.” He said and he tugged on your hair to ensure your attention was surely on him. “When I use your portal, I always make sure I don’t do anything I would need your permission to do. But now we’re together, if you’re ok with it, I would like to fuck you properly.” You nodded but Xavier’s eyes sharpened when they glanced down at you, pulling his attention away from the road for a second to drill in how serious he was being. “Use your words.”

“I’m more than comfortable with us experimenting my limits tonight.” You said in equal firmness. Stalling your curious playing so nothing separated you or him from this discussion. “If you want, we can use a safe-word. Or a color code to help with our comfort levels.”

Xavier nodded. The car began to slow down and you felt the dip and rise of him driving onto a sloped driveway. When Xavier parked the car and switched off the engine, he lifted you onto his lap. In one smooth motion- unclicking your seat-belt then looping his arm around your waist to drag you over so your thighs straddled his waist.

“I need you to hide this.” He said and bucked his hips up so the hard length pressed sharply against your core. His eyes fluttered close when your warm slick coated panties rubbed along him.

And you laughed softly when he continued to grind up against you. Rolling his head back against the seat while you took the opportunity to kiss and nip along his exposed throat. “You’re so warm.” Xavier murmured. His arms tightened around you, caging you against his chest. “You’re incredibly distracting. What were we doing again?” He attempted to joke again but the clouded expression of his portrayed just how reluctant he was to move.

You couldn’t complain either. You met every lazy twitch of his hips with an impatient jerk of yours. Angled as you were, you couldn’t press him against the part of you that was aching for friction. But the spines on his cock were at least giving you an electrifying ride.

“Xavier, please…” You whimpered. Burying your face into the hard nook of his neck. “Can we go inside already?”

His laugh felt like a drum-roll through your body. And he finally opened the car door and stepped out into the dimly lit driveway.

Xavier held you tight against his body. One hand possessively splayed over the expanse of your ass, holding you with ease against his chest. While still cradling your clothed pussy forcibly against his cock. Your dress pooled around your legs. Perfectly covering the sinful connection between your waists.

When he reached the front door of his home, Xavier pressed your back against the cool wood and trapped you there. He kissed you deeply while fumbling with his keys. His tongue sliding tenderly along yours, tasting and swiping until you felt him reach the back of your throat. Your eyes watered as you fought not to gag on the tickling sensation.

The teasing chuckle made you push down on his cock. Making his tongue falter and him stumble into the house when he managed to unlock the door.

His tail slammed the door shut behind him. The kiss continued, needy and passionate, until you had to break away to breathe. Xavier chased after you. Growling about not being done tasting you as he walked through the house to a dark room.

With a flick of his tail tip on the switch, the overhead lights blazed to life. Bathing you in a cozy orange light that started to warm your skin almost immediately.

Your back hit the bed a second later and Xavier made no hesitation in removing your clothes. His claws slipped under the skirt of your dress to first hook under the thin material of your panties. When they came free of your legs, Xavier brought them up to his nose and breathed in the wettened patch.

His eyes rolled close to the back of his head. Then they focused on you and he threw the bundle across the room.

“Your arousal is intoxicating.” Xavier hummed against the skin of your neck. There he licked and nipped, leaving the beginning of small bruises along your throat as he guided the straps of your dress over your shoulders. “The first time I smelled your pussy I couldn’t help but immediately taste you. And now I'm going to be lucky enough to have my sheets coated in your scent.”

He was massive on top of you. Half hanging off the side of the bed, his tail sweeping across the floor lazily while he impatiently dragged your dress away from your body. Your hands wandered just as eagerly as his. Sweeping down the hard curves of his sides. Following the sharp ridges of scales trailing down his back that then spread out into softer skin above his tail and belly.

With each layer of his clothes he removed, you tasted with your mouth. Finding sensitive spots only where the skin was pale and supple under your lips.

You excitedly found a collection of rounded scales patterning the ‘V’ of his hips. Creating a trail of smooth bumps that disappeared into soft flesh circling the hilt of his cocks. When you shoved his pants down his legs, his tail whipped back and forth to help wriggle himself out of the restrictive clothing.

“Green for keep going.” Xavier panted through a kiss that had you crushed against the bed. “Yellow for slow. Red for stop.”

It took you a second to understand what he was saying. The fog of ecstasy had taken away most of your thoughts. But when you connected the dots, you nodded.

Quickly adding words when he started to pull away. “Green!” You yanked him back down on top of you and with a hearty laugh, Xavier shoved you further up the bed. Crawling after you, he parted your legs with his mouth. Giving your folds a slow, heavy lick before continuing up along your stomach.

You spread your legs wider and Xavier took up the space between them. Taking no time to press his two lengths against your aching warmth. He sagged on top of you. His weight held aloft by his elbows on either side of your head.

“Is this a lizard thing?” You lightly teased. Moving your thighs to better accommodate the vast width of his waist and roll your hips against the throbbing peaks. He shuddered above you. Frozen against your pussy. “Is it my pussy or the warmth?”

“Both.” He rasped. “H-human holes are..fuck..are unfairly addicting. And with your warm-blood, I instinctually want to be pressed against you all the time.”

As if to concrete his words, Xavier lowered his body until you were completely enveloped by him. His weight pressing down against you until you felt every breath he took. Every twitch and subtle jerk of his hips rubbing the pebbles of pre-cum through your folds.

You moaned against his chest when the textured underside of his cock nudged against your clit.

The two of you stayed like this until you were whining for him to go faster. “I'm close.” You gasped and Xavier hissed when he pulled away. Drawing himself up to sit on his calves, kneeling between your thighs while his hands trailed his claws down your sides. Making you squirm and wriggle until his palms locked around your hips and dragged you to settle on the slope of his thighs.

You relaxed your legs on either side of his waist. Whimpering when his fingers explored the crevasse of your core. Pushing the tips of his fingers inside you to massage your walls, gently spreading you until your breath left your lungs in heated pants.

“Color?” Xavier asked. Sounding as winded as you felt while he stretched you with his hand.

“G-Green.” You replied, unable to look away from where his cocks lay sprawled against your hip. Xavier had to move them to the side so he could watch his knuckles disappear into your velvety walls.

It felt crowded between your legs. But Xavier made no move to shift you. Keeping you flush against his hips.

That is until he wrapped a tight fist around his first cock and lifted himself to angle his hips towards your pussy. Your breath froze in your chest. Your eyes wide in anticipation as Xavier probed your entrance with his rounded peak.

Your head rolled back against the mattress- eyes fluttering close as your walls began to stretch to accommodate him. There wasn't a heavy burn. Just a sweet familiar ache that swept through your core and up along your lower back. Sparks began to sizzle along your skin when the thickest part of him pushed past your entrance.

Xavier watched you with a searing intensity. Aiding the careful glide of his length with devastating precision. When your walls spasmed, Xavier stalled and coaxed your calm forward with a brush of his thumb against your clit.

When your breathing evened, Xavier would move again. His hips pulsated with gentle thrusts until you felt the first row of spines jab at your soft skin.

When the prodding sensation prickled your flesh, your hands flew to latch around Xavier’s wrists. Helping ground you to the unusual feeling.

Xavier immediately stopped. Eyes heavy and lidded, but violently focused.

“O-Orange.” You managed to push the word through your leaded tongue.

Xavier nodded and drew out of you until only the head of his cock remained smothered by your heated body. “During our sessions together, I didn’t want to use them without your permission.” His voice sounded like a thundercloud in his throat. The sharp hiss of lightning sharpening each word. “They won’t hurt-”

“It’s n-not that.” You said. Cutting off his worried explanation. “They just felt weird. It surprised me.” You looked up from where the two of you were connected. His pale skin gleamed with your slick and you noticed that the small nubs were deeper in color now. Looking swollen against Xavier’s smooth length. “Green.”

Xavier sank into you in one smooth glide. And your back arched off the bed- a gasp breaking from your chest.

“Sorry.” Xavier whispered. So devastatingly focused on the last two inches that had yet to slip inside you. He held himself there while your walls attempted to suck him in. Greeding begging for him to go deeper.

“I want to be sure you’re comfortable taking these.”

You knew it was sweet. In the back of your mind, you appreciated this Monster and his cautious behavior.

But holy fuck, you wanted him to pound you into this bed. You were sure he could break this it if he unleashed himself fully onto you.

With a soft murmur, Xavier pushed against your heat and your eyes flew open when the first spines scraped past your entrance. It was a strange sensation. And every time Xavier moved, you felt him grinding against your walls. The protrusions gave way enough that the sharp peaks didn’t harm you. But caused just enough pressure that by the time Xavier was flush against your hole; you were trembling under his hands.

“F-Fuck…” The curse fell from Xavier’s lips like a prayer. His back was arched over you, lips occasionally brushing your brow every time Xavier rolled his hip. You had to bend your head back to kiss him. Sloppy and breathless, trying to ground yourself so you didn't fall too soon. “Color?”

“Green.” You said against his throat. Whimpering when he started to pull out. “Please, I’m so close…”

“I know baby~” Xavier hissed, trembling above you. Shoulders tight, muscles coiled as he braced himself against every slow curl of his hips that buried him snugly against your body. “Hold on for a little longer. And then I want you cumming on my cock as many times as you need.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Using him as an anchor while he slowly picked up speed. But you felt his impatience breaking his resolve. And the second Xavier realized you were taking him without any resistance, a ruthless pace was set.

Your body was rocked with every thrust. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixing with your pitched cries as you clawed his back. Burying your nails into the nooks of his scales.

Xavier hissed above you, leaning low over your body in a possessive crouch of pleasure that made the bed creak with his rhythm. Your body tried to writhe, pressing your breasts against his cool skin as a searing pleasure flamed through your core.

His second cock bounced against your ass. A heavy weight that pressed against your cheeks and was crushed by his balls swinging in motion to his body.

And then you were undone. A strangled cry, muffled by Xavier’s chest, echoed through the room and Xavier’s chuckle was dark and vicious.

“That’s it.” He whispered between thrusts. Each slam of his hips now produced a wet, slick sound. “Such a good girl for me. Letting me use you like this. I knew you could take all of me. But now I need to stuff you properly.”

Xavier’s pace shifted, slowing into a lazy grind. He lifted himself off of you, just enough that he could move his legs and let your body fall to the bed completely. You felt a wet patch meet your skin but your mind was too dazed to care.

Then he reached between your driving bodies to adjust the angle of the second cock.

“Color?” The question was carried on silk wrapped around iron. Steady, but restrained.

“Green.” You told him. Beginning to find your focus again as you felt the heavy weight push against your entrance, bumping against the already stuffed hole. “A-Actually, orange.”

The eager prodding slowed. And Xavier leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss so tender your head spun. “Good girl.”

You forced your back to lie flat against the bed. Relaxing your muscles while the second cock massaged to stretch your walls. Xavier’s tongue did wonders to distract you. Carving a path down your chin, to your throat, brushing the sharp curves of his fangs against your jugular. Where you could feel your racing heart-beat against the thrilling presence of his maw.

You felt him apply pressure but then stopped. A heart-beat passed and his voice rumbled through your skin.

“Color?”

You smiled and tilted your chin up, “Green.”

The growl came from deep within his chest. And your body shivered on a gasp as his lips encased your throat between his fangs. He bit down gently. Applying just enough force that your skin prickled with discomfort but no pain.

Growing impatient, Xavier adjusted his legs and angled your hip to meet the slow push of his next thrust. He lifted your hips off the bed, driving in the head of his length until it popped inside your warm embrace.

The pressure of him filling you made something in you snap again and this time, your breath rattled on a groan-like whimper of his name.

Xavier’s purr was dark and triumphant. His teeth still possessively locked around your throat, he shifted his legs again. Spreading them further apart so he had a deeper angle to drive down into you until your ass was smooshed against the bed.

Tears blurred your vision. But you didn't stop him. Spilling murmured nonsense into the humid air while he set a brutally shallow pace. Burying inch after inch each time his hips swooped down to meet yours.

You were helpless beneath him. Sprawled open by his knees against your thighs. His left hand was locked on your waist to keep you still while you were stretched to your limits.

Xavier dragged the back of his knuckles along your arm. Gently pulling your grasping hand away from his body to rest against the bed above your head. His fingers slid between yours. Tangling your hand with his and you felt him squeeze your warm palm twice.

You mimicked the pressure. Sighing a long shaky breath at the first sharp touch of his thicker cock’s spines.

“Green.” You said before Xavier could pull away. You felt his lips curl in a smile and his body tensed above you. His back coiled like a spring, carefully restraining himself as he sank the last few inches into you.

Another climax ripped through your exhausted body and your thighs locked against his legs. Trembling and shaking, boneless under him while he buried himself until nothing was left between the two of you.

“You stretch so deliciously for me.” Xavier whispered into your skin. Nipping his way to your lips to bruise them in a kiss. Hungrily taking the taste of your tongue with his until your hand squeezed his fingers. Begging for breath. “Now consider my next words carefully- can I breed you” The words were said in a voice as velvety as dark chocolate.

Asked so plainly your befuddled mind didn’t realize he had asked it until he nipped your throat, yanking a startled yelp out of you.

“W-What?”

“Can I breed you?” He asked again. Said more softly but nonetheless just as serious. “When I use your portal, I only ever ejaculated out of one cock. The larger one secretes thicker semen. It feels indescribably good to ejaculate with it. But if I do that, I will want to keep you full of it. Instincts.” He said as if it explained everything clearly. “And because I…I might have a thing for it.”

You laughed quietly and relaxed your head against the pillows behind you. You hadn’t realized how far up the bed your thrusting bodies had climbed until you felt the doughy embrace.

“You can breed me.” You said quietly, the words sounding foreign on your tongue. “And please, fuck me as roughly as you do when you use my portal.”

Xavier’s smile was as eager as it was wicked.

He nuzzled roughly against your neck, a purr rattling your ribs as he crawled his way up your body until he was stretched over you like a living roof. Properly prone, your face nestled between the plates of his pectoral scales. And when he pressed his body against yours, the bundle of scales above his hips aligned deliciously with your clit.

So when he jerked his hips experimentally, your pitched gasp wasn’t just from his cocks spearing a deep part of you. But also the sharp twinge of pleasure from the grinding bumps over your sensitive nub.

Xavier halted. Stomach hard like a brick wall. “Color?” He asked. His cheek resting on a pile of pillows just above your head.

“Green.”

You barely finish the word before the coils in Xaver’s body sapped. And what you thought before of his rough pounding, was now thrown out the window. Replaced with the snap of his hips that was so devastating- so powerful -enough to drag your body up with him after every recoil.

A strangled scream tangled with the messy sounds of your sex. Skin slapping skin, slick with sweat and nectar from your centre with the profounding crack of his balls striking your ass. Each merciless curve of Xaveri’s hips felt precisioned to hit against the perfect spot. He was unrelenting. Ruthless with each strike.

Your walls were ravaged by the spines. Massaged and soothed by the small nubs before the sharp scrape of the hilts drove your walls into a furious flutter. Every time you clamped down, Xavier would groan and his rhythm would falter. For every deep thrust- he had to rut once so your walls wouldn’t lock him inside you.

The inter-changing pace unravelled guttural whimpers and bubbling moans from deep within your chest. You clung to him. Squeezing your interlocked fingers so tightly it hurt. His claws left marks on your skin.

His grip around your waist promised a belt of bruises for the following morning. All the while Xavier buried his face into the pillows. His snarls sounded like distant thunder as he took what he wanted from you.

You weren’t sure if the continuous grind of his pelvis against your clit was deliberate, but fuck, did it feel like he had control over every aspect of your pleasure.

As tears pooled from your eyes and your thighs cramped around his waist, your final climax crumbled your mind. Wave after wave of fiery heat blazed through you, convulsing your walls and suffocating Xavier between your pooling sex.

Xavier was unrelenting. The slam of his thrusts caused your breaths to turn to broken cries until his body coiled. Muscles tightening until it felt like he’d snap beneath your fingers- and you felt his cocks throb, pulsate and then spill a globulous liquid deep inside you.

Your eyes widened, startled by the flood of cool fluid that bathed your tinging walls like a soothing balm. Xavier’s roar shattered through his throat.. His tail whipped above your bodies like a mindless snake, whistling through the air with every stuttering thrust from Xavier’s hips.

You could only lay there, trapped and made from puddy, as Xavier milked himself between your legs. He had released your hand, his claws buried into the blanket to keep from crushing your fingers between his. But you kept your hand wrapped around his wrist. Squeezing him, helping anchor him as he chased the pleasure into a blind haze.

“Yes, yes! Such a good girl for me. I’ll fill you up so good. Make you leak with my seed…A-AH!” You felt his cocks twitch and then a second wave of cool liquid joined the first. Your walls swelled to accommodate the load and you whimpered when the hooks buried themselves into your entrance. Nothing that would cause pain, but the unsettling feeling of being locked together was alien.

“Hmm, feels so good- let me cum again. Just once more.” How could you say no to such a gravelly tone? Pitched at the end by a whine- desperate and pained.

“I need you again, Xavier.” You dragged your free hand up along his chest. Rubbing your palm against the soft skin under his jaw to then scratch your way down to where your clit was grinding against his small cluster of scales. “I can fit one more load in me. Come on, baby.”

A trembling hiss rippled from Xavier’s chest but your words fueled his hips into moving again. The rhythm was lazy this time. His hips trembled with overexertion. His breathing ragged, a string of praises tumbling from his lips as you rolled in tandem with him.

“That’s it, Xavier. Cum for me, baby.”

“A-Ah!” The splintered shout carried a hiss that made your hairs stand on end. But you ignored your fluttered pulse and traced the flexing muscles that clenched and relaxed with each lethargic spurt of his finish.

“Good boy.” You murmured to him. Pressing open mouthed kisses along the soft flesh of his chest and belly. Anywhere you could reach, you licked and worshipped. “Hmm, I'm so full. Fuck, Xavier…”

You finally allowed your body to relax. Sprawling over the expanse of the bed, wincing at your cramping thighs that refused to settle properly against Xavier’s crouched position.

Panting, Xavier lifted himself up enough to hunch over and sloppily kiss you. He cupped the side of your face, his palm encompassing your head as he eased you both down from your highs.

“That was…unreal.” He murmured against your puffy lips. “Unforutnately, we’ll be stuck like this for a while.” He gave his hips an experimental tug but his cocks were buried firm. You chuckled and petted a hand down your stomach, where a small bulge had now grown from the weight settled there.

“That’s ok. I need a breather.” You said. And Xavier tilted your chin so your eyes returned to his.

They were soft, searching your face. “What’s wrong?” You asked. Suddenly paranoid.

“Nothing! Nothing, I just…” A sound low in his throat made his lips vibrate when he kissed you again. “You can stay the night if you want.” Was all he said. But his eyes were conveying something else. Possibly something you were both thinking, but you weren’t going to ruin a perfectly good night by saying something stupid.

“Where’d that confidence go?” You teasingly asked. Stroking a knuckle along his jaw. “Don’t tell me I fucked the sexy lawyer out of you.”

Xavier laughed, jostling your swollen core, making you both gasp. He quickly quietened himself. Burying his face into the crook of your neck out of embarrassment.

“Ugh, do not tell Joane that you sucked the smart-ass out of me. She’d never let me live it down.”

You scoffed a laugh, pretending to be insulted. “Are you seriously talking about another woman while still balls deep inside me?”

Xavier’s eyes sparkled like polished treasure. “You spoke about other Monster’s fucking you while my cock was in your hand!” He countered. “Count it as even.”

You tried to continue being petty, but you couldn't help but laugh. Having to stop rather quickly when a shiver of overstimulation sizzled through your skin.

“Alright, alright. Stop making me laugh.” You sighed and rested back against the pillows. Xavier shifted a few more around you to create a comfortable nest of support against your body. “So…how long does this normally last?”

Xavier winced. Tickling his claws along the area that was now swollen and red from the small marks he left on your hip. “A..A few hours.”

You gawked up at him. Then very lightly chuckled. “Guess I am staying here. I hope you don’t mind a needy cuddler. That’s my only demand as after-care.”

Xavier rested his head above yours. The brush of his lips against the crown of your head made you shiver. And his arms wrapped around you. Carefully pulling you flush against his body. “As long as you don’t mind us sleeping with me still inside you. My little demand as after-care.”

You shifted your hips and was rewarded by a throaty moan from Xavier. “Am I at risk of being bred again?”