#willie writes

The last of the animals were being hauled off in the back of a truck, the last sliver of your paycheck mooing with big prey eyes as they're carted off. One of the last people left yesterday, not just the condemned building that honestly shouldn't even be still standing, but the condemned town. There were only thirty families by the time you were born, little more than half by a young teen, and now there were ten or so people left in town, including you and your mother, who were moving as well at the end of the week.

You worked as the shift advisor for the meat factory, your boss was surly and frankly didn't like anyone under forty-five, but he gave no reason to fire you and holding this job under your belt for four years now and the note of recommendation you worked hard as hell for would look good on your resume for a career in the city. It wasn't the worst job, but it definitely wasn't the best. You didn't have to cut meat but you had to look at it, you had to watch disemboweled cows and pigs get cut apart, you had to smell it, you came home smelling like it, the whole building was sweltering despite the broken windows. You didn't have the friendliest co-workers either.

At least today you didn't have to worry about that much, you got forty dollars from the last three cows your boss had sold to some meat house in Austin, more than enough to get you up North. You were perched at your desk trying to beat the sweltering heat with a little church fan as dirty sweat rolled down your neck, your thighs chafe from walking all day in your dress. You wished you could have worn your shorts underneath today, but in a rush to get out the door today to get there before the cows left you completely forgot. You were clearing out your desk, going home early so you could go pack the rest of the day, maybe even get out of this place a day early. You didn't have anyone to check up on today. Not anyone accept-

“ What is that diseased freak still doing out there? He knows we're closed for good now “

You look up at your boss who's glowering down at one of the last three remaining beating hearts in the building. You peek over his shoulder with a swallow down at the figure. 

Thomas Hewitt is a beast of a man, well over six feet with a heavy set brow and intense eyes. Somethings not right with him, as any conversation about Hewitt was centered around, a birth defect or something you heard, dumb and mute with some kind of disease on his face that ate away at his skin, the small patches you've seen over his gruesome mask are an angry red, the skin peeling away and blistered. He scares you with his gaze and his large presence, but otherwise hasn't done anything to harm you or anyone else in the factory. You never had to check on him because he always did his job. He always did what he was told, despite all of the downright abusive things being thrown his way. You don't have the want or need to hurl insults, in fact you made sure to keep your distance other than handing him his paycheck at the end of the week and it was where people could see, witnesses. 

“ I think he likes it here, Sir “ you say anxiously, watching him bring down the cleaver on the large hunk of graying meat on his table. His strikes shake the crumbling foundations, echoing in the high ceilings of the factory

“ Ain't no reason for that ugly beast to still be here. We gotta go out there and get that oversized idiot the hell out of here “ 

Your throat clicks when you swallow, dry from lack of any water for the past four hours

“ We sir…? “ 

He turns his ear to acknowledge you

“ Just you, Sweetheart “ 

Your stomach drops right down to your feet. 

~

Your footsteps echo when you walk down the stairs from the office above to the long table of strings of fat, skin and bone, your stomach turning from the hot weather already, the extra stress of having to confront Hewitt was nearly about to make you sick. 

You stopped a few feet behind him, the only thing to shield you was a clipboard in your hands, trembling slightly “ Thomas? Thomas Hewitt? You gotta get on outta here now, the factory’s closed for good…W-We told everyone three days ago “ You tried to speak over his chopping, your throat closing around your words as he ignores you “ Thomas Hewitt! The factory is closed y-you have to leave! “ You try saying a little louder but the taste of the stale smelling air is caught in your throat and you feel like crying. You look behind you to see your boss glaring at the both of you from the windows. 

He wouldn't be able to reach you, not if something bad happened. 

You shakily reach out, your fingertips tapping his dirty arm to get his attention. He brought down the cleaver making you jolt, pulling away slightly. He's stopped. You both stand still for a moment, his hand still wrapped around the handle of the cleaver. You swallow and reach out to touch him again, oh so carefully resting your fingertips on his arm, patting him “ Thomas. It's time to go now. I'm sorry…” you say. You pull your hand away from his arm, wiping it cautiously on your white coat. 

You think you might have gotten through to him, but he suddenly splinters the cleaver from the wood, turning his large body towards you, advancing in on you with that intense gaze of his. You gasp, beginning to back up away from him, wondering what in the hell you could’ve done wrong, looking between him and his weapon  “ T-Thomas please…” You say, putting your clipboard up near your face. He stops in front of you, breathing so heavily it moves his broad shoulders, like it's a chore to do. 

He reaches out, taking your bicep in a large hand and squeezing, coming closer, closer so that you can smell the sweat, dirt and blood on him, permitting the air around you. It leaves your throat dry and your head aching, you're so fucking scared- 

“ Hewitt! Get the fuck out of here you big dumb animal before I get the sheriff down here to put an inch of lead in your ass! “ Your boss shouts now at the bottom of the stairs, still too far away, too far away for any permanent damage not to be done-

Thomas stops moving, you're belly to belly with him as he breathes in your face. Those dark eyes look up to the man over your shoulder, letting out a gruff noise as he lets you go, dropping the meat cleaver with a clatter before bumping past you to lumber away. You're finally able to breathe, nearly falling to your knees as you stumble your way back up towards your desk until your boss stops you with a hand up

“ Hold it. My help ain't showing up tonight, I need you to stay late. I'll pay you another ten bucks “ Your shoulders slump, eyes heavy. You don't want to, not after that. But there's nothing stopping him from sending you home without that letter of recommendation either. You sigh and nod, standing shakily as you go to clear your desk the rest of the way before he puts you on whatever job he would have you do for the rest of the afternoon

You're busy clearing out the old lockers, going through pockets of the cleaner aprons to find loose change, sorting through filing cabinets of some of the old records from people's employment through the years. It's just busy work, but ten dollars and fifty cents busy work. You were looking through the files from the fifties, your head propped on your hand as you read about a few of the accidents that had happened here. The most interesting thing that had happened while you were employed was when a guy got his finger caught in the grinder. They never found out what batch it was in and since then you didn't eat any of the meat you were sent home with if it was pre-ground, even if it happened years ago.

You shudder at the thought and close up the file when a thump rumbles from above you. You look up, the bulb on a string swaying slightly. You swallow, tucking everything away to be most likely thrown away or lost u get the rubble later, leaving the locker room to keep an ear out for what it could have been. You look up at your boss's office, his blinds already drawn and the lights shut off. Maybe he went home already without giving you your ten dollars or your note. Bastard. 

You look at the small box of things, wondering if you really wanted to take all of that home with you when you hear another thump, your chest tightening in nerves. You look towards your boss's office, heart fluttering behind your ribs as you stare at the door. The handle jiggles, your stomach dropping when the sight of the familiar hulking figure opens it with a large chainsaw in his grip. Behind him, what you can see of the office is flipped and in disarray and in the shadows you can see a puddle of dark around the desk from behind the man’s legs before he's coming closer. You stumble on your feet, stepping back on the catwalk to try and keep your distance 

“ T-Thomas, w-wait…” You whimper, sweat rolling over your brow. The man growls low in his chest at the sound of his own name, stopping just a few feet in front of you. Your back hits the bars, your eyes darting to the steps beside him but his body is blocking the way. Your only choice was to hop the bars, but it was a good ten feet down from where you stood and the thought of running around with a broken limb wouldn't do you much good either. You have little time to weigh your options when he's stepping even closer, reaching for you. You cinched your eyes shut, turning your head away as you brace yourself for the coming pain, letting out a scared yelp when he wraps his hand around your arm like when you were downstairs, pulling you into him.

 His breath fans hot and heavy across your face, raising the hand around your arm to your face, cupping under your chin and stroking along your cheeks and eyebrows with calloused fingertips. He does so gently, like you were a porcelain doll, brushing your hair back with his dirty fingers tucked into your hairline. His eyes fall over you, tugging your hair to tilt your head back so your throat is bared to him, visibly bobbing when you swallow. His chainsaw catches on the hem of your dress, tilting his head down at the sight of your exposed thigh in your running pantyhose, as if he were entranced by the little sliver of skin, eyes dilated making them seem even darker. 

He lets his hand fall, down your shoulder to the soft skin on the inside of your elbow, rubbing with the tips of his fingers up and down. You couldn't suppress the shiver it gave you, your mind wandering to why exactly he was doing this, why after committing something so violent he was suddenly so gentle and horribly touchy with you. 

Touch. 

Out of all the years you had worked here, you've never seen him nudged, tapped, touched until you came along, only until you showed him an ounce of human contact by trying to get his attention so he would leave. In the man’s muddled abused brain, even the slightest bit of kindness must have meant that you were at least somewhat…Different. Something in him connected the dots that your touch was good and now he couldn't get enough. 

Your stomach falls, seeing a hazy look fall over his eye as he lifts the saw a bit higher causing your dress to come up with it. You move your arm down between your legs to try and push your skirt down. He growls, obviously opposed as he grabs ahold of your wrist in a vice grip that aches as he tugged your hand away from your skirts, one of the only times he had really hurt you so far. You whimper, letting your arm go limp in his grasp, but his grip remains solid, suddenly dropping the chainsaw with a loud bang. You shout in surprise, not only at the noise but as soon as his hand is free it's traveling up your thigh, his blood blistered, jagged nails catching on your pantyhose making them run even worse, feeling him against your hot skin

 “ Thomas… “ You gasp, carefully lowering your other hand to rest on his wrist. He glares down at you, waiting for you to resist, to pull away just as you did before, but your hand settles against his, trembling slightly “ P-Please don't hurt me…” you beg. He's still for a few moments, only idly flexing his hand on your thigh and he's pulling away. You think he's going to leave you alone, that he's gotten what he wanted, even if it's far from the truth. He grabs you by the middle of your dress and tugs you forward making a few buttons pop, exposing your middle to the cooling air of the factory, gasping sharply as he leans down to wrap an arm around your middle and hoist you up over his shoulder. You cry out and cling to the back of his shirt, wobbling unbalanced on his shoulder for a moment before he rests his other large hand over your thigh, beginning to carry you

Your stomach flip flopped, feeling a sick familiarity at the position, having seen him carry stuck pigs like this over his shoulders to hang upside down on hooks by their spines. You try not to wiggle in his grip too much to anger him, but you can't stop the tears that fall as you hang your head “ T-Thomas please, I was never mean to you! D-Don't! “ You cry but it falls on deaf ears, crying out as he's suddenly sweeping everything off your desk to the floor, something breaking and crashing while you watch your letter of recommendation flutter to the floor beside you. You whimper, your future crumbling before your eyes until suddenly he's lifting you, sliding you down from his shoulder so you're perched on the desk, letting out a choked sob as you try to take a deep breath.

He stares at you, your clothes that had ridden up from where he had slid you from his awkward position on his shoulder. You lean back away from him as he rests two large hands on each of your knees, suddenly pushing them open to make room for his wide hips and round belly, grunting as he finds a comfortable spot between your legs and the desk. You're trapped now, not being able to wiggle away from those sturdy hands or his massive body. You watch as one of his hands moves up to tug at the opening of your dress, idly feeling the soft fabric and thumbing over the remaining pearl buttons, curling his fingers in the opening to touch the underside of your silk bra. 

You inhale sharply, looking up at him anxiously “ H-Hey now, w-wait- “ you squeak but you're quickly interrupted when he grabs the other side of your dress and rips it straight in half, buttons flying and the fabric tearing in a jagged line down your skirt where the buttons stopped at your waistband. Your face warms as he stops to drink you in, his hands still clenched in the ruined fabric of your dress, petting it idly like a favorite blanket to keep him from getting overwhelmed at the very sight of you. 

“ O-Oh God “ You breathe as he drops the fabric, it laying over your thighs as he moves in closer, shoving a dirty hand against your soft belly to push you back onto the desk, jolting as the back of your head hits it kind of hard, dizzy from the sudden movement. 

He's leaning over you, long matted hair falling around his shoulders as he rests his stomach against yours, feeling him take each labored breath while hindering yours, tucking his hand up from your stomach to between your breasts. You think he's going to grab a handful, only to move further upwards, tucking your hair from its updo to let it fall over the edge of the desk. He growls low and cards his fingers through it, leaning down to nuzzle his nose into your temple, taking a lungful of your hair products. You can feel the rumble he gives against your ribs, breathing shakily as he lowers his face to sigh heavily in your ear. He's so imposing, a sturdy force pressing all of the air and sense out of you as that hand dips down again to finally feel the weight of your breast. He's utterly masculine in the way he holds you and your brain is jolted by the action making a tiny, desperate wheeze past your vocal chords. He stops, hand frozen in place before hesitantly doing it again, only slower, pushing his palm down so your hardened nipple brushes against the silk lining of your bra and his steady, calloused palm, a dizzying sensation that grants him another pathetic mewl from behind your teeth. 

He growls lowly against your temple, raising himself just slightly so he's able to move his other hand to your chest, cupping and rubbing his fingertips over the cool and soft texture of your top, eyes drawn to the way your chest flutters with each breath “ T-Thomas…? “ You stutter, those dark eyes shoot up to meet yours, looking a bit irritated that you had interrupted him. You flinch slightly and bite your lip, looking up at him “ You're…You're not going to hurt me, are you? “ You ask again, although it sounds like less of a question. He's quiet, per usual, but something hangs in the air around it, like he's truly thinking if he wants to or not. You swallow, shakily bringing a hand up near his face. He flinched away, a grunt leaving the back of his throat and you stop your hand immediately from coming any closer, like you were trying to pet a wild boar. You're both still as statues until his eyes gaze to your trembling hand, taking a deep breath before allowing himself to move closer, fitting the side of his face into your palm with a heavy sigh. 

You take a steady breath yourself, but it's not entirely without worry, you're still nervous of his wandering hands and eclipsed pupils, looking ready to tear through the wire of your bra as well. You shudder as he moves his hands to the middle of the cloth, but instead of ripping it as he had your dress, he's much more delicate with this, simply pushing it up your sternum until your breasts fall out of it, his eyes lighting up as he pushes the fabric over your head and around your wrists until it falls into a heap on the floor. You shudder as the cool air meets your nipples, instantly pebbling them. He's drawn to the little reaction like a moth to the flame, encompassing one in his giant palm. You gasp, his hands much more warm now that they had time to heat up against your skin and it makes your stomach flutter, his calloused palms making for an interesting texture against your tender bud. You squirm slightly under him, but it's obvious it's not because you wanted to escape anymore

He rumbles, lowering his head down and you wonder for a moment what he's doing when suddenly he's opening his mouth wide, the slit in his leather mask creaking slightly from lack of use and he's wrapping his mouth around the plush tip of your chest. You cry out, hands trembling as he presses his mouth around you, worried faintly he was going to take a bite out of you when you feel teeth close around the plush of your breast, only to sigh shakily when he pulls away with just his tongue pressed flat against it, growling deep in his chest as he pulls away, only to plump your tits together with a hand on each side, nuzzling his face there and doing the same to the other side, drooling over his mask and your soft chest. You bite your lip, trying to keep your embarrassing noises down, but despite what you suppose is inexperience, he makes up for it with great enthusiasm, hands fluttering about, finding what he could that was pleasing to the touch, being denied it for so long. 

You wiggle like a worm on a hook underneath him, hands clasping his shoulders trying to either push him away or find something to ground yourself on, but he quickly encases your wrists in one of his giant hands, pinning it to the top of your head. You squeak as he lifts himself with a loud pop, your breast falling away from his mouth, glaring up at you with a huff. His eyes slid down you, as if he didn't exactly know what to do next. You stare down your bodies until you find the heavy bulge in his slacks, your eyes widening as his hips sputter slightly at just being watched. He follows your gaze; he's surprised, it's like he didn't even realize he was hard. He rests a hand between the both of you to cup himself and you can see the shudder that rolls over him, stopping at his fluttering eyelids. He groans, pulling down the zipper with a harsh rasp, undoing the two buttons that had looked fixed time and time before. He pulls his bare cock from where it had been pressed against the inside of his pants leg, groaning as he strokes himself. This, he at least had experience in, his cock heavy and thick, not too long and uncut, surprisingly clean if not a bit sweaty from the hot day. His musk is thick, like a wild animal and you hate how it makes your stomach feel full of fluttering moths. 

He lays it right over the soft fabric of your matching underwear, sighing at the silky texture against his cock. He had only his hand to rut against usually, rough and familiar, but this had been almost overwhelming, his cock head an angry purplish hue as he ground the leaking head against your mound through your dainty underwear. He tucks his thumbs in the waistband and ever so gently plucks those away as well, lifting under your knee so he could at least get one side off so he doesn't bother much with the other. In fact he seemed to prefer to have that cool slick piece of cloth there at hand to rub between his fingers as that heavy gaze fell down between your legs, hands running up your thighs to spread them, feeling over the soft texture of your stockings. He huffs hard, if he was a bull he’d have hot breath escaping past his nostrils, a thick thumb coming down to pull you open to him, jolting at the feeling of his quickly cooling fingers against your warm core. He curiously tilts his head, moving his thumb from the precipice of your leaking entrance, up through your slick folds and then brushing the pad of his nail right up under your clit. 

The little action has you reacting so violently he nearly jumps himself “ T-Thomas~! “ you squeal, eyes closing tightly as you try not to press yourself any further down onto his touch, much too overwhelmed already. Unfortunately, it hadn't even begun to dwindle his hunger, only spur him on to do it again. Your reaction is just as explosive as the last time and so is the next time when he has a more firm pressure, feeling your legs clench around his thighs. He feels your slick bubbling out from between your folds, rubbing you with a curious index finger before slowly pressing inside. You nearly curl in on yourself at the feeling of a large digit pressing its way inside of you. You're so tight you can barely take it and it feels like you might crumble when he begins to already work on another one. You have no idea how he plans to put the next finger inside you, let alone his steadily pulsing cock

He grunts and takes his other hand away from your wrists, reaching to palm over your mound to feel over it, jolting when his palm comes in contact with your clit again, your hips jutting up now to meet the idle thrust of his fingers “ G-God, t-t-too full! “ You whimper but he keeps up his steady pace, rocking his finger in as his calloused palm adds a grinding pace to your poor clit. He lets out two breathy grunts and you feel like flushing. He was laughing at you. You supposed it was some kind of vengeance, for the second time that night he was not the object of ridicule, but instead being the antagonist to your pathetic situation. He did ease up although, even if it was only to watch his fingers slide in and out of your cunt, eyes heavy as he watches your slick drip down his heavy fingers before quickening his pace, growling as his cock gives a twitch against your thigh, leaking steadily and thick against your soft skin. He pulls his fingers away and you feel your breath finally return to you, eyes fluttering up to where he's lifted his hands to his face to scissor together the slick between his fingers with a curious expression before pulling them between his lips behind his mask, groaning lowly as he lathered his tongue over his finger. You take a shaky breath, covering your eyes with a deep flush. You had no idea why but seeing him lap up your slick made your stomach twist and your cunt contract around nothing

Thomas licks his lips and looks like a starving man. 

He bows between your legs, his shoulders still sitting high above you while he got a closer look at your cunt, pulling away your folds to look at the soft insides, licking his lips until they glisten behind his mask, pulling you wide and exposed with two split fingers before leaning in to lick a long, hot stripe over your cunt. Your reaction is instant, a full body shudder that starts from your curled toes to your fluttering eyelashes, feeling him dive his tongue deeper to collect deep from your honey pot, mask and lips already sheened with your slick as he laps away at it, brow set firm as he drowns himself in you. Your thighs quiver and bend as your head rolls back over the edge of the desk, hands tangling in his hair to keep him there, but he doesn't seem to mind now that he knows you're not trying to deny him anymore ” Oooh fuck~!? “ you had never felt anything like that before, even if your stomach twisted with shame at his mouth being in such a sensitive place

He doesn't last long down there, letting his drool drip down between your folds, pulling away with a long slick tendril of saliva still sticking to the peak of your clit. He rumbles as he stands back up to lay his cock over your exposed cunt, thick and white hot against your folds making you quake, rocking his hips forward to drag his shaft against your core with a deep snarl. You whimper as he lifts your legs at his sides to push your legs against his chest, putting his weight on you to make you even more overstimulated. He nuzzles his face against the top of your head, mumbling inaudibly. He rocks his hips forward again, gasping as at his new angle, the head of his cock nudged between your folds to bump up against your clit, eyes rolling back as he tucked one massive hand down to split your cunt open to aim his head against your hole

You squeal, too shocked to clench down as he pushes his thick cock head breaching your slick hole, stopping when your muscles clamp down on him. He growls, almost pained as he steadies his hands against the edge of the desk. Your eyes roll back as you're already filled to the brim with his head, slick dribbling around his twitching shaft. You groan, uncomfortable, your body not able to relax. He growls as he holds your writhing body on the desk, pushing his hips forward harder, slipping in a bit more but it makes your thighs clench harder and a cry rip past your throat. He stops for a moment, hard eyes searching you as he begins to rub your stomach, feeling your hard, shallow breaths against his palm as tears trickle down your cheeks. He presses down further, your clit leaking past your lips and rubbing against his calloused palm. He groans as your walls relax slightly, being able to slip in further, further until he wraps his other hand around your hip and tugs you down the rest of the way 

Your legs curl up around his hips, crying out as your cunt squeezes him tightly “ T-Tommy~! “  you sob out, your hands curling in his shirt to tug him down, knuckles white around his tan shirt. He rumbles as he pins you down with his body, rutting in and out of you, filling you so much, so full, smacking right up against your cervix with each shallow thrust. He's breathing heavy, drool spilling past sharpened teeth as massive hands squeeze under your knees, trying to fold you like a metal chair. He sits up slightly and you take a deep breath like you had come up for water, a fresh sheen of sweat breaking out over your skin making you warm and slick, his hips rocking to plunge his cock in, out, in, out in a steady pace, coal eyes focused on the way his shaft disappeared inside of you, surprised you could take all of his fat shaft, even more so to find the bulge in your navel. He rests a hand there, growling as you get tighter the harder he presses down. You cry out as you wrap your hands around his arm, a lightning strike of pleasure licking down your spine as he does it again and again, finding a steady rhythm with his hard thrusts and it seems to work for him as well. You're tight as a harp string, Thomas steadily plucking you until you vibrate all the way down to your toes. You can feel something welling up inside, something that boils over when his thumb returns to rub your clit, using that to tighten you. He gets more than he bargained for as your cunt guards and convulses around him, crying out as your back arches off the table in a shout, your orgasm shoving you over the edge without your permission. You pant hotly, exhausted, but it's not over yet. Thomas adjusts, now sliding easier with copious amounts of your slick coating your thighs and glistening entrance, growling as he pumps his hips forward, once again finding his rhythm 

He grabs your hips in a vice grip, growling as he adjusts his weight to hike a knee up onto the desk, the structure creaking underneath the both of you, but now he's able to draw his hips back all the way and slam forward with a newfound intensity, grunting and huffing with each thrust. You whine, overstimulated and tired, but he's not stopping, not now that you had so much pleasure and he was so close. Your own noises are nothing but high pitched squeals, groans, long sobs and the occasional cry of his name as his cock makes its home deep inside you, carving you out for nobody but himself. He snarls, leaning over you to press his forehead to yours as his thrusts become quick and shallow, your bodies meeting in a wet plap as his face contorts, eyes boring into yours and you can't look away. He's an animal with nothing but dark irises and instinct as finally his thrusts stop all together, moving his hands away only to wrap his arms around your middle, arms and all and squeezes you tightly to his front, burying his face into your hair. You're hyper aware of the feeling of something warm and thick pooling out from the seam between his cock and your entrance, whimpering as he fills you.

Your legs rest at his hips, quaking as you both come down from such a intense bout of fucking, Thomas breathing you in heavily. You groan out, his weight making it hard to breathe but he doesn't move, simply running his hands up and down your sweat sheened skin, petting you with his knuckles. He lets out a big-cat like purr of satisfaction before sitting up, grunting as he rests a hand on your hip and pulls out of you, letting out a strained noise as he watches his cum fall out of you onto the edge of the desk. You take a moment to take in lungfuls of the stale factory air, but at least it had cooled down now that it was late, nearly crying when you realized you would have to not only walk home like this, but in the dark. You lay there on the desk while Thomas lumbers out of your sight and your tears do fall, wondering what he had planned with you now that he was done, closing your eyes to try and take a few calming breaths. When you open your eyes, nose to end with his chainsaw, snapping your legs closed as you look up at him pleadingly. 

He grunts, fully clothed once again as he moves around the side of the desk, tucking a large arm underneath you and lifting you to your feet, squeaking as you hold onto his heavy shoulders as he tugs you against him. You barely have any strength to stand and he seems to notice, kneeling further to tuck his arm underneath your thighs as you steady your hand on his shoulders, confused to what he was doing until he hoists you up onto his hip like a child, yelping as you grip onto him for dear life. He grunts and squeezes you, not only to keep you from falling, but to keep you there. He wasn't going to be letting you go. You cling to him when he walks away from the desk, your heart clenching as you try to avoid looking at the figure beside the upturned desk across from yours, stomach dropping to your feet. You were fucked only feet away from a dead man, a man you had known for years now and he was just…Gone. By the man who had made you cum. 

A glorified handmaiden was a better suited title for his pastimes with you, shadowing you about the courtyards and the gardens, keeping a hazy eye on the horizon when you pray amongst the hillsides, standing like an ominous stormcloud amongst ladies at tea that were afraid to lift their heads in fear of meeting Sandor's stern expression and gruesome features. Of course, he would never be staring at any of the stuffy duchesses or dry old bitches of the court. 

He was imagining his sword clashing off armor. Of blood rushing through his ears, all the while his dark eyes were trained on you, perched at the table until you excuse yourself from to approach him, an excitable gait closing the distance between the both of you “ It's time for my trip into the city, I have to fetch sister her present! "Ah, another menial task to follow you around for, the town was especially hectic since you kept getting distracted by talkative peasants. If there was one thing to the Beratheon name they could not slander, it would be yours, you had walked through town as if you truly lived amongst them, greeted the paupers as if they were your very court, holding their hands and cooing to small, dirty children, passing out coins. 

You were a saint and Sandor was so terribly bored. At least Jeoffery was sadistic and twisted enough to stay interesting, you were so nice it spun his insides into knots, especially when that gaze was cast back at him, as if he were some normal man who valued your opinion of him, who did this for honor and loyalty other than the need for a warm bed, a belly full of eat and drink and a pot to piss in. You were the easiest way. 

You were walking through the open market district, gazing at all the little trinkets that came from local shops and imports from far off lands, peddled by shopkeeps with ambiguous origins. You had stopped in front of a stall, stuffed to the brim with flowers of spring, creating a lovely aroma that carried around the court. Sandor rolled his eyes as you stopped to touch delicate petals and bring them to your face to sample “ You can pick your sister flowers at the palace “ sandor rumbled at your back, the stand owner waving their hand about 

“ Ah, but these are grown from podlings from Dorne, brought to your shores in traveling greenhouses! You won't find anything like this around here, their beauty guaranteed to last, just as your own your highness~  "Sandor sneers as he watches your expression light up, not believing you were actually falling for all of this. Silly princess. 

“ Truly? Oh I'm sure my sister would love them~! Please, I'll take a bouquet of eleven, her birthday is arriving soon, one for each year! “ You say as you fish out your precious coin to the florist who wishes your sister a happy birthday. You hold them delicately in your arm as you wave back, following celgane to the next store “ I have one last thing I need to retrieve. She's actually been learning about Dorne and I've been meaning to pick up updated maps for her, along with these flowers it will be the perfect gift! Myrcella is always thinking of far off places and wild adventures, even for her station. The dreams of children, yes? “ you say with a fond expression 

He frowns deeply. All he knew of childhood was an older brother with a particularly bad temper, any idea of adventure fizzled out long ago when he couldn't even pretend to swing a sword as a young boy with his injuries. But he had to learn, not for adventure, but for survival when his brother's cruelty would span past not wanting to share his toys 

“ Princess Myrcella is turning ten, not eleven, Princess “ He didn't know why his thoughts had suddenly latched onto that, surely if he knew that you shouldn't be mistaken, although it seemed it wasn't for any lack of intuition as you suddenly gave him a sheepish expression 

“ No, you are correct, “ you say and pluck a vibrant yellow flower from where it was tucked into the tie of ribbon “ I don't wish to lose track of you in this crowd, wearing such dark clothing all the time “ You say and suddenly reach to tuck it into the crook of his armor. He goes still, as if you had pierced him with a blade instead, not moving to look at the frankly ridiculous curve of the flower hanging out of the gaps of his chassis armor, giving you a confused expression before you're already turning on your heel to head toward the cartographer’s. 

And, like a dog on a short leash, he quickly followed after you. 

The store was small and crowded, run by an older, hunched man who was dusting large tomes with a cloth. The bell chimed as Sandor reached overhead to open the door, your smaller figure stepping in ahead as you took a look around the dark room. Sandor sniffs slightly at the disorganization, having to step around big crates of parchment as not to trip

The old man turns, letting out a surprised shout when he's firstly met with Clegane and the sharp expression he’s giving him “ I told you, I'll have the property taxes at the end of the week, please, do not threaten my livelihood again!  “ he shouts, only then noticing you stepping out behind your guard with a surprised expression 

“O-Oh! Princess, I-Its you, f-forgive me, your guardian here has harassed me for my dues in the past. “ he says with a huff, Sandor baring his teeth

“ Looks like you won't have it either way, old man, seems nobody has touched this firestarter of a building in weeks “ 

“ The world is filling in fast, I cannot keep up with the demand of unedited maps! “ he argued 

“ Then maybe I should just do you a favor and throw you out now- “ 

“ Sandor! You will do no such thing! “ you shout, stepping between the old man and him, raising your chin with an indignant pout before turning to the cartographer with a sugary sweet tone “ Don’t worry sir, he will not hurt you, I shall not allow it- “ 

“ Aye, you won't, because I'm getting he fuck out of here. Do your useless errands on your own, if you're injured picking flowers or bleed out from a paper cut then you need to be locked in a padded room! Treating me as if I'm some handmaiden, like I'm like that pillowy flower knight “ He suddenly grabs the flower from his armor and crushes it in hand making you gasp, watching as its delicate petals fall from between his fingers. Your bottom lip warbles as he rolls his shoulder into the door to open it “ Find me when you need a sword, princess “ He barks sharply as he slams the door shut behind you. 

You sniffle, continuing your purchase with as much dignity as you could muster, wishing the man a good day in a trembling voice, lifting your hood when you step out into the street. You gaze about the streets, eyes wide as you try to find your giant guardian amongst the crowd, hands trembling as you begin to blend in with the bustling streets of kings landing. 

Sandor had found the nearest bar and knocked back a drink as quickly as he could. He just needed something to take the edge off this soul crushingly boring guardianship he had been appointed to, but he couldn't dally, he figured you would be sitting there in that stuffy cartographer's, chatting mindlessly about the contents of those dusty tomes or just outside, talking with passerbys about…Anything. You were always one to reach out to others, to listen to their stories and their blights with a soft and understanding tone, accepting other differences as something to be celebrated and acknowledged with respect and uniqueness. You were the only good thing about this messy royal family and unfortunately, that left you the most vulnerable. Because a good thing was worth quite a lot in this horrible life. He sighs as he knocks back the drink, throws his coin on the table and makes his way back to the shop. 

About half way there, he had suddenly stepped on something solid. He made a face, assuming only the worst only to lift his boot to see a small bouquet. The same one you were carrying in your arms earlier, its ribbon now muddied beneath his sole. 

His blood ran cold when all of a sudden he felt a blade against his back 

“ We have your owner, Dog. You do what we say you'll see her again “ a man’s gruff voice had wafted near his neck, Sandor narrowing his eyes as they began to slowly walk through the crowd to not seem suspicious “ Pretty princess, worth a lot of scrap…What you is gonna do is go to the palace’s royal vault and you're gonna load up some treasure, plenty for three fellows to live a comfortable life, meet us outside the city limits tonight and we’ll give you your princess back. If not…Well, she’ll be a tasty little jewel worth some gold and then some on slavers cove. No other guards or we’ll kill her as soon as your pot and pan army curve over the horizon “ He says with a nasty chuckle before he's slowly bleeding back into the crowd. 

Sandor curses as he grips the bouquet in his fist. Asking for adventure and here he was, about to swing his sword through slavers and ransomers at your expense. 

—- 

Darkness swam in your vision. The last thing you remember was a man needing help with his cart a few stores down, stopping to hold a few of his things while he fixed his wheel before all of a sudden you had a cloth against your nose, being pulled back into sturdy arms as you were slung into the back of the cart. Beyond that, your mind was a hazy blur, only coming awake when you hear the sound of muffled voices and crackling fire, letting out a soft whine as a chill cuts through your thin dress, feeling much lighter to prove your jewelry, fine silk lined cape and your bag of coins had been stolen. You weren't able to see, nor speak, a blindfold tied over your eyes, your mouth gagged with the rag that had kept you docile and your arms bound high above your head on a stake at your back, taking a deep, shaking breath as you realized your sudden very unfortunate position. 

You've been kidnapped and who knows what these people had planned for you, the warnings that echoed in your father's voice were there in your head right alongside the image of Sandor's last words to you. You needed his sword, you needed him and you had taken him for granted. 

You let out a hiccuping sob, choking it back as you realized how far your voice carried, her heart thrumming as you hear the chatter outside of whatever minimally walled tent you were being held in, tucking your bound ankles up towards your body as footsteps approach you, throwing back the tent flaps in a gust of cold air for a raspy laugh to be cast cruelly down at you “ Good morn’, princess, you look awfully comfy. Unfortunately, your sitter hound should be here soon… “ he steps closer, brushing a boot over your thigh to make you squirm. Even if the thought of Sandor coming to your rescue was a fond one, one that almost made you cry in relief, your stomach lurched as you felt a heavy hand spill down the front of your clothed chest “ So that means we have to be quick if we want to get a feel of that royal flesh~ “ she spits, reaching down to grab at your dress, getting dirty fingers curled into the collar of your low hanging cleavage. You yelp as he rips it down the middle, revealing your thin underdress which he's already reaching for despite your cries of distress from behind the gag

“ Hey! I see him on the horizon! “ one of them calls. You stiffen like a solid stone, hoping the threat of Sandor's impending presence is enough to take him back off. He huffs liquor breath over the front of your face making you wince “ Seems our time is fated to be brief, princess. Stay very still and you won't have to die “ He says as he suddenly slides a blade under the shelf of your jaw, whimpering as you feel the cold blade threaten to bite your skin.

Sandor descends on the camp on the back of Stranger, a heavy sack thrown over its saddle. The men eagerly await his dismount, his gruff face pinched in a heavy expression. One of them approached him with the swagger of a man far more confident than he was “ Alright then dog, we got the princess at knifepoint in there, so you just stay civil or we’ll- “ 

Suddenly, his massive fist is primed towards the man’s temple, cracking the skull almost instantly, causing the first shockwave of chaos between the other two who remained who drew their blades and thrust themselves at the hound. Sandor unsheathes his own weapon, his massive sword easily blocking the two smaller blades aimed for his face and vital organs, swinging it through the guts of one of them who topples in half, blood spraying. 

He ran his sword through the last without much fanfare, it was over quick enough that he could see the glint of the blade from the final remaining man in the tent. He eclipses the light from the fire at the tents entrance, pulling it back to reveal the last man, indeed holding the knife to your neck, tears wetting your blindfold as he chuckles cruelly “ Thank you for saving me the trouble of killing them for me friend, allows more of the spoils to go to the true mastermind of all this yes? We do not wish to see our brave little princess here hurt, but that all depends on you…Fetch my gold and you can have her “ 

Sandor's dark eyes trail to where your clothes are ripped, his fist curling as a new wave of hot anger passes through his veins. He only allowed this man, the one who had held the knife to his back, to live because he needed him to lead him back to you, his princess he had promised to serve.

He grabs the bag from the back of his horse, tossing it over his shoulder as he returns to the tent, finding him holding your throat and whispering to you, things that make you cringe and shrink away from him. His wretched hands sliding over you like you were just some common whore. You were a lady. Something he didn't respect himself in the past, something he surely hadn't in the last twenty four hours but if anyone truly deserved the title, it was you. Kind. Gentle. Hell, you just wanted to help this disgusting creature and he took advantage of you for it. He wouldn't stand for it.  

He wouldn't let him get away with hurting you. So, with a swing of the bag, he aimed high and managed to strike the man in the face with the satchel, sending him and his blade back, your body curling up against the stake as the movement adjusts your blindfold over your eye to where you can finally see your surroundings. 

Your huddled in a rather small tent, the other two bodies taking up a frightening amount of room, gaze finally landing on Sandor, his face bloody and rage making his eyes look black, his hands wound around the throat of the assailant while coins litter the space around his head, eyes bulging at the Hounds iron grip. You gasp, shuddering as you turn your head away from the sight until you hear a resounding snap. It's quiet other than your little wheezes past the gag and Sandor's deep breaths. 

His armor shifts when Sandor moves off the man. He takes heaving breaths looking down at you, slowly kneeling until he's crouched in front of you. He removes his gloves, stained with blood and moves his hands to the gag around your lips, where you cough on your spittle and smack your dry tongue against the roof of your mouth “ C-Clegane, I-I- “ 

“ Shh, don't speak now, lass “ He says, his voice, usually so rough and striking now reminiscent of a rumbling storm, filled with the heat of adrenaline but in an unfamiliar softness directed towards you, calling you ‘lass’, my gods, it was so fond it made you release another pathetic sob as those large hands remove your blindfold 

“ N-No, I'm sorry! “ he pauses his reaching to untie your hands, struck with a dumbfounded expression “ I-I know I'm just some silly girl with silly pastimes, I wish I could be more exciting for you. I wish my life wasn't just day after day of scheduled tea parties and diplomatic trips into town. I want you to protect me because I want you to see me as worth protecting…Y-You don't have to keep guarding me, I can request a more suitable position in gratitude for your months of service…Please, forgive me “ you hiccup, trembling as you finally let yourself spill. His abrasive attitude towards you had been so nerve wracking, but trying to still feel like a respectable warrior while tailing a little girl around all day was understandably frustrating. Maybe you just had to let him go. Maybe your kindness, your presence couldn't do for him what he truly wanted. 

He's quiet for a long moment before he's using a smaller blade to cut you free by your ankles and then finally your arms, catching you as you topple forward into him “ The only reason you're here is because I wasn't…The reason I'm bored all the time is because no one dares to lay a finger on you when I'm around. I'll make sure of that “ He grumbles out. You shake in his arms, wrapping your weak grip around his shoulders as he lifts you in a cradle, tucking you into his hold. He settles you side-saddle on Stranger’s wide back to grab the gold, whatever else they had stolen from you and covers you with your silken coat again to shield the rips in your dress. He hadn't told anyone of this, not wanting to cause a riot nor have his position questioned, even if he was definitely in the wrong this time around. He touches up the side of your calf to get your attention “ Princess, “ He says and opens the saddle bag to pull out one of the flowers you had purchased, your eyes glowing in surprise as you watch him tuck the new one securely into his armor “ I'll go out and fetch more tomorrow for the young princess’ birthday, I'll at least know what they look like “ He says, as he mounts his horse behind you, your eyes growing soft as he settles close to you, wrapping an arm around your middle to keep you steady as you round back to the kingdom. 

—

You both managed to sneak back into the palace under the radar of the guards and the late night wanderings of the more mysterious courtiers. You duck around corners and hide at his back, most don't wish to stop and chat with The Hound late into the evening anyways. The both of you stop at your bedroom door, your fingers curled into the drapes of your silk lined cape  “ I…I want to thank you. For everything. For giving me another chance “ You say softly and he has to chuckle to himself. He fails to bite it back when you look at him confused like a lost puppy 

“ You're the princess, you could have me executed for abandoning you and you're asking for my forgiveness and mercy? “ 

You give him a sheepish expression, there's a flush on your cheeks that makes something dangerous flutter in his lower gut at seeing a pretty girl not look at him with fear or disgust “ Forgiveness is in my nature. Although now that we know what is lacking in our current dynamic, I admit I must expand my horizons and my interests more to the traditions of battle and strategy, to not only for retaining knowledge and security for future leadership but…To keep you “ You say, something heavy in your voice that he didn't, can't miss. Keeping him. Meeting in the middle so tea parties could be followed by a few rounds of having your eyes on him as he plows through green horned guards who would piss themselves in fear if he actually intended on taking their heads off. Those pretty eyes that were currently looking at him as if he had hung the stars. It made him want to snap his teeth, put up barriers, but you were always good at breaking those down. 

You only proved your power, whether you knew it or not, clever little minx, with your next move “ Sandor…I…I don't wish to be alone tonight. Im still so shaken,” you grab at your own biceps to emphasize your point “ I can still imagine his hands, crawling up my skin “ you say quietly, goosebumps breaking out on your arms and fuck him, you got him hooked with a possessive growl from his belly. He wonders if you were really so innocent after all as you opened your door and he followed you in like his brain was made of mud

What was he doing? A little bit of praise, a bit of honesty and a pretty face and he was bending farther than a dog's back leg for you all day and all night. He was your dog. And your dog watches as you allow the cape to spill into his waiting hands, wrapping it over his arm as you shift awkwardly. You've never had a man in your bedroom before, especially not one as truly masculine and rough as the hound, his body standing out sorely in your extravagant room. Sandor has to know what the hell you're thinking and he won't do that by watching you play with your fingers. He casts aside your cape across your vanity chair as he steps closer.

“ Princess…Youve had me follow you around like I was your damn shadow for nearly three months now. I know when you want to speak, when you want something. Despite all this fancy dress and pretty bobbles you never really do get what you want, do ya? “ he questions. He knows your parents disregard your opinions for the kingdom, for anything, simply as your father was the king and your mother, Gods help you, whatever issue she had with you, her own daughter and where it stemmed from, he wasn't sure, but he knew you were often talked over “ You've got big thoughts, Princess. Good ideas for this kingdom. You don't ask for permission to go out and do them either. I respect that “ He steps closer to you, until you're nearly chest to chest, a breath away from touching his armor, your big wet eyes locked on a splatter of blood before trailing up to meet his, heart hammering hearing that he respected you for something other than a violent attribute “ So I don't know why you're hesitating getting what you want now “ he rumbles. 

You let out a quiet, strained noise as you finally close the gap, getting up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on his cheek, barely being able to reach that from his position and more placing a delicate brush of your mouth against his throat, swallowing sharply as he closes his eyes “ Princess…You're asking for something dangerous “ 

“ I thought you were here to protect me from danger? “ Your cheeky question surprised the both of you before Sandor was letting out a deep laugh, one that made you shudder from head to toe

“ I'm the dangerous one here, little girl “

You gasp as he leans down into you, a massive hand finding your back and guides you together at the center, his core warm against your belly, leaning down to whisper to you “ But that comes with having me, Princess. Sometimes I go looking for trouble and I often find it. Are you willing to take that risk? “ he asks. 

You slowly nod your head, reaching to cup the burnt side of his neck, making him flinch slightly before your thumb trails down the curve of his cheek, bumpy with old pink scar tissue “ I'm dangerous too. I'm could be used as a bargaining chip for seven different kingdoms, wars can be started in my name and, as you say, I can execute anyone I want~ “ you say, and he gives an aroused laugh at your sudden brashness 

“ I don't need you to execute me if we get caught doing this. Gods, I'm a bad influence on you “ 

“ And I'm good for you, it seems, Sandor Clegane “ You respond, pulling him down to finally pull your mouths together. He lets out a low, deep groan into your throat as his hands settle heavily on your hips pushing you back towards the edge of your canopy bed, settling you down onto it as your lips finally part in a wet pant 

“ Burned my blood you know? Seeing another man touch you like that. No one should get to lay their hands on you unless you say. The fact I get to is ridiculous in itself “ He says, truly in a bit of a haze of disbelief that it was his hands that were now playing with the strings of your underdress, exposed through the rip in your bodice. Hands that were accepted by you, to touch and hold and taste you as he pleased. His cock was already filling out at the sight of you, he wasn't sure if he could look at you from this angle again without getting a half-erection “ I should have taken his vile hands “ 

You shudder as you reach to touch the backs of his exposed knuckles, guiding his hand to the tatters of the front of your dress. Sandor exhales deeply as he finally goes through the motions of slipping your ruined dress off until you remain in your nearly sheer underclothes, suddenly feeling rather overdressed. He can't take his remaining armor off quick enough, trying not to let it clatter and alert anybody before he's finally down to a drawstring shirt and his leather breeches, already hard and pulsing. He takes a moment to realize how little is holding him back from the princess’ bare body and his head spins 

“ Your virginity- “ 

“ Can be feigned. Blood is not a valuable  resource, my knight, a simple cut on the hand can resemble the symbolism of a taken flower, so I've heard “ you say coyly. He hums in interest as he approaches you, sliding his knee over your sheets, cooled by the night air. 

“ Where was this oh so knowledgeable vixen in the art of deception that's been kept from me, you could have kept me enraptured a lot sooner if I would have known~ “ He says, fondly running his fingers over the back of your scalp, nails scratching delightfully so 

“ She was there. Just scared of what you would think of her, based off of the infamous secret agendas of my own family “ You admit shyly. Sandor scoffs and joins you on the bed, a hand sliding over your knee to guide it open 

“ You're the best of them all, lass. No doubt about that “ He says and leans in for another kiss, pushing you back into your bed until you were both breathless, his tongue sliding over your plush bottom lip to guide it open, lazily allowing him inside to explore the wet carven, trailing over your teeth before nipping at the flesh until it plumped with your heartbeat, a high pitched whine accompanied the action “ and so damn sensitive “ He says, slipping your underdress past the swell of your tits and above your head, his bare palms warm against your twitching body to prove his point. He sucks in a sharp breath as he finally looks down at you, skin unmarred from any kind of conflict, one he wanted to leave marks upon for his own reasons. He bites his bottom lip, letting his gaze travel down to the soft tufts of hair between your thighs, reaching down to pull you open with his thumb, an action that has you both letting out soft, breathy noises “ Ah, fuck, there she is. What a perfect cunt… “ He hisses, your breath catching in your throat.

So crude, so mean and you could practically feel the gush of need building between your thighs

He curls a finger forward, separating them with a slick sound, flicking it upwards that has you arching your back with a strained choke “ S-sandor-! “ 

“ Hush girl. You asked for danger, for excitement, thinking of things to keep me around? This is it and you're gonna take it, yea? “ He pushes, for a moment fearing for his head for talking to a royal in such a way but you respond with a high pitched whimper and a hasty nod. Back to worrying about the only head that matters at the moment then

“ Y-Yes, p-please, I'll take it “ 

“ Aye, you will. Take it long and hard and you'll be a brave, strong girl while you do it “ He guides another finger between your lips, brushing over that cluster of stiff, hot nerves that has you writhing in the sheets, Sandor's voice like syrup between your ears before finally sliding a finger inside. It has you cinching around it and your eyes turning to saucers but he doesn't move it, simply lets your cunt flex around it, even as it tries to expel it for a few short moments “ Breathe, girl “ He demands and the command is followed almost involuntary, taking a stuttered breath and as you release it, your muscles relax as well, allowing him to slowly adjust and pull it out before he's suddenly lifting his hand to his own mouth, your glazed over expression shimmering as he takes the finger he had inside of you and tastes it with an open mouth, your walls tightening around nothing at the sight of his lips curled around his own digits

“ You've been indulging in fruits more often too, haven't you? Spoiled girl “ he chastised playfully ” I just about never get to indulge in fresh fruits from far off places. About time I did “ 

You wonder what he means for a few moments before he's sliding down to settle his head between your thighs, making you snap up by the middle, resting on your elbows “ Sandor? What are you doing, you cannot-!? “ before you have any time to protest the cleanliness of this even if your morning began with an extensive bath, the warm day and your lengthy time in your clothes surely wouldn't make this appealing, but it seemed Sandor thought differently, those fingers found your lips again, spreading you open. His breath fans over you, your thighs already trembling as he opens his mouth around your peach. His tongue is a strange, slithering sensation that almost feels strange enough to cast him away as it at first simply cuts through your slit. It's not until it's first swirl around your clit do you understand the reasoning for this strange position. 

“ O-Oh? Oh goodness, th-thats so-? Oh, it's strange! So warm- “ You babble, arching and wiggling as if you were trying to escape it, but you were just so curious how something so filthy sounding could be so good! He chuckles into your cunt and you have to hold back an embarrassed groan, fingers curling into the sheets by your head. Sandor savors you as if you were some tropical fruit, sucking the sensitive flesh into his mouth, cleaning you of your sweet juices like he intended to wash you spotless with only his lips and tongue. He then stiffens the prehensile muscle enough to dip repeatedly into your entrance, the fat base of his tongue still brushing your clit when you ground down to meet his thrusts. His sparse stubble around his cheeks scratches your thighs until they're sensitive while the fuller tufts at his chin brushes the plump of your ass below your cunt, catching your slick, shiny with it as greedy evidence of his feast when he pulls away from between your legs much to your many complaints 

“ Quit your belly achin’. I have something else to do that for you, girl “ He growls, quickly brushing his arm across his mouth as he sits up to undo the lacings of his breeches, his knees on either side of your thighs. You pant into the close air between you, your hand reaching to tuck under his shirt and touch at his warm, scarred skin, his skin tough, abdominal muscles hiding below the thin layer of softness from the lack of activity in the past couple of weeks, his stomach hairy but it was soft and curly, giggling as you make lazy shapes. He lets out a deep sigh at the action. You were so sweet, something he thought he would ever dream of getting to have. He wanted to make it last before life eventually fucked him again. 

Your hand stops when his cock is finally out, laying in the curve of his palm as it leaks at the ruddy head, a droplet finding its home at the apex of your thighs “ Go on, touch it. It won't bite “ He teases, your cheeks flaring as you reach down to curiously settle your fingertips over the base, with even curlier hair there, a bit more wiry here and darker than on his head or where it was dusted along the rest of his body. The shaft was long, a good seven inches if you had to guess with a girth as big around as a sword’s hilt, feeling almost as heavy when you replaced his hand with yours. He groans, feeling your soft hands against the hot flesh,  watching with hazy eyes as you jolt at the very visible twitch it gave making him laugh again “ I said it wouldn't bite, didn't I? “ he questions as he suddenly takes your hand to settle it aside, crawling over you as he fills your vision, his body boxing you in and spreading your thighs out with his knees until they rest by his hips, your foot dragging up and down the back of his thigh to guide him closer. 

You smell like flowers and oils and the dirt from the gardens, your skin like the silks you're both buried in under his hands as he guides you two close until the head rests between your slickened, puffy cunt, giving it a few drags to wet it and watch you wiggle a bit more “ This is gonna hurt a bit, princess. I'm gonna try not to hurtcha. Just hit me if it's too much to bare, I can take it “ He guides your hands together, intertwining your fingers by your head as he finally pushed forward, watching between your two as he slowly sinks into the first inch with a low groan, your breath hitching as the stretch settles in your bones, your lower back aching in a tight, pinched way that has you whimpering, his other hand falling there to keep you bowed to his angle and soothe the ache “ Shh, I know, I know, I've got you, girl. Just breathe. Gonna push a lil’ deeper now “ 

You nod quickly, keeping your teary eyes trained on Sandor as he takes a few deep breaths himself before slipping forward, little by little until finally your pelvises meet in a quiet clap of skin, a deep groan rattling from his chest. He feels you tighten and then, after a few deep breaths, finally loosen, a real deep breath finally escaping you as the sharp pain from him breeching you finally subsides “ Fuck thats tight. Highness, I don't know if you can let me leave now, I might be stuck “ He jokes, making you let out a fluttery laugh, your stomach doing flip flops as you feel that heavy weight of his cock settling inside of you, feeling every twitch with a newfound sensitivity that as you grasping for coherence

“ I-Its so…Much! “ you peep, Sandor humming as he trails his lips over your temple 

“ Oh and there's more, little Lady, so you better hold on “ He says as he tucks his hands up under one of your knees and lifts it slowly, stretching out your muscles and allows a new strange laxness to your pussy that makes you quiver “ I mean it “ He warns one last time before you're clinging to his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you on this plane of existence 

He slides his hips back, the lack of that massive endowment leaving you feeling unbearably empty. He sucks in a sharp breath of air through his teeth before he lowers his forehead to your pillow and thrusts himself forward, sheathing into you in one slick pump that had you both groaning, a massive hand falling over your mouth to block your sounds “ Keep it quiet girl. Not that I don't appreciate a ‘lil noise in the sack, especially from a mouth as sweet as yours, but can't have someone runnin’ thinking I'm doing something bad to you. Not to you. Not my princess “ he growls as he sets an agonizingly slow pace, filling you and leaving you empty to do it all over again, your lashes fluttering against his hand as you pant through your nose. He stretched you out, your knee nearly hitting your shoulder with his large, guiding hand spreading you open so wide everything could be seen. It makes you feel almost shy, the way his eyes roam over you with dark intent, watches the way your tits ripple when he thrusts forward, flexes his hand along curve of your thigh as it strains in his hold, your cunt, so slick and warm and needy, all for him. Even after such a dangerous encounter with big dangerous men, but not as dangerous as he could be your heart was beating with something other than fear. 

“ Oh brave little princess aren't you? That ain't all, is it? No, I felt you twitching when I touched ya’ in your bindings. Not away from me, not like him. But into me. Like you wanted me to just take you like that, all tied up with no one there to stop me “ your eyes widened, pupils impossibly big as you stared up at him. He stiffened slightly. It was always a gamble with these innocent looking ones. They either slapped him in the face and demanded he leave them, frightened in a way that had their eyes watering at his twisted mind. You looked up at him, anxiety wracking his body before he suddenly felt you relax, shying away as your cheeks warm against his palm. Oh and there you were, the kind to flush and wiggle and get embarrassed. Because it was true “ Oh, dirty girl. You're not brave. You're a little pervert. Oh but not just for anyone, you've proved that, my good girl. Gotta earn that royal cunt, don't I? I have to be a good knight and take care of my princess and then I get to know all her dirty secrets “ He laughs as he leans down to brush his mouth against your temple, your hand curling around the back of his neck while the other clings to his hand at your mouth “ We get to indulge in a few of our own secrets now, eh? “ 

You nod against his hand, panting warm and wet against his skin as his cock rubs up against your inner walls, his pelvis brushing against the bundle of nerves at the peak of your cunt, an electric jolt of pleasure zipping up and down your back “ Go on princess, don't hold back…Tell me how you really want it “ He pulls his hand away, making you gasp as he buried his head right up against your soft, spongy cervix and held it there

“ P-please, Sandor. I-I need you to touch me. I need you not to be gentle “ You breathe crudely into his neck, rolling your hips as best as you could with his hold on you. It aches to have him so deep but it's even worse when he's not close enough to ease the pain, his large body spilling over you like a heavy comforter.

He can indulge that. His hand returns to your face but this time it slips lower, settling under the shelf of your jaw, holding your throat in a secure hold, the tips of his fingers digging into your pulse. You gasp, eyes shooting open and your cunt quivering around him. He groans, sweat spilling over the uneven surface of his face as he chases his climax. He slid your leg around his shoulder, yelping at the sudden shift, only to nearly cry as his fingers dip down to rub your clit in a quick back and forth motion “ That good princess? You like it when I just take and take and take? Oooh fuck, you're so good, like hot, wet silk “ 

Your breath is not halted, he's not even squeezing hard, he wouldn't leave marks you couldn't easily explain. But the threat was there, that your tiny neck could snap even easier than the man who had dared to lay hands on you and taunt the wardog . It was exhilarating. You could imagine the adventures you two could have, hidden away in dark alleys or deep in the forests where your father hunted hundreds of yards away, all the while he takes you like he knows you'll never live without again

“ That's it princess. Take it and come, just relax and let that feeling go “ He guides in a strained voice, your manicured nails digging into his flesh as he huffs warmly in your face, your hands intertwining at his neck to drag him down for a deep, needy kiss as your muscles clench around him. Your back arches, feeling a gush of slick spill around him, his growls growing louder until he stopped all together, his hips ground down against yours until it hurt as he dumped rope after rope of cum into you. He kisses you back with sloppy licks against your teeth and tongue, giggling as his teeth nibble down the sensitive flesh of your throat 

“ H-Hah…Sandor, my dear you're heavy “ You bemoaned, Sandor laughing as he cradled you in his large arms 

Sweat drips down the back of your neck as you bend forward to pick up another heavy wet sheet, smelling of old lavender soap and lye to clean the stains from the collective filth of the family. It had been a few weeks since you've started a familiar routine, the others had realized that Tommy truly wanted to keep you, he hadn't killed you after nearly months under their roof and his mother had finally decided that if you were sticking around you would be useful to someone other than Tommy.

So, Lisa Mae had you put on some proper clothes that were somewhat your size and saddled you with a few chores around the house; starting you off from simple things, getting further and further away from Tommy's room by the day. Soon you were allowed to sweep the porch with supervision and for the past couple of days they allowed you to hang up the laundry, your ankle bound by a long rope.

Despite the situation, it felt good to be out of the house again, let the sun warm your skin, the late summer wind licking up the back of your thighs. Luda Mae's relative Auntie, came to visit yesterday and brought her daughter who offered you a pretty little sundress that fit you rather well. You had gone without underwear since they were all currently being hung on the line and you had a feeling that his uncle was stealing a few pairs on the sly, the thought making you shudder.

You take a moment to let the wind pass over you again before reaching up to hang another clean sheet, admiring your handiwork for a moment before all of a sudden it was pulled away by a large and quite dirty hand. You gasp, feeling your heart sink knowing you would have to wash that one all over again, disappointment quickly switching to anxiety when Thomas fucked down under the clothes line, covered in gore. When hitchhikers, nosey locals and roadside travelers were in short supply Tommy would go out around town and try to look for any left behind livestock or wildlife, usually coming back with roadkill deer or a dead elderly horse that would have been too much hassle to move with the family who left him behind. Seems he found something fresh, since the blood on his hands was cherry red. You shakily reach up to tug the sheet down and put its bloody side inward to keep it from tainting the other clothes “ H-Hi Tommy. Find dinner? " You ask. He gave a grunt as a response, the tone to it sounding as confirming as he could muster. He wasn't the best conversation partner, but that's not what you were for anyways, so you would ramble and he would be a wall with a heartbeat. You hear the spigot running and you look over your shoulder, seeing him slowly washing his hands and arms under the water. You pause, considering him for a moment, you always flinch away from him when his hands are grimy and bloody, he must have finally been understanding. You feel the corner of your mouth twitch upwards in a way that they haven't genuinely in a very long time as you turn back to the task at hand, bending down to grab another sheet “ Good. Auntie and Henrietta brought over some potatoes, onions and eggplants from her garden, I think dinner will be amazing- “

You gasp when you suddenly feel cold, wet hands touching up the sides of your thighs, goosebumps breaking out over the flesh as he takes the hem of your dress between his fingers and rubs, giving an appreciative grunt. You flush up to your ears, the sweltering heat only getting more intense as he gets closer to your back. He doesn't bend over you, not wanting to get your pretty dress dirty. You whimper softly, shifting against his hands “ Th-They brought this over too. Do you like it? “ you ask and he huffs, pressing his palms to your hips and squeezing, letting out a questioning rumble. You swallow, gazing about, the sheets fluttering in front of you blocking you from view of the house, if anyone happened to walk out they would only see the laundry and the top of Tommy’s head. You bite your lip, brows arched as he continues to move his hands back down, as if waiting for you to try and stop him, so slowly as he flips your skirt up and nearly moans when he sees you bare under your skirt. You sigh, conceding to his ever present libido, holding onto his forearms and leaning into the contact. Over the last month, he’s been learning a lot more patience since he doesn't just have you bound to his bed all the time, not so desperate to get his hands on you that he ends up hurting you. Now, he almost has the asking part down.

He groans as he's finally able to make contact with you, bare skin much easier to clean than the soft cotton of your floral dress. The bulge in his jeans makes contact with the curve of your bare ass, hands hiking up your soft little dress further up your body until his hands reach your tits, bending you forward a little and holding you up with a strong arm as the other unbuttons and unzips himself. Seems he went sans draws today as well. He groans when his hot length presses between your thighs, his exposed belly resting against your tailbone to work himself in as close as he could. He hisses through his teeth as he slides in, hands falling your waist to tug you back the rest of the way, slapping a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out and alerting anyone that you were procrastinating.

He pumps his hips forward, filling you with a slick slap of your thighs meeting his much larger, stronger ones, firm from chasing down and dragging around dead weight that greatly surpassed your own. You tried to run once, on a few days where it finally rained like hell and you thought dying in a flash flood would be a welcome change, you thought you could hide under the guise of its noise. Tommy came at you down the road through ankle deep water as if he were the thunder himself. It didn't end so we'll, getting fucked into the mud before being carried back home over his shoulder, soaked in freezing water in a trough out back to clean you; then holding you all night until you stopped shivering so you wouldn't catch cold.

Tommy wasn't bright, but he surely knew what could kill you.

He fills you over and over, wandering hands squeezing and pinching whatever he could reach without touching anymore cloth, they would both be in trouble if all the laundry ended up tainted. You whimper when his fingers find your pert nipples, pinching and tweaking them, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the back of your neck, watching as your rear ripples back against his pelvis, hearing him grate his teeth together as he sets a bruising pace. This time you can barely hold back the desperate cry from behind your fingers, letting out a surprised gasp when he suddenly stops all together, reaching a hand up to cup it under your chin, holding your head and nuzzling his nasal cavity into your hair, taking a deep inhale. He holds you like that, speared on his cock and squirming as he simply breathes you in, the smell of dirt, sunlight and sweat on your skin made his mouth water, made him want to pump you full of his cum for hours out here in the warm air while the cicadas covered your sobs. But you had chores to do. You were part of the family now.

The thought alone had him groaning as he continued to fuck you, feeling you cinch around him, pleading to milk him dry. He smushes your cheeks in his large hand to pull you up to meet his face and kisses you through his mask, moaning as he holds you close by your belly, dipping a hand down once he has you secure to rub your clit. Your knees buckle, moaning pathetically into his mouth as you cringe at the feeling of the leathery skin of the mask against your face, but his tongue comes out to lap at your bottom lip and it feels more like an apology this time around. He holds you as you thrash against him, feeling an impending orgasm start to build in your lower gut “ T-Tommy, I-Im gonna-! “ You gasp as warm overstimulated tears roll down your cheeks, squealing as he pressed down hard agaisnt your clit as he fucks his cockhead right up agaisnt your cervix, dumping a hot load there with a gutteral bellow.

Patrolling around Gotham over the past three years had turned him into some strange and dark creature, despite the good that he had done in small increments and even while the floods tore through Gotham's belly like a box cutter, spilling all the brackish water into her new, open wounds. There was still so much to be done. 

It almost seemed hopeless. His body barely being able to cope with the routine he had set himself up for all these years and it seemed the public was getting worse.

That is until he remembers the kind of people he's protecting. 

People like you. 

It happened nearly a month ago. You were taking the bus home, still wearing your work attire as you held onto the arm links above you, trying to stay alert. You knew the kind of world you lived in, being caught unaware was something you've avoided so far, but you had seen the carnage that could come from it. You can barely avoid it, with the news running just about on any tv that you see in your day to day reporting on the influx of such many crimes that they didn't have an accurate number to give the public, your walks home filled with quick glances down alleyways with strange noises and now here, where the bus was at an erie lull in it's usual schedule, but that had left the car open for you and you alone. A nice change of pace if you hadn't felt a pull in your gut to get home as fast as you could. Your car pulled into your station with a hiss, the doors not opening quick enough for you as you hop over the gap. You sigh as you reach solid, wet ground. The rain had even stopped while you were underground, only leaving damp ground to reflect off streetlights and neon. 

You walk with a purpose, excited to get home and relax after such a long day, your work had finally reopened after the flood damage, everyone in Gotham seemed to stop by today. You were surprised out of your thoughts when you heard a hard crash, a group of delinquents shouting and throwing around empty bottles that crashed unceremoniously on the ground beneath their feet. You're out in the open, a rabbit in a field  and you're nothing more than a scared game when one of them lands an eye on you and speaks inaudibly towards one of the people in his midst. All of a sudden three pairs of eyes are on you and all you can do is run when they advance towards you with little coordination. 

You want to scream, try to alert anyone who might be around to give you sanctuary, shout that they see you, anything, but it feels as if the air had been pushed out of your lungs. You're easily cornered by the three figures, laughing and slurring over each other about who “ Gets you first "

Your stomach drops, hands trembling as you reach for the knife in your pocket, only for the sound of something heavy falling behind the group of you alerts even the most impaired of the trio, looking back at the figure that seemed to have dropped from the sky, decked out head to toe in heavy black battle armor, strapped to the teeth with what looked like non lethal-but not by any means non-harmful equipment. Rain fell over the pointed nose of the angular cowl, like they had been hiding out in this dreadful Gotham weather for hours now.

All of you in that alleyway knew what you were looking at, but it was too late to comment before he was already cracking skulls on pavement. A shrill cry falls from you as the closest one lands at your feet, barely conscious before another starts throwing themselves at the vigilante with whatever sharp weapon they were planning to use on you, but it doesn't land, the blade sticking out of his kevlar almost comically as he pushes him down against the wall, whipping out an electric baton with practiced speed and sending a few mind-numbing volts into the assailants neck. 

He turns, prepared to take the next man on, but the Bat finds you with a hand around your throat and a gun to your head, tears spilling over your cheeks “ Alright! Let's take this easy now, don't wanna have to blow a pretty thing's head off before I get to use it… “ He says crudely, squeezing your throat when you begin to sob 

The vigilante eyes the both of you, the contact sitting snug against his pupil shimmering from a streetlight like a wild animal caught in headlights. He barely looks human. 

He lowers himself to the ground and kicks out into the knee of the perpetrator and you cringe at the crunch of it going into a position where it shouldn't, the man crying out as the Batman takes a hold of his face over your shoulder to shove it into the wall, disarming him with a twist of his wrist. He punches him onto the wet ground, wheezing past a busted septum as he clutches his broken leg.

You scramble to the wall, panting to yourself as you try and catch your breath as you look back over your shoulder at the three degenerates that had cornered you. They all looked worse for wear, but alive, even the one who had you at gunpoint. You breathe shakily as you look up towards The Batman and he seems as awkward as you, standing there chest heaving like some beast that's waiting on the next violent command. You gape at him for a few short moments before you manage to find your voice “ Th…Thank you “

He takes a deep inhale, but is otherwise quiet. He seems ready to take off, but the thought of having to walk another twenty minutes after that…

“ Could you take me home? "

Bruce couldn't do everything in one night. He had to prioritize what he could, he shouldn't have even been down there. Seeing you, alone and scared by brutes that wished only to see your life take a turn for the worst had sent him into a spiral. He had saved you and you looked at him like most people did. Apprehensive and shaken, not only by the crime but his visage, of him dealing his punishment. Wondering if they were next. 

But slowly that initial fear bled into something else. A hesitancy. Trust. 

It was enough to have him escort you through shortcuts in alleyways you normally wouldn't even think to venture alone, but here you were, tucked underneath his cape like vulnerable young. You're quiet as you walk together, his heavy boots clinking like spurs with every step, trying to keep pace and not be seen. You take moments to catch up close glimpses of him, his armor seemingly homemade but with high class materials, and skill of someone who had been working in the craft for years. His body was solid and he walked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, which with all the work he had been doing the past few years, he was. Up from those tense shoulders was one of the only visible parts of the man; a chiseled, pale jawline with a thin, firm frown, stubble creeping around his face like he was still figuring out how to grow it.

And those eyes. Intense, shadowed by the form of his cowl and the natural dip of his brow bone. Dark and intense, distant and foggy as the rest of him. He catches you staring a third time and for the third time your cheeks warm like Christmas lights. 

You eventually make it back to your apartment complex, a rent-frozen studio on the top floor. He can see the number and letter when you fumble with your keys “ A-Again, thank you…It's…It's good to know that even without some big disaster that you're here for us. To watch over us “ You smile fondly at him and it goes harder into his stomach than any punch or blade has in the last two years

“ That's all I can do for you… " He responds with a trembling timbre. 

He watches the chill run down your spine and pretends he wants to let you pull yourself away from under the protective curve of his cape. He pretends he wants to let you go.

Bruce himself finds this new, yet familiar hobby, disturbing. He doesn't need Alfred to tell him after peeking over his shoulder too many times when he realizes some of the content that plays on the contact recording is clipped, focused not on the skyline or a birds-eye view of the depths of Gotham’s streets, but of a window, a warm orange box with curtains more often than not tucked aside, thinking that being on the top floor no one could peer into their little sanctuary. 

Every Wednesday night was the same. Before he would even slip into his armor for the evening, he would dress himself in heavy layers to ride through the slick streets, muscle memory taking him through alleyways and down streets people like Bruce Wayne have no business being down. 

Honestly, Batman had no business coming here either. Especially to do what he was coming to do.

He had settled his bike somewhere the shadows would hide it, but it was still accessible in need of a quick get away as he began climbing the fire escape and to the building across from yours. 

He knew this side of town, he knew that its gang violence had been on the rise, so he had put extra surveillance around the area. The fact that you were there was just as well. He wanted to make sure that you were safe. There were only so many people like you in this world of theirs. It almost seemed there was no one like you. 

He settles down against the edge of the building on bended knee, the rain pelting the back of his head and dripping off his cap, the humidity smudging the makeup around his eyes he never really bothers to wipe off if he doesn't leave his cave for over twenty-four hours. He barely leaves room for his eyes to be seen in case anyone happens to catch a glimpse of his binoculars. 

He lifted the binoculars to his eyes, settling them against his high cheekbones. He focuses them in with a few flicks of the dial, right over your window where he can see you getting ready for your late shift. It's 7:45, you should already be dressed and almost out of the door, but it seems you have down time today. The building next to your morning shift got broken into so your nervous boss locked down this evening, leaving your only obligation was to wait tables at the diner only a few blocks away.

You're laid out half dressed at the end of your bed, it seemed you only managed to get your socks, bra and underwear on, relaxing before you have to clock in on no doubt a grueling shift you needed to be ready for. That was reality for people below his tax bracket, people had to work to afford a shitty apartment and food that was bad for them so they can do the same thing tomorrow. He would be lying if he hadn't thought about just taking you away from all of this. 

Even so, this was uncharted territory. He tried to avoid looking at you during times like this, wait until you're decent and sneak guilty peaks over his binoculars in the shape of you pulling your clothes over your head. Seeing you like this was different. Boundaries had been broken from day one, but this had felt damning on Bruce's conscious. But he couldn't look away. He watched as you stretched lazily over your bed sheets, trying your best to soak up the last feeling of your bed before you had to run around on your feet again. Your hands running over your tummy to give it a scratch, lower down to your panty line to tuck the top of your pinky underneath. You hold your head over the edge of the bed, gently biting your lip and Bruce feels his stomach drop when your hand delves underneath your panties.

Bruce takes a moment to peel the binoculars away from his face, pale cheeks warming and all of his layers suddenly feel too heavy. He should leave. Wait until you walk out of the building all together to make sure you got to work safe and not come back. But since that day he saved you, you held your head up high, you looked more confident walking down those roads, down the pathways that The Batman had led you down to show you where it was safe. Because you knew that he had an eye on you. You just weren't aware how perverse that truth was, lifting those binoculars shakily back up to his face. 

Your hand delves lower, sighing as you finally touch the peak of your clit, letting yourself finally relax, your hand moving back and forth in little circles. He can almost see the wet spot between your legs, your sweet face pinched with pleasure when a bolt of it would run down your spine, making you tremble. Your other hand pulls away from where it was wrapped in the sheets to help shimmy your underwear down, Bruce's jaw falls open, tasting heavy ozone and Gotham smog, but he can pretend he's opening his mouth to get a taste, pink tongue running anxiously over his dry lips as he watches you adjust to spread your legs wider, your fingers splaying you open as if showing off, Bruce's jeans and the sweatpants underneath uncomfortably tight. He pants through his teeth, watching your fingers disappear inside of yourself in quick succession, throwing your head to the side with no doubt the sweetest moan. He wondered how loud you got, if you did nothing but mewling and whimpering or if you cried out, screamed for it…

He supposed he’d find out by your body language but he was itching to know what it really sounded like. 

he watches your chest rise and fall in a huff before you're rolling over onto your belly. Bruce sighs shakily, he supposed that was it, he should stop now and berate himself later for it, that is until you're pulling something out from underneath your bed. His brow furrows further as you pull out a large black box, unclasping it before pulling something out in a silk bag. 

Only the storm hears his gasp as you slide the silk baggie away from the toy that's almost as big around as your wrist, throbbing under his waistline as you lube it enough to be almost excessive. He supposed he should have seen this coming, there was no way you could have been satisfied with just that. You needed to be taken care of, thoroughly. His elbows slip on the slick concrete of the building when you settle back against the pillows, directly facing your window where she watches you like someone he would usually kick the teeth in if he had caught them doing this. He understood the hypocrisy of his entire Batman persona, something he leaned into more and more these days. This was only a strand in the intercate fucked up web that was Bruce Wayne and Batman’s life. 

He had to take the small things where he could, things that made him feel his blood moving through his veins and his heart pump behind his chest without the use of an adrenaline shot or a touch too much caffeine. You were one of those good things. 

He pants softly, one hand sliding down and away from his face to the front of his pants, adjusting the stance of this thighs so he could unbutton his soaked jeans and push down his sweatpants and boxers underneath, so the head of his dick rested against his waistline, exhaling as it gave him little comfort. He wasn't sure his dick would ever be comfortable until he was inside you.

You're just teasing yourself now, drawing out the sensations so you could wish them into the front of your brain when you had a lull moment at work, to encourage you to get back home to do it again, to the thought of dark eyes and a black knight saving you from roughians. You tremble when the head pushes in, spreading your legs nice and wide to accept it in, not bothering to hide your moans from the people on the other side of those thin walls. Deeper, deeper inside until the silicone was flush against you, thighs shaking in short little bursts as the toy nudged around inside of you. You draw it out until it's almost slipped out before you plunge it back in with a toss of your head. 

Bruce takes himself in hand and gives himself a solid stroke. No going back now. He was now a nearly thirty years old jerking off outside the window of a pretty girl. He was a bad person. Maybe you could make him better. He strokes to the time of your lazy little thrusts, eyes hazy as rainwater drips down into his mouth from how long he's had it open now, watching as you write and groan at your own touch, a quiver of frustration at your brow when you realize once again this would be so much better with a warm body, manipulating your body to be pushed and pulled however the other wanted and you could just lay there and take it. Bruce growls like an animal, clenching his teeth as he watches you dig your heels into the bed, your thrusts getting faster while your hand swirled over your clit like it would save your life. He can see your eyes rolled back from here, he only wishes he could be there to soak up your noses with his mouth and hands, trembling as he nearly drops his binoculars when you suddenly pull it out of you, hips twitching as you squirt all over your newly changed sheets-He knew they were new, your ones from last Wednesday were a light blue. You don't stop rubbing yourself though, trying to ride that wave for as long as you can while your body’s quakes turn to light tremors until you're just barely twitching on your warm sheets. You sigh, rubbing your face with a clean hand while you let your orgasm settle in your bones, pulling your hand away from your lower parts hesitantly. 

Bruce held himself at the base, breathing shakily as he stroked himself heavily, overly sensitive from not taking the time to do this more often, but he didn't have the drive like he did when he was a teenager. Only now he had something to inspire him. His hand trembled, gripping onto the binoculars as he stroked himself forward, abusing his head with hard little grunts and over-sensitive whines close behind them until he was spilling against the side of the building, marking where he was in crude graffiti. He shudders as he strokes himself until there's nothing left, panting hotly in the night air. 

He settles down, shoulders hunched as he shakily puts himself back together, swallowing the lump of guilt in the back of his throat only to see you open the window, most likely to air the warmth out, but you're dressed somewhat again, wearing a loose tank top that flutters in the heavy wind and almost gives him a glimpse of what he just had an eyeful of. He watches you lean against the sill like a princess in a tower, breathing in the cool Gotham air, idly viewing the buildings before you that you had seen time and time again, but your eyes had suddenly drawn to a flutter of movement, accented by the neon lights of the no-vacancy sign across the street.

The shuddering cool night air of spring wafted in through the tattered curtains into the small bedroom, your half bare body shuddering as you lay sprawled out on a spring mattress, held up off the floor by a metal bed frame that looked like it would bow soon, your only privacy the sheer canopy that surrounded the bed. Your ankle was tied to one of the bars on the footrest with scratchy hemp rope, wearing only a beat up silk nightgown to protect you from the chill of the room. You woke up in a daze, alone in the bed, but not for long as you heard heavy footsteps make their way through the house, even if they tried to be quiet while opening the squeaky door. You lift your head to look over your shoulder at the hulking form in the doorway, body heaving with deep breaths as he steps through the threshold to make his way over to the end of the bed. He looked at you past a gruesome mask made from one of his victims. You still hadn't gotten used to the horrors of your situation, but you found not to be surprised by anything. The only thing you were thankful for is that no one else came to touch you but him. His uncles would stand, or sit at the door and berate and make rude gestures at you or his mother would pass by and turn up her nose at you, but didn't refuse Thomas keeping you. She preferred to pretend you weren't there at all, minus fixing one more plate in the evening for supper

Thomas reached to rest a dirty hand on your ankle, circling around the edge of the bed as he pulled you close, huffing through his nose cavity as he petted your skin with his calloused thumb. You let out a soft whimper as he drags his dirty hand up your calf and squeezes, tugging your legs up and pulling you closer so he could lift you up into his lap, hugging you to his chest. He smells like the outside air, sweat, dirt and gore making your head swim. He more or less uses you as a security blanket, draped across his lap with his fingers and mouth in your hair, with his hands touching and fondling whatever calmed him, usually hard enough to leave aching bruises. This was more often than not after a harsh berating from his other housemates, you could hear the shouting from the thin foundations of the house. He didn't react, didn't push back even if you had seen first hand what he could do to someone much weaker than him, someone like his uncle, but he doesn't, simply because he's family…

When he comes to coddle himself with you, it often translates how much it truly bothers him.

He grunts as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, the piece where his nose used to be dents when he drags the leathery skin of the human mask over your jaw, a disgusted shudder running down your spine. It was becoming torn at the edges and looked restitched multiple times, rough as his actual face. You feel nauseous at the thought of him getting a new one though. You swallow it down when he pulls back, reaching a hand up to his face to pull it away, it comes loose at the two strings around the back of his head and he exhales deeply. You don't see his face often, mostly when it's darkest outside and you have to squint to make out any of his remaining features, so you don't, instead your blurry vision focuses on his oval face with a thick jaw and heavy set brows, eyes dark in their shadows. His features were intense and striking, if not for his facial disfigurement. He breathes hot across your skin like a wild animal before leaning in to brush his mouth over your cheek, a semblance of softness with his rough, chapped bottom lip, the corner of his top lip where disease and blade ate away at the flesh exposing his gums and cannibal sharp teeth

He feels you squirm in his lap and he holds you tighter because he knows you know what he wants next. You give a soft whine when his lips find yours, much more rough than the press of his mouth against your cheeks and jaw, teeth grinding against the tight seam of your lips before he's grabbing the sides of your face, your mouth going slack in his tight grip. Last time you fought him he bit you, leaving your bottom lip plump and pulsing with a heartbeat as he continued to ‘kiss’ you with trails of blood between you. His kisses are rough and sloppy, using only the glimpses of what he's seen in the videotapes through the cracked door of his uncle's room while he downs multiple bottles of beer.

Your hands curl into his shirt as he wraps his large arms around you and rolls you onto your back, growling as the rope gets caught up between his legs and yours. Reaching behind him he pulls the rope hard enough that the thin metal bar it's attached to breaks away from the footboard with a loud creak, being able to slide the rope away so he's able to maneuver you better. You shudder at how easily he was able to break apart the frame to get to you, big greedy hands falling down to your hips to collect handfuls of your nightie and hike it up your thighs, past your stomach and over your chest, lifting your arms up so your only clothing doesn't rip if he decides he's too impatient to get to your mostly unmarred skin. He groans when he finally gets you bare, staring at your exposed body as he adjusts so he's straddling your thighs, a heavy hand resting beside your head and making the bed creek. His hair falls in a thick curtain around his face, a pant wheezing past his teeth as he moves his other hand to encompass your breast.

A choked moan escapes your throat, brows arching as he brushes a calloused thumb over your nipples. You've been here for a long time, long enough for him to get acquainted with you and your body, as well as his own. He knows what to touch, how long and how hard he decides to touch is entirely up to him, whatever makes you cry and his dick twitch, pulling those noises from you is his ultimatum. His head lowers, a thick tongue sliding down your collar bone to your other breast, growling as he latched his mouth to it and sucked, drooling heavily as his tongue lathered the hardening nub in drool. Your legs attempt to thrash, thighs tensing under his large body, eyes rolling back into your skull as he squeezes and mouths you until you're sore and sensitive, jolting when his teeth brush against your perky nipple, his split thumb nail digging into the other one to make you cry out and arch your back into him

“ Thomas! " You sob out and he groans heavily. He’d take your whiny little shouts of his name any day over the grating twang of his uncles’ using it as a curse, like a soothing balm to his dampened attitude

He attempts to make you say it like that again when his hand dips down your stomach, large fingers rubbing and squeezing your body all the way down to the softness of your thighs, digging his fingers in until it aches, rumbling when his fingers fall to the bushel of curls that hides your warmth, spreading your pussy open to the cool air with his mean fingers, one already slipping inside your wet hole. You shout, trembling and clinging to his clothes as he thrusts his finger inside of you, curling and brushing against your silken walls. After all this time you were still tight, still clenching almost painfully around his fingers, knowing that in a few impatient moments that heat would be strangling his shaft. The thought alone has him bulging in his dirty black slacks

He works another finger inside, letting out a hot breath when he feels you already adjusting to it, your hands clenching him tighter as his thick fingers fill all those agonizingly pleasurable places inside that has lighting flashing behind your eyes “ T-Tommyyy, too f-full! '' You whimper but it's nowhere near the truth, you both know it. You still attempt to persuade him into not splitting you open on his cock like you've ever had a chance. He grunts at your defiance and leans in once again, his fingers shoving in deeper as he puts pressure on his arm, his palm nudged just so against the tight knot of pleasure just above your hole. You threw your face into the old pillow underneath you, your brows knitted together as he pushed his fingers deep up into you, his touch rough and almost teasing against your clit, your hips rolling forward to get a taste of that tight relief, throwing your head back as you hump up against his hand, slick against him.

You try to catch your breath, eyes rolling back as he lifts your hips with his other hand, holding you tight against his stomach while he watches his fingers disappear into you, groaning as he's practically drooling onto your cunt. You shudder when you feel a drop of his thick spit hit the peak of your clit. You were going insane, yelping and whimpering his name, knowing it wasn't getting you what you wanted, just letting him do as he wanted was easier for the both of you. It would always end the same, with you warming his bed. He growls as he pulls his fingers out, immediately stuffing them into his mouth to lick them clean as he adjusts you with one large hand, yelping as you're suddenly unstable and left wanting, your orgasm fading away tragically.

You let out a frustrated sob, but it doesn't last long when your dropped to the bed once again, his large body slotting itself between your thighs, reaching between the two of you to fish himself out of his pants, his hard cock pressed up against your tummy, leaking and hot against your skin. He holds you by your hips, dark eyes trained on the way his grip dimples your skin, warm against his palms and his cock even warmer. He growled as he pulled back to nudge his head up and down your slickened lips, guiding you down onto the tip of his cock with his grip on your sides. You whimper as your muscles clamp down on it already, but he keeps pressing forward, making you cry and wiggle as he forces his way through until he's seated completely inside of you. He groans, long and hard in his chest and you can see the tension melting away from his shoulders as he feels you rippling around him, sliding out slowly before rocking his hips forward once again, pressing all the wind out of you.

All you can do is wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and rest your thighs high around his hips, letting his body fit against you as close as he can get without completely crushing you. He groans against the top of your head, burying his face in your hair as he thrusts forward, pulling you right down onto him with his hands on your sides, inhaling shakily as he humps into you. He didn't want to leave the embrace of your warm walls anytime soon, too good of a comfort not to indulge in when he can. He moans and grunts breathlessly, surprisingly quiet despite his size, obviously pleased to be with you here, in the sanctuary of your shared room.

Your eyes rolled back, letting out soft groans he pummeled his cock up against your cervix relentlessly, sweat building between the two of you making you even slicker, his pelvis bumping up against your clit with each pump forward. You were getting close, unbearably, torturously so.

“ T-Tommy, please! '' You sobbed out, clinging to him desperately, nails pressing into his hardened flesh, heels digging into his sides. He groans and takes your abuse in stride, having dealt with more intense adversaries than your blunt little nails in the past. He takes it as the warning it is, picking up his pace as he tucks his hands to hold under your knees and press you forward, yelping at the sudden bend of your legs and the feeling of his cock sliding in deeper, choking out a desperate moan. He growls against the top of your head, satisfied and low, his hips pumping hard slow claps as he feels his cock dragging against your sensitive walls. He groans as he leans down to brush his bare mouth against yours, moaning low in his throat. You think it sounds close to words, something that might have been sentimental, but it comes out a low animal grunt as he shoves his hips forward and comes hard against your cervix, his forehead brushing yours.

You gasp and tremble as he fills you, your cunt convulsing around him, drool rolling down your chin as you take him balls deep, his strong arms locking around you to keep you still as he emptied himself inside. You tremble, crushed by his body weight but youre so lethargic you barely notice, your hands resting on his biceps. He stays sheathed inside of you for longer than he really needs to, the feeling of him softened and his cum dribbling around the loose seal of his shaft making you shiver. His large hands run over you, calloused and warm as he squeezes your soft flesh. He groans and leans down to mouth over your neck, into him as you let exhaustion settle in your bones.

A deep groan echoed in the adventurer's chest, the warm air of their breath wafting around their face in big white puffs as they rode Shadowmere through the snowy trails to the dawnstar sanctuary, shoulders loosening already as they saw the heavy entry door. They dismount and pet the large stallion on their nose, Shadowmere bumping it up into their palm. They walk up to the door, whispering their code to the heavy stone before the door creaks open obediently. They inhale the dark soil, damp wood and the iron of old blood before stepping down into the sanctuary. They spot Babette at the alchemy table, working on her potions. She nodded towards them out of greeting, giving a curt “ Listener “ before finishing up and heading back downstairs to have a quick bite of one of the victims in their torture chamber

They turn their attention towards the sound of low mumbling from the other side of the room. They can hear the jangle of bells as the man near the crypt of The Night Mother scurries back and forth between the table of oils and flowers and her mummified corpse. He doesn't even notice the heavy footsteps of The Listener behind him until they catch a deathbell he was already reaching for. He turned, contorting his face into an aggressive sneer, a threat to stay away while he's working, until his gaze fell to the familiar face, twisting into a joyous grin “ Listener has returned from their adventures! “ He exclaims, the bells on his hat jingling as he wiggles in place “ Oh you've been gone for so very very long! Have you forgotten the voice of The Mother, have you forgotten about poor Cicero? “ he asks, puffing out his painted bottom lip to make himself look like a kicked hound.

The listener chuckles, twirling the stem of the deathbell between their fingers “ Of course not. I've been homesick for a good meal and a warm bed. Once I'm rested, I'd like to speak to The Mother, see if she has any contacts for me “ They respond, a tired expression on their face. Cicero hums mindlessly as he plucks the deathbell from the listener's fingers and places it in one of the folds of the night mother's clothes. He looks between his Listener and The Mother, chewing his bottom lip anxiously “ Oh what to do, our Mother needs her daily assistance and care still, but our Listener has gone so long without! What to do, what to do? “ he muses aloud, twirling and tugging at a strand of hair that had come untucked from under his hat.

The Listener places a hand on his back to soothe him “ Don't worry, you care for The Night Mother and I'll be close. When you're ready then you can come assist me. Alright? “

The Keeper trembles at the warm hand touching him through his thin Jesters garb, nodding hesitantly “ Yes, a good idea, a very good idea, Listener! I will…See you soon “ His voice lowers at the end of his sentence, but it no longer makes The Listener anxious, at least when it's directed towards themselves. They touch under his chin, a private little touch that has Cicero’s eyes dilating before the Listener finally pulls away, heading towards their chambers.

Cicero had been not-so-secretly bitter that he had not been chosen as the Listener. Even if he were the Keeper and they were the Listener, he had wonderful hearing. He knew who was talking quietly amongst each other in a separate room, even while his hands were occupied, the fluttering of anxious breath as a victim tried to hide. Cicero hears The Listener talk to the unchild after she emerges from the torture chamber after her meal. He hears them pass information about contracts with the redguard. The mindless bleat of praise from a passing new recruit. Cicero hears them as they enter the hallway, heaving a great tired sigh that bounced around the hallowed walls and then his hearing rang silent of His Listener. His teeth creaked as he pressed them together, continuing with his duties.

The Listener sits at their desk, a half eaten plate of food in front of them and a bag of loot at their feet, reaching to count their coin. All of a sudden they feel a hand fluttering up their spine, jolting and about to turn with an elbow into the gut of whoever had snuck up on them until Cicero’s little giggle sounds near their ear, bells on his jesters hat jingling.

“ Untrusting, the both of us are! I fear, I fear if either of us had our weapons when we met again this morning we would have soon met our father Sithis by Luncheon~! “ He chortled, hands clasping their shoulders. The Listener chuckles, leaning their head back against his chest, their throat exposed. Cicero swallows dry, clicking audibly as he stares at the expanse of their neck, vulnerable and scarred from their adventures. The Jester touches over the exposed skin with the tips of his gloved fingers and The Listener takes a deep breath. The garment smelled like the oils and flowers he used on The Night Mother, the darkened skin of them softened from the tools of his duty.

The Listener opens an eye to look at him “ Are you going to take care of me, My Keeper~? “ They ask, coming to rest a hand over his, guiding it to the side of their neck where he could easily grab and squeeze until that pulse flutters quicker, quicker, quicker…Even through the leather of his gloves he can feel it now, a steady, slow pulse. Relaxed, even if they knew what Cicero's hands could really do

Cicero swallows, nodding quickly “ Y-Yes, Cicero will…will start with The Listener’s armor! “ He says and The Listener adjusts themselves so he's able to get to their body easier. He reaches down to firstly remove their helmet, their hair sticking up every which way, sweaty and a bit dirty, but Cicero brushes it back into their hairline with a low rumble, all the way down to the ends, slightly frayed from a brush with a firebolt a few days ago. He moves back down, working on the carved Nordic armor over their arms, unlacing it carefully. Their muscles throbbed at at finally being released after so long

“ What have you been up to, Cicero? “ They ask and he jumps. He's not used to the bodies he's working on or plundering the gear from to suddenly speak to him. They were usually already dead. His Listener was alive, warm blood pumping through the veins in their arms. He had seen it spill many times before, he's seen the aftermath in the form of thin slices or thicker gouges, big blossoming bruises that take weeks to return to the original color. His favorite were the long thick scars, deep silver bolts of lighting he knew came from the wound of a dagger. Oh how jealous he was of the shiny blade, getting to be buried so deliciously under the Listener's skin like that, so deep inside that they get a taste of His Listener’s very core-

“ Cicero “

“ Hwah? “ His eyes are hazy when The Listener gets his attention, but dilated when he makes eye contact “ Did Our Listener say something? “

The Listener is quiet before resting a hand over his wrist “ How are you? “ they ask, voice low and steady. Cicero trembles at such a grounding sound, he feels he could bury himself in it.

He scoffs past his teeth despite the comfort he gains from The Listener’s words. Maybe they should have been The Speaker, they are so good at it “ Everybody is…Rude to Cicero. They make fun of him and try to disrupt his work sometimes…“ He continues to untie their gauntlets on the other arm, voice dropping to a dangerous octave “ Wish they would leave him and Night Mother alone. They don't respect her, or the old ways…Not like you and I do “ He says, eyebrows twitching before quickly adding on “ -But! Cicero has not stabbed anyone, at your request! “ he says, as if he's fishing for compliments. They take his bait

“ I would have been informed if that was the case. You've done a very good job, Cicero. Very good“ They say. Their eyes follow the little shiver that starts from his knees to the tips of his fingers, stalling his work for only a second before he continues

“ Thank you… “ He wheezes out before sliding the heavy gauntlets off, then reaching for the sides of their armor. Cicero notices a patch of dried blood, not being able to see their skin; he can't tell if it's old or recent. He hopes it happened recently. He slides the top half of the armor off, the listener rolling their shoulders to pop their aching joints. He sets the armor down on the table, clattering the few things on its surface at the weight before lowering himself down to his knees, undoing the bindings of their shin guards around the back of their calves. Once they fall away he takes his hand and squeezes the aching muscles, turning his attention towards their sturdy boots, tucking a hand under their heel to coax them off. They watch him, hips tilted towards him as he works, seeing how flushed his cheeks were already getting from their obvious difference in position. Once upon a time, Cicero would think this horribly demeaning, the only one he should be devout to would be His Night Mother and Father Sithis. The Listener had a habit of changing his perspective by the drop of a hat.

The Listener keeps their hands to themselves for now, opting instead to relax into his hold, letting him twist and adjust their legs to how he needs them. Their armor is stripped of them, laid comfortably vulnerable in the light peasant shirt that showed a triangle of their chest and thick leather pants, tight around their spread thighs. Cicero looks at them like they're a king. A deity

“ Are you comfortable, Listener? “ He asks, rubbing his hands up and down their calves, eyes half lidded.

They hum “ Not yet…Rub me, Cicero “ They say, The Keeper delighting in their request with an excitable rub of his hands

“ Oh ho ho hehe, oh yes of course~! “ He says, a near lecherous expression on his face, even if he knew it would most likely be strictly a rub down for tonight, by Sithis it was extremely intimate for the both of them.

For The Listener, they get to be worshiped and rubbed down, relax and get proper blood flow, as well as get to spend some quality time with their dear Keeper

For Cicero, it was like working with The Night Mother for the second time that day, except this time he could hear the praise of his work, he could feel their body rise and fall with his steady hands, vulnerable and bare under his touch. He liked to look at their scars, press into old bruises that were still healing, the both of them knowing it wasn't an accident but not saying a thing to break the tension.

The fact that The Listener allowed him to do so without then snapping his neck only made it that more detectably dizzying.

The Listener began to remove their blouse, moving towards their pelt piled bed. Cicero’s heavy eyes drip over the dips and valleys of The Listener's body, twitching as he tugs on his own clothes. They were perfect, the mother had made the right choice picking them as The Listener, even if he had doubts in the beginning he knew she wouldn't mislead him. He follows them to their bed, watching as they get comfortable, only joining them once they give a sway of their hand to beckon him closer, positioning himself over their thighs. Cicero strips his hands free of his gloves. This, the shedding of his gloves, was something different from his daily practice of The Night Mother’s care; they would remain on when he dealt with the delicate, brittle skin of The Night Mother’s corpse, making sure his own touch didn't deteriorate her-His Listener on the other hand was a hardened warrior, with tough skin and steeled muscle, but it could be molded, softened and manhandled when they finally were able to relax. He didn't want to miss any part of that by mere layers of leather.

He placed his bare hands on their shoulder blades, already feeling the tension being smothered under his palms “ Ohhh Listener…Do not stay away for so long next time. Your Keeper misses you awfully. Knowing nobody out there will keep you as I do “ He rumbles. The thought alone makes him want to slice his blade down the belly of whoever even had the inkling of an idea of touching them as he does now, they would be clumsy and much too lustful, they might even attempt to hurt his Listener in such a state! “ Nobody “

His growl does make them shudder this time, they know he means it. They sigh, tilting their head into their pillows as his steady hands push the heels of his palms up their spine to their shoulder blades, easing the pressure when he reached the nape of their neck, practically pushing the confirmation of “ Nobody~ “ out of The Listener's body with a heavy groan.

Cicero matches their satisfied groan that bleeds out to a giggle as his hands flatten down their spine. He can see the scar from the wound now. It was new from the last time he had seen them, but not new enough that it was healed by a potion. Those usually didn't scar over, magically healed and made into infant-fresh skin. No, His Listener let this wound heal naturally, over the course of a few days, maybe even weeks depending on the severity and if His Listener was able to heal properly. Since they hadn't been home, wandering the lands of Skyrim, he was very doubtful. It was still slightly darkened by burst blood vessels and bruising, having been pinched together with a tight bandage. It probably still ached. He let his fingertips touch it and felt His Listener jolt underneath him before settling. The next time he brushed it it was more expected, a simple shudder running down their spine that he could feel like a rumbling storm against his bare hand “ Listener has been getting into trouble… “ He muses, a playful lit to his voice.

The Listener hums in a self satisfied tone “ I'm always in trouble. But this time…It was a bit foolish on my part “

“ You speak to The Fool of Hearts my dear, “ He interrupts, not only with words but with a firm pressure down on their hips, something popping and The Listener's eyes widening for a moment before relaxing with a deep breath, Cicero leaning into his next push upwards to whisper into their ear “ Nothing you could say would be foolish to me~ “

The Listener groans softly “ Truly…I was conspiring with the thieves guild, I took one of their missions and it went…Not as successful as I hoped“

Cicero was quiet for a moment “ I admit that is rather foolish “ which earned him a slap on the chest from His Listener, letting out a wheezed laugh. Cicero had every right to have his opinion on thieves. They were always so backwards in their motives. Not only pickpocketing before you kill someone, but most of the time, not killing at all!

“ They sent me out on a mission, to burn down a few Hives. It was completed, but as I tried to make my way through the house to escape, an uppity wood elf cornered me, he wouldn't go down without a fight. Tried to stick the blade between my ribs “ They mumble and they let out a long sigh when Cicero cups the wound, pressing until The Listener lets out a breathy whimper

“ I decided to come home right after…I've been so tired, Cicero. So tired “ They breathe, brow furrowed. They tried to relax, but that tension from just the thought of their earlier stressors began to build under Cicero’s hands.

Cicero frowned, hands still pressed firmly between their shoulder blades, dancing his fingers up and down the notches in their spine “ Listener has done so much. Now, it's time to rest. It's time for The Listener to be kept “ He says as he reaches his hand to cup their cheek. The Listener opens an eye up at him, sighing as they nuzzle their cheek into his palm, reaching a hand up to cover his

“ Keep me then, Cicero, “ They say breathlessly. The Jester groans, leaning in to press their foreheads together, running his nose along the bridge of The Listener's. Cicero allows The Listener to pull him down to his side, nearly cradled against their chest as they wind their arms tight around him. Cicero takes a soft breath before pressing their mouths together, soft and chaste for only a few moments before he's diving back in for more, each peck more feverish than the last. They grin, knowing he was getting much more enjoyment out of this now, but they don't care much, just happy to have a warming body against theirs. Cicero sighs softly against their mouth, opening his own to touch the tip of his tongue against their bottom lip. The Listener chuckles and tucks a hand against the back of his neck, squeezing there gently. Cicero shudders as he melds into that warm palm, lashes fluttering.

“ Cicero’s ‘posed to be keeping The Listener, not the other way around… “ He mumbled in a stupor, The Listener shaking their head fondly

“ Mm, you've got me all limber, I'd be happy and able to service you back now~ “ They rumble, rolling over so Cicero laid underneath them, his eyes widening as he leans head back into their cupped hand, brows arched as he reaches to pull them down to press his face against the side of The Listener's in a cat like rub. They hum, allowing the tender moment before they're carefully pulling away the laces on his clothes, little bits of pale, lightly freckled skin being exposed to them. They lower their head down to press warmed lips to his throat, feeling him jolt as his fingers come up to tug at the hair at the back of their head

“ Listener… “ He moans as he feels those fingers delve lower now that his thin tummy was exposed, petting over his jutting hips with a soft, disappointed sigh

“ I'm just going to have to stick around longer, make sure you're eating properly again, Cicero. Have to keep a watchful eye on you or you’ll just wither away won't you? “ they crooned, Cicero nodding erratically as he felt their sturdy hand moving down over his waistband, tugging it down to follow the ginger treasure trail down his navel. They tuck their hand into his breeches, the Jester letting out a loud cry as they touch the scorching flesh of his quickly stiffening shaft. He's not able to move much with them on top of him, he's only able to wrap his legs around the backs of their thighs as they take him in hand, stroking up and down his warm length as he writhes and whimpers under them

“ Y-Yes please! Cicero is oh so helpless without you, I need you Listener~! “ he yowls, making them clasp a hand over his mouth to keep him from alerting anyone, his dark eyes glinting in the warm light of their shared room, like he had meant to get them to put their hands on him. The Listener chuckles and quirks a smirk down at him

“ You sly little weasel~ “ They rumble, pulling his breeches down his thighs, trailing over the orange peach fuzz over his inner thighs with the backs of their knuckles, back up to his flushed member, taking him snuggly in hand before beginning to move up and down. Cicero lets out soft groans and choked out giggles of overstimulation, writhing in place as His Listener strokes him quicker, trailing their thumb over the flushed head of his cock to gather the bead of pre at his slit. They lift their hand, making heavy eye contact with the jester, licking their thumb clean of the milky droplet, seeing his dark eyes haze over as a strained breath leaves him. They drag their tongue over their palm to slick their grip, taking him in hand once again. His hips jolt at the thick wetness of their palm now, his eyes rolling back as they stroke quickly up and down his shaft. His speech, muffled under their palm has melted down to breathy giggles and choked out moans, grasping at their shoulders like he's trying to escape death