tarren'sbookmarks

All Logan wanted to do was have a drink at his favorite bar, and talk to his favorite girl. 

Well, he got 1 out of 2.

You, who was not actually his girl (much to his dismay), were busy with customers. It seemed like all the fucking idiots in the city decided this bar was going to be the setting of their tomfoolery. He had to clench his fists and resist the instinctive feeling of popping his claws out and stabbing them into the arm of the drunken asshole next to him, who kept laughing and yapping and knocking into his (very sore) shoulder. 

The jokes aren’t even that funny. 

The night might be salvageable if he could at least get one of your pretty smiles shot his way. You haven’t even been able to come to refill his shots, one of your coworkers doing the job instead, since you were being drugged along table after table full of men shouting about their fantasy football and demanding refills and their seasoned basket of french fries.

There may have been a time when Logan would have been one of those. A group of friends, all laughing and having a good time over something trivial. Smacking one of them on the back and nearly knocking his glasses off; telling jokes that make one spit her drink out; arm wrestling with another and winning, every. Single. Time. Toasting their drinks, to a good future. 

Well, that was a long time ago.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. T’was getting late. Should probably head back home soon. Especially if he wants to resist the urge of slamming the fuckers head next to him onto the counter and staining the polished wood with his blood. Course, he wouldn’t want to create more work for you.

He glanced around the bar, searching for you. He couldn’t spot you, but he didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye yet anyway. 

You’re my favorite

You would whisper to him sweetly across the bar, a flirty wink, and a smile that made his heart flutter. He knew you were merely trying to make an old man, a regular to the bar, feel better about himself. You were just so kind, genuine about your words. It grew hard for him to not get a little crush on the young, pretty thing you are. A reminder of his youth. Shit, if he’d met you in his prime, he would have wasted no time in making you his.

Now, that’s just a fantasy. Something he thinks about as he lies awake on top of his ratty mattress, as he strokes his cock to the memory of your laughter, the curve of your painted lips, and the way your ass looks in those jeans. 

It’s pathetic, he’s created some sort of imaginary relationship in his head with you. So starved for any sort of affection, platonic or romantic- that he tries to imagine that you would ever want anything to do with him outside of being a regular at your bar. 

His glass was empty. 

He sighed, getting up from his stool and moving to the other side of the bar, where one of your coworkers was filling drinks up. It got him away from the assholes giving him a headache and got him the chance to get his glass filled up. He watched the whiskey being poured, small bubbles floating at the top, as he brought the glass to his lips, a courteous nod to the bartender before taking a drink. 

It was then he picked up something curious. 

It was you, and one of your coworkers, talking in the hallway around the corner that led to the bathrooms and the kitchen. It was none of his business, but he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. 

“Don’t you want to live a little bit?” 

“Well yeah!” You responded. “I don’t know if I call this living though…” 

“It’s fun! I swear.”

“How often have you tried it?”

“Like…4 or 5 times?”

“Woah. and you haven’t gotten an STD?” 

“Uh, no? Why would I get that? It goes in the mouth?”

Logan curled a brow, the silence from you was deafening as your friend- who’s voice Logan recognized as another bartender, a woman with platinum blonde hair who has implied more times than once that she wanted to have sex with him, to his face, waited for your next words. 

“We’ll need to have a talk about that another time.” You say gently. 

“Whatever. Are you going to keep being a prude?”

“I’m not a prude!”

“And when was the last time you got some dick?” 

Logan raised his brows in surprise. He waited for your answer, the silence then telling him what he needed to know. 

Admittedly, it surprised him. You were a pretty girl, boys flirted with you left and right. Yes, boys, because none of them could really take care of you- not the way he could. Course, he’s not really doing a top-notch job taking care of himself, or someone else….

“It’s just a glory hole. Just try it once, and it won’t be like anyone will know it’s you!”

Logan nearly choked on his drink. Glory hole?

The fucking glory hole!

The nasty shit in the last stall at the end of the men's bathroom. A hole someone drilled into the plywood to separate the women from the mens. He had seen it a few times, hell, even been tempted to give it a try. A moment of weakness just to get his whistle wet after who knows how long (He rather not think about it). He’s always chickened out though, stepping away from the nasty thing, preferring to just get himself off in his car or bed. Especially since lately, he could only think about you to get himself off. 

He listened to you sigh. 

“Okay…” You say. “Wish me…luck, I guess?” and a small laugh escaped you. 

He wasn’t even thinking. He stood up from the stool, a loud screech across the noisy bar, barely registered by anyone inside, as he moved to go down the hallway, brushing past your friend who glanced at him with a confused look, before watching him push the door of the men's bathroom open and step inside. She smirked knowingly, before turning to go back to her shift- and cover you for at least the next 10 minutes. 

The music and raucous laughter were muffled as he stepped into the dingy bathroom. The fluorescent light, blue-tiled floor covered with scuff marks and pieces of paper towels, and dingy, speckled white painted walls would be a mood killer for most. Logan though, felt his cock hardening every step he made to the back stall- praying to god some other asshole didn’t manage to get in there before he did. 

He pushed the stall open. Empty.

He stood there for a moment. The tent in his pants became more prominent as he considered the implications of what he was about to do. Fuck, he knew it was going to be you on the other side, you would have no idea it was his cock you’re sucking. Fucking felt wrong as hell. 

Then he thought about your pretty lips. 

He stepped inside, shutting the stall door behind him and locking it. He glanced over where the hole was located. 

Not huge, just big enough to stick his dick inside. Written above it with several arrows pointing towards the hole in Sharpie was GLORY HOLE in all caps. As if it wasn’t more obvious what the damn thing was. 

People used to be discreet. 

There was graffiti all along the wall. Crude drawings of dicks and stick figures having sex in various positions. Numbers and ‘Call me! <3 <3 <3’ written in multiple spaces. A ‘go fuck yourself’ written right at Logan's eye level in pink sharpie. 

He stood there for a minute, his fists clenching and unclenching as he listened to the muffled rock music in the background. Loud cheers turned his head to the stall door. He let out a small breath and inhaled through his nose- where he caught a whiff of your scent. 

He froze. Glancing at the glory hole before bending over, and peering through it. 

He knew he shouldn’t look, but he couldn’t help it.

You were sitting on the toilet, bouncing your leg, looking everywhere but the wall, like you were avoiding the fact that it existed. He found your nervousness cute. He thought of all sorts of ways he could have you. This certainly wasn’t one of those ways. This was all sorts of fucked up. He was a perverted old man, who jumped at the chance to secretly get his dick sucked by you, the bartender he’s had a crush on for nearly a year. 

He’ll take what he can get. 

He unzipped his pants.

Shaky hands pulled himself out, cock in his hand, he gave himself a few strokes. He hadn’t gotten hard this fast and this painfully in forever. He was throbbing, that thick vein that ran up to his tip, red and swollen as precum beaded and slowly dripped down his length. 

He took a deep breath, stepping forward, and he entered himself into the glory hole. His other hand came up, pressed against the wall as he braced himself, staring at the pink message telling him to go fuck himself. 

Oh. My. god.

Whoever this guy was, he’s fucking huge. Biggest you’ve ever seen. The sight of it made your thighs clench together as you felt your arousal slicken your panties. Your mouth watered and you felt your skin heat up by the fact that you were completely turned on right now. 

This was so nasty. 

You examined his cock, inches away from your face. Thick, a prominent vein from his tip, ran down his shaft. Pre-cum beading from his slit. He looked painfully hard, poor guy must be pent up. 

You bit your lip. 

Let's help him feel better.

Your hand came up to grip him, firm, but not too hard. You could feel him throbbing, as you leaned forward, and ran your tongue over his slit, tasting the beady pre-cum on your tongue and rolling your eyes- resisting the urge to moan. 

Logan bit down on the knuckle of his thumb, so hard he broke skin, as he tasted something metallic flood his tongue. He couldn’t care though, not as he felt your wet tongue practically lap him up like someone dying of thirst in the desert. Your hand slowly, carefully began to jerk him off, using your spit to lube him up. He let out a shaky breath, tipping his head back as he placed both hands against the wall, tipping his hips forward and pressing himself flush against the drywall. 

You leaned forward, taking his tip between your lips, as you twirled your tongue around him, hollowing at your cheeks and bobbing over it a few times. He was already huge, and you were doubtful of your ability to take him in fully. You tipped your head in forward, pushing him deeper into your mouth, and savored the weight of him. 

Fuck, you’re good.

Logan let out a pant, almost akin to a quiet whine when he felt you take him deeper into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat, as you began pulling your head back and forth, swirling your tongue and lips over him expertly. Goddamn this stupid ass wall. Exactly why he didn’t like glory holes. He wanted to see those lips of yours wrapped around his cock. He wanted to see you look up at him with those pretty eyes. He wanted to grab your hair and face fuck you and watch tears stream down your cheek and kiss them away once he was finished. The way you were sucking on him like he was something desirable. You didn’t even know it was him.

Dirty girl.

Drool began to dribble over your chin, as you continued sucking on him mindlessly. Your brain was going fuzzy, your eyes rolled back as you enjoyed the heady taste of this man. You had no idea it would be this good to suck dick before. 

His hips started involuntarily thrusting against the wall, desperate for more, for the pending release that he had been holding back, completely surprised that he had lasted as long as he had. He bit back another groan, a small whimper escaping him as he continued rocking his hips against the wall, tipping his head back again. His claws pricked the skin of his knuckles, small red beads forming at the base. His nails dug into the dinghy paint, leaving crescent shape marks, leaving his permanent mark in the bathroom stall. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore, as he let out a harsh groan. 

“Fuck”

You almost stopped at the sound. The familiar gruff voice that you’ve grown to be fond of. The older gentleman who has been coming into your bar, every other night, gets the same drink, and gives you the same warm smile, with the same gruff “mhms”

You thought he was the cutest thing. Tall, dark, and handsome. Not to mention extremely mysterious. He never told you much about his life, after that he drives a limo- you’d tease him about giving you a free ride at some point since you have never ridden a limo, and he’d just smile and give you this look you couldn’t quite read. 

He never talked to anyone. Well, he “talked” to you, if you want to call it talking. He responds to you more than anybody else who works here. Even Angela, the one who pushed you into this damn thing just so you’d quit complaining about having no sex life. You never saw a guy resist her charms and tits but Logan could’ve cared less for her. 

It gave you a bit of a complex, admittedly. 

Angela is convinced his dick doesn’t work anymore cause surely who could resist her?

Definitely nothing wrong with his cock.

You had no idea he was the type of man to use a glory hole of all things though. What would he say if he knew you were the one slobbering over his cock? Fucking your throat with him, becoming mindless at the taste of him and already dreaming of sucking it again in the near future. He’d feel amazing in your pussy too, although by his size your jaw was aching and you knew you were going to need a lozenge after this by taking him down your throat; you’re not sure if you would be able to survive getting fucked. 

He was thrusting in and out of your throat, and you could tell by how he throbbed he was getting close. You pulled your mouth off him, stroking him furiously with your hand to get him there closer. You wanted to watch him cum. 

You faltered for a moment when you swore you heard him groan your name. 

Quickly returning your pace, you stick your tongue out, running it over his slit, when you are finally rewarded. 

Ropes and ropes of cum painted your tongue and face as you stroked him off. It seemed never-ending the way your face was being covered by his spunk. 

Sure was pent up, wasn’t he?

You stroked him through the last of it, noticing how your lipstick stained all over his base and feeling a strange sense of pride. You wrapped your lips around him one more time to clean off the remaining cum leaking out, making his softening cock twitch, before he quickly pulled himself out. You heard a zipper and a belt being done up before a door gets pushed open.

You sat there, blinking a few times. An urge to say, “Thanks” rests on your lips. Yet you keep your mouth closed. You pulled your phone out, looking at the mess you’ve become. His cum covered you, forehead to chin, spit dripping over your lips, and your mascara was runny. Even your hair had managed to get ruffled during the process. 

You spent the next five minutes cleaning yourself up, first wiping everything down and then when the evidence was less obvious. You washed your face in the sink, the girls walking in the bathroom oblivious to your earlier antics. A wave of clarity hit you as you began to wonder, 

How the fuck am I going to look Logan in the eyes now?

You dried your face off, fixed your hair, and checked your outfit before you opened the door and stepped back into the noisy bar- only to be greeted by Logan. His hands in his his pockets, face looking down at the ugly stained carpet that has been here since the 90s, his ankle crossed over the other. He looked up at you and your eyes met and you could see it.

He knew it was you on the other side.

He pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward and you swallowed, the taste of him still strong on your tongue. Staring up at him with wide eyes, he looked down at you like a predator eyeing his next meal. 

His cheeks were flushed, the tips of his ears red, his hair a bit mussed. He towered over you, making your heart beat fast. 

His blue eyes glare at you from across the room, fury boiling in their depths. But for once his sinful mouth is silent.

“What’s wrong?” You coo at him, “Nothing to say?”

You can see him trying, the bob in his throat as he fights against the restraints.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You smile sharply at him, “I forgot bad dogs don’t get to speak.”

He presses forward, but the bonds around his forearms and legs keep him in the chair. Finally, he relents, slouching back into the seat.

“You know,” You cross the room, letting your hips sway temptingly, “I think I like you like this.”

Gently you press two fingers under his chin, making him look up at you. He’s still glaring at you, but there’s something behind the fury, something heated and wild. Smiling, you lean down, brushing your lips over his ear.

“You look so pretty with that muzzle, Klaue. Maybe I should keep you like this all the time.” Your hand slides over his arm, fingers dancing over the restraints.

Your fingers continue to wonder, over his shoulder, across his broad chest, drawn back to the muzzle. The metal gleams in the low light as he tips his head away from you.

“None of that now.” You sink your fingers into his hair, forcing his head back down, “Be a good boy or I’ll fucking collar you.”

His hips jut up at your words. “Oh!” You laugh, a little meanly, “Would you like that? My collar wrapped around your neck?” You let one finger trail over his thick neck, tracking the dark ink that wraps around it. “I can put a leash on you then, make you follow me around like the perfect pet.”

He tries to snarl at you, but his eyes betray him. “I think you would like that.” You let one hand rest on his lap, palming his erection, “You could stand at my side, being my good boy, my protector, keeping me safe. And in return, I’ll take you home and let you fuck me. With my rules, of course. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

You can feel his cock twitching in your hand, his eyes pleading with you.

“Do you want me to take care of you?”

His hips press against your hand, aching for movement, for friction.

“Do you promise to be good for me?”

Klaue nods, panting against the muzzle. You smile and gently stroke his face with your other hand.

“I thought I’d need to make you beg for it,” You smile, patting his cheek, “But I can see how desperate you are to be my good boy.”

He groans when you take your hand away from his aching cock, but he’s quickly distracted when you slowly sink down before him. Carefully, you free his cock from his pants, mouth watering as it springs free. It’s a struggle to not just lean forward and take him in your mouth, but you remind yourself to take it slow.

Watching his cock bob, you carefully readjust until you’re kneeling comfortably. He rocks his hips as if trying to get your attention, even though he already has all of it. Watching him, you ease back, trying to keep your expression disinterested.

“If all you want is to hump the air, by all means keep going.”

He growls, the sound vibrating through you and slowly his hips still.

“Better.” You shift forward, lightly tracing a fingertip over the big vein on his cock.

He twitches under your touch, despite Klaue’s best efforts to keep still.

“You have such a pretty cock, Klaue.” You smile up at him, “Maybe I should just sit here and look at you for a while.”

His head falls back as he groans in frustration, his hips pressing up. Your smile falls.

“Look. At. Me.” Each word is punctuated by a light smack on his thigh. When he lifts his head and meets your gaze again, you nod, “Do that again and I’ll have to discipline you.” You smile sweetly at him, “I think you forget just how vulnerable you are right now.”

His cock is already leaking precum when you look back at him. Gently you wrap you hand around his cock, ghosting your hand up and down his length. It’s not nearly enough to even take the edge off his desperation. You keep your movements soft and slow, watching the frustration gather on his face.

“What’s wrong baby? I thought you wanted me to touch you.” Klaue shakes his head, trying not to buck his hips. You pout, “Oh, you don’t want me to touch you? I’ll stop then.” You let go of his cock, letting your hand fall back to your lap. Klaue shakes his head again, “Oh! You want me to touch you more?” He nods frantically. You smile at him, “Just remember you asked for it.”

Confusion knits his eyebrows together, but he doesn’t have to wait long. You wrap your hand around his cock, firm and unyielding. With another smile up at him, you start to stroke his cock, with quick, full strokes. He groans, forcing his head to stay upright. He can feel the pleasure gathering at the base of his cock. Your pace increases steadily until he starts to loose track of your hand. He gasps, feeling the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter. And just when it’s about to snap, you stop completely, taking your hand away.

You smile at the question in his eyes and shake your head. You let the minutes tick by and then you start again.

You keep him balanced frustratingly on the precipice of his orgasm, pulling him back just before he can fall, again and again. You keep your gaze focused on his face, watching his expressions. Klaue thought he was desperate when you started, but now he knows what desperate really feels like. His cock aches for release, harder than he thinks it’s ever been, precum drools from the tip. He fights against the muzzle, but he can only pant and whine for you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Your voice cuts through the haze in his head, “You wanted me to touch you, didn’t you? Maybe this is too much for you.” You shift as if to take your hand away, “Maybe we should take a break.”

But he can see the challenge in your eyes and he shakes his head. He’s rewarded with a brilliant smile. Adoration blooms in his chest and he knows that no matter how long you want to draw this out, he’ll play along.

“You’ve been doing so good for me.” You gently press a line of kisses up his inner thigh. “I think you deserve a treat.” You breath ghosts over his heavy balls.

Then your tongue is tracing the thick vein on the underside of his cock, slowly driving him mad. At the tip of his cock, you flick your tongue over his weeping slit, gathering his precum, enjoying his strangled groan. You shift, his cock hanging tantalizingly before your mouth, and look up at him.

“Don’t cum.”

He watches the cherry red of your lips wrap around his cock, slowly sinking lower. The feeling is nearly enough to send him over the edge, but he fights it back. You feel the straining muscles of his thighs as he tries to stay on the edge for you.

Slowly, you take more of him in your mouth, until you’ve taken all you can. You take a moment, feeling the weight of him on your tongue, and look up at him. You meet his gaze, seeing the hazy desperation in his eyes. His breathing is rapid, broad chest heaving, as he fights to be good for you. You hum gently around his cock, feeling it twitch against your lips. As slow as you can, you pull back, until his cock slips out of your mouth with a wet pop.

“You did so good for me, Klaue.” Your voice is husky as you raise a hand to cup his cheek, “So fucking good.”

You wrap your other hand around his cock, holding him for a moment. He mourns the loss of your touch when you take your hand away from his cheek, but he’s rewarded when you undo the clasp of your dress. The fabric falls away, unwrapping your breasts like the gift they are. He pants, feeling your hand start stroking his cock again. Your previous torments has left him so close, it doesn’t take long for him to reach his edge again. You coo at him with a smile.

“Go on then. Cover my tits. You’ve earned it for being such a good boy.”

You stroke his cock, twisting your wrist quickly, and he comes apart with a strangled moan. His warm spend covers your breasts as he pants. Carefully, you guide his cock to cover as much as possible.

“Look at this mess you made.” As if he could look anywhere else.

You soften your grip on his cock and then let go. In his haze, he mourns the loss of your touch, but then he feels your hands on his thighs.

“Good,” You whisper as you undo the restraints on his legs. “Such a good, good boy.”

Gently, you rub his muscles, making sure the blood flow returns. He watches you, his head cocked, his cock already twitching in interest again. You stand and undo his arms, fingers working over his forearms.

“That was fun,” You smile at him, “Did you enjoy that?”

He nods, fighting against the muzzle again.

“Alright, alright.” You laugh, reaching for the clasps.

He looks up at you as the muzzle falls away, his blue eyes burning.

“How do you feel?”

“Oh, darling,” He smirks, “It’s me that should be asking you that question.

Even as you start to ask, he shoves out of the chair. He twists to cushion your fall and then rolls so he’s above you.

“Klaue!”

He presses a kiss into your shoulder and then he’s pulling your hips up and back.

“Oh fuck.” You gasp as he presses into you. “Klaue.”

Once he’s fully hilted in your pussy, he drapes himself over your back. One hand cups your breast firmly, enjoying the way his fingers press into the flesh. The other cups your face, fingers tracing over your lips. He rocks his hips, dragging his cock along your sweet spot. When you gasp, his fingers press into your mouth.

“You’ve had your fun darling.” He purrs against your ear, “Now it’s my turn.”

He grins, knowing by the way your pussy is tightening around him that your eyes are rolling back in pleasure. His fingers mute your noises, but he can feel the vibration of them as he fucks you fast and dirty.

“Going to fill you up.” He pants, far too wound up to care about nearing his edge so quickly again, “Make you scream for me.” His fingers slip out of your mouth and he immediately shifts to press them against your clit.

“Klaue!”

“Just like that.” He nuzzles the spot behind your ear, “Keeping cumming just like that.”

You feel his cock twitch as he tumbles over the edge with you. Your pussy flutters around him, pulling him deeper. Klaue keeps rocking his hips, sending you straight into another orgasm.

“KLAUE!”

“Good, so good for me.” He murmurs, “Taking me so good, milking my cock so good.”

His fingers play a wicked a pattern over your clit, keeping your body strung tight.

“Klaue, please.” You sob.

“Give me another,” He kisses your shoulder, “I know you can. I know you want to.”

He pulls you to your peak again and again, paying you back for every edge you’d given him.

“Klaue.” Your voice is wrecked, your body shaking. You lost count of your many times you’ve broken apart for him, how many times he’s filled you.

“Fuck baby.” He croons, slowly pulling his hips back.

As soon as he’s pulled out of you, you mourn the empty feeling. But gently he shifts, pulling you up and then settling your limp from in his lap.

“You did so good tonight, darling.” He kisses you, “You were so fucking perfect.”

You hum, pleased and unable to form words. He laughter rumbles through you.

“Let’s get you in the bath.”

Shifting again, he rocks to his feet, lifting you as he stands.

“You know,” He muses, “Maybe next time I will let you collar me.”

Mabel’s harried voice piped through your right ear in the earbud you begrudgingly decided to wear to this godforsaken interview with Mayor Jerry Generazzo. You winced at the sudden noise.

The mayor noticed.

“You alright there?”

You cleared your throat, and straightened in your seat, waving off the lapse in your otherwise professional demeanor.

“Sorry, sir. Thought I had a bug in my ear.” Not a lie. “I’m fine.”

Mayor Jerry eyed you suspiciously before shrugging noncommittally and launching back into your interview for the open position as policy advisor on his team.

You exhaled, subtly bringing up a finger to the hidden earpiece once Jerry’s eyes had lowered to his desk, and ended Mabel’s excitable diatribe. You had over a decade on her. You knew how to execute the plan, especially since the two of you went over it ad nauseum days before.

A few years after the Unusual Animal Incident that ravaged news headlines for weeks, Mabel Tanaka graduated from Beaverton University with her undergraduate degree in Environmental Studies, immediately launching herself into a grad school program, gunning for a PhD in Wildlife Ecology. You happened to be the student teacher’s aid in one of her classes that Mabel zeroed in on and latched onto. Her persistence and lack of personal boundaries eventually wore down your walls and you ended up making a friend in Mabel.

She was a firecracker. You found her lack of fear for fighting for what was right endearing and admirable. It made you a better advocate for environmental preservation while you worked on your thesis–Integrating the Human into Nature.

Finding a way for humans and animals to live side by side without endangering the natural wildlife biome was a tightrope conflict, a topic Mabel was intimately familiar with. It helped having her hands-on expertise as a reference point.

When you first asked Mabel how she was so familiar with human/nature integration, she dove into a fantastical story involving transferring her consciousness into a robot beaver (‘So, like Avatar.’ ‘Yeah, kinda.’), convincing a beaver king to return to the glade by her house, inadvertently inciting an animal uprising, which in turn involved a flying shark (that you definitely caught on the news), nearly killing Mayor Jerry Generazzo by said shark, and finally getting the mayor to avoid building a highway directly on that glade.

You didn’t believe her story at first, but poring over the evidence (the shark, the fire, the robot horror show at Mayor Jerry’s re-election rally), you eventually relented to the idea that Mabel was telling you the truth, unbelievable as it all was.

After months of getting to know each other, and learning to trust each other, you and Mabel discovered that you could use each other to further your goals.

While Mabel wanted to be more physically involved when it came to environmental preservation, you wanted to be the one pulling the strings of government so that it made the lives of those working on the ground easier. In order to do that, you needed a legal backbone on top of the ecological expertise to even think about having any sway in government.

That’s right–on top of your growing debt from the Beaverton University Wildlife Ecology PhD program, you also had a law degree under your belt.

Why was qualifying to save the planet so expensive? At least you managed to nab a scholarship this time around, while also working on the side at an environmental law firm as a paralegal. It didn’t pay much, but you managed just fine. Your sleeping schedule was nonexistent, dried ramen noodles stocked your pantry, and you might have had scurvy at some point, but it was all for the greater good of the earth.

When it came to Mabel, she had an unhealthy obsession with the mayor of Beaverton. You thought it was a crush at first. Jerry Generazzo was, for all intents and purposes, a very handsome man and he definitely used that to his advantage. You’re pretty sure if it wasn’t for his incredible hairline (not a hair transplant) and winning smile (not veneers, the bastard), he would have lost re-election. His good looks and charm swayed voters into another term as Beaverton’s mayor, even after The Incident. You would have a crush on him too if his policies weren’t antithetical to the platform he originally campaigned on.

But Mabel’s fixation on the older man was one of self-righteousness than one of attraction. You and Mabel bonded over Mayor Jerry’s disappointing turn as a politician. But Mabel being Mabel, she outdid your ire for him tenfold. She schemed. She plotted. She crafted a plan to upend Mayor Jerry’s final term by using, well, you.

The mayor didn’t know who you were, unlike his bitter familiarity with your younger companion. You could weasel your way into meetings and disrupt his destructive plans for the city from the inside, with help from Mabel of course. In return, Mabel would assist your thesis and live with the satisfaction of causing anarchy within the Beaverton political system.

It was a win-win situation.

How hard could it be, really?

“Well, you certainly are less qualified than our other applicants with no outside experience in politics. Why should I pick you over them?” Mayor Jerry asked you, folding his hands in front of him on his desk, looking at you with intrigue.

You cleared your throat, adjusting in your seat. You’d gone over this bit with Mabel a thousand times. You could do this. Appeal to his sense of duty.

“Because you need me,” you started, the confidence in your voice covering the nervous patter of your heart. “I’m sure those other candidates with experience are great for the job, but you need a fresh voice right now, especially after…the incident.”

Jerry choked, as if the mere mention of it caused war flashbacks in his mind.

In your strategy meeting leading up to your final interview, Mabel said, ‘Make sure you bring up what happened on the day of his re-election rally. He acts like it was the best thing to happen to him, but I think he was traumatized. If you call attention to it, it’ll break his composure and soften him up to listen to you.’

While Mabel was able to tell you what happened from her perspective, you didn’t know how Mayor Jerry felt about the whole thing. Just that he started to change.

But that wasn’t fast enough for Mabel’s tastes. When a window opened, apparently, all the windows needed opening. And the doors. And the windows and doors of the house next door.

Sure, he had the beltway built around the glade and made it a nature preserve, but there were other plans on his desk for energy-sucking data centers, cost-cutting measures for chemical plant waste regulations, and a proposal to integrate solar panels on low-income housing that you were positive he was going to shut down.

“Voters are disappointed with your performance as mayor, despite winning re-election, and I believe you need someone like me to bolster your base. I know it’s your final term, but don’t you want to go out on a high note? Leave a mark on the history of Beaverton?”

The question was rhetorical, but you were appealing to his ego. He straightened in his seat, a prideful grin spreading across his face at the mention of being significant. You internally rolled your eyes. Men were all the same.

“Mr. Generazzo, do you love this city?” you asked pointedly.

He blinked rapidly at the question being asked of him. “Of course I do. I was born and raised here. My mother was born and raised here.”

“Then why are you acting like you don’t care how you leave it when you’re done as mayor?” you posed brusquely. It was a risky move, given that you were trying to get a job, not tell him off, but you hoped that calling him out would give you an edge. You weren’t fawning over him, tripping over yourself to laud the so-called 'good work' he’d done as mayor. You were pointing out the gaps in his leadership and where you could fit yourself in to close those gaps.

“With me as your policy advisor, I can help you incite real, positive change to the city of Beaverton that its citizens will thank you for. You have your devout followers, sure, but your actions matter in the grand scheme of things to the people outside of that base. We as citizens will still be living here when you’re done being mayor and creating a Beaverton that makes lives better for its people instead of worse is going to make a huge difference.

“And, who knows? Maybe your actions here could launch you to governor.” Stroke stroke stroke. Your mind’s hand was beginning to get tired, but you knew what would make his ego come. “Or even president.”

His eyes widened, pupils drifting off as he pictured himself as the executive in power.

Bingo.

“Well, you’re certainly bold, I’ll give you that,” he observed, meeting your eyes once more after your indulgent speech, looking mildly impressed. He sat there a moment, quiet, as he turned your words over in his mind, his thumb rubbing at the edge of his mouth, leaving you to fiddle with your fingers in your lap. Your heart was pounding in your chest. This had to work.

“I have some things to go over, but expect a call from my office in the coming week,” Mayor Jerry said, rising from his seat and buttoning his suit jacket. He extended a hand to you to shake which you took eagerly, rising from your seat yourself.

“Thank you for your time, sir,” you replied with a wide grin, releasing his hand and gathering your bag from the side of your chair. “I look forward to your call.”

“What if I don’t get the job?” you whined on your couch, arm slung dramatically over your eyes. It had been a week since your interview and you were starting to get antsy.

Mabel reclined adjacent to you in your second-hand easy chair, tossing and catching a hacky sack in the air, legs slung over one arm while her head rested on the other.

“Did you stroke his ego?” she asked, never breaking the catch game with herself.

“Of course,” you said. “But I wasn’t exactly…nice about it.”

Mabel caught the hacky sack and righted herself, rising up from the arm of the chair to look at you. “He likes that,” she said, tossing the sack at you, hitting you squarely at the side of your head. You winced, lifting your arm off of your eyes and grabbing the toy. “Men like Jerry love when girls are a little mean to them. You’ll get the job,” Mabel said confidently.

You jerked up, flushing, a little affronted at what your friend just said. “Mabel!”

She shrugged. “It’s true.”

You groaned. “Mayor Jerry doesn’t have any pending sexual assault charges on his roster, does he?”

Mabel shook her head, snorting. “Nah. Ol’ Jerry’s a momma’s boy. He’s too wrapped up in his job and his mother to even think about dating, let alone groping a colleague.” She rolled her tongue in her mouth as she flipped through her mental rolodex of Mayor Jerry facts. “He also has a strange fascination for horses.”

You laughed incredulously, throwing the sack at Mabel's head, which missed her by a mile. “Have I told you lately how scary it is that you know so much about this man?”

Mabel took on a deadly serious demeanor. “You call it scary. I call it knowing your enemy.”

The following week, you got a call from the mayor’s office that you’d gotten the job.

Your first text to Mabel read:

You were right

She replied:

Let’s get to work 💪

Monday arrived faster than you expected. Bureaucracy may move slowly, but a new hire orientation for the mayor’s office ran at a fever pitch. You were shoved from room to room, fingerprinted, photographed, poked, and prodded. You had ink stains in places you couldn’t even imagine having ink stains from the sheer amount of forms you had to sign. You were almost sure you just signed your life away to the devil.

By the end of the day, you were overwhelmed and drowning in paperwork. At least you could find some respite in your own (small) office. You let out a less than dignified sound and thumped your head on your desk, rattling the pathetic cup full of two pencils and singular pen on your desk so hard that it toppled over, one pencil lightly bumping your cheek.

“Don’t tell me you’re already regretting this.” Jerry’s amused voice interrupted your unattractive grumbling, the sound coming from somewhere in front of you.

You jerked your head up to see the mayor smirking at you, casually leaning against your doorframe with his hands in his pockets.

“No! Not at all,” you assured him, shuffling the papers on your desk together to appear as if you were doing something important and not behaving like a petulant child. Wait a minute, didn’t this form have a post-it on–

Mayor Jerry cleared his throat and pointed at his forehead. “You got a little…something…”

Your eyes darted up to see the shadow of the lost post-it just over your brow. You quickly snatched it off of your forehead and chuckled awkwardly, smacking the post-it on the document it belonged to. “This is a lot for a first day,” you admit.

The older man shrugged. “Sure, but this is what you signed up for.”

You nodded. “I did.”

Mayor Jerry pushed himself off of the door frame and took a step into your office. “So, I’ll say again–are you regretting this?”

You straightened in your seat at the clear challenge. “Absolutely not. I’m just getting my footing.” He quirked an eyebrow at that. “I’m ready for this,” you said, assuredly, giving the man what you thought was your best game face.

He slipped his hands from his pockets and raised them palm-out to you in a placating gesture. “I give, I give! I’m just giving you a hard time,” he relented. “That glare is withering. I obviously made the right choice.”

You softened your brow at the observation, blinking. “Well, thanks.”

Jerry grinned and exhaled through his nose. “I’ll let you get back to it. It is a lot to take in, I know, but you’ll get up to speed soon.” He walked backwards a step, turning to exit, but not before stopping in the doorway to turn and say, “By the way, you have ‘ign ere’ marked on your forehead.”

You knitted your brows together, muttering, “Wha–?” to yourself before taking out and opening the compact you kept with you, not noticing Jerry retreating from your office. Unfortunately, in faded blue lettering, a handful of letters were indeed on your forehead in a block, a remnant of the ink from the post-it that read ‘sign here’.

“Damnit.”

You laughed as you went back to stirring the ramen you were preparing for the two of you. “Tedious. And overwhelming,” you said, ripping open the flavor packet and sprinkling the contents into the pot. “I have no idea how we’re going to pull this off, Mabel. This is, like, legit government espionage. You know that, right?”

Mabel snorted and waved off your concerns. “It’s not government espionage. I don’t even think that’s a thing.”

You rolled your eyes and turned off the burner on your stove. “I had to sign several NDAs. How am I supposed to give you a rundown of what happened in hours long meetings when the fucking government has my name in a database?”

“Are you planning on telling anyone other than me?” Mabel asked sweetly, rocking the chair forward, causing it to creak dangerously.

“Don’t do that!” you admonished Mabel, both about the chair and the guilt trip. She quickly righted the chair, her eyes wide at your tone. You exhaled. “Don’t…brush this off like this isn’t a bigger deal than you think it is, Mabel.”

Mabel’s expression turned sincere. “What we’re doing is going to be good, I swear. It’s just a little bit illegal,” she said causally.

You snorted. “More than a little bit.” You gave the plumped noodles in the pot a quick stir before getting two mismatched bowls from your cupboard. “We’re just going to have to be careful about how we communicate. Maybe we can have a weekly meeting here or–”

“Holy shit you’re in the news.”

“--we could go to your place, and–” Mabel’s words sunk in. You sharply turned to her and whispered, “What did you just say?”

Mabel’s face was illuminated by her phone, her expression downright gleeful. “You’re in. The news,” she repeated, turning her phone toward you to confirm that you were, in fact, in the news. You took a shaky step toward Mabel, trembling hands reaching out for her phone. Mabel had her browser open to the Beaverton Herald–your graduation photo plastered next to Mayor Jerry Generazzo’s signature grin, teeth bared like a predator. Your eyes grazed over the headline: Mayor Generazzo Hires New Policy Advisor Amongst Dwindling Popularity Numbers. Your lungs tightened, your heart hammered in your chest, sweat collected at your hairline.

The reality of this whole ordeal suddenly came crashing down on you. You could barely hear Mabel addressing you as your vision tunneled. The phone slipped from your fingers as you began to hyperventilate, a high-pitched ring deafening your ears, your breath coming out in uneven, short bursts.

You felt Mabel grip your shoulders, seeing a blur of a human figure entering your line of sight.

“--Out, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. In, two, three, four…” Her voice felt distant, but you could somewhat register that she was giving you breathing instructions. It took you a minute to figure out how to suck in a breath without choking on it, your brain firing off in too many directions for you to pin down simple breathing. 

You forced yourself to listen to the lilt of Mabel’s voice and managed a shaky inhale, only making it to two counts before you had to hold your breath for the allotted four counts, then releasing your breath in a rattly exhale. You both repeated the breathing exercise a few more times until you could finally feel your lungs taking full breaths on your inhale. The soft vignette clouding your vision returned to normal. You felt absolutely wrung out.

“Thank you,” you rasped, not exactly knowing what to do with yourself. Mabel rubbed your arms as you came out of your panic attack and led you to the chair she vacated, sitting you down.

Your fingers still tingled with the remnants of the attack. You needed something tangible to help ground you and you ended up bringing your hand to your chest, digging your fingernails into your shirt, bunching it. 

“Are you feeling hungry?” she asked.

You shook your head, eyes unfocused. “Not anymore. But I could use some cold water.”

Mabel offered a tight smile and quickly got you a glass of water, holding it out in front of you. You unclenched your hand to grab the glass, your grip on it strong enough that you believed you could break the glass. 

You took a sip of water, relishing in the feeling of the cool water coating your throat, grateful that your fingers had something solid to wrap around. As you drank, Mabel helped herself to the abandoned pot of ramen, filling one bowl. She sat down across from you and began to eat as you stared at the center of the table, glass clutched in your hands.

It made sense that there would be more eyes on you given the position you just took, but you didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. You’d have to skim the article later to go over what was said about you—see if the journalist assigned did their research or just made assumptions about you based on posts you made on social media in your 20s. 

Oh god, what would your dad say? You definitely owed him a phone call.

Mabel reached out to place a hand on your wrist, breaking your reverie, causing you to look up into her eyes. “I promise nothing’s going to happen to you. You have my word,” she said sincerely. 

You sniffed and offered a pinched smile. “You can’t promise something like that.”

She removed her hand and returned to eating her meal, shoving a mouthful of noodles into her mouth before speaking. “Thure I cahn,” she attempted to say around her food. She swallowed.

“If Jerry comes for you, I can always distract him with a good, old-fashioned verbal spar.”

You exhaled heavily. “Won’t the timing seem a little suspicious?” you pointed out.

Mabel clicked her chopsticks repeatedly at you. “Ah, ah, ah! I know what I’m doing here.”

You rolled your lips together, looking at Mabel skeptically.

She dropped her chopsticks in her bowl and looked acutely at you. “Do you want to back out?”

You sighed, sliding your hands up and down the cool glass, collecting condensation on the edges of your fingers. “I don’t think I can at this point.”

“Yes, you can,” Mabel argued. “You can always show up tomorrow and tell Jerry ‘Thanks for the job, but I gotta bounce,’ and give him some half-brained excuse or tell him that you’re way in over your head.”

You turned Mabel’s invitation for an out over in your mind. It would certainly make your life easier to bow out of the position, though it wouldn’t look great to future employers. 

You began think about what it was like growing up in Beaverton, your cherished memories floating to the front of your mind: your dad taking you on hikes to the Willamette River where you’d find a shallow bank and shove warm bottles of coke into the silt just under the running water, the temperature of the river cooling the glass; the forests you’d run in, ankles ridden with mosquito bites, dirt on your knees, and fresh air filling your lungs; sitting at the base of Mount Hood huddled with your parents, staring at the stars littering the sky, listening to the symphony of owls hooting in harmony. 

Over the years, you noticed a difference in Beaverton’s landscape. The river water line was lower in the summers and increasingly violent after a rainstorm. You noticed less of the wildlife at your favorite ponds that grew smaller and smaller with every passing year. You found yourself mourning lush fields, dewy the morning after a drizzle, now dry and patchy from the wildfires that became routine. Mountains that were covered in snow for half the year now only held the frost for what seemed like a handful months before it melted off.

Environmental changes like this weren’t exclusive to Beaverton, which is why you wanted to get into government in the first place. You had to start somewhere. While all of this was extremely out of your depth, it’s where you always wanted to be. How you got here didn’t matter anymore. You could finally start making a difference for Beaverton.

“I’m not backing out,” you decided unflinchingly, causing Mabel to whoop and clap her hands together. You chuckled at her enthusiasm, feeling more at ease.

The two of you talked next steps for a few hours before Mabel departed for the night, leaving you to clean up and go through your nightly routine.

As you crawled into bed, you opened up the article donning your name and photo, not quite prepared for what was in it, but figured that knowing was better than not knowing. 

It wasn’t terrible–just a few hundred words about Mayor Jerry’s previous policy advisor and his departure coupled with bullet point facts about your experience, basically a copy of your resume. There was also a bunch of flowery praise for the mayor which made you roll your eyes.

Praising a man in power for doing the bare minimum and looking good doing it had become so normalized, it unsettled you. The difference now was that you were a part of his team. You had the opportunity to humble him, hold him accountable for his less-than-favorable legislation and steer him in a better direction.

That also meant that if the people of Beaverton disliked the changes made by your hand, you’d become the scapegoat. 

You supposed that was a risk you were willing to take.

Every step you took toward Beaverton’s City Hall made your stomach knot tighter, the click of your heels rhythmically hitting the concrete feeling like the second hand of a clock counting down to your demise. Your fist was firmly clenched on the handles of your bag, palms so clammy that the faux leather could easily meld with your skin. Your inner mantra of ‘you deserve this, this is what you wanted’ played on repeat while your heart thundered in your ears.

After going through security, getting thoroughly scanned and examined (feeling properly exposed), you pushed open the door to the mayor’s office to be greeted by Drea, Mayor Jerry’s secretary. She glanced up at you and raised her perfectly drawn brows.

She didn’t say anything. She just…stared at you, shrewdly, like she was dissecting every part of you and figuring out where to hide the pieces.

Unfortunately, you had to pass by her desk to get to your office. You swallowed and approached her desk, giving her a tight smile, muttering a weak “Morning,” before making a beeline to your office. You could feel her eyes following you as you scampered off, like she was imagining a ‘kick me’ sign on your back and considering it. You dropped your bag down next to you and exhaled, closing your eyes, relieved to be in relative solitude.

When you reopened your eyes, you realized that the piles of paper on your desk had doubled since you left last night. You groaned and began organizing the bound packets in order of importance.

A sudden knock on your doorframe caught your attention from the mess on your desk and you lifted your eyes to find Drea in your doorway, gaze fixed on her phone screen, scrolling. At least she stopped scrutinizing you.

“We tried adding your new email to the cal, but IT is still getting you set up with that. There’s a meeting in the conference room in five,” she told you flatly, never breaking her stare from her phone.

“Oh. Thank you,” you replied, but she had already turned and walked away before you could form the ‘th’ in ‘thank’. Your brow flattened and you huffed, feeling mildly irritated.

You gathered your notebook and laptop from your bag and got up from your chair, taking a few purposeful steps before realizing that you had no idea where the conference room was. You must have missed it during your frenzied orientation, now feeling decidedly disoriented.

You groaned internally and walked to Drea’s desk, your laptop and notebook in your arms strapped tightly against your chest like a shield.

“Um,” you started, standing awkwardly off to the side, trying to get Drea’s attention as it was still glued to her phone. How she managed not to bump into anything with her concentration so focused on the device either said something about her acute awareness of her surroundings or her memorization of the floorplan of the office. Or she was a witch. You couldn’t be sure.

You brought out one hand to wave your fingers in her periphery, which earned a curt, “What,” from her ruby lips, still not breaking eye contact with her phone.

You jerked your hand back as if she’d tried to nip at you. “Oh, uh, where’s the conference room, again?” you asked, returning your hand to your makeshift shield.

Drea lifted her arm and pointed a blood red nail to the hallway behind her, gaze still fixed on her phone. “Down the hall and to the right. Big glass room. Can’t miss it,” she instructed dryly, turning away from you as soon as she was done.

You muttered a “Thanks,” in a similar tone, unsure how to respond to her standoffishness before walking off in the direction of where the conference room was per Drea’s blunt guidance.

As you approached, you saw that the conference room was already occupied by six other bodies, huddled in a conversation at the head of the table. You pushed the glass door open, silently hoping you’d be able to slip in unnoticed, slinking into a chair near the door at the opposite end of the table, placing your laptop and notebook in front of you. 

A man who could have easily donned the cover of Prep Boys Magazine noticed your presence and broke from the pack, blonde head swerving in your direction. “Hey, hey! It’s the new kid!” he called, garnering the attention of everyone else. You folded your lips together in a strained smile, suddenly feeling like you were under the heat of a spotlight. So much for subtlety.

“Uh, hi,” you said, lifting your hand in a pathetic wave. 

“You have some big shoes to fill,” the preppy blonde added, walking to the chair across from you and planting his hands on the chair back. “I’m Ted—speech writer,” he introduced, then gestured to the other faces in the room. “Anthony, Claire, and Scotty are Deputy Chiefs of Staff, Kat over there tackles our socials, and our beautiful killjoy on budget is Sascha,” Ted rattled off in quick succession, your eyes trying to keep track of names and faces as they were introduced. The woman you believed to be Sascha rolled her eyes, flicking her sleek, black bob with a long, inky fingernail. 

“Ted, stop hitting on me,” she said, perfectly lined green eyes glittering with mirth. 

“Your beauty softens the blow when you tear our plans to shreds, Sasch,” another man, tall and bronze-skinned, who you thought to be Anthony, added, taking a seat at the table. The others took his cue, setting up all around the conference table.

Sascha threw Anthony a sardonic smile as she sat down. “Bite me.”

The group chuckled at Sascha’s retort and you huffed a laugh, already feeling a little more at ease by the easy camaraderie shared by some of Jerry’s team. You admitted that you didn’t really think about who was behind the mayor until you were finally in a room with some of them. You felt silly in your ignorance, so focused on the figurehead that you didn’t stop to think about who might be operating the rest of the ship.

“Okay, what did I miss?” Mayor Jerry piped in from the glass door to the conference room, striding in with a confidence that made you bristle a little bit. “Did Anthony piss off Sascha again?”

“What else is new?” lilted Scotty, whose name felt apt since he nearly resembled a Scottish Terrier in appearance, bushy eyebrows, mustache, and beard a rich brown with streaks of grey peppered in.

“Also corrupting the new kid,” teased Ted as the mayor reached the head of the table, whose eyes landed on you as if he just noticed you were there, despite the conference room resembling a fishbowl.

“Ah, that’s right! Please welcome our new policy advisor,” Jerry introduced, stating your name, as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down, papers already arranged impeccably in front of him.

The focus on you was uncomfortable, but you straightened your back, smiled, and nodded in acknowledgement to the faces all pointed in your direction.

“Should we get started?” Jerry asked to the room, flicking out his wrists and planting his hands on the table, bringing up one of the packets in front of him.

You opened your laptop and your notebook, pen poised, as you saw your colleagues do the same.

“Where are we on the data center legislation?” Jerry asked, brow furrowed as he flicked at the papers in front of him.

“We’ve got budget approval on adding data centers to downtown Beaverton, per your request,” Sascha piped in, nails clicking on her keyboard.

“Great. And what do we plan on telling people when their electricity bills go up, Ted?” Jerry posed.

“That the data centers will be great for Beaverton’s revenue and we should see an increase in funds aimed toward Beaverton’s infrastructure. Taxpayers won’t have to worry about an increase in their taxes since the financial output made from the data centers will contribute to filling potholes and adding stop signs to suburban streets,” Ted rattled off, nonplussed.

You were positive your eyes were about to bug out of your skull. Where did this data come from? You knew from scientific journals and the multiple studies done by certified news outlets that the electricity it took to power these data centers would not only greatly affect the citizens of Beaverton negatively, but would also affect the quality of their water, especially in the poorer parts of town.

Hunched over your notebook and under your breath, you scoffed quietly.

You could feel the eyes of every single person at the conference table land on you, including Mayor Jerry. Your palms turned damp, your hand slipping down the pen in your hand with every stroke. You were sure that if you were to lift your other hand, a liquid imprint of your palm would remain on the glossy table.

It was deathly quiet, but you didn’t stop scribbling in your notebook until Jerry stated your name. “Something you’d like to add?”

You brought your head up to seven pairs of eyes looking at you in varying degrees of incredulity. You scanned the room before landing on Jerry, whose mouth was curled in a frown.

You cleared your throat and straightened, putting your pen down and threading your fingers together, staring directly at the mayor at the head of the table.

“What are you actually trying to say here?” you asked, heart pounding in your chest.

Several chairs began creaking as your colleagues fidgeted, eyes flicking back and forth with each other, curious to see where you were going with this line of questioning.

Jerry’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“All that word salad Ted just spewed out. What are you actually trying to say about this policy other than lying to your constituents?”

Jerry’s brows rose sharply at your bluntness. “Excuse me?”

“Are we trying to make people feel better about the fact that their electricity bills are skyrocketing by lying to them or are you just repeating what these tech companies are telling you because you’re unaware of what these data centers actually do? I’m just trying to clarify.” You were surprised by your own boldness for a first meeting, but you couldn’t de-rail this train if you wanted to. You were trying to prove a point.

Everyone, sans Jerry, began looking at each other nervously or looking down to avoid eye contact. Jerry never broke your gaze as he took in your assertive question.

“We’re trying to tell people that these data centers will create a better infrastructure for Beaverton,” Jerry replied, voice dangerously calm.

“But that’s not true,” you shot back. “Look at Silicon Valley. Large data centers there are sitting empty because the state can’t handle pumping all that energy through the building. Their infrastructure is already damaged and they can’t afford to power up those data canters. That doesn’t sound like it’s a positive for their infrastructure.”

Jerry eyed you warily, hands firm on the table. “I see.”

“Then there’s the water consumption to run these data centers. Data centers suck up to 5 million gallons of water per day. It siphons off clean drinking water to neighboring areas, causing a myriad of issues including sickness and damaged farmland, which affects local husbandry and our resources to food.” With every word, you gained confidence. You knew your facts. You’d done your homework. And it was becoming harder to argue against the case you’d presented.

“Mayor Generazzo, if you build these data centers, it will ruin Beaverton’s financial and ecological infrastructure, causing a financial decline for its citizens.” 

Mayor Jerry laced his fingers together in front of him, mirroring you. “The problem there is I’ve already gotten budget approval from the city to build these centers,” Jerry said, smirk gracing his lips. 

You internally rolled your eyes. What a shit argument.

“So un-approve it. You can put the money toward better legislation that won’t negatively affect electricity costs,” you retaliated. “This will affect your taxpayers, Mayor Generazzo. Just not in the way you’re promising and people will notice.”

The woman you believed to be Kat piped in, her computer connected to the television in the conference room. “Looking through X and TikTok, it has been pretty well-established that people aren’t happy with the data centers in their towns,” she stated, clicking on links to videos of people in rural areas pouring dirty water into glasses from their faucets as an immediate cause of data center usage in their towns. People documented how high their electricity bills had gotten over the past few months, their bills increasing by hundreds of dollars, crying over how they can’t afford to pay these bills on their salaries.

The mayor quietly took in this information, brow furrowed in thought.

After a beat of silence, you said, “You wanted me as your policy advisor. I’m advising your policy.”

Mayor Jerry huffed through his nose as he stared you down, unsure if he wanted to scold you or admit defeat. You heard Scotty cough uncomfortably.

“We can table the approval for building data centers for now,” he relented stiffly, setting aside a packet.

“Damn. New kid’s got balls,” you heard Anthony stage-whisper to Ted who looked at you appraisingly.

Score one for you and nil for Jerry.

“Okay, let’s move onto our next piece of legislation, shall we?”

The back and forth between you and Jerry didn’t stop at the data centers. You bumped heads on nearly every single piece of legislation that the mayor brought up in that meeting, the rest of the team’s eyes volleying between the two of you at every argument, like they were watching a heated tennis match.

It was invigorating. Once you’d shed your initial nervousness, you found your rhythm doing what you did best: arguing. It helped that some members of Jerry’s team would back you up with videos or articles that supported your claim, causing Jerry to “table” the legislation in question.

It wasn’t an outright veto, but it was close enough. It was your first week after all. Baby steps.

When the meeting ended, Mayor Jerry rushed out of the conference room, his face redder than it was when the meeting started, leaving the rest of the group to gather their things. You made a mental note to gush about his changing pallor to Mabel later.

Anthony came around the table to clap you on your shoulder smiling brightly at you. “You got guts, kid. Jesse could never do what you did there.”

“Jesse was our last policy advisor,” Claire clarified for you.

You huffed and nodded. “I read all about Jesse in the article the Beaverton Herald wrote about me joining the team,” you said.

“Oh, god, the Herald,” Scotty groaned.

You whipped your head toward him. “What’s wrong with the Herald?”

“They’re vultures,” said Sascha, glaring out into the middle distance as if the Herald could feel her stare from where she was in the office.

“Don’t take anything they write seriously. They’d write about a peach Jerry ate and spin it into some tale about how he eats babies and publish it,” Ted interjected, joining your group.

“And I thought local journalism still had some integrity,” you groused. “Thankfully, it wasn’t too bad. Just bullet point facts, really.”

“That’s how it starts,” said Kat, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose. “They’ll sink their claws into you soon enough. Make sure to purge your socials of anything you don’t want getting out,” she recommended.

You groaned. “Great. Any way you can help me out with that?” you asked. 

Kat gave you a wide grin and flipped her strawberry blonde hair, her bangs fluttering with the motion. “Nothing would make me happier.”

You all filed out of the conference room to your respective desks, earning a couple of fist bumps and “Welcome to the team!”s from your new colleagues. 

The rest of your day went smoothly. Your email got set up, as well as getting added to the Teams channel in order to connect to your other colleagues. You’d already started getting direct messages from them of several appropriate memes based on your performance today. 

By the time the sun had begun to set, you were able to whittle down some of the paperwork that accumulated on your desk and started on some counter proposals to present at the next meeting. 

When you finally checked your phone after being so busy with your tasks, you saw that you missed several text messages from Mabel:

How’s it goin’?

Helloooooooo?

What’s going on over there? Has Jerry started bleeding out of his eyes yet from how awesome you are?

Answer me!

👉👉👉

DID YOU DIE???

You chuckled and finally responded:

Not dead. Busy. No bleeding eyes, but does blood in the face from rage count?

🥳

As you started to leave for the day, you inconspicuously walked over to Mayor Jerry’s office. Drea had vacated her desk and the rest of the office was practically empty. It was late enough that the only people around were the cleaning staff, vacuuming and emptying the trash.

The door to his office was closed, warm light pouring from the crack at the bottom. You could hear his voice, muffled on the other side. He sounded…tense. You tiptoed closer, stopping just at the edge of the doorframe, leaning forward to see if you could hear anything by pressing your ear to the door.

“ – We’re working on it. Those data centers will go up as planned, Mr. Fretterman.”

You seethed. 

That snake.

Mayor Jerry was going down.

Author's note: We're getting a bibliography for this one, folks.

I found some articles in the LA Times about data centers in Silicon Valley and elsewhere, as well as a 2025 study about the environmental impact of data centers.

“You’re too perfect f’us sweetheart.” Harvey mumbles, as his large hands come to rest on your hips.

Being with them both for a while now, you can always tell who’s fronting at any given moment. While the voice was usually a giveaway, Two-Face preferring to almost growl out every little sound that escapes his throat, whereas Harvey just sounds like a deep baritone. But it isn’t just that, it’s the way he looks at you. Which eye twitches when you say something, which side of his mouth curls more when you flirt with him, or wear a revealing outfit.

Much like the one you have on now, the pretty pink babydoll dress barely covering the cute panties you’d slipped on when he’d texted he was coming to visit. Whenever that happened, he usually needed a softer touch, a calming session, or a rough fuck to take the edge off.

“Needed to see you.” He continues, hands groping at the plush of your hips in time with his words.

“Always wanna see you.” You giggle in response, smaller hands coming up to grip his broad shoulders. He groans in response, the tension leaving his body at the slight massage.

Emboldened, you begin to really knead your fingers, although being much softer on his scarred side to avoid any pain or discomfort on his end.

At least he’s letting you touch him there, given the nights where Harvey is in control, his jaw clicking whenever you lean against his scarred side or caress it gently. It makes him feel like a failure, a reminder of who he once was. When he was whole.

But you don’t mind, both of them occupying a space in your heart. So you seek to prove it, kissing up Harvey’s jaw while your hands keep easing the pressure and tension out as best you can.

He relaxes underneath you, and you’re just about to climb onto his lap before his hand starts to twitch, thumb feeling that familiar pocket of his trousers. Noticing, you pull away and look at him, before he groans.

“No…fine.” He mumbles, and you realise he isn’t talking to you.

“You need to toss your coin Harvey?” You ask softly, moving away for a moment to look at his face.

“Need to decide…” he starts, before pulling the coin from his pocket and feeling the weight of it in his fingers. “We both want you in different ways sweetheart.”

Blushing softly, you think you’re starting to understand as you nod. “Do you wanna be more…gentle?”

Harvey nods, hand moving to your thigh to grip the soft flesh. “He wants to fuck you.”

Shivering a little, you can’t deny the appeal of either one as he readies the coin. “It’s okay, whatever happens happens.”

He grunts softly at your words, before flicking the coin up. Watching it skim through the air sets your goosebumps off to claw at your skin, time almost slowing as it begins its decent. Quickly he grabs it, covering it with his palm as you both eagerly anticipate the result. He lifts his hand…only to see the scarred side of the coin staring back at you.

At your catch of breath, his head moves ever so slightly, so much so any other person might not have caught it. But you did. So you stare at him with doe eyes until he speaks.

“Guess I’m the lucky one.” Two-face growls, moving you roughly onto his lap. You squeak, feeling the way he moved you as if you weighed nothing at all.

Immediately he’s kissing and licking up your neck, tugging on your hair to expose more of you to his hungry gaze. His other goes under your dress, feeling the lacy material of your panties before giving a soft slap to your clothed cunt.

“Wearing next to fuckin’ nothing.” His tone almost sounds like he’s mad, but the way his fingers grope and cup your pussy shows you how much he loves it, how much he can’t get enough. “Harvey’s right, you shouldn’t be with us. Far too fuckin’ pretty.”

You whimper, shifting on his lap at the feeling of his digits, before he rips off the material to push two fingers immediately inside. At your gasp, he shushes you and fingers you messily.

“Quit y’whining.”

Nodding as best you can, you try and gain as much pleasure as you can from him prepping you before he decides he’s just too impatient. With a slight huff, he throws you off him and manoeuvres you so you’re bent over the sofa.

You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, so you go to take your dress off, but oh barely get it past your hips before he grips your wrist harshly. “No no no doll. I didn’t say you could do that.”

Before you can reply, you feel his cock head tapping against your clit, gathering up your slick before pushing in roughly, not giving you time to adjust. At your soft cry, he groans heavily, pulling your arms back to hold before starting to push in and out.

“Look at you, creamin’ around my dick. Wanted me to treat you like a whore all along huh?”

You whimper out a yes in between moans, his cock moving in and out at a brutal pace. Clearly he has a lot of steam to blow off, with you acting like the good stress reliever you are for him.

“Our pretty fuckin’ girl, always so dolled up for us. Bet you thought about this while putting on that short fuckin’ dress huh?” He grunts out, feeling the tightness of your walls wrapped around him.

“Yes…yes.” Is all you can say, your knuckles almost turning white from how hard you’re gripping the back of the sofa. Each thrust causes it to creak a little under your combined weight.

“Gonna corrupt your sweet ass for all of Gotham to see.”

His hand yanks your head back, gazing down on your sweet face, the mascara adorning your pretty eyelashes and the lip gloss on your kissable mouth. In that moment, all he wants to do is just ruin you. So he isn’t even surprised at himself when he spits on your cheek. And he certainly isn’t surprised when you moan like a paid whore.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.” He grins, hips snapping against yours.

Feeling the spit drying on your face, you go to wipe it before he does it for you, rubbing it into your cheek and lips, smearing your lip gloss. The sight makes his cock throb inside of you, especially with how pretty those ruined lips look when he pushes his thumb between them.

You suck the digit and moan like it’s his dick, wanting to please him even now. He loves that about you, they both do. How eager you always are, how that innocent princess look hides such a depraved mind beneath.

Eventually, your cunt throbs with the sign of your impending orgasm, your fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. Before you can alert him, the grip on your hair tightens to an almost painful degree.

“Gonna cum? Gonna cum at me fuckin’ you like a slut I picked up in the Bowery?”

At your desperate sobs of please and yes, he has the audacity to laugh at you before grunting out his permission. After a couple of deadly thrusts against your g spot, you’re cumming hard around him, whimpering pathetically.

But he isn’t done, no no he doesn’t even slow down. He keeps railing you, pushing as deep as he can into your cunt before ripping himself out and repeating. Your juices make a sinful noise with each thrust, the squelching reaching your ears and causing a burning flush to spread over your cheeks.

After what feels like a lifetime, he buries himself deep and cums, unloading the stress of the day practically straight into your womb. A guttural moan rips from his mouth, as he collapses onto you for a moment, coming down from the intensity.

“Hold on now, baby doll.’ 

     Crooning like that did not bode well for you, watching as one of the larger goons, Francis? Frankie? Pulled the table out with a yank and sent it skittering away as if it had personally offended the boss and needed to be put in its place. Which was supposed to be at the booth, looking at Roman confused before your brain managed to connect dots. Oh. Oh no. Your arm managed to reach full extension as he moved to sit while still holding your hand, staring up at you through narrowed eyes through the holes in the mask. 

Do not embarrass me, or you’ll regret it.

     Well he was fully dressed in a very nice suit, the satin fabric of the button up stretching across his chest as he draped his other arm over the back of the seat. You, however, were already regretting so much, gripping his hand to steady your nerves before moving to stand at the outside of the opposite knee before feeling him tug at the back of the coat to let you sit. A gasp let you know that someone had gotten an eyeful of something before you sat on his knee, the too dramatic flair of the bottom of the coat to drape along the seat had left you chilled. Squirming, the catch at your waist working over time truly, you finally landed with a light thump on his chest that made him chuckle. At least one of you was having fun, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and kissing the skin there. 

     Not because you were trying to start anything, but it was as good an excuse as any to hide from the eyes you could feel on you. The number seemed to double with each beat of your racing heart, and you might not be Albert fucking Einstein, but that was a lot of people. Cool air brushed over your thigh as Roman’s hand tugged it free from where you’d been holding it close with your knees, shivering as the smooth fabric dragged over your skin with gravity having decided to side with the sadist. 

“Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ shy now…’

     As if you hadn’t argued, begged, pleaded, promised to do that one thing he really liked without complaining, as long as he didn’t make you do this tonight. As if you hadn’t bitched and moaned even as you put on the clip earrings, and watched him sort through the closet of pretty coats he’d bought for you. Hadn’t been desperately trying to compromise by holding up a few of his favourite lingerie sets to wear underneath it. You were well past shy, you were mortified, and would remain so until drunk or properly stimulated.

“We’ll hit up that ritzy place you like.’ The polished wood of his mask rasped across your temple, so disgustingly affectionate as he dragged his gloved hand back and forth over your thigh. “As much as you can carry, I promise, as soon as I get bored.’

     Which could be in ten minutes, or a few hours, no telling, shifting as he gripped your thigh and tugged. Peeking over your shoulder, you counted three gaping mouths before taking hold of his chin to tilt his head, exposing his throat and lightly biting down on his pulse. The groan that rattled low in his chest helped, distracted you from the fact that the coat was creeping towards your waist, leaving half your ass on display as his fingers dragged. 

     If not for the fact that you could feel his cock digging into the outside of your other thigh, that his breathing was getting more ragged with each passing second, you’d think it was just to humiliate you. Could feel the way his cock flexed with a rush of blood as someone muttered Jesus Christ… in the crowd that surrounded you. You wanted that table back, you could tell that someone had gotten a peek at your lips, and not the ones currently parted and working on a hickey. 

     When you bit down hard, hearing the word indecent said a bit too loud to be considered a whisper, he retaliated by skimming those gloved fingers along the line of you with a low coo. Even as you thought He wouldn’t, you knew that he not only would, but had been planning to. Worse that you’d known it too, it was never just going to be a dirty little secret that got him all revved up for the car ride home. If you’d wanted any sort of decency left to you you’d have just straddled him and let the coat hide everything from the back. 

“Bunch of jealous bitches.’ A finger pressed, teasing, just enough to run the first digit back and forth before finding your clit and lightly grinding against it. “You should see their faces, you can see the hunger in their eyes.’

     You were almost certain that was not hunger, but you didn’t have enough shame to prompt a response that should have ripped through you before you’d even gotten out of the car. Taking in a deep breath through your nose, you took a moment to just focus on the expensive after shave, the oil he used on the mask. Opening your eyes to look at the curl of hair at the nape of his neck, you froze as you shifted your gaze slightly and made eye contact with an already going puce Lounge owner.

     Before you could say anything, Roman had tugged the coat over your hip, wiping his glove clean on the fur pulling a small outraged noise from you. It wasn’t your favourite, but it was still yours. Sitting up when he nudged at you, you let him see it on your face, that you disapproved of him making a mess, a whole what inch worth? But just seeing the way his eyes had crinkled behind the mask chased the expression away, replaced very quickly with curiosity. 

     Of course you liked Roman happy, it meant that he was going to break the bank spoiling you rotten. That was good. But it also meant he was going to do something you hated, looping one arm over his shoulder as the other rested on his chest. When you started fussing with his tie, he dipped his hand beneath the coat and rubbed at your lower back. That… was not the bad thing, but it sent alarms blaring through your head. You were pretty sure the whole lounge had seen far more than they should have, brow furrowing as his hand slid further down to cup your hip and squeeze. 

“Roman!’

“Yes?’

     He was still watching you, hadn’t bothered to look in the direction of Cobblepot who was glaring through a three man wall of muscle. You did, glancing over your shoulder with a little shrug that was meant to be a weak apology at best. It was not your job to wrangle Roman, your job was to take his money and enjoy yourself. And occasionally do degrading things you couldn’t tell Father Mattias over at the Gentle Mother Mary’s church, but that was none of Oswald’s business. 

“You cannot, will not, flash your little strumpet’s nethers in my Lounge!’

     You shifted as Roman pulled, looking back to him even as the confusion blossomed into understanding as his fingertips walked along the back of your thigh. When he reached inner thigh they dug in, hard, because you absolutely were not going to part them with Oswald Cobblepot squawking indignantly less than a yard away. Except you did, because you could hear his jaw creak as he grit his teeth, gaze holding yours and winning the silent exchange as the discomfort began to really hurt. 

     At the very least he didn’t just shove two fingers in, trying to remember when he’d had time to remove the glove, hips shifting unintentionally to accommodate. The small movement not immediately noticed by the tiny tyrant still demanding an apology, or whatever he’d worked himself up to. Wrapping your hand around his tie, you tucked your face back into his neck as the gentle rhythm picked up pace. You could hear the soft squelch, and planning on tipping the band personally as they continued to play at volume. 

“Oh take a breath, Os! I wasn’t payin’ attention when she was sitting down, big deal.’ The third finger pulled a noise from your throat, barely caught behind your teeth. “She’s decent enough now. Maybe people should mind their own fucking tables.’

     Your leg slipped, the coat sliding, only to be caught by his free hand and pulled back. There was no way Oswald hadn’t noticed, he must have, he was so very silent now, your breath hot against Roman’s neck as he finger fucked you. All you had to do was stay still, just not react, trying to ignore the low considering noise Roman made as you shivered against his chest. 

“You- You-’

     When he shallowed the thrust of his fingers, you reacted before you thought, body shifting, releasing the tie to reach down. You’d been close, maybe not to something mindblowing, but- A choked noise made you freeze, slumping as you refused to look away from the tie pin you’d made him buy because it matched the necklace he’d bought you. The one he’d thrust at you in a small velvet box the same colour as the bruises there. 

“How da-’

“Oswald… You’ve got to calm down, you’re making a scene.’ 

     No, that was definitely you, hips shifting under the coat as you rode his finger, peppering his throat with kisses. He was practically purring, and you pushed his hand away from your hip, blinding seeking his wrist and pulling it upwards. What did you care if you got banned from the Iceberg Lounge? The math had finally settled, he’d just wanted to flash a bit of skin, show the crowd something naughty, and you had his word that you’d buy what you could carry. 

     There was a thud behind you, not that you bothered to look, more screeching, but all you heard was the soft inquisitive Oh? that Roman let out as you pulled his hand to his chest. What would it get you if you let him get you off on his lap with an audience? And if you were going that far, what if you finally christened the booth? Surely you’d be able to load the boys down, chin lifting as you moaned softly as his hand cupped your breast. 

“You really want that trip, huh?’

     Trip? To the… store? Nodding your head, nose skimming his throat, you could feel the way he swallowed hard as you arched your back so his hand forced the coat open. Wait, did he mean that vacation he’d been promising for months but kept backing out because of work? If that was the new goal you could be persuaded, wiggling to let the coat work its way down your shoulder. That earned you a sharp slap that was suddenly very loud, when did the band stop playing?

     At the very least it wasn’t as if anyone could see anything properly, jolting as he shoved the fingers back in with a small wiggling. He was debating, you could practically hear the gears grinding, doing math, and you squeezed around his fingers with another low shameless noise. Watching his Adam’s apple bounce, you were glad he couldn’t see your grin, he’d hate that. Not as much as he was going to hate the bruise you’d worked on that was well above the collar, shifting restlessly as the pleasure swelled but refused to crest.

     You knew why, and you knew he did too. The fingers were great, but he’d gotten you used to something a bit thicker, and a whole lot meaner. Was it worth two weeks at a resort with carte blanche? Well, within reason of course, there was the established trust afterall, your thoughts briefly derailed as he used his thumb to roll your nipple against knuckle. When you clenched again, he pulled, and you whined at the pain. Nothing serious, but the way his breath was echoing in the mask was doing more for you than the fingers, more than the fact you knew that he’d done that to show off. 

“You come for me and we’ll leave tonight.’

“After the store?’ His laughter bounced you, which then killed the laughter as he watched the result. “Roman?’

“Yeah? Oh, yeah, of course baby doll. You need to look your best.’ 

     Distantly you could hear a scuffle, security involved, shifting to ride his fingers in earnest as you tucked the tips of your fingers under the edge of the mask and lifted it slightly to expose the scarred skin. Higher to expose his mouth, open and panting as he let go of your breast to run down your side. Not that you needed the insistent tug to straddle his lap, pressing down against him and grinding against the seam. At least now the only people seeing anything where the ones on the upper floor, tugging first one arm loose, then the other. 

“Oh fuck...’

     You were going to take the compliment, though you weren’t entirely sure it had been Roman who’d said it, and you knew that you hadn’t. Dragging your clit back and forth on the fabric, you felt like echoing the words as he squeezed your ass before sliding his fingers back inside you. The slacks would need replacing, feeling how slick they were as you shamelessly chased the orgasm that was much closer. You just had to cum, not just for the promised store trip, but because he’d yet to lower the mask, sucking and nibbling at your lower lip. 

     Pulling back, his teeth clamped down, pinching and sliding over the flesh as you used the pain to tip yourself over the edge. The mortification that had been smothered by greed came roaring back as you gushed around his fingers, watching him snap his head back to force the mask to reseat itself properly as he stared up at you. And then because of course because he couldn’t be a decent human being, you felt him pull his hand free, then out from beneath the coat to flick it. 

     The coat was definitely ruined now was all you could think, because anything else was going to leave you crumpled against his chest as reality reasserted itself around you. The boys were closer, which meant they’d definitely heard more than you’d planned for them to, corralled by the security guards attempting to get at Roman. And you, you supposed, watching his head turn to stare at the hand you were pretending was not held upright and dripping. 

“Think that’s worth a shopping trip at a fancy resort, for sure.’ 

     His conversational tone, warmed as it was by his amusement, had you struggling to get the coat back on, twisting and turning to get your arms back in the sleeves. As you shifted off his lap, your back hit one of the men trying to keep security away, almost knocking you right back onto Roman. His gaze met yours briefly, then down, and further still, looking at your legs and a droplet that rolled down your inner thigh. You could not have planned it better if you’d tried, watching him lean to look around you before using a hand against your ribs to shove you onto the booth and out of the way. 

“Boys! Stop playing with your new friends, we got to get to the store before it closes.’ You tugged the hem of the coat from beneath his shoe, which he seemed to ignore as he pulled a handkerchief loose to wipe his fingers. “I promised the lady a spree before we go on vacation if she came, and boy did she…’

     If you could reach the gun at Seth’s lower back you might have risked shooting him. 

“Get out! Get out!’

“We’re trying to Os, but you’re in the way!’

     Finding yourself yanked upright but your elbow, you irritably resituated the coat to cover yourself one handed. Which, you belatedly realized, flashed an awful lot of skin as it mean yanking and flapping the fabric. Still, you were getting your shopping trip, and a vacation. Though you were almost certain that for Roman it was going to be a work trip with some reprehensible creature that would make your skin crawl. But it’d be an hour tops, and then you were free to enjoy anything you wanted for two whole weeks. 

“I think you ruined the suit.’ Roman muttered as he climbed into the car behind you, grabbing the coat and tossing it out of his way. 

     The coat you’d let fall off you the moment the tinted windows offered you any privacy, reaching for the button up that hung from the hook. You’d hated the way you could feel it slapping against the backs of your legs from the… orgasm. That had not been planned, but you couldn’t argue the results, feeling his hand nudge your arm. A pair of your underwear spilled over his palm, and you were grateful, but wish it had been the small towel from the mini bar instead. 

“I suppose I’m to feel some sort of pride that you were so hot you made a mess all over me?’

     You almost snorted before recognizing the tone, taking the underwear before turning to look at him with a miserable expression. Sometimes you hated that damned mask, unable to see his expression at all in the dim lighting. It wasn’t like you had a spot cleaner and an iron on you, you’d barely been allowed jewelry. Sifting through options, you finally settled on tossing the underwear onto the seat next to him before sliding down to the floorboard, 

     The right choice, apparently as his legs parted to make room, and you slid between his knees reaching for his zipper. It wasn’t the first time you’d had to “clean up after yourself”, watching as he unbuckled his belt and undid the clasp fastening. Couldn’t let him be uncomfortable, now could we? You hid your eye roll with eagerly pulling him loose and leaning forward to lick from base to tip. Feeling his hand on the back of your head, you opened wide and let him push you down. Surprised when he didn’t last long, hips lifting off the seat moments later to cum down your throat with a groan. 

“You’re going to need a new coat, baby doll. Don’t want you freezing any of my favourite assets.’

     You paused, tongue still tucked into the corner of your mouth where you’d been chasing a bit that had tried to escape when you’d finally been let up. Did that mean you were going to be parading around naked so he’d have easy access, or were you going somewhere cold? Carefully clearing your mouth, you took the underwear from the seat and sat across from him, taking your time in putting them on as he watched. If it was cold there better be a damned good spa. 

The quiet scratch of pencils fills the air, soft music filling in the remaining space. The students’ eyes are on you, but you know they’re not really seeing you. They’ve broken you down into parts, learning how to draw curves and shadows, the fold and stretch of cloth, whatever the lesson may call for. An itch starts up behind your knee, but you push it away, letting yourself sink deeper into the hush. You take a deep breath, your only focus on holding the position.

Time stretches, counting down, but somehow endless. Finally, Shelly calls a stop and the pencils still. As the students pack up, you unfold from your position, relieving the itch behind you knee.

“Great work today.” Shelly says as the last of her students file out. “I wasn’t sure about that pose, but you were right.”

"When will you learn not to doubt me?” You smile at her, wincing at the resistance in your muscles as you stretch.

She crosses to you, handing you a bottle of water. “Maybe one day.” She winks at you, “Need a hand?”

“No, I’m good.” You stretch your arms before rolling your shoulders. “I’m going to walk around, take a peak at their work.”

“Help yourself.” Shelly steps back, “You know where to find me.”

Quiet settles in the room as Shelly sits at her desk, a pair of glasses perched on her nose. You step off the small dais, glad to be moving, and then between the easels, glancing at the one on your left. You sip the water as you walk the circle, looking at the varying stages of the student’s work. Some chose to focus on one part of the pose, trying to perfect their replication of it. Others worked the whole display, recreating you on the paper. One makes you stop, frowning at the pad.

You raise a hand, fingers hovering of the pencils marks. The women on the page is posed like you were, but the figure lacks your generous proportions. Something twists in your heart and you turn quickly away. You force the feeling away, unwilling to let some student’s drawing ruin your mood.

Shelly looks up as you shove your things back into your bag. She traces her eyes to the circle and sighs, knowing which pad you’d seen. She glances down at her desk and the jumble of papers. She digs out a dark envelope, fingers tracing over the filigree.

“Before you leave,” She says, standing, “I wanted to give you this.”

You stop, turning to her, “What is it?”

“It’s an invitation to an art show opening. I thought maybe you’d want to go with me.” She smiles, “We can get gelato after.”

“Shelly.” You sigh, something wistful in your heart.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! And you never know who you’ll meet! Maybe rich aristocrat will see you and whisk you away to a life of luxury.”

You laugh, “My bags are already packed.” You look at the invitation, contemplating, “I’ll think about it though, okay?”

“That’s all I ask.” She slips the invitation into your bag before turning and wrapping her hands around your forearms, “You’re an amazing model and as much as I love having you for my classes, you should be doing so much more. Maybe this is the party where you’ll finally get noticed.”

Before you can respond, she lets go of your arms and turns. “Now, get out of here. Go have some fun!”

🌹

Rome sprawls below your open window, the music of her streets dances up to you. The wood of the window sill is smooth beneath your bare arms. A gentle breeze swirls around you, leaving warmth in its wake. The invitation sits on the table behind you, the weight of it pressing between your shoulders.

“Who am I kidding?” You blow out a breath as you let the want in. “Who would pick me as a muse?”

But you can’t help wondering which artists will be there, who you might hit off with, who might want to work with you. You think about how they would depict you, the softness of your curves, the fullness of your belly. Your thoughts race after themselves, turning in circles as you imagine it. 

You turn and look at the invitation. It beckons you closer. The heavy paper is soft against your hand. The ink is pressed deeply beneath your fingertips. 

“Oh alright!” You laugh at yourself, “It can’t hurt to go.”

🌹

“No,” He snaps, “And that’s final, Pietro, I mean it. I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.” Pietro doesn’t even look up from his tablet.

“No, I’m not going.”

Pietro sighs, “It’s a good opportunity for you to meet new people.”

“I don’t want to meet anyone.” He whirls, pacing the other way, “I know plenty of people.”

“Really?” The sarcastic doubt clings heavily to Pietro’s voice.

“Yes, really. I have plenty of friends.”

“Name two then.”

Klaue stops in his tracks, whirling to face his assistant. Pietro looks up, raising one silver eyebrow. Klaue opens his mouth and then shuts it. He tries again, but still can’t come up with an answer.

“I know you love being this solitary hermit of an artist,” Pietro says standing, “And it’s worked for you so far. But,” He emphasis the word, “No artist thrives in isolation, not even you. And you never know, you might even meet someone interesting.”

Klaue snorts, but holds his retort at Pietro’s sharp look.

Pietro sighs, “You and I both know you’ve been struggling lately. Maybe this will help.” he pauses, gauging Klaue’s mood, “Even if you don’t meet someone, a night off can’t hurt.”

Klaue resolutely doesn’t look at the nearby pile of discarded canvases, keeping his gaze locked onto Pietro instead.

“This is going to be a waste of time,” Klaue finally says, but even he can hear how half hearted the argument is.

“There’s going to be an open bar.”

“Fine,” He snaps, annoyed at being beaten, “Put it on my calendar or whatever it is you do.”

Pietro smiles at him, mischief in his blue eyes, “It’s already on there.”

He swears, pointing at the door and Pietro just laughs at him. “Should have left you on the street.”

“Your life wouldn’t be half as interesting if you had!” Pietro shuts the door on his last word and Klaue swears again.

But as the quiet settles around him, he finally lets himself look at the canvases. He shakes his head and crosses to his easel and his latest attempt. His fingers brush over the line work as he tries to bring his mental imagine into focus. But the harder he tries, the further away it gets, leaving him with nothing more than an impression. He snarls and tosses the canvas with the others.

He pushes out the double doors, lifting his head to the breeze as he steps onto the balcony. The flash of temper settles as the air dances around him, bringing him the music of Rome. He leans against the stone railing, letting his gaze wonder over the bright streets. Pietro’s words replay in his mind and he snorts, doubtful that the opening will be inspiring. But he lets himself think of the crowd that’s likely to be there. He doesn’t know any of them well, having placed them all neatly in a box of uninspiring idiots. But, he let’s himself consider, maybe one of them will surprise him.

He turns his face up as the breeze whirls past again, carrying the hint of something. But it’s gone as soon as he registers it.

“What the hell,” He tells the air, “Not like I’m getting anything done here anyway.”

🌹

The opening turns out to be more of a party than a show, helped a long by the open bar. Around him, people mingle with happy chatter, filling the room with noise. Klaue tunes them out, looking at the art that graces the walls. There’s a beauty to it, the skill evident, he has to admit, but it’s too perfect, too sanitized. It makes him want to mess it up, to show what’s under the perfection.

“Stop it.” Pietro mutters, “You’re scaring people off.”

Before Klaue can respond, he feels the evening’s cool air dancing over his shoulders, pulling his attention to the door. He turns. The world crashes to a standstill around him. His jaw drops and he knows he’s staring, but he can’t seem to stop. You step further in the room, moving like poetry, all curves and grace. Inspiration strikes a match in his soul, his fingers itch for his sketch pad.

Pietro’s quiet cough snaps him back to reality.

“What?” He snaps, but he’s too distracted for it to have heat.

“Oh, just wondering if you’ve turned into a speed bump?”

He twists, scowling at Pietro, and when he looks again, you’re gone.

“Looks like she’s heading for the bar.”

Klaue moves without another word, leaving Pietro shaking his head.

“Knew I should have taken that job with the robot.” He mutters, watching his boss shoulder through the crowd.

You lean against the bar, the wood cool against your skin, and wave to the bartender. He nods to you as he fills a shaker with ice. The party is loud around you, riotous laughter and thrumming music pulsing in the air. You let out a sigh and wonder how soon you and Shelly can leave.

Behind you the crowd shifts, disrupted, murmurs following in his wake. Despite the noise, you swear you can hear footsteps approaching. You can feel something heady in the air, tempting and sweet. You turn, far too curious for your own good and meet his eyes. The rest of the world blurs out, bringing him into sharp focus. The desire to curl into yourself, to hide, is strong, but you push your shoulders back and tip your chin up instead. Klaue grins.

“Ulysses Klaue.” You take his offered hand, stifling a gasp at how warm he is.

You give him your name in answer, and feels like something snaps into place between you. It’s sinful, the way his lips shape your name as he repeats it, etching in into his memory.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You say.

Klaue’s grin sharpens, a predator looking at a his prey, “Oh,” He purrs, “I’m sure the pleasure is all mine.”

Someone bumps into you, sending you tumbling forward, crashing against Klaue’s chest. Klaue wraps an arm around you, holding you close. You wrap a hand around his bicep, trying to steady yourself. There’s a pounding noise that it takes you a moment to recognize as your heartbeat.

“I got you.” His voice is low, just for you.

You swallow hard, “Thank you.”

He keeps his arm wrapped around you as he guides you back to the bar. He’s reluctant to let you go, but he forces his arm to drop, leaning next to you, close enough to feel the warmth coming off you. A drink appears before him, something dark and smoky, ice clinking against the glass.

“And the lady.”

You smile and give the bartender your order.

“Very generous to buy me a drink at an open bar.”

He chuckles, “Generosity is my middle name.” He lifts his glass as the bartender sits you drink next to you. “What should we toast to?”

You raise your glass, eyes never leaving his, “First meetings.”

Your glasses clink, the sound resonating through you, a pact sealed.

🌹

He gestures to a painting, turning his face toward you, “It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

“Klaue! You can’t say that.”

“It’s true.” He shrugs. “The technical skill is decent, but there’s no soul in it.”

“Stop.” But you can’t completely hide your laughter, “The artist might hear you.”

He just shrugs, “I’d say it to his face.”

You take the last sip of your drink, knowing if you look him in the eye, you’ll loose your hold on your laughter. “Stop it.” But he can see the glittering in your eyes.

He turns further into you, intent on tugging more laughter out of you. Instead, he says, “Do you want to get out of here?” Surprise crosses his face, but he doesn’t pull the words back.

He sees the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, but then it vanishes, “What did you have in mind?”

“It’s a surprise. Do you trust me?”

“Not at all,” You answer, smiling, “But lead the way.”

He turns, setting a hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crush of people. They part way easily for him, knowing he’ll just shoulder them out of the way if they don’t.

Halfway to the door you pause, turning towards him, “Oh, I need to tell me friend that I’m leaving. We had plans after.” But as you scan the room, you can’t see any hint of her.

Klaue raises a hand and snaps his fingers. Pietro appears at his side as if summoned from thin air.

“Pietro, find-” He cuts off, looking at you.

“Shelly Morresi.” You supply.

“Find Ms. Morresi and let her know that we’re heading out.”

“And that I’ll text her later, please.”

Pietro smiles at you, all charm, “I’m glad he found some with manners. Maybe you’ll rub off on him.” Klaue bares his teeth at Pietro, but is ignored, “I’ll let your friend know and make sure she gets home alright. Enjoy your night.” He slips into the crowd, disappearing as quickly as he arrived.

As Pietro goes one way, you and Klaue go another. He makes quick work of the crowd and soon you’re outside, breathing in the cool night air.

“Oh it feels great out here.”

Klaue turns to watch you lifting your face to the night sky, the sliver of moon illuminating you in soft silver light. He feels a pull in his soul, the itch in his fingers again. When you turn, meeting his heavy gaze, heat stirs through you. He holds a hand, shivering slightly when you take it.

He leads you across the street, and around the corner to where a motorcycle is parked. It gleams under the streetlight, all black, even the chrome. Klaue lets go of your hand as he rummages in one of the saddle bags. He pulls out a bundle that he reveals to be a leather jacket and a helmet.

“Safety first.” He smirks as he holds them out to you.

“What about you?”

“I’ve only got the one set, and,” He shrugs, “I have a good feeling tonight is not the night death comes for me.”

His words do little to reassure you, but he swings onto the bike, strong legs spreading wide over the seat, and raises an eyebrow at you. You shake your head at him, but put on the helmet and slip into the jacket. The soft, well worn leather wraps around you, embracing you in his scent. Klaue bites back a groan at the sight of you in his jacket.

“Is now a good time to mention I don’t do this a lot?” You ask as you settle behind him.

“Leave parties with strange men?”

“Ride bikes.”

“Ah, don’t worry sweetheart.” The bike roars to life beneath you, “I’ll be gentle.”

He revs the engine, the rumble reaching deep inside you. Then with a laugh, he shifts into gear and pulls away from the curb.

The night rushes past around you, the colors blurring into smears. You wrap your arms around him, instinctively leaning closer. He’s a burning furnace, fighting off what chill the jacket doesn’t.

As he whips around a corner, you squeeze him tighter, burying your face in his back. He laughs, warm and free.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You take a deep, steadying breath, and peak over his shoulder. Rome flies past you, an impression more than anything. You let yourself relax as you take it in, the way the street lights stretch and the colors blur. As Klaue takes the next turn at a breakneck speed, you find yourself laughing. You feel his answering chuckle vibrate through you.

“There you go.” His words are nearly snatched away by the wind, but they manage to reach you.

The next turn takes you onto a road that meanders alongside the river. Klaue grins, smug, at your delighted gasp. He shifts, leaning into the curve, and feels you move with him. Something warm and dangerous pounds in his blood.

Though he would ride all night, he eventually turns away from the river and navigates the narrow city streets. He pulls to a stop outside a beautiful building, ivy climbing the stone, and cuts the engine. You take a deep breath and maneuver yourself off the bike. Klaue joins you a moment later, grinning.

“Well, what’d you think?”

“That was incredible!” There’s a sparkle in your eyes as you slip off the helmet.

He takes the helmet from you, tucking it under one arm. “Ready for your next surprise?”

“I don’t know. Can you top that?” You tilt your head back to the bike.

Klaue laughs, “Easily.”

He guides you up the stairs, his free arm hovering behind you. At the top, he pulls out an old fashioned key and unlocks the gate and then the door.

“We’re going up.” He motions to a staircase.

“The whole building is yours?” You ask as you start up, sinking into the lush carpet on the stairs.

Klaue nods, “This floor is for visitors and the kitchen.” At the landing, he turns and starts up the next flight, “Second is Pietro’s suite. The next two are mine.”

“Yours?” A clutch in your belly as you imagine where he’s taking you.

“Here.” He stops off on the next landing.

He opens an unassuming door and gestures you in. You step into the not quite pitch black, Klaue following you. There’s a soft click and then warm light fills the room.

“Oh!” You press a hand to your mouth, looking around you.

“My studio.” He sweeps his arm, “Take a look.”

You turn to him, eyes wide, “Seriously?” He can see the delight, the curiosity.

He nods, “Nothing’s off limits.”

It’s all the permission you need. Klaue tosses the helmet onto the small table near the door, watching as you take in the rough sketches pinned to one wall. You lift a hand towards one, and then pause, fingers only a breath away from the thick, messy lines.

“I saw this show when it opened.” You look up at him, “I know some critics thought you were crazy for breaking sculpture’s you’d just made, but it was so different, so unique. So you.”

“What was your favorite piece?”

“Icarus Remade.” There’s no hesitation. He makes a soft sound and you smile softly, “It was…powerful to see your vision of him. A fallen young man dashed to pieces on the ocean rocks, put back together.”

Klaue shakes his head, wordless. Unconsciously, he rubs a hand over the knuckles of his prosthetic. “Some called it grotesque. A modern Frankenstein.

“Then they missed the point. Icarus was broken, by his pride, his youthful arrogance, whatever you want to call it. But you,” You leave the sketch, walking to him, “You put him together again. Not whole, not perfect, but made a new. Still Icarus, but also not.”

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes never leaving you, his breathing heavy. Something shifts in his eyes, a decision made.

“Follow me.” He turns, leading you across the room. “Have a seat. I want to try something.”

You slide onto the stool, wiggling until you find a mostly comfortable spot. Klaue turns, flipping on a nearby lamp, adjusting it until he makes a satisfied noise. He moves to a worktable, murmuring to himself as he collects his tools. You watch him, picking up and discarding at what seems to be random, but must have some pattern. Finally, he returns to you, dragging another stool behind him. As he sits, you shift, let yourself relax, ready to be molded into his vision.

“Now just relax,” He says and then looks up. He laughs, “I guess you already are. Can you lean…yes just like that. Good.”

He sets pencil to paper and the quiet scratch fills the air. He works quickly, tracing rough lines, looking at you with quick glances. He mutters as he works, and you wonder if he even realizes he does.

“Lean towards me. Yes, good. Put your hand in your lap, either one. No, never mind, the other one.”

You follow his directions, letting him guide you from position to position. Eventually, you fall into the flow, your brain quieting as you shift and lean and bend for him.

Time passes, unnoticed by either of you. Klaue fills page after page, quick sketches he’ll refine later. There’s a fever in him, a need, a desire, something all consuming. He only stops when you make a soft sound as you shift to a new position for him. His gaze snaps up to you and then to the clock behind you.

“Here, let me.” He tosses the sketchbook aside as he stands.

You take his offered hand, letting him help you to your feet. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into him. The frenzy inside him quiets as you relax against him, your hand settling on his chest.

“I have a confession.” He says softly. You turn to meet his eyes, “That’s the most I’ve been able to put on a page in almost a year.”

“Oh, Klaue, I,” You cut off as he shakes his head.

“It happens sometimes. Usually I can work through it, but this was different. Every time I’ve tried to create, it all slipped away from me. Until tonight, until you.” His gaze is heavy, anchoring you, “There’s something about you.” He cups your chin, his prosthetic cool against your skin, “Something that calls to me.”

“I,” You breath, “Klaue.”

“Work with me,” He leans closer, his breath mingling with yours, “Be my muse.”

🌹

The sheets are soft against your skin, draping teasingly over you. You lean back into the pile of pillows, feeling deeply indulgent. From the radio a soft voice croons about love and romance. Above you, rain taps gently on the roof. Lamps cast a low, teasing light over the set up. Klaue circles the bed, one way and then the other, as he works, flipping pages of his sketch book, muttering to himself.

“Lean back a little more. And bring your knee up. There, perfect.” 

Klaue circles the set up, appraising and nodding. 

“Good. Can you relax…yes that's it.” 

You let out a slow breath, sending the tension with it. His words flow around, guiding you further into his vision. It's easy to follow his lead, to let yourself be posed. 

“Can you hold this position?” 

“Yes.” You answer, careful not to move too much. 

You don't see him nod, but you hear his footsteps move away. 

Time passes. An itch starts between your shoulders. You push it away, trying to ignore it, but it grows more adamant.

Klaue pauses in his work, watching you. If he wasn't looking for it, he never would have seen your subtle shift of discomfort. 

“Break time.” 

He sets his work aside before he stands. He watches as you gratefully stretch, his eyes tracing over your soft curves. With a groan he stretches too before crossing to a small shelf. 

The mini fridge opens with a soft hiss. He grabs two bottles of water before kicking the door shut. 

“Here.” He hands one to you. 

“Thank you.” The glass of the bottle is cool in your hand, condensation already starting to form. 

“Doing alright?” 

“Yeah, I'm good.” A shy feeling flickers in your chest.

“Another hour, maybe two.” He grins, “Then you can go have some wild crazy fun.” 

You laugh, “Oh yes, that's definitely the plan for tonight.” 

He cocks his head, “That's a hefty dose of sarcasm.” 

“Sorry,” You shake your head, “I've been so busy lately, fun has…taken a backseat.” 

“Really? No wild adventures planned?”

“Not currently,” You smile and look up at him through your lashes, “Though you never know what might happen.”

“Come to dinner with me.” He looks surprised he said it, but he doesn't take the words back. 

“I…shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He raises an eyebrow, “Afraid you'd enjoy it too much?”

The challenge has your competitive streak flaring to life, something that’s been happening more often then longer you spend with him.

“Dinner? With you?” You smile sweetly at him, “Why would that be enjoyable at all?” 

He laughs, full and throaty, “Behave or I won’t take you to dinner.”

“Oh, I see,” You say, tossing your head back dramatically, “Promise me something and then rip away!”

His eyes trace over the exposed line of your throat. “Hold on. Hold that pose.”

Surprise has you wanting to move, but you keep yourself locked into position.

“Put your arms under you, no, not like… yes like that.” You hear the frantic turn of pages as he looks for a blank page. “Good, yes, good.”

His muttering mixes with the rain and the radio until it’s all background noise.

“Shift your leg.” You follow his command, but he makes an exasperated noise, “No, not like that.”

You shift it again and he makes another annoyed noise.

“Why don’t you be more specific then!”

You start to move and he snaps, “No! Don’t move your head.”

He tosses his sketch book down and crosses back to you with long strides. Then he wraps his hands firmly around your ankles and tugs your legs apart. You smother a gasp, desperately fighting to keep the pose. The blanket settles between your legs, brushing the edge of your shorts.

“Better, not right though.” He mutters. He lets go of your ankle, fingers trailing up the inside of your calf, stopping just shy of your knee, “That’s it.”

He sets one broad hand on the soft skin of your exposed thigh and presses down until your leg is flush with the mattress. You let your body to follow his lead.

“Yes, that’s it.”

There’s an inferno raging in your core, stoked by his praise.

“Klaue.”

“Hold that. Hold it right there.”

He darts away and is back moments later. You feel the cushions sink as he settles just beyond your parted legs, far enough he can look at all of you.

“Perfect.”

He sketches for a while, pulling out a new charcoal pencil when the other one gets too dull.

“Arch your back. Yes, just like that. Damn, you’re perfect for this.” His pencil races against the page, “You’re going do this pose for me nude.”

“I haven’t agreed,” He waves your argument away.

“You will. I’ll convince you.” He winks at you, a grin tugging at his lips.

Your skin feels too hot, too tight, everything is too much. “Klaue.”

“Almost there. Hold it for just a little longer for me.”

His hand is still moving over the page, but his eyes are on you, unwavering and deeply blue.

“Open your mouth.”

He hadn’t meant to say it, to put his thought into words, but you do it immediately, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. Klaue swears softly, but keeps drawing. Looking at you laying back on the bed, eyes wide, mouth parted, he can't help thinking about taking communion between your legs. He feels his cock twitch, fighting against his zipper and he bites back a hiss. He shoves the thought aside, and focuses on you.

“Just a little longer. You’re doing so good.”

His words keep the fire in your core raging. You can’t help the soft noise that slips out.

“I know, I know, but you’re doing so well. So good for me. Almost there. Hold it just a little longer.” The pencil traces the curve of your hip on the page, “Yes. That’s it, almost there. There, yes!”

He closes the sketchbook with a snap, tossing it to the side.

"Done!” He shifts forward, cupping your face, “You were perfect for me.”

“I, good.” You swallow, “That’s good.”

You start to move, but he stops you, “Let me help.”

The mattress shifts as he rolls off. A moment later and you feel his hands on your shoulders. He’s gently as he lifts you, letting the pressure off your arms. Before you can say anything, he’s settling behind you, pulling you back against him.

“Rest against me.” He says, rubbing his hands over your arms, working feeling back into the muscles. “How’s your neck?”

“It’s good.” Your voice is soft.

He sets his hand there anyway, gently massaging. You gasp at the coolness of his titanium hand.

“Sorry, forgot the glove again.” He starts to pull away.

“No,” You stop him, “It feels good.”

He smiles down at you, but your eyes are already closed in pleasure. Carefully, he kneads the tension out of your neck. You hum softly as he works.

Eventually, he hears the distance chiming of a clock and sighs internally. Though he’s loathe to pull away, he knows he can’t keep you here all night. Slowly, he lets go of your neck, letting his hand trace down your spine.

“Come on, let’s get you up. Lean on me.”

He guides you into a standing position, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. He feels you wobble slightly and shifts closer. You think about protesting, but the feel of his arm around you is too enticing. Instead you let him guide you around the room, steadiness returning to your legs.

Together you circuit the room until you feel steady enough to stand on your own. He seems to know before you can tell him, already guiding you back to the chair you tossed your bag beside.

“I’ll change and get out of your way.”

“No rush.” He slides his hands in his pockets, stance wide.

He watches you slide behind the heavy folding screen he’d set up, etching the lines of your figure in his memory.

“I was serious about dinner.” He calls and hears an answering clatter.

You clear your throat, “Serious like you were serious about firing Pietro yesterday? Or serious like you were about the messed up canvas delivery?”

“Serious like I’m serious about my gelato.”

“Oh, serious indeed.” You laugh.

He starts picking up, mind wandering through the sketches from the day. He can already see the paintings that will come from them, but his hands itch for more. He thinks of the clay in his workshop, his hands working it to match the curves of your body. When you poke your head around the corner of the screen, his attention immediately snaps to you.

You send him a soft smile as you step around it fully. “Today was good.”

“It was.” He answers.

“I just don’t know about having dinner with you though, you’ve been kind a grump all day.”

Klaue huffs, burying a laugh, “I suppose I have. Let me make it up to you.”

You look at the clock and then shake your head, “Alright, but dessert better be included in your apology.”

“Would it be a real apology if it wasn’t?”

He follows you to the door, stopping you before you can grab your jacket. Instead he lifts it off the hook, holding it out for you. He holds it steady as you slip your arms into the sleeves, helping you guide it up. His hands are warm against your shoulders as he smooths the fabric, his touch lingering, unwilling to stop touching you.

“Klaue?” You ask quietly.

He forces his hands away and then offers you his arm.

“Shall we?"

You slip your arm through his and smile, “Where are we going?”

“I think you’ll like it.”

🌹

The rain has moved on, leaving the night cool and clear. The plaza is bathed in night, candles flickering as they do their best to fight off the shadows. You and Klaue share one side of a small table, your own candle doing it’s valiant best, coating you both in warm light. You lean forward, pulled by the music, the deep notes of the cello, the soft sound of the violin. Klaue leans back, appearing unaffected, but his eyes are locked onto you, studying every shift in your expression. The musicians stop moving, their instruments at rest, the plaza ringing with their last notes. As silence falls, the troupe smiles and waves, breaking their spell.

“They were incredible!” You turn towards Klaue, delight bright on your face. “How did you know?”

“Pietro. He knows everything that goes on in the city. Or at least he pretends to.”

Above you the string lights flick on, aiding the candles’ fight against the dark. Servers circle the tables, offering an assortment of temptations. Klaue nods at you when a server stops at your table.

“Lady’s choice.”

He smiles as you consider, looking over the variety with a serious expression. You ask the server something and he responds, a small smile on his face. Klaue glowers at him and the smile instantly flees. He keeps glaring as you make you selections. The server sets them on the table and then retreats. You turn back towards Klaue, laughing.

“You didn’t have to scare him.”

“He was being too friendly.”

“A server being friendly in Rome. You’re right, that’s unheard of.”

He fights the urge to squirm beneath your questioning gaze. “What did you pick?”

You push one plate towards him, keeping the other, “I think you’ll like it.”

He takes a bite, letting his eyes close as the flavors swirl together, enjoying the decadence. They fly open a minute later when you make a soft sound, a quiet moan of pleasure. Heat bolts through him, leaving him without a thought.

“Oh, this is fabulous.” You sigh, “I should share this with you, but I don’t think I will.”

He watches your lips close around the spoon, and suddenly he’s in desperate need of water. You open your eyes, looking at him as you slowly slide the spoon out of your mouth.

“What?” You frown, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He takes another bite to prove it, but he no longer tastes the dessert, his senses too locked onto you.

You narrow your eyes at him, tongue flicking out to lick some of the cream off the side of the spoon. Klaue tries to smother his groan, but he doesn’t quite manage.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” You set your spoon down, leaning towards him.

The violin starts again, couples rise in answer, called by the song. Klaue pushes back from the table and stands before offering you his hand. The candlelight glints off the cool metal of his hand as you take it, rising to meet him. He guides you into the open plaza, just a bit away from the other couples, before pulling you into his arms.

“You are a menace.” He says as he rests his hand on your hip.

“I’m the menace?” You let your free hand settle on his shoulder, keeping a hold of his hand with your other. “I’m not the one that said, ‘open your mouth.’”

He raises an eyebrow, “I don’t remember you telling me no.”

You let yourself relax into him, pressing tightly against his warmth, “As a matter of fact,” You shift to press your mouth to his ear, “I liked it.”

“Muse.” He groans.

You smile, tucking your face into his shoulder. He sighs and pulls you closer. Together, you sway, letting the music guide your movements.

A figure moves through the crowd, a basket on their arm. A man near the center of the dancers stops them and after a quiet conversation, leaves with a rose. You lift your head, tracking his movements as he returns to his partner. He stops just shy, offering the flower with a sweeping gesture.

“That’s sweet.” You lay your head back on Klaue’s shoulder, “It must be nice to get flowers.”

Klaue’s forehead wrinkles, “Muse?”

“No one’s ever got me flowers before.” You shrug, shifting to meet his frown. “It’s not a big deal.”

But he doesn’t stop frowning, even as the music stops and he leads you back to the table. The waiter brings your jacket, but before you can take it, Klaue is lifting it. You shake your head at him, but you’re smiling. The waiter slips away as you turn, letting Klaue help you slid your jacket on.

“I could have done that.”

“Just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.” He answers, he turns you with a gentle hand on your hip. “Wait for me here.”

Before you can ask, he’s gone. You tilt your head, watching him walk across the plaza, people shifting out of his way. He ducks through a door, disappearing. A few moments later he returns, slipping something into his pocket as he makes his way back to you. He offers you his arm and together you slip out of the crush of people.

The ride to your apartment is slower, Klaue letting you enjoy the way the city slips by. All too soon though, he’s parking on your block.

“I had fun tonight.” You swing off the bike and wobble. You throw a hand out, grabbing hold of his shoulder.

His fingertips brush over your wrist, cool and centering, helping you steady yourself. When he’s sure you’re okay, he stands too.

“I did too.”

“Oh, you don’t have too walk me to my door. It’s right there.”

Klaue frowns at you, “What kind of date would I be if I didn’t?”

“Like most of my other dates?” You shrug.

His frown deepens, eyes brightening with contained fury. He resolutely takes your hand. “Now I have to walk you to your door, if only to make up for the rest of your dates.”

“Klaue,” You laugh, but let your fingers intertwine with his cool metal ones.

“What do you think of the work?” He asks after a few silent steps, “I’m sure working with me is different than what you were doing before.”

“It is,” You consider, “Before was good. I liked helping students grow their skills, but it could be impersonal at times. Sometimes I think they forgot it was a real human they were drawing. With you, it’s…different. More intense, being one on one like that. But it’s also amazing. I feel powerful after our sessions, like I could rule the world.” You laugh, “That sounded better in my head.”

Klaue shakes his head, “It sounded just right.”

You turn to look at him, missing your next step. He catches you, pulling you into him.

“Sorry,” Your eyes meet his before flicking down to look at his lips. “I can’t seem to stop crashing into you.”

“Don’t worry,” He’s looking at your mouth, “I like having you in my arms.”

The night softens around you as he comes into sharp relief. He leans into you, angling his head, your breath intermingling with his. You’re close enough to feel the beat of his heart against your chest.

A horn blares, followed by laughter and lyrical Italian cat calls. The moment shatters, the night flooding back in.

Klaue takes a deliberate step back, clearing his throat, “Which one is yours?” You point to one of the upper windows on a nearby building over. Klaue takes your hand again, tugging you towards it.

You let him lead, silence sitting heavy between you. Disappointment claws into your heart, tugging your thoughts into an anxious free fall. At the base of the short stairs leading into your building, Klaue stops and turns towards you. Gently, he cups your face, letting his thumbs brush over your cheek bones.

“Muse,” He whispers and then sighs. The words he wants to say slip away from him, “Go on up, I’ll wait for you to wave.” He says instead.

You nod, chilled as his hands drop from your face. You dig your keys out of your jacket pocket and climb the stairs. The trip from the foyer to your apartment seems to stretch into eternity and yet, seems to be over in a snap. Klaue turns as you shove open the window, watching you lean out.

“Good night, Klaue.” You hope you manage to keep your disappointment hidden, buried under false cheer.

“Good night, muse.”

You watch him go, hand pressed to your still thudding heart. He turns and waves up to your window before swinging onto the bike. It starts with a rumble that you feel in your veins and then he’s off.

“Well, fuck.” You sigh.

Trying to not overthink it, you cross back to your door, slipping off your jacket. As you hang it, something in one of the pockets crinkles.

“What?”

You dig through the pockets, finally coming up with a piece of paper you know you didn’t put there. You smooth it out, looking at the blank expanse, before flipping it over. The sketch of a single rose looks back at you, a bud just beginning to bloom.

🌹

Flowers fill your life after that. Every visit to the studio finds you leaving with another flower of some sort. Different flowers, different materials, but all of them are beautiful in their own way. He leaves each one of them somewhere easy for you to spot, never giving them to you directly.

Klaue shakes his head when you thank him, “If people had any sense, they would have already been bathing you in flowers. I’m just making up for their idiocy.”

🌹

It’s afternoon when you arrive at the house, the world fresh from rainstorm. You tuck your umbrella under your arm and unlock the door with your key. Pietro waves from the living room, not looking up from his tablet, as you deposit your jacket and umbrella by the door.

“Have fun! He’s been in a mood all day.”

You frown as you wave back, already starting up the stairs. Muffled music pours down the stairs, meeting you at the landing. One more flight of stairs and you slip into the studio.

The room is filled with the thump of driving rock. Klaue works at a table with feverish focus. He doesn’t acknowledge you, but you’re not sure he’d hear anything over the music. You start to call out of him, but he shifts, finding a new angle to work from, and your voice fails you.

The clay figure is still rough, but she’s beautiful and undeniably you. Her hands are on her hips, her shoulders back, proudly displaying her abundant curves.

Klaue’s hands slide over her sides, softening the curves, helping them look more like you. You watch him work, eyes locked onto his hands. The way they move easily over her body, firm, yet gentle. His fingers digging in, forming parts of your, her, body. You had no idea working with clay could look so erotic.

Time disappears as he works and you watch. He moves his hand over her chest, using his thumb to rough in where your, her, your breasts are. You swear you can feel his hands ghosting over your actual breasts, thumb grazing your nipple. A soft noise escapes you, Klaue turns his head, burning blue eyes pinning you in place.

He lifts a hand from the sculpture and beckons you closer. You come, pulled by an unseen force, unable to refuse his summons. He shifts away from the statue, making room before you, before taking position behind you. The weight of him presses against you, stoking the fire in your belly.

He slides his hands down your arms, leaving behind streaks of clay and water. He takes your hands in his, raising them, guiding them to the statue.

“Klaue.” Your voice is quiet, “I don’t want to ruin her.”

“You won’t.” He whispers, “Nothing you do could ever be ruinous.”

He sets your hands on the figure, the texture, the temperature surprising you.

“Relax.” He feels you take a deep breath, tension slipping away as you let go of the breath. “Good girl.”

You gasp, sharp and high, heat rising. “Klaue.”

He guides your hands over the curves of her hips, the dip in her waist. “Just like that.”

His hands slid away, finding a home on your own waist, hot as brands.

“Klaue, I,” He cuts you off when he dips his head, pressing his nose against your neck.

“Show me.”

Your hands slid up her figure, his mirroring the motion. Your fingertips graze over the rough rounds of her breasts, Klaue’s follow, cupping your breasts. You let out a little sound of pleasure when his thumbs brush over your nipples.

You pause there, letting the pads of your thumb circle, softening the edges. Klaue’s thumbs follow the pattern in small tight circles. Your head falls back as you arch into his touch, pressing harder into his hands. When your hands stop, so do his.

He waits as you take a shaky breath, letting you steady yourself. Everything in him aches to touch more, faster, rougher, but he lets you set the pace. Slowly you skim your fingers over her shoulders, down her arms. Klaue follows, a marionette on your string. Goosebumps follow his fingers, little shivers of pleasure dancing over your skin. You gently take her smaller hands in yours, careful of the details he’s worked in so far. Klaue dances his fingers over the soft skin of the back of your hands.

Slowly, achingly slow, you draw your fingers back up her arms, resting them on her shoulders for a moment. Carefully, you slide up the sides of her neck until you can cup her chin in your hands, Klaue’s hands gentle on your own chin.

You can hear him breathing, the heavy, needy breaths matching your own. Heat and lust burn through you, leaving your weak at the knees, only kept upright by where you’re pressed against Klaue.

You let your fingers relax, tracing down her front. Klaue’s are a soft tease down your own body. As you go lower, you hear the shift in his breathing, feel his fight for control, the heavy press of his cock. You linger on the curves of her hips. Then you go lower.

Klaue’s hands slide over your thighs in time with your own, hesitating when you do. His heart is pounding, need, want, lust, roaring within him. Where ever you lead him, he will follow.

Your fingertips slip into the space between her legs.

Klaue cups your sex through your clothes, groaning at the heat of you. You still, holding your breath, hand still between her legs, Klaue’s pressing tightly against you. The moment draws out, the never ending tease.

Klaue snaps first.

He moves, yanking you around and pressing you back against the table. He crushes his mouth against you. He kisses exactly the way you’d thought he would, heated and demanding, with something just a little sweet under it. You gasp into him, he takes the opportunity, letting his tongue slip into your mouth.

His hands seem to be everywhere, pushing at your clothes until he can feel you. He touches you everywhere he hand, fingers sinking into the softness of your body, claiming you with clay hand prints. His prosthetic is cool against your heated skin, a contrast that sends pleasure down your spine.

You brace one hand against the table, trying to ground yourself. The other sinks into his thick curls, tugging gently. Klaue groans, his teeth sinking into your lip in answer. He’s gratified by your answering moan.

The cool air of the studio nips at you as he makes quick work of your clothes, leaving you exposed for him. His mouth never leaves you for long, pressing back against your lips nearly as soon as he’s pulled them away.

“On the table.”

“Klaue?” You manage a glance over your shoulder.

He shakes his head, hands finding a hold on your hips. “Faster this way.” He lifts, his shirt pulling tight over his flexing bicep.

He holds you aloft, kissing you until you’re breathless, and then he gently lays you on the table.

“Klaue, the statue.”

He grins, quick and feral, “Let her watch. Who’s she going to tell?”

“Pietro.”

“Can’t hear us over the music.”

He braces his hands on either side of your face and kisses you again. You raise your hands, desperate to touch, but he’s quick to grab your wrists, pinning your hands to the table with one hand. You struggle against him, but it’s no use, he keeps you pinned with no effort. He leans down and kisses you, light and soft, a tease of his lips, until you’re breathless.

Klaue kisses across your jaw, down your neck, feather light. You press up against him, seeking more. Your hips roll, pressing your core against the bulge in his pants, the fabric dragging deliciously against your clit.

“Klaue.” You gasp as he sucks your nipple into his mouth.

He seals his lips around the sensitive bud, his tongue flicking relentlessly. Pleasure jolts through you, leaving you moaning for him. Your back arches off the table, pressing closer to him. He switches breasts, cupping the other breasts, gently swirling his thumb over your nipple.

He drinks in the sounds you make, the quiet moans and the soft gasps. A hunger stirs in him, a need driving through his veins.

He lets go of your nipple, pressing his forehead against your soft breasts, “Muse, my muse.”

He releases your wrists, shifting to press fluttering kisses against your ribs. He makes his way down your body, kissing everywhere he can reach. He pauses at your hip, looking up at you.

“Look at me.” He demands, his voice roughened with lust, “Look at me muse.”

You pull your gaze away from the ceiling, meeting his searing blue gaze. “Klaue.”

“Let me have a taste of you, muse. I need to taste you.”

“Klaue.” You feel so exposed, so visible, it leaves you squirming.

“I’m only a man, my goddess. Let me worship you.”

He sees your nod, the naked want in your eyes. You gasp as he grips your thighs, firmly pressing them open. Only when you’re fully spread open before him does he look down. Your naked pussy greats him, already wet and blooming. He looks back up at you, smirking.

He really had meant only to have a taste, but when he flicks his tongue over your clit, he knows a taste will never be enough. He’s known hunger before, but nothing like this.

Klaue runs his tongue through your folds, groaning at the sweet taste of you. The groan vibrates through you, stoking the heat in your core. Carefully his traces your opening with his tongue, coaxing you open for him, before he dives it. Your head falls back as his tongue press into you, searching for all the spots that make you moan. You can feel the heat of his breath as he tongue fucks you, blue eyes looking up at you the whole time. Without pulling away, he shifts one of your legs onto his shoulder and shifts the angle.

“Klaue!”

He presses the thumb of his prosthetic against your clit, the cool of the metal a sharp contrast the heat of his mouth. He nearly takes his hand away when you gasp, but you reach down and cover his hand with yours.

“Feels good. Don’t stop.”

You feel him nod. Klaue doubles his efforts, buoyed by the little noises you make for him. He can feel you getting closer, tightening around him. He groans, flicking his tongue deeper inside you, rubbing tight circles against your clit. One of your hands rest against his head, fingers threading through his hair, the other finds a grip on the table.

“Klaue!”

Your plush thighs tighten around his head, pulling him tighter against your core. Your gasps and moans spur him on, deeper, harder, faster. Blinding pleasure tightens in your core, on the cusp of snapping. Klaue rock’s his hips against the air, desperate for friction against his aching cock. Everything goes bright as you tumble of your edge, coming apart for him.

“Like the nectar of Olympus.” He groans, when he finally pulls away from you.

You make a soft noise for him, and he chuckles.

“Come on my muse. You can’t be fucked out yet, I’ve barely started.”

“Just,” You wave a hand at him, “one moment.”

“I want to draw you like this,” He says, rubbing small circles against your thighs, “Loose, pleasured, mine.” He kisses up the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of your pussy.

He’s only stopped from diving back in by you tugging his hair gently. He lets you guide him up. You groan at the sight of your juices covering his chin. He leans into you, tilting his head. You meet his mouth, the taste of him, and of you, flooding your senses.

“You taste so sweet, muse.” He purrs. “Can’t get enough of you.”

As he takes your mouth again, his hips rock, dragging his cock along the inside of your thigh. He hisses into the kiss at the sensation. You shift back, looking down at him. When you look back up, meeting his eyes, you grin.

“Klaue,” You cup his face, biting your lip, “Please fuck me.”

“Well,” He shifts to his feet, taking you with him, “Since you asked so nicely.”

He offers you his hands, helping you sit up. Then he steps into your space, laying his hands gently on your hips. Keeping his eyes locked on you, he guides you to edge of the table and into his arms.

“Oh, Klaue, I don’t,” He cuts you off with a firm shake of his head.

“Muse, you will never be too much for me to carry.”

He shifts you and slides one arm under your knees, until he’s carrying you, bridal style.

“You feel perfect like this.” He says, “Absolutely perfect.”

You smile, wrapping your arms around him, “I could get used to this.”

Laughing, Klaue carries you back through the workshop door and to the last flight of stairs, one’s you’ve never been up.

“I want to fuck you in my bed.” His gaze is unwavering as you carries you up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he bumps the door open with his hip and carries you across the threshold and into his rooms. You manage a quick look before he turns and starts towards an open door. He crosses the distance to the bedroom with long strides, maneuvering without looking away from you.

“You’re beautiful,” He says, kissing you before entering.

He sets you on his bed, gently, reverently, before taking a step back. Your eyes track over him as he slips off his shirt, exposing more of him. He peels off his undershirt, letting it fall to the floor, leaving him bare chested, tattoos on full display. The flick of your tongue catches his attention, watching as you wet your lips.

When he hands fall to his waistband, you shift forward, brushing his hands away. He lets his hands dangle at his sides as you take over. The button on his pants opens easily, the drag of the zipper fills the room, anticipation building in your core. As the zipper parts, you flick your eyes up to look at his face. He meets your eyes, ravenous hunger in his gaze. You look down and can’t help a smile.

“Commando?”

He chuckles, “Missed laundry day.”

You look back up, meeting his laughter with a smile. “If only I’d known sooner.”

He watches your smile turn sinful before your gaze shifts down. You slip your hand into his pants, running your fingers through the curls at the base of his cock before letting your hand slip lower. You gasp at the heated weight of him.

“Well it’s no wonder you’re a cocky.”

He laughs, his chest puffing with pride. “Muse.”

You carefully guide his cock out of his pants, mouth watering at the sight.

“It’s just not fair that it’s this big and this beautiful.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond before you wrap your mouth around him, hollowing your cheeks. He moans, full and throaty.

“Oh fuck, muse.”

He sets his hands on your head, not pushing, just resting. Heat coils fast and hard in his core. When you trace the big vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue, he swears he sees stars.

“Muse.” He pants, surprised at how fast he’s approaching his edge.

You pull back, letting go of his cock with a wet pop, “Call me that again.”

“Muse.” You swallow him down again, until you can feel him pressing down your throat. He groans, fighting to keep his hips from bucking, “Goddess.”

You hum, pleased, the sound vibrating through him. You can feel the throb of his cock against your tongue. The taste of his precum fills your mouth. The hunger for more presses against you. Your thighs are slick, your clit throbbing for attention.

Klaue drops his hands to your shoulders, forcing you back.

“Next time, muse.” He answers your needy whine. “Next time, I promise.”

He presses gently against your shoulders until you lay back on your elbows.

He takes his position between your spread legs, sliding his hands under your thighs, kneeding at the soft flesh, and lifts until your thighs are around his hips. He lines his cock up with your soaked entrance and sinks forward. Inch by inch, he slides in, groaning at the way your pussy pulls him deeper.

“Muse. Fuck.”

“Klaue.” You moan his name and nothing has ever sounded prettier.

After seconds that feel like eternities, he bottoms out, leaving both of you gasping. Klaue stills, giving you both a moment to adjust.

“Muse.” He leans down to nuzzle into your neck, “You look so pretty like this. So full of me.”

You whine, shifting your hips, desperate for more.

He laughs, “Needy girl.” He watches your face, “My needy girl.”

You tighten around him, pulling a deep groan from him.

“You enchant me,” He pulls back and thrusts slowly, a test of his patience, “Bewitch me. I wake up each day wanting to see what part of you you’ll show me.”

“Klaue.” You try to turn your face away, but he cups your cheek, forcing your eyes back to his.

“Keep your eyes on me, my muse. Want to see your face when you fall apart for me.”

He slots his hips with yours, leaning down to kiss you. You cup the back of his head with one hand, then other trailing over his back. You can feel the barely contained tension in his muscles, thrumming under your hand.

“Klaue.” You fight desperately to find your words in the haze of pleasure, “Let go.” His hips stutter, “Stop fighting.”

“Muse,” He groans.

You cup his face, “Fuck me like you need to.” You kiss him, “I can take it.”

His hips stop at your words, leaving you stretched and full. And then he pulls back, his cock dragging against your walls. He pauses for the briefest moment, savoring the feeling of the tip of his cock nestled in your wet heat. Then he snaps his hips forward sharply.

He sets a new pace, not fast, but a deep, all consuming pounding that leaves you breathless. He sets his hands on your hips, pulling you against him as he thrusts. Your hands curl into the sheets, anchoring you in the waves of pleasure.

“Klaue!”

“Just like that muse.” He groans, “Keeping coming for me.”

He brings you up again and again, one orgasm bleeding into another until you’re not sure when one ends and another begins. You feel the twitch of his cock, but he keeps going, fucking you through his orgasm.

“Oh,” He chuckles, dark and tempting, at the your expression, “You didn’t think we were finished yet, did you, muse?”

He pulls you up, leaning your weight against his chest, “We’re not done until the smell of you is permanently in my bed.”

He licks a line up your throat, groaning into your neck.

“Klaue, please.” You sob.

He buries his face in your shoulder, but you feel the shake of his head, “If you can still say anything other than my name, I haven’t done my job well enough.”

His grip on your waist is firm, holding you against him as he rocks his hips up. You trace the breadth of his shoulders, finding somewhere to hold on.

“Klaue.” Your head falls back, hips rocking to meet his.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me.” He looks up at you, awe and pure need in his eyes, “Let go, muse, I’ve got you.”

His hands slide up your back, drawing you closer to him as his thrusts gentle.

“So pretty for me.” Your pussy tightens around him as you moan. “That’s it, keeping coming, soak my cock. Muse, my muse, my goddess.”

He feels the tremble of your muscles as you come apart for him. He kisses your neck, pressing his lips against the flutter of your pulse. He slides one hand down your back, over your thigh, fingers seeking your sweet bud. You gasp, half sob, half pleasure, when he swirls his fingers over your clit.

“Fuck.” He groans, “Muse.”

“Klaue.” You chant his name, branding it on your tongue.

He works his hips, grinding his cock along your sweet spot as his fingers circle your clit, drawing you up and impossible peak. As he feels you tightening, he drags your face down, kissing you with a fervor you’d thought only heretics could possess.

“Klaue.” You gasp, desperate.

“I know, I know. Give it to me, goddess.”

You shatter, coming apart, screaming his name to heavens. He groans as you tighten around him, your hips working in small motions, milking him as his cums again. He presses kisses into your skins, prayers and praise, as you start to come down.

Klaue shifts, laying you down gently, and hovers over you, his cock still sheathed in your pussy.

“Klaue.” You moan.

You feel the hot breath of his soundless laughter on your shoulder and then a soft kiss.

“You did so good for me. Look so pretty for me.” He cups your face, meeting your soft eyes, “I have carved some of the world's greatest masterpieces. I have seen beauty that words fail. And yet, you, my goddess, outshine them all.” 

“Klaue.”

“I’ve got you.” He traces the lines of your face with his fingertips.

Slowly, watching your face the entire time, he pulls out of you. You mourn the stretch of him immediately. When he moves, letting your legs settle back on the bed, you frown.

“Klaue?”

He settles between your spread legs, mouth watering at the sight of his cum spilling out of your pussy.

“Fuck,” He groans, his cock stirring in interest.

He’s gently as he runs his fingertips through your folds, smiling at your soft whine. He collects what he can of his cum before pressing his fingers inside you. You arch off the bed gasping at the sore ache tempered by pleasure.

“Klaue!”

“I love the way you say my name.” He kisses the inside of your thigh as he fingers his cum back inside you. “It’s never sounded as good as it does from your lips.”

He works his fingers over your sweet spot, pulling another orgasm from you.

“Klaue, please.” You whine, pleasure starting to give way to overstimulation.

“So pretty for me.” He murmurs, “My pretty good girl.” He swipes his tongue over your clit as he pulls his fingers out, reveling in the noise you make for him.

You reach for him and he lets himself be pulled back up. He settles over you, pressing his weight down. You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in his neck. Peace settles in the room and soon, he realizes you’re well on your way to sleep. He smiles and rolls off you. He soothes your sleepy protest by wrapping an arm around you and scooping you against him.

“Don’t worry, muse.” He kisses your shoulder, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re mine now.”

As sleep guides you into dreams, you smile. “You’re mine too.”

🌹

The gallery is full, brimming with excited chatter. You slip between groups, glasses carefully balanced in your hand. Shelly waves at you from one side of the room, and you wave back with a smile. A hand at your elbow snags your attention.

“He’s in the lounge.” Pietro murmurs, “He said if he had to listen to one more idiotic art critic’s comments he was going to set the whole gallery on fire.”

You turn your head, hiding your laughter in your shoulder. Pietro rolls his eyes and turns you towards the lounge door.

“Just go talk him down. I spent a lot of time planning this opening.”

You stop him before he can walk away, “It’s wonderful, Pietro. You did a good job.”

You see a flash of vulnerability in his eyes before he shoots you a cocky grin, “Of course I did.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes as you turn away from him. Pietro laughs and slips int the crowd.

The lounge is quiet, the thick walls and heavy carpet muffling the sounds from the gallery. You spot Klaue on a couch, head leaned back and his legs spread wide. As quiet as you can you set your drinks down on a table and cross to him.

Klaue hums as you climb onto his lap, his arms encircling you. Your arms rest on either side of his head as you look down at him.

“Hello muse.” He purrs, eyes opening to look at you.

“Hello artist.” You kiss him soft and warm, with a promise of something more.

“You know,” His hands trace the pattern of your dress, “We could ditch this place, go back to ours and spend the night naked and eating takeout.”

“That is a very tempting offer.” You bite your lip when he slides one hand under your dress. “But I don’t think you can skip out on your own show opening.”

“Of course I can, I’m the artist.” He smiles as he trails his hand up your leg, “I can do whatever I want.”

He pauses when he finds your bare pussy.

“That was supposed to be a surprise for the ride home.”

He grins, cupping you, feeling the heat of you, “Well, it’s a pleasant surprise now.” He slips two fingers into your pussy, smiling smugly as you clench around them with a gasp.

“Klaue.” You warn him, “Your speech.”

“This won’t take long.”

He kisses you as he undoes his pants with one hand. You whine softly as he pulls his fingers out of you, but he’s quick to replace them with his cock. He raises his glistening fingers, examining them with a grin.

“Such a needy girl.”

You take his wrist, guiding his hand to you. He watches as you wrap your lips around his fingers, sucking off your juices. His hips jerk, his cock twitching.

“Fuck, muse.”

You smile at him, letting his fingers go, “Too bad it’s not your cock.”

“Home.” He rocks his hips, rutting up into you, “Takeout. Naked. Bed.” He thrusts with each word.

“Speech first.” You grab his shoulders, fighting for purchase as he fucks you.

He turns, nosing at your wrist and the perfume he’d sprayed there, “Speech first.” He agrees.

“And then we can get takeout, go home, and spend the rest of the weekend naked.”

“Why stop at the weekend?” His hands settle on your hips, helping you rock with him.

“Maybe I’ll let you negotiate for more days.”

He kisses the pulse in your wrist, “I can be very persuasive.”

His hand sneaks back under dress, finding your clit with practiced ease. Your head falls back as he rubs tight circles against the small bud.

“Klaue.”

“Come for me, muse. Soak my cock.”

You press your lips together, trying to suppress the your sounds as you come apart for him.

“That’s it. No prettier sight.”

“Klaue.”

“Gonna fill you up, muse. Let you spend the rest of the night with my cum running down your gorgeous thighs. Let all those idiots out there know who you belong to.”

You smile cupping his face, “I think they already know.” You kiss him, “But it never hurts to be sure.”

He groans, long and low as he cums, his cock pulsing as your walls flutter around him.

“Fuck, muse.”

There’s two sharp knocks on the door, “You two better not be naked!” Pietro calls. “They want you for your speech.”

“Two damn minutes.” Klaue shouts back, grinning at you.

“You should be nicer to him.”

“If I’m nice to him, he’ll be insufferable.”

You roll your eyes, “And I wonder who he picked that up from.”

Klaue lifts you off his lap and deposits you on the couch next to him as he laughs. Before you can react, he slides off the couch and spreads your legs.

“Klaue!”

“Just let me see you, pretty muse. Love to see my cum leaking out of you.” He kisses your thighs before biting into the soft flesh. Your answering cry of pleasure has his cock stirring again

“Forget the takeout, I’m going to spend hours eating your pretty pussy.”

Two more knocks, “Now Klaue!”

“Pushy street rat!”

Klaue rocks to his feet and then offers you a hand. “Come on, the sooner this over, the sooner we can go home.”

He tucks his cock away, watching as you put yourself back to rights. You look at him and smile.

“You have the smug look of someone who just got some.” You tell him.

He reaches out and yanks you against him, “So do you, muse.” He kisses you, ravenous for the taste of you.

“Klaue if you don’t come out right this minute, I’m quitting.”

“Alright! Quit your bitching.” Klaue opens the door and meets Pietro’s glare. “We’re ready.”

“Good.” Pietro smiles at him, “You have ten minutes until your speech, plenty of time to mingle some more.”

You cough, trying to hide your laughter at Klaue’s expression.

“Come on.” You tug him in the opposite direction, “If you mingle now, we can go home sooner.”

Klaue begrudgingly follows you, but when you try to stop and mingle, he sets a hand on your lower back, guiding you on.

“Something else I’d rather do.”

You smile, “Didn’t we just do that?”

He laughs, “Insatiable.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

Some curious gazes follow you and Klaue through the crowd, but by now, your relationship is old news. Klaue cuts through the crowd, deflecting any advances with a deep scowl. He guides you to the heavy curtain partitioning the room.

“Can we go back there yet?”

“Of course we can, it’s my show.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, parting the curtain and pushing you through.

“Klaue!” You hiss.

He sends you a slow, smug smirk and tilts his head, “Come on.”

In the middle of the room, a short dais sits, a tall statue waiting patiently for you. Klaue stops as you continue towards it, your head tilted up curiously.

“I don’t recognize this one.” You flip through your mental catalogue of his works in the show, but come up blank, “When did you…”

Your voice trails off as you come face to face with yourself, every curve lovingly rendered. You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest.

“Klaue.” You sigh, “She’s beautiful.”

“Of course she is,” He crosses to stand behind you, his arms wrapping around you, “She’s you.”

He’s posed you in a garden, vines wrapping around you, covering you in bold blooms. One of your hands is raised, cupping a just blooming rose. The other hand trails over a lush bush.

“What did you name her?”

“Go look,” He lets you go.

You step closer, looking at the bronze plaque. My Goddess. You turn to him, smile trembling and eyes wet.

“Don’t cry.” He steps forward, reaching for you, “Don’t do that.”

You laugh, the sound watery, “They’re happy tears.”

“Muse.” He says, lowly, not sure what else to say.

“Klaue,” You pull him into a kiss, “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Because of you.” He clears his throat, “I was doing good work before you, things I’m proud of,” He levels his gaze at you, “But with you, it feels like I found the missing piece to everything.” You start to answer, but he shakes his head, “Look around muse. You’re on every wall, bits of you are in every piece here, because that’s my life. You’re every where I look, in everything I do. You have consumed me, heart and soul, my muse.”

Something soft and warm beats in your chest.

“You want flowers?” He asks, spreading his arms wide, “I’ll carve you as many as you can dream of and then I’ll carve you a million more.”

“Klaue.” You reach for him, pulling him back into you, “You devastate me. You’ve given me so much, opened my world, and still you leave me breathless. I think,” You cup his face, softly brushing his cheek bone, “I spent my life waiting for you.”

“Muse.”

He kisses you until you start to feel weightless, like you could dance with the stars. You wrap a hand around the front of his vest and tug him closer.

“Klaue,” You wait until he acknowledges you, “To hell with your speech.”

He laughs, picking you up and spinning you around. “Run away with me, muse.”

“Anywhere in the world, my artist.”

🌹

A gentle breeze plays over the skin not covered by the blanket. The sound of a violin floats up to you. Klaue is warm beside you, his arms wrapped around you. You shift, turning into him, laying your head over his heartbeat.

“We could stay like this all week, you know.”

You smile, “You didn’t bring me to Paris just to spend all week in the hotel.”

He traces his fingers over your shoulder, “No I suppose I didn’t, but it is tempting, isn’t.”

Tripping back in time once Sarah’s head had begun to bob sleepily in the back seat. The dials twisted, before a warm hand curled around your thigh - eyes lingering under the stretch of blue sky.

Familiar faces greet you at the cabin - a wide wrap-around deck jutting up against the lapping shore of the lake. Tommy’s hand clapping Joel’s shoulder. Bags slung across backs, a box of fresh produce from the local farmers market tucked under your arm. The bed of the truck unpacked efficiently, the sights taken in with each trip you made.

Truly a little slice of heaven. The property is surrounded by a thick ring of trees. The waters stretching as far as you can see - and when your squint your eyes, you can just catch the pin-prick of a boat on the horizon.

You soak it all in.

The cabin itself. Two levels, all wooden planks and soft, worn furniture. A large stone fireplace already stocked with wood - the large window on the back wall framing the picturesque view, sunlight pouring across the floor.

Watercolor landscapes framed on the wall, pride in the way Tommy tells you that their mother would spend their summer trips painting them.

More stories are shared, woven around you as the groceries are tucked into the fridge, clothes unpacked. A shy smile shot Joel’s way when he shows you the room you’ll share - butterflies taking off at the thought of spending the long weekend together.

Everything still tinged in a rosy-hued newness. Still eager to prove yourself as part of the pack, to fit in amongst them.

Ready to throw yourself into those traditions. Sarah’s fist rapping on the door, her swim suit already tugged on. A shouted reminder, as her feet thunk down the stairs - lake first, and then dinner.

Joel smiles, when you join them. Something loosened, this step away from the heavy load of responsibility. The ease of three days ahead of him, spent with those he cares about most.

Something you can emphasize with. Eager yourself for this getaway. To leave behind your own weight that follows you, shedding it for this brief pocket of time.

Promising yourself to enjoy every minute.

Laughter is layered with the splash of water. Sarah follows the bank, barely visible as she crouches near a downed tree - a collection of water-polished rocks tucked carefully into a bag.

You linger next to Maria, inching your way deeper into the lake with each step. Shrieking when hands curve against your hips from behind, pressing you to a broad chest before dragging you deeper.

A low laugh at the way you squirm, then go limp. The chill wearing off as you get used to the water, as you lean into the reprieve of the heat. Going boneless in his arms, as he flips you around, carrying you deeper.

“You havin’ a good time?” It’s murmured - the low sound melding in with the buzz of cicadas, and rustle of trees in the breeze.

An eyebrow lifted at the way your legs hook a little more tightly around his waist, a warning look that lights up a spark in your belly.

Your arms winding around his shoulders, meeting those soft, brown eyes.

“Yeah.” You smile, “Really good. You’ve got a nice place, Joel.”

A breath, before you’re adding, “I’m really happy I’m here with you.”

More than happy, though you’re not brave enough to say it yet.

But you think he knows - the kiss he steals stoking the embers.

Daring in the way a hand drops beneath the water to squeeze your ass, nudging you flush against him as his tongue brushes the seam of your lips.

Only breaking when he hears Tommy’s heckling, the wave of water that is splashed your way.

He flips you back around before he loses himself, arms banding around your waist beneath the water.

“Later.” Joel murmurs, into the shell of your ear. To himself, you think, with the way his sun-warmed fingers trace patterns against your skin.

It feels right. Your body weightless, in his embrace. Safe, in his arms.

Your head tips back against his shoulder, and you let the clouds drift by above.

The rest of your worries slipping away, with the ebb and flow of water. Lips press against your temple, and finally - you can breathe.

Joel finds you as soon as the truck disappears around the bend.

The remaining three off on an adventure to find the shell necklace Sarah had been eyeing last year, in the little collections of gift shop near the docks.

The door creaking open - clothes peeled off, shoulders rolling as he tugs his t-shirt off to pool on the floor.

A trail leading to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Joining you where you doze - sun-drunk, hair still damp from your shower.

“Was hoping you’d join me.” Your voice is soft - raspy with sleep, arms opening to coax him down to you.

Your eyes are heavy-lidded as he kisses you. Lips curling as a hand cups the back of your head, already parting as he deepens it. Fingers drifting down to rucking up the fabric of your shirt, as his mouth follows.

“I like having you here.”

It’s mumbled out - a kiss pressed to your throat, your sternum. Another warm exhale against your skin, as more of himself slips free.

“Like to come back sometime. Just you and me”

Something behind your rib flips, your heartbeat kicking up a notch.

You can imagine it.

That pretty lake, frozen over. Nothing to do but spend time together in front of that roaring fire - hands wandering beneath the layers of handmade quilts.

“Joel.”

Your breath hitches, palms clamping against his shoulders when he mouths at your tits. An amused hum at how your hips lift, pressing into his belly.

Your shorts next, his fingers dipping below the waistband. Kicked off as he shoulders his way between your legs, his hot mouth leaving a wet mark against your inner thigh.

A groan pushing from his chest when he sees the way you gleam for him. Fingers running feather light up your slit, a slick thumb rolling against the sensitive bud.

Your thighs flex. A soft whine as the pressure increases, the sound drawing out as he finally puts his mouth on you.

He could never resist. Idle threats to match your coy grin - an “I’ll make you wait, sweetheart” murmured in your ear, as you brush your ass against his front one too many times at the bar.

Only for it to be forgotten, the moment he has you alone and under him.

Your fingers twist in his curls. He hums against your cunt, long lashes resting against his cheeks. Eyes shut - lost, in the taste of you.

Hot and wet strokes of his tongue - your sounds muffled with the tight clamp of your teeth.

Loosening when he sinks two fingers into you - those heavy-lidded eyes flicking open and up.

You almost expect a reprimand. A sharp look, but instead he echos a low moan - lips shining as he pulls away from you.

“Wanna hear you, darlin’,” He husks, “No one’s home but us.”

Home. It’s funny how right it sounds, coming from Joel. In this moment, in this room. Your head nods, as the sounds loosen further.

Gasps and sighs, your breath following the crescendo of your heartbeat. Everything winding tight with the curl of his fingers, middle and ring tucked together and plunged deep. His hips working against the bed, unable to help the need for friction.

Joel’s name breaking, drawn out like a song, when you reach your peak. Lips parted as his tongue slows, flattened to feel the pulse of your clit.

His mouth finds yours again, as the sparks still glitter through your system. Slick fingers denting flesh as he grips at your waist, drawing soft patterns.

Joel had tasted like citrus, when your tongue first dipped past his lips.

Like the orange he peeled for Sarah as you all dried under the sun, on the shore - thumbnail sinking into the flesh and tugging, passing a segment her way before popping a piece into his mouth.

Now, it melds with the taste of you.

His hand steady on your jaw, keeping your face tipped up to meet his. Indulgent in the way he kisses you - as if he cannot get enough.

Pressed into the mattress beneath him, as his body settles over yours. The stiff curve of his cock nudged up against the seam of your thigh, his hips rocking downward as you tug him flush against you.

Breathless, in the way you kiss him. Lost in the soft haze of your orgasm, how the simmering heat flares with the way he rubs against your slick core.

Catching on your entrance, as your toes curl in anticipation. The kiss breaks, Joel’s head tipping back to watch the way your brow pinches as he sinks an inch inside, and then another.

A slow slide until he’s flush, pressed snugly against you. His hand catching at your thigh, hauling it around hip, as if he’s not close enough.

Wanting to feel every inch of you against him. Needing you to feel how deep he is like this, the shallow thrusts that sends up sparks behind your lids.

Fitting so perfectly inside you. Almost too much, but you know you can take it - aching foe the way only he can fill you. The way his cock strokes the spot his fingers found, sending bliss to pool warm and low in your belly.

Joel holds out for one more.

Something to tide him over since he can’t have you this weekend as often as he’d like. Thumb working against you again, the crooning “come on, baby. One more, give me another” that sends you pitching into your second orgasm.

Stronger than last time, with the slick plunge of his cock, the wet swirl of his fingers. His low voice in your ear, the words turning into a rough and senseless string as you clench around him.

And when you return it - your arms winding around his neck, hips lifting to match his, the “wanna feel you Joel. Want you to come too, baby-” moaned against his throat - he follows.

Three sloppy thrusts, the needy snap of his hips and a ragged groan, and he’s spilling inside you. Cock throbbing as he loosens a long-held breath, the bristle of his scruff pricking the soft curve of your neck.

Warmth flooding through you, as your nails scrape across his back. Through the finger-mussed curls, the harsh breath turning slower, relaxed.

Content, as his arms curl beneath your back. Molding you against him, kisses trailed against your throat, jaw, cheek.

And wrapped around him like this, you silently will time to slow.

Just for a little bit.

“Today has been perfect.” It’s breathed against his chest, your eyes and body heavy. Leaden, where you curl into him, his nose buried in your hair.

“Not over yet.” He rasps - fingers flexing, where they splay out across your back, “Got a couple more days ahead of us, too.”

Hopefully more than that - the sentiment reflected in the soft crinkle of his eyes, a shy smile. You hum happily, and the minutes slowly slip into each other.

Later, a kiss is pressed to your bare shoulder, with the slam of a car door. The slow untangle of limbs, with the promise of dinner - an appetite worked up, after a long day.

Smiles bright as they show off their finds. A different necklace than before around Sarah’s neck, but “infinitely cooler” with the addition of colorful beads strung between them.

The quiet cabin coming alive, with the bustle of plates and sides. Both brothers bent over the grill, a bark of laughter at good-natured ribbing and of more old stories, almost forgotten.

The sun dips low behind them, spilling across the waters. Lighting them both in a soft, hazy silhouette of orange and gold - the scene a perfect mimicry of the pretty watercolors inside.

Maria’s shoulder nudges yours, as she sidles up to you. A knowing, sideways look that has your eyebrow raising, head tilting.

“Love looks pretty on you.”

Her quiet observation feels like a jolt. A live wire against your heart, as heat blooms - settling in your cheeks. A little, self-conscious laugh as you shake your head at the soft, added insistence.

“Both of you.”

The words punctuated just as he turns - almost as if hearing - though he’s certainly too far away. A hand lifting your way, his smile bright in the golden sunset.

Yours matches its illumination.

Yeah.

Maybe it does.

You carefully inspected the image reflected in your vanity mirror. You had a date tonight, and your mind was filled to the brim with worry. Was your makeup good? Did your jewelry match your outfit? Was the dress you picked out good enough?

You take a deep breath.

"You look perfect." you told yourself, your reassuring smile reflected back at you.

You turn your attention to the alarm clock sitting across the room on your bedside table.

It's 6:00 PM. One hour before Harvey should be here.

"Maybe I should have waited a bit before I got ready." you sigh. Well, now you've got some time to kill. You grab a book from your bookshelf and go to sit on the edge of your bed.

You open the book and find yourself unable to focus on the words in the page, your mind still racing with worry.

"Are you putting yourself in danger by dating a known criminal?" You ask yourself.

Not only was he wanted by the police, but there's plenty of monsters who have a bone to pick with your lover. Sure, Harvey, as well as his alter Two-Face, wouldn't let any of them lay a finger in you, but you'd have to be stupid to ignore the fact that by associating with them, you're putting a target on your back.

Two-Face is also known to get jealous. You recall how a few weeks ago he snapped and threatened one of his henchmen because he believed they were ogling you. The poor bastard swore up and down that he was doing no such thing, but Two-Face wasn't having it. You had to talk him out of hurting the guy.

Even though it is obvious that what you're doing is dangerous, you're still hesitant to leave Harvey. You love him, after all, and you seem to have evaded misfortune so far. There's also a small part of you, a darker, maybe even masochistic side of you, that wants to find out how bad it can get.

You try to ignore all these thoughts racing around your mind but to no avail. Frustrated, you put down the book and look at the clock.

An hour and twenty minutes has passed.

"Where the hell is he?" you mutter in mild annoyance, before you hear a knock at the door. You quickly make your way out of your room and to the front door.

Upon opening the door, you are greeted by the sight of your darling in his usual two-toned suit, stained with blotches of deep red blood.

"Sorry I'm late," he begins to speak, ignoring the shocked expression on your face. "I forgot I had some last minute business to attend to."

"Harvey... you're..."

"Oh, right! The blood. Didn't have time to change. We'll just swing by my place before we head out to dinner." He takes you by the arm rather suddenly and leads you to his car which he parked in your driveway. He ushers you into the backseat, before he gets up front and starts the car.

Once the shock wears off a little, you gather up enough courage to ask what exactly is going on.

"Somebody's been getting too close to you for my liking." He explains, still very nonchalant about the very strange situation he's put you in. "You know that guy you work with? The chatty one?"

Dreads courses through your veins as you figure out what he's going to say next.

"He was just a coworker! You didn't need to kill the man!"

"Just a coworker? The man has been planning to ask you out for a while." Harvey justifies.

"How would you know that? What, have you been watching him? Going through his stuff? Fuck, even if he was going to ask me out, I would have just turned him down!"

Harvey's jaw clenches. You can tell you're starting to anger him.

"(Y/N), I trust you enough to know you won't leave me, but that doesn't mean I can stand idly by as somebody tries to steal you away. It doesn't matter that they won't succeed, it's the fact they even think about it in the first place." He says, trying to keep his voice as calm and steady as possible.

There's a silence between the two of you for a few minutes, before Two-Face speaks up.

"I could have been more brutal, you know? The bastard got lucky. If he lost the coin toss, I would've prolonged his death. He's lucky he just got a knife through the heart."

You don't respond.

"Look, I know what I did was drastic. I know I scared you, but I did it because I love you too much to risk losing you. Now, we're almost at my place. How about I get changed, then we enjoy our night out, okay? I'm sorry for worrying you."

Harvey waits for your response.

"Alright, babe... let's just get going." You sigh and force a smile.

you only let out a soft whine as your response. your whine is muffled with the way you refuse to lift your head off the bed. there’s drool on the bedsheets, but still you don’t care, too preoccupied with Logan.

he’s everywhere. he’s hands on your body, gripping your hips, slipping between your thighs to rub your sensitive clit. his lips are pressed against your back, occasionally pressed on your shoulders. his thighs slap against the back of yours with each thrust.

“how’s it feel, princess?”

his voice is taunting.

he knows.

he sees the drool, he feels the way your ass squeezes him. he hears your moans, he sees the way you grip the bedsheets at every thrust. all the while, the wetness between your thighs lets him know he’s doing a good job.

“feels good huh?”

“so good”

with the pillow beneath your pelvis, you have the pleasure of relaxing, letting the pillow arch your back for you. something logan even commented on, ‘it’s okay, princess, don’t have to worry bout a thing.’

a part of you was giddy when he whispered for you to lay on your tummy.

with your cheek resting on the bed, you couldn’t see much of logan, but you didn’t need to. you knew his eyes were filled with lust as he tugged off your underwear, lifting each leg one by one, not letting you help him one bit. whispering, “don’t have to move a single muscle.”

and that’s you found yourself, gripping the sheets, not bothering to push back and meet logan’s thrusts.

true to his words, logan did all the work. his cock stood tall against his belly, waiting patiently as he prepped you.

“such pretty holes, princess,” he groans spreading your cheeks apart before continuing, “want me to fill em?”

lazily, you nod against the sheets. barely pick on up on the shuffling he does to grab a small bottle of lube. you only feel him press his thumb against your ass, pushing til you finally give.

“let me fill you up like last time,” he groaned when you took his thumb with ease. “won’t have to do a thing, just lay there and look pretty.”

you only moan his name.

“how does that sound?”

“sounds good, lo” after a couple minutes, his finger replaced his thumb, then a second finger joined, then a third.

and that’s how you found yourself moaning his name over and over. his cock replaced his fingers and you’ve never felt so full.

every thrust deeper than the last.

everything’s too much and he knows it.

“you’re close princess?”

you’re overwhelmed with his smell, his moans, his cock, his everything.

“can feel you squeezing me so tight,” he fucks you harder.

“come on, let go. i’m almost there,” he reassures.

with his hand sneaking beneath your hips and between your thighs, he find your clit. his deep thrusts paired with his fingers rubbing your clit have you falling over the edge.

it’s intense, but it doesn’t stop.

“almost there, princess.”

there’s almost a whine in his voice, so you let him. not like you have a choice, twitching beneath him, trapped by his weight. his fingers still rubbing your clit, it’s not long until you’re overstimulated.

so you start to beg with a sob.

“please plea-”

tears have now join the stains on the bedsheets.

“want my cum that bad?”

so close to another orgasm you beg harder, “yes, yes, please.”

“so close lo”

“need your cum so bad.”

with a final thrust, the both of you fall over the edge.

with a loud curse, logan empties himself inside you, groaning as he feels his cock twitch inside you. the hand between your thighs is gone and now spreading you open once more. you whine softly when you feel logan pull out.

you feel filthy under his gaze.

you can only sit there as he watches your hole clench around nothing, already missing his cock. he groans when his cum leaks out of you, reaching to shove it back inside with his thumb.

“ah logan-”

“sorry princess, didn’t want it to hit the sheets.”

you only roll your eyes, sighing softly when his thumb works as a plug. you need a shower. your skin is sticky with sweat, your inner thighs soaked-

“princess?”

“mmm”

“gonna make me do all the work in the shower too?”

- not edited - reblogs and comments are appreciated !

He turns just in time to watch you walk up the ramp. You're suited to the nines and ready for the mission, your leather outfit hugging every curve on your body.

Logan feels the rampant energy to kill slowly morphing into one of possession.

You catch his wandering eyes as you reach the top. Flashes of snarling teeth, slapping flesh, and debauched moans spark before your eyes as Logan looks you over.

"Logan," you greet him with a wry smile as the older, silver haired mutant rolls his cigar between his lips and nods. His energy permeates the hull of the jet; he's like a wolf standing over maimed prey.

"Ready for this?" Logan asks, breaking the silence and stepping closer to you. He's so large and consuming; he'd scare you if you didn't have the power of mind control.

"I'm always ready." You quip, jutting your chin.

Logan snorts, cigar snatched between his pearly whites. "That so?"

You reply with a teasing hum as your fingers dance over his suited pecs.

"Think you can take me?" He steps even closer, nudging his larger body against your smaller one before flicking the cigar nub to the ground.

You cock your head, eyelashes fluttering. "Why don't you find out."

He grips your shoulders, spinning you on the spot, and shoves you against the wall of the jet; its gentle thrum vibrates your body as he presses himself against your back. "I can smell you, you know."

Your heart beats wildly like a hummingbird. You'd been aching since you stepped onto the jet. "Don't know what you're talking about." You purr dumbly.

Logan snickers at the blatant lie. "Keep those hands where I can see 'em," he grunts, gripping your hips and yanking you back. Your hands glide down the metal wall as your ass nestles against his cock. He's got you in a vulnerable position, bent over and exposed; any of your teammates could walk onto the jet any second. The thought makes you clench.

Logan unzips your suit from the waist down and groans as your curves spill from the tight material. You hide your face in the crook of your elbow as he takes in the sinful sight. "Y'sure are a pretty lil' thing." He comments against your cunt as hot breath ghosts over your core.

Two brute hands palm your ass, roughly kneading the curves before pulling them apart and brazenly spitting on your cunt.

A gasp catches in your throat, and it makes Logan smirk. "Knew you were a dirty girl."

As your lips part to reply snarkily, a hot tongue drags up your puffy folds from clit to taint, leaving no inch untouched.

Logan eats you alive.

At least that's what it feels like as he tightens his hold on your hips, making sure you don't pull away for a second to leave him chasing after you.

He smothers his face into your folds like a lion eating a fresh kill. His tongue lashes against your clit, sending rapturous shock waves up your spine. His nose nudges your taint as he roughly pulls you closer and spears his tongue into your core. He pushes and shoves your hips back and forth, making you ride his tongue until your knees buckle and you gasp his name over and over like a prayer. A dark growl vibrates your cunt as your slick spills into his mouth, and then he's gone.

As you're left reeling from the mindnumbing bliss, wondering why he stopped, he takes advantage and hooks a strong arm around your neck and lifts until your spine is flush with his chest, effectively trapping you in a headlock.

His bicep presses against your carotid as his cock catches on your soaked opening, making you stumble. "Can feel 'er clenchin'," he rumbles, and his beard scratches the soft skin of your temple. "Don't worry, Sugar. I'm gonna take good care'a 'er."

He sheaths himself in one devastating thrust. You have no choice but to take everything he gives you. Your cunt molds around his length, morphing and reshaping into the shape of his cock as he presses into the deepest part of you. He cruelly grinds his hips, kissing your cervix and tearing soft cries from your lips.

He fucks you with a steady pace, withdrawing his cock until the bulbous head catches on your withering hole before plunging it back in. Each shove forces you onto your toes. You anxiously grip his ungodly thick forearm for support.

The metal hull of the jet does nothing to tamper the lewd sounds of slapping skin and sticky arousal.

He presses his leather-clad forearm against your chin, tipping your head against his chest, forcing you to stare up at him. His features drip with untamed darkness as he smirks down at you. For a moment, fear tingles at the base of your spine.

"Gonna be drippin' out in the field," he chastises. "Wonder who else'll smell you?"

Logan's hips begin to pound against the curve of your ass savagely; muscles ripple, and skin rolls like waves; he chases his high like a man possessed.

The feral, all-consuming vigor from the older man rushes through you like a tidal wave, drowning your senses and free will. Your orgasm ignites, sparking so quickly you're powerless to the blinding pleasure that flares deep in your belly.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, growling like a wolf as he comes. His fingers dig into your flesh, pulling a soft, pitiful whine from your body. Copper fills his senses as your blood washes over his tongue, awakening his primal senses. The pain from his touch has your cunt swirling once more. No man could mark you like Logan, nor would you want one to.

Logan unhinges his jaw and eases himself from your warmth with a hiss. As the teeth-sized holes on your neck instantly begin to heal, he licks away the crimson that stains his lips. Your inner thighs glisten, stained with your combined arousal, as you lean against the wall of the jet, catching your breath.

"Made quite a mess, Sugar." Logan can't help but drag his fingers through the gluey spend. His gloved digits prod your swollen folds as he pushes the heady mixture back inside your warmth.

A lithe whine pours from your lips as he teasingly curls his fingers along your walls for added measure. "Think you can keep from drippin' while fightin' the bad guys?"

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

It was ages before you were able to hold decent conversations, and longer than that before you had a name for him. Still, you keep digging. He intrigues you more than anyone else ever has, and despite his sour attitude, he keeps coming back. 

"You won't like what y'find," he told you one day. You knew then you were wearing him down with your persistence.

"What scares you more: the idea that I won't, or the possibility that I will?" You'd asked. 

He laughed. "Y'don't scare me, sugar."

You smiled. "Maybe I should."

Cooper started to look at you differently from then on. There had been a sense before that he was observing you as something ephemeral, a flower bud he was waiting to see bloom and die away as quickly as you'd appeared. 

Once you made it clear you weren't going anywhere, the invisible walls between you began to fall away. You feel his gaze lingering on you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. You watch him in turn, holding his gaze whenever he catches you.

"Eye contact like that'll get'cha killed someday. Predators take it as a challenge," he tells you, adjusting the holster on his thigh.

"Is that what you are?" You ask from where you’re leaning against the wall, arms crossed. You raise your brow, inured to his broody one-liners. "A predator?"

To your surprise, he's the one who closes the distance this time. His footfalls are heavy, his swagger loose. He looms over you, bracing his forearm on the wall behind you. Your heart skips a beat. He rarely ever gets so close.

"I'm the worst kind there is," he says gravely, but you clock his tone for what it is. He's toying with you.

Undeterred, you square your shoulders. "And what kind is that?"

He leans in closer, smelling of oil and gunpowder. "A hungry one," he says, the heat of his breath ghosting your cheek.

Pushing you away hasn't turned you against him. Cornering you won't either. Despite his insistence to the contrary, you're no prey animal. "Well then... I s'pose you ought to have something to eat."

His radiation scarred lips spread slowly into a wicked smile. "Y'offering, sweetcheeks?" He asks, his yellowed teeth parted, poised to take a bite.

You swallow dryly, so keenly aware of the thundering of your own heart, you wonder if he can hear it, too. You tip your head back, jutting your chin out and bringing your lips closer to his.

"You don't scare me, Coop," you whisper, wielding his name like a secret weapon.

He hums, head tilting slowly while his gaze moves down your body in a leisurely calculating sweep. "Well..." He drawls, voice a low rumble from his chest. "Maybe I should."

You're ready for him to do as he's always done and leave you like that, to rile you up and then act as though it was all in your head. You've accepted that Cooper is a man on the run, and he hasn't seen anything in you worth stopping for.

The press of his lips against yours shocks you to your core.

Your arms uncross, hands fumbling to catch hold of his jacket, grabbing him before he can vanish. He responds in kind, cupping your face in the soft worn down leather of his gloves. Your pulse is all the way up in your throat, so wild you’re sure he can taste it when he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

His touch isn’t a gradual thing. He’s upon you all at once, forcing your thighs apart with his knee and slotting his thigh between yours, pressing into you until you start to sing for him, those breathy little noises muffled by his devouring kiss. At your hip, you feel the press of his cock gradually filling out beneath the layers of clothing between you.

After so long without meaningful touch, the onslaught is dizzying. You roll your hips, grinding down on his thigh until you feel your underwear clinging wetly to your skin, an exquisite shiver trilling up and down your spine. His lips feel textured and hardened by his condition, but his tongue is hot and smooth, persistently licking into your mouth, determined to feel, to taste.

That hunger drives him from your lips to your jaw, your throat, peppering rough kisses that are as much lips as they are teeth along your neck. “S’your last chance, darlin’. Point of no return,” he tells you, voice coarse. His hand slips between your bodies and starts working your pants open. “Won’t be no comin’ back from this. I’ll ruin you.”

That he would have the audacity to warn you away from the door like this after you’ve been knocking and knocking and knocking is almost laughable. You would laugh if you had enough air in your lungs, but he’s kissed it out of you.

“So ruin me,” you tell him breathlessly. He grazes his teeth over your pulse-point in a way that makes your voice hitch. “I want you.”

The rim of his hat brushes your cheek as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, making a raw noise against your skin. “God damn it,” he says, yanking you from the wall so sharply you gasp. He whirls you around, hands fisted in your shirt, kissing you hard while he walks you backwards, towards the noisy heap of springs and fabric you call a bed.

“Y’outta your fuckin’ mind for that,” he grouses, shoving your pants down off your hips. You don’t disagree, You know how terrifying he should be, what his affliction does to him, to his hunger, but you don’t care. Not when he’s kissing life back into your dull dusty life at the end of the world.

You’re naked by the time he pushes you down onto the bed, standing above you, sunken eyes black with fervor. He unclips the bullet belt strapped across his chest and shrugs out of his coat, tosses his hat up somewhere high on the bed. You start to crawl backwards, but he snatches your ankle and drags you right back to the very edge of the bed.

“Unbuckle me,” he orders, the words all throaty feverish heat that makes your clit throb. You do, eyes flipping back and forth from him to his belt. He watches you all the while, pulling off his gloves with his teeth, dropping them to the ground. You unbutton his pants next, hands so eager they fumble briefly before you make it to his zipper, the hiss of it coming undone drowned out by the thunder of your pulse in your own ears.

Before you get any further, Cooper catches your wrists and hauls you up to your feet, spinning you around and pulling you down over top of him on the bed. He keeps you steady while you straddle his waist, moving his hands from your wrists to your hips. You start to move back, but he cups your ass and pulls you in the opposite direction.

“Saddle up, sweetheart,” he says, licking his lips. “Y’said for me to have somethin’ t’eat. I intend to.”

Oh fuck.

Nodding hazily, you follow his lead until your knees are on either side of his head, your hands braced on the wall behind your bed.

“C’mon now, relax,” he coaxes, urging you down with his grip on your thighs. You settle most of the way down before he yanks you the rest of it, startling a noise out of you that transitions into a low moan at the molten wet slide of his tongue dragging from the bottom of your pussy to your clit, upon which his lips close down and suck.

The sensation is leagues beyond the amateurish grinding, but that session still left you sensitized. The heat of his mouth is so intense it almost burns. His tongue feels just as unreal, thick and dexterous in the way it works you, swirling repetitive patterns on your clit. He drinks from you like you’re an oasis in the desert, swallowing greedy gulps before sinking his tongue into you, fucking it in and out, coaxing more and more thirst quenching wetness from you.

“Ffffuck, oh my God,” you moan, your hands curling into fists on the wall, sliding until your forearms are braced against it instead, your head hanging between them. You wish you had something to grip, something to dig your nails into as his devil’s tongue builds hot pressure inside of you, swelling sensation toward an inevitable explosion.

Cooper is shameless beneath you, devouring without care for mess or noise. Every so often you feel the graze of his teeth and you buck away from him, but you’re no match for his strength and he keeps you held firmly down, wholly at his mercy despite your positions. 

Once he’s satisfied that you’re not going to try and escape anymore, he relinquishes his hold on your hip and brings his fingers between your thighs, teasing where you’re wettest with the tip of his finger. With the way he’s sucking your clit you barely notice the initial touch, but he quickly wrings a gasp out of you by sinking his finger in all the way to the knuckle, crooking it wickedly while he rocks it in and out.

It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. He walks you on the knife’s edge of your climax, deftly toeing the line with every slow stroke of his finger and swipe of his tongue. Your stomach clenches up with it, breath catching. He pushes in a second finger, and by the time you feel the third working you open, your legs are shaking uncontrollably. He is feasting on you, humming appreciative little noises between the wet sounds of him eating you out.

A sudden jarring slap to your ass makes your quivering thighs tense up and startles a loud moan out of you. He most definitely smiles against you, fucking you steadily with his fingers.

“You son of a bitch,” you manage to choke out, tears prickling at your eyes from the sheer overwhelm of it all, your breaths growing sharper, more shallow. “I should smother you,” you say, the threat dulled by the thinness of your voice.

He smacks your ass again, harder this time. You decide that’s encouragement to do just that and grind down against his mouth, eagerly meeting every thrust of his fingers until one last good slap tips you over the edge, your orgasm striking you like a bolt of lightning. Your whole body goes tense, and Cooper ruthlessly fucks and licks you through it, sucking on your clit as it pulses and pulses and pulses through what feels like the longest climax of your life.

“Enough,” you moan weakly, pushing yourself from the wall on trembling arms. His fingers have slipped free, but he’s still drinking you down, holding your thighs in a vice grip. You can’t stop shaking, the burn of pleasure beginning to feel like the most exquisite pain. “C-Coop, enough, I can’t–you fucker,” you gasp, jolting in his grip when he nips at your clit.

He finally lets you up, easing you down with two hands firmly on your ass. You slide back until you’re straddling his waist, hands braced on his chest while you catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time, knocking you down into his lap as he sits up. He takes your face in his hands and kisses your own taste into your mouth, giving a throaty little rumble.

“I decide when you’ve had enough,” he says, dropping one hand to work his cock free from his undone pants. “And you’ll remember that you asked for it.”

Each word feels like a spark of electricity. You lift yourself on trembling knees, hands on his shoulders, and he puts his arm around you, drawing you in while you sink down until you feel the thick head of his cock–wet with his own precum–nudging against your spit-soaked pussy.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how good you can take me.” You can hear the restraint in his voice, feel it in the thrum of his touch. You hold his gaze while his cock forces you open in one smooth, frictionless slide, the stretch a dull ache that rapidly ascends into pleasure. He lets you adjust a moment or so before he begins to move, holding your hips steady while he rocks his own, reclining down onto his back.

“Don’t you hold out on me,” you tell him through a shuddered breath, hands behind you, braced on his thighs. “You promised me ruin.”

As sharply as he’d slapped your ass, Cooper gives a hard thrust up, his dull nails biting crescents into your skin, his grip all that keeps you from losing your balance. “One taste and y’already damn spoiled,” he says, planting his boots on your bed–you’ll give him shit for that later–and picking up a brutal pace almost immediately. “C’mon then, sweetheart. Ride me.”

You have no choice but to comply, grabbing hold of what you can of his shirt while he bucks hard under you. Every thrust sparks inside you like the strike of a match, your cunt still sensitive. You can already feel yourself climbing towards another peak. You arch your back, watching him through the haze of your own pleasure. His eyes are dark, his teeth bared. He looks like something wild, like something ready to bite.

“Goddamn, that’s it, y’squeezin’ me fuckin’ good now,” he groans, tipping his head back, watching you bounce on his cock through heavily lidded eyes. “Give it up for me, pretty girl. Show me this is really what you want,” he rambles, his accent growing thicker the closer he gets. You nod along, panting wordlessly, his thrusts knocking sweet little keening noises from your throat. “Go on now, that’s it. Show me how it feels when I make you cum.”

The world around you goes black just before an eruption of white explodes behind your eyelids like stars, your whole body stilling to endure the overwhelming crash of your release, the shock of it rolling out in waves throughout your entire body. You don’t speak, you don’t even breathe, too struck by the magnitude of it. 

Cooper fucks you through every second of it, slurring a litany of feverish nonsense–your name sprinkled within it–until he breaks off into a choked off noise, and in the middle of your euphoria you feel a the rush of his release spilling deep inside you, his body finally stilling under yours.

You sink down onto his chest, panting against the collar of his shirt. He moves his hand along your back, and a distant part of you is caught off guard by how tenderly he sweeps his fingers up the back of your neck. You answer in kind by slipping your fingers just under his collar, fingertips brushing bare skin that’s as gnarled as the rest of him.

The two of you sit in silence for a long while, neither of you willing to break the spell of your afterglow. The entire world feels softer in it, the dull sepia of it tinged with hints of gold. The dust particles floating around you almost seem to sparkle. In any other moment, you’d scold yourself for romanticizing the rotten remains of a dead world that has been so cruel to you, but for just this moment, you let yourself believe that things can be beautiful, too.

You lose yourself to the warmth of his body beneath yours, and the gentle way he traces the slopes of your body with his fingertips. Eventually, Cooper cleans his throat. You ignore it, reluctant to acknowledge him. You know once you do, the moment will be over.

“Y’might wanna get situated with a pack of Radaway soon,” he murmurs, the twang of his voice still heavier than usual. 

Tucked into the crook of his neck, you smile while he still can’t see you, endeared. “I’ve had worse exposures.”

“I find that hard t’believe,” he says, cupping the back of your neck in his palm. His thumb strokes absently back and forth. You can almost believe he’s dragging out these last few moments together, too.

Lifting yourself, you brace your forearms on his chest, staring down at him. His expression is difficult to parse–while there is most definitely a sense of ease you don’t normally associate with him, there’s also a profound sadness.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves his hand from your neck to your cheek, swiping his thumb along the ridge of it. You lean into his touch, ready to ask again, when he makes a grab for his hat and places it firmly on your head, obscuring your vision.

“That was some fine ridin’, sweetheart,” he says, voice as coarse and sweet as raw sugar.

You push the brim up until you can see him again, failing to bite back a smile. “Guess I’m the sheriff ‘round these parts now.”

“I ain’t a sheriff," he says flatly, though the slight tic at the corner of his mouth gives away his amusement.

“That’s right, y’ain’t. ‘Cause I am,” you say in your best impression of him, tipping his hat at him.

He blows out a breath and tugs the rim back down over your eyes. “Whatever you say, sweetcheeks,” he says, and though you can’t see him, you’re certain you can hear the smile in his voice.

Today may never happen again. The world could end tomorrow–again–or Cooper could walk off into the Wastes for the very last time. If you’ve learned anything in this world, it’s that nothing lasts forever. So, you drop your head back down and listen to the beat of his heart, using it to count the moments as they pass.

“Hi, honey.” You coo into the small mic, waiting for a reply.

He never leaves you waiting long - but there’s a tired edge to his voice when he answers, “Hi yourself. Midnight already?”

“Mmhmm. It is here, anyways.”

A slight hiccup in the means of your communication. The device - one set of a few pairs in existence - only seems to reach him in December, when the holiday was in full swing. Same with the small chimney in your living room.

So, you made the most of it, meeting as much as you can in the small window of 31 days - before it goes silent, and the chute gets blocked off again.

You can hear a rough curse on the other end, then a low sigh, “I’m still at the workshop, it’s been a mess this year. Sorry baby, looks like I’m running late tonight.”

Disappointment lances through you, but you’re still just happy to hear his voice, “Do you need to go?”

“Nah. Waiting on a fix for one of the machines in the factory. He’s on his way, I’ve got a few.”

“How long of a wait?” You fish - thinking you’d settle for something quick tonight, if you had to, “You know, I asked for you this year. If you stopped by, you could knock a present off your list early. Get a head start?”

“Oh, yeah?” He rasps, his voice low and smooth, “That’s assuming you’re on the nice list, sweetheart. We both know you haven’t been in years.”

You grin, teeth sinking into your lip, “Mm, and whose fault is that? I was perfectly respectable before you.”

He hums, amused, “Is that right?”

“Mhmm.” You’re still smiling. If you close your eyes, it’s almost like he’s there in the room with you, “Maybe you could straighten it out for me. Put in a good word with the big man?”

“I think I can manage that.” A low laugh rumbles on the other end of the line - the sound shooting straight to the aching spot between your thighs.

His voice always did that to you - the sound has you wistful, needy, the words coming out before you can stop them.

“I miss you.”

It was hard, not seeing him for 11 months, other than the occasional weekend where you could both slip away, meet in the middle. You couldn’t come to see him - that would mean a much more intimate commitment. Something you both had been dancing around for a long time.

Something never fully admitted.

He’s silent for a long moment, but you think you can hear something similar mirrored in his own answer, “I miss you, too.”

“Will you come? When you’re done?” You hold your breath - but despite all his gruffness, you know that deep down, he’s soft.

“Yeah, baby.” He relents, and you think you can hear the smile in his voice, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

It’s late - hours later, when you hear the rhythmic clunk of heavy boots across the hardwood floor, the soft jingle of his bag with every step.

You’re sleepy, dozing as you had waited, curled up with a blanket on the couch - knowing that it’d be the first place he looked. Keeping a heavy-lidded eye on the brick fireplace, where the brightly-colored bulbs twinkle on and off.

They always had been your favorite - the string of lights had been put up the day after Halloween. Unable to resist, even if your friends had rolled their eyes when they saw them.

Eyes blinking open to find him standing in front of you - broad-shouldered and filling your view, the curls of gold from his journey still glittering around him. Dropping the bag next to the armchair that just sits to the side, the usual spot.

“Hi.” You coo, pushing yourself up as you stretch.

“Hi.” He smiles, as his eyes snag on your clothes - or lack of. Wrapped in lingerie that looked like it could be made of red ribbons and lace, almost matching the shade of his suit.

“Oh, just look at you.” The looks darken, as he approaches. Swiping the hair tie on the side table from where it rested next to a plate of cookies you had left out. Replacing it with the hat and wire-framed glasses he’s just removed, “I thought I was the present, not the other way around.”

You preen under his gaze, letting the blankets fall away further, exposing more of your body - shifting to the side so he can sit down.

The old couch creaking as he joins you, a weary sigh as he sinks into the worn cushions. Teeth biting down and then tearing the black leather gloves from his hands, before an arm reaches out to curl around your waist, pulling you to him.

Your hand splaying across his chest, gripping on to the velvet and fur as his mouth finds yours. A low groan in his throat as his own hands wander over skin and lace, squeezing, groping, tugging until you’re half sitting in his lap.

He tastes like you remember, your tongue darting out to brush against his lip, until they part for you. Cinnamon and spice and the bite of something sharp, like whisky - making you melt against him.

Reacquainting yourself to the scratch of his beard when you press yourself closer, the soft curls of his long hair when your fingers twist in him, pulling another moan.

Eventually pulling back for a breath, your lips kiss-swollen, a warmth in your chest that travels downwards. You squirm against him, the thigh pressed between your own, as he smiles, mouth dropping to your chin, then your jaw.

“I talked to the big man for you, like you asked.” He presses open-mouthed kiss to your neck then, and it distracts you - making you momentarily forget your earlier jest.

“Oh yeah?” It comes out breathy, fingers sliding from his hair, dropping down to grasp at his shoulders.

“Mhmm.” He hums, before pausing to seal his lips against your throat, sucking a mark that makes you gasp, “He said if you were good for me, he’d reconsider.”

That makes you laugh, as his hand drops from your waist to your ass - fingers squeezing as he rocks you against his thigh, a spark of pleasure igniting with the friction.

“That’s kind of him.” You manage, and he’s pulling back, a hazy look in his own eyes, “Did he say how?”

He smiles again.

“I have a few ideas.”

Eyes dropping to your mouth as his hand cups your jaw - before a thumb smooths over your lip, pressing down. Waiting for them to close around it and suck, sighing when they do.

“Will you, baby?” He asks, his voice smoky and low and at that moment, you think you’d agree to anything, “Be good for me?”

His thumb pulls from you, smoothing across your lip again as you nod, “Always.”

“That’s my girl.”

The praise makes your chest ache, as you lift off him, sliding down to the floor instead - kneeling between his thighs where the blanket pools, soft under your shins.

Peeking up at him with parted lips as you watch him unclasp the crimson jacket, work open the leather belt with the heavy golden buckle. When the coat parts you can see where he strains for you, his cock pressing against the soft fabric of his pants.

Hips lifting to push them down, the patterned, forest-green boxers barely past his thighs before you’re reaching - eager for him.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, when your tongue swipes over the weeping tip, the wet bead of precum. Swallowing it down before your lips wrap around him, your fist following. Spreading your spit with each pump, until he’s slick and shining with you.

You hum, trying to take him deep, ignoring the ache in your jaw, the way that your mouth floods with saliva as you gag. His lips are parted, panting as he sinks further into the couch - letting your other hand brace on his thick thigh for balance.

His hand reaching down to cup the soft weight of your breast, thumb smoothing over the budded peak of your nipple. Tugging the cups down so he can watch the way they sway when you suck his cock - unable to hold back his own moans when you swallow around him.

“Haven’t jerked off in a week.” He grunts out, teeth clenched as your eyes lift to his again, “Wanted to wait for your call.”

Carefully easing you off his cock then - watching as you lick your lips, breaking the string of spit that clings to the flushed tip.

“Not going to waste it on your mouth, no matter how fucking good it feels.”

You grin, standing as he pats his thigh, your thumbs tucking in the waistband of your panties. But he’s reaching for you, catching your hands as he tugs you towards him again.

“Leave them on baby, please.”

Hands still on your hips as he helps you lower yourself onto his lap. Waiting until you’re seated, his cock trapped between your clothed pussy and the curve of his stomach before the tugs the hair tie from his wrist.

Bundling his silver hair back into a messy knot as you shift against him, before stealing another kiss. The grind of your hips interrupted when his fingers slide against the curve of fabric at your thigh, before slipping underneath.

The gasp high in your throat when he pets at you, his own rumbling groan when he feels how you’re soaked for him. Fingers circling over the bead of your clit, watching the way your lips part in a gasp as he just begins to press down.

Before they move again, until the tip of his finger presses against your entrance. The slightest resistance, before it slides in. First one knuckle, and then another, until he’s cupping you.

“Nick.” You groan - it feels like you’re throbbing for him, impossibly wound up, “Please. I need you.”

Fingers slide over his cock again, trying to lift your hips as he tugs you back down.

“Need to get you ready.” He murmurs, against your mouth, lips dropping to drag against your chin.

A slow thrust of his fingers, and normally you’d agree. He’s big, thick - but you’ve been waiting for weeks, months.

“I want you now. I want to feel you, even when you leave.” You beg - and it does something to him, a glint to his bright, icy blue eyes.

His cock twitches against your stomach, and you know he’ll give in. Fingers withdraw, hooking around the gusset of your panties, pulling them to the side.

Letting you lift up this time, your hands resting on broad shoulders as his other hand holds his cock steady for you. Unable to resists sliding it across your folds, bumping it against your clit, before letting it press against your entrance.

Your head tilts back as you sink down onto him, his cock splitting you open, a ragged sound ripping from your throat. His own rough exhale feeling the tight, wet grip of your cunt as you slow take him.

Until you’re flush with the coarse, silver curls, until it feels like he’s filling you completely. You can’t do much more than pant as his hands slide beneath your thighs, gripping on as he lifts you. Dragging his length along your walls with one thrust, and then another.

You keen, rocking against him, finding a rhythm as you brace yourself on his shoulders. Pressing yourself against the soft curve of his stomach and chest, his hands moving to your hips.

His head tilting until he can mouth at your breasts, the tip of his tongue teasing a nipple until his teeth scrape against it. It makes you clench, his mouth leaving wet marks as he moves to the other one, leaving you groaning.

“Feels so good. Waited so long-” You moan, arching into his mouth, where he hums in agreement.

A groan, his eyes bright as his head tilts back so he can see you.

“I know, baby. Should come stay with me,” he breathes out, and it makes you stutter, fingers curling in his jacket.

Blinking, as his eyes roll shut in pleasure, still murmuring, “There’s so many of those lights that you love. They’re everywhere, could fuck you all the time underneath them. You’d look so pretty.”

You’re not sure if it’s a real invitation or a fantasy, but it fuels the building pleasure that coils in your stomach. A familiar throb that has you riding him a little faster, the slap of your thighs against his hips as you lean down to kiss him.

His hand sliding down to where you’re joined, fingers rubbing circles on your clit. Just the tiny bit more that you needed, the steady bounce on his cock getting sloppy as you start to tremble.

You’re chanting, not sure if it’s your answer, or just to make sure that he doesn’t stop, not for anything. The words repeated, “yes, yes, god yes, please-”

His own rough answer, ground out through gritted teeth as his hips meet you, thrusting up, burying himself deep into you.

“Come on baby, wanna feel you come. Been waiting so long, let me feel you-”

You shatter. Pushing yourself down onto his cock, the bouncing turning into a slow grind as your head drops against his shoulder. Fingers gripping his jacket so hard they ache.

“That’s it.” He talks you through it, a rumble of three pleased chuckles that you can feel in his chest, “Come on my cock, baby. Just like that.”

Fingers slowing just enough that you’ve not overwhelmed, drawing out the tight pulse of your orgasm.

Leaving you boneless against him, panting into his neck as you sag against his solid frame. It’s so much harder to move now, to start your rhythm again. Your first two bounces are still sloppy, a weak attempt at best as you use his shoulders for leverage.

He watches you, arms resting along the back of the couch - an eyebrow raised. A huff of a laugh when you half-heartedly glare at him, until his hands move to your hips again, slowing your movements.

“I wear you out, baby?” He croons, with eyes only for you - teasing. “Too tired to keep fucking me?”

You huff, but he’s not wrong - it’s hard work, and you were already tired before. With a grunt he lifts you off him, as you squeak in surprise.

Easing out from under you, leaving you facing the back of the couch as he stands - moving behind you. You think you get it now, pushing yourself onto your knees, leaning your elbows against the cushion as you bend at the waist for him.

A hand smoothes down the curve of your ass, snagging on the hem of your panties, dragging them down. The fabric at the center damp and dark, leaving them around your thighs as he angles you further, bending you more.

“So fuckin’ pretty, you know that?” He rasps - and then he’s pressing into your heat again.

You gasp, the sound low in your throat as he sheathes himself with a slow thrust, and then another. His stomach pressed against your ass, before a hand anchors on your waist, the other sliding between your breasts. Tugging you upward, until you’re flush with his chest.

If you felt full before, then you must have forgotten how it felt to take him like this. Each thrust feels like it’s in your guts, in your throat, until you’re choking on him.

It’s amazing how fast he finds the spot that turns your words into just sounds - like no time had passed at all. You weak gasps as his cock drags against a spot that has you seeing stars, fingers wrapping around his thick wrist as he holds you against him.

His nose presses into your neck, his mouth hot against your skin as he groans with you. Each thrust loud as he pushes himself in the warm channel of your cunt, again and again.

“You soaked my cock, sweetheart. Just listen to how wet you are.”

Your moan is weak, you’re not sure you’ll last much longer. But he’s there with you, his breath a harsh gasp in your ear as his head tilts back.

“Nick, I’m, ah-” you gasp, and you can feel the scrape of his beard against your cheek, the drag of his lips.

“I know, baby. Once more, for me.”

The hand on your hip sliding to press against your clit again - and then, you’re there. Pinned against him as you come around him again, his own broken moan as his hips snap against yours.

Until they slow, one more thrust as he growls a low “fuck” - as he presses deep, spilling into you. Painting your walls with each pulse of his cock, the sound from lips dragging out as you flutter around him. Milking him, taking everything he has.

His grip on your loosening, a soft kiss pressed against your jaw as he eases out of you. The slightest ache afterwards that you know you’ll feel tomorrow - though the thought makes you sigh, not minding at all.

Leaving you sagging against the couch as he grabs a cloth from the kitchen. Admiring his release that leaks from you, smeared across your inner thighs, before the warm cloth passes over them.

Spending the little time he has to still take care of you - like you knew he would. It’s why you’ve stayed all this time. Why his request is still repeating in the back of your mind.

Later, you sigh as your head rests against his bare chest - any tension in your muscles long gone. Legs like jello, still warm and cozy in your afterglow.

The sweetness of the icing melts on your tongue, your hand reaching down lazily to the floor to grab another cookie - snapping it down the middle.

“Worth the wait?” He asks idly, lips pressing against the crown of your head, before accepting the half you offer him.

As if it wasn’t, always.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

“Just want I wanted.”

Your scent rolls off you in waves. So much of him has diminished over the years - the once-sharp shine of his claws now dulled. That silver gleam now scuffed up, matted.

But not his senses. Helpless with the way you overwhelm him, all that want and desire building to a crescendo.

It’s supposed to be a punishment, and he can’t pretend it’s not torture.

“How many left?”

It’s more gruff than he means to be. Demanding - a hard edge to the words.

A breath, before you’re answering, “F-five.”

“And you got it through that head of yours?”

“Yes.”

The syllables draw out - the slightest flinch in anticipation, when his hand lifts from the armrest. The cool roll of his now-empty whisky glass against a cheek, the liquor now faded from his tongue.

Followed up the cup of a broad palm. The skin warm beneath, where he’s already begun. Ten, placed swiftly.

Resisting the urge to twist his wrist once more. Let his fingers drift against your seam, knowing they’d come back slick. Tilt his head down enough to drag his tongue against the glossy ring of condensation left against your skin.

But, you’d never learn that way.

“Good,” He rasps, “Gonna finish them out.”

Fingers curling, unable to help the slightest squeeze. You clench with your sigh, his thumb stroking skin just above where your leggings are tugged down, framing the pretty curve of your ass.

“Not gonna take it easy on you, just ‘cause you said yes.”

You nod. An arch to your back, as you breathe out a, “Thank you.”

His jaw ticks. A curse bitten back as his cock throbs, where it presses against his trousers - your hip rubbing against him each time you jolt forward.

It’s enough that his hand is swinging again. A sharp crack, punctuated by the gasp as the air is pushed from your lungs.

“Count ‘em, sweetheart.”

“Five.” You pant.

Then four. Then three, two. One.

Logan’s rougher than he needs to be. A real cry pulled on the last one, a punctuation to the lesson he’s certain you won’t soon forget.

Your thighs flex, where you’re bend over his knees. Eyes half-lidded and tear-rimmed, when your head turns - cheek pressed against a thigh.

His own admiring his work. Unable to help the drift of his hand, now. Thumb denting your skin, tugging.

“Please.” You squirm - always wanting, “Logan-”

His own name, whined out. None of the pretty names you call him, dripping with submission. Forgetting yourself with your need, and it does something to him.

He sinks into heat. Two fingers tucked together, burying between your slick thighs. Feeling how you give around him, a pitched-high moan that has the edge of his lips twitching.

Giving you what you need, once more. A reward, for how well you took him.

Because along with the rest -

Maybe he’s grown a little less patient over the years, as well.

You only hum in response. Despite the warmth of the kitchen, a chill runs up your spine and you shiver involuntarily. You’re not sure how he does that. Dial things up to 100 before you can even blink. It keeps you on your toes, even a few years in.  

Now it’s his turn to quirk a brow–ever expressive–when his heavy gaze finally lifts from your legs.

Warmth begins to seep into your chest and stoke a small fire in your belly. But the growing tension dissipates slightly when a timer dings, shrill and intrusive. 

Pulling himself away from your skin to tend to the sound, Logan bends at the knees to pull a steaming dish from the oven. 

The crack of his joints is a quiet popping sound compared to the low grunt he releases when he stands back up to his full height to place the dish on the stovetop. 

He tosses a worn out dish towel over his shoulder–the same one he’d used to pull the food from the oven. 

Watching him carefully as he spins around in search of his whiskey glass, you remark, “You look handsome like this.” 

You pass him the liquor, his large hand wrapping around the glass. 

“Handsome like what?” he asks, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. 

It’s not often Logan has the energy for this. Long days drain him now. Like sweet syrup from a tapped tree, a slow drip that takes and takes.

“Just–in the kitchen with me. Cooking…Taking care of me,” you say. 

Another soft smile graces his lips and he presses a tender kiss to your cheek, a hand at your hip, and your face warms. 

Gulping down a healthy sip of his drink, his throat bobs as he swallows the auburn liquid. When the glass clinks against the marble as he puts it down, you notice droplets linger in his beard. Once you’ve placed your own glass down you reach to thumb away the beaded liquid.

“Hm?” he hums, though it’s more of a growl when he does it, the sound rumbling up from deep in his broad chest. 

“Just got some…” you trail off, expecting him to come to the natural conclusion himself when you lean in and cup his jaw. Feel the roughness of his beard against your palm as you swipe away the small droplet. “There.” 

Logan leans briefly into your touch to kiss the soft skin of your palm in thanks. The gesture makes your heart ache. 

You’re about to pull away, but Logan grasps your wrist in one strong hand, savouring your touch. He’s looking at you with an unexpected hunger behind his eyes as he feels the skin of your wrist beneath his rough palm. You can’t deny the way it revives the searing heat in the pit of your stomach. 

“What?” The word comes out more breathy than you’d intended. 

“Nothin’.” Logan shakes his head, holding your gaze. He releases your hand gently. 

The word lingers in the air between you. 

The way he says it–like it’s not really nothing–wires you right up again. You know he knows it too–his overly keen senses able to pick up the rhythm of your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

You need to expel the energy or let the tension snap but can only think of the intoxicating scent of whiskey on his breath. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey.”

He’s quick to respond. “No? You want to?” 

“Okay.” It comes out in a whisper. The atmosphere feels too fragile for any other tone.

Logan grabs the crystal glass, just another sip or two remaining. He steals another as he steps in front of you, his left palm falling to your knee to push your legs apart so he has room to stand between them. 

He lingers above you and you lick your lips in anticipation, catching the way hazel eyes darken beneath furrowed brows. 

Then, Logan looks away and you watch as he places the glass down on the counter and his palms flat beside your thighs, effectively caging you in so you’re trapped in his space. Logan is all you can breathe, all you can see, all you can smell as your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. 

Eyes finally returning to yours, his head tilts to the side–cocky, challenging. “Then give your old man a kiss.” 

A whimper nearly escapes you before you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and hungrily pressing your lips to his like it’s an order. It may as well have been, gruff as he is. 

Logan grunts in response to your quick action, pulling your leg around his waist so your heel digs into the small of his back. 

The roughness of his beard rubs your chin and cheeks, a pleasant sting against sensitive skin. Though you’re soon distracted when his hand leaves your calf in favour of greedily running up your thigh. They leave heat and tingling skin in their wake, and you gasp into the kiss when he gives the meat of your thigh a generous squeeze. 

His desperation for you is matched only by yours for him as you wind your other leg around his hips to tug him closer. Grunting at your forcefulness, Logan finally slips his tongue into your warm mouth.  

The whiskey on his tongue is overpowering as he kisses you like he’s starving for it–the meal he was making long forgotten. Warm hands brush up the length of your spine, eliciting a subtle shiver, before one of his large palms cradles your skull like you’ll shatter without the support. 

His nose bumps yours as he deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth with fervour now. When his spare hand coasts over your chest to grab at your tits over your top, you arch into his touch with a moan like he demands it. 

When you bite his bottom lip he growls, long and deep. A renewed sense of desperation claws at your skin as your kisses become increasingly wanton and sloppy. Tangling tongues generate sounds bordering on obscenity. 

His claws may as well be dragging down your body, leaving bloody marks in their wake with the way his touch makes your skin sing. You hope he leaves bruises when he grasps at the flesh of your hips, pulling your lower-half flush against his pelvis. 

You can feel him, hard and straining against his black slacks. It’s impossible not to moan, lips leaving his as your mouth falls open to release the breathy sound. 

For a moment, you grind against his cock with your forehead pressed to his, using your hands wrapped around his neck as leverage. Feeling back muscles flex under your warm palms. The delicious slide of your soaked panties against his hardness is enough to drive you wild. 

A gasp is pulled out of you when your clit catches briefly on his tip beneath clean slacks. Logan growls through clenched teeth, pressing you into him harder, fervently rolling his hips. The sound makes your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Logan,” you whimper, aching for him as you pant into each other’s mouths. “Please.” 

“Fuck,” he rasps before he’s scooping you up off the counter, hoisting you up over his shoulder. Squealing at the surprise demonstration of his great strength, Logan strides through the kitchen and towards the living room. 

Desire burns deep in your belly as he carries you across the house like it’s nothing. He’s all broad chest, bulging biceps, and thick thighs. It makes you dizzy. You can’t help but reach out and pinch the meat of his thigh. 

“Hey!” He barks. 

Unsurprisingly quickly, Logan delivers a sharp smack to your ass and you yelp in shock, jolting against him. “So fuckin’ naughty.” 

The lingering sting coupled with his gruff tone has you squirming in his hold, whining low in your throat. 

In a single sudden motion, Logan manoeuvers you off his shoulder, dropping you onto the couch. And suddenly you feel deliciously small pinned beneath his hooded gaze. He towers over you. His staggering height emphasized from your perspective where you lay against the cushions. 

He’s assumed that authoritative stance that has every atom in your body buzzing–his arms crossed over his chest. This paired with his hard gaze is a lethal combination. He’s got that look in his eyes, like what am I gonna do with you? 

“Sorry.” Insincerity bleeds through your tone. You like to get him like this. To rile him up until he is more animal than man. 

Hazel eyes narrow as he grunts, disbelieving your weak apology. 

“You wanna be sorry?” He asks with a quick flick of his chin in your direction.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you nod. His chest rumbles with a deep sigh.

Unable to avert your gaze from his face, you bear witness to the glorious sight of Logan shedding his button-down. Your hips wiggle subtly in anticipation–though Logan would call it impatience. The cotton article is tossed carelessly over the chair by the couch.

He crouches down with a soft grunt, nods. “Okay.” 

Swiftly, you are tugged to the edge of the couch by Logan’s hands on your hips. Your skirt gets rucked up your waist, exposing you to the warm air of the house. Though it feels far more jarringly cool between your legs where you’re hot and wanting, pussy weeping for the older man before you.

“So fuckin’ soaked already,” He mutters, more to himself than to you. The comment has pleasure boiling low in your belly. 

“Logan.” He glances up at you briefly then returns his eyes to your cunt.  

You watch with rapture as his nostrils flare, no doubt overwhelmed by your scent this close to your centre. A predator ready to devour its prey. 

For the briefest of moments, Logan admires the wetness seeping through your panties, presses his thumb against the clothed, leaking well just to see your hips jump. Biting back a pathetic whine is far more difficult when his lips twitch into a faint smirk. 

There’s a change in his eyes in a split second where brows lower and pupils dilate. It’s then that he rips your panties down your legs and you swear you hear the distinct sound of fabric tearing. Gasping, you toss your head back between your shoulders, panting and warm all over. 

His chest rumbles with a guttural sound, savouring the sight of you spread open wide and dripping for him. 

Logan’s rough hands rub up and down your thighs, hungry. When they pause you swear you can feel his gaze burning a hole into the column of your throat. 

“Eyes,” He demands.

You obey, catching a glimpse of him stuffing your panties into his back pocket from where he kneels on the floor between your legs. 

The anticipation eats you alive, hips flexing, unable to remain still. Logan pins them down in an instant. 

Everything quiets. Tunnel vision casts out any and all sound or sight besides him. 

“Don’t move,” Is all he says before he’s diving in and devouring you, tongue hot on your sensitive skin. 

“Fuck!” you cry, hands plunging into his hair. 

He’s groaning the second his tongue licks up your cunt, dining on your taste. He gorges on you like he’s been deprived of your taste for far too long and he’s hollow without it. 

You’re drunk and dizzy on the way his beard scratches against your skin. The way the thick hair rubs against your cunt and sensitive inner thighs. A carnal craving satisfied. He’ll pull away after and be covered in you, unable to kiss you without smearing your desire across your own chin. 

The rough tug you give his hair causes him to grunt into you. He eats you out with zeal, an energy that so often eludes him these days. 

“Feels so good…Shit…So-” you babble on, only half aware of the praise spilling from your mouth.

For now, you are not sorry about his overzealous approach. But you will be. After, when the burn becomes a sting. When you are unable to walk for a week straight without feeling the roughness of his beard between your thighs. When he’ll reach over while he’s driving and squeeze your thigh meanly as a reminder. 

For now, you moan unabashedly as he nips at your clit harshly. Free roaming hands find warm skin, grabbing fistfulls of you. Rubbing your thighs, grabbing at your hips, spreading possessively over your stomach. Soon, his hand snakes under your top to squeeze at your tits, and you gasp sharply when he pinches your nipple between thumb and forefinger. 

The fire in your belly rages on, burning bright, spitting ash. 

“Logan,” You whine, long and drawn out, when he shakes his head back and forth animalistically, coating more of his beard in your wetness, your scent. He grunts against your pussy at the sound of his name hot on your tongue, the vibrations it causes driving you mad. 

His roughness makes your cunt throb. You derive as much pleasure from the sensation of his tongue licking up your slit and circling your clit as you do from simply watching him like this. His eyes shut in concentration, locked in as he laps up your juices like it sustains him. Like he is taking his fill of you before he hibernates for the winter. 

Just the obscene sounds of his hunger, the slurping and the groans emanating from deep within his chest are enough to prompt your hips to grind up into the pleasure his mouth provides. And he accepts all of it enthusiastically. 

You get lost in it, his wet muscle prodding at your entrance, licking up your slit to spread the wetness he’d collected over your clit. He sucks it between his lips, causing you to groan. 

Briefly, Logan pulls away, and you whine in protest. But his pause allows you to glimpse the parts of his beard that are now matted down with wetness. The sight causes warmth to spread across your chest, equal parts humiliation and pleasure. 

“Taste so fuckin’ good, baby,” he pants against your thigh, warm breath fanning over your puffy cunt. “Look at you,” he slurs, thumb rubbing over your pussy, spreading the wetness all over. 

Your hips jump and you whine again. Logan growls a quiet, desperate sound before diving back in, practically making out with your pussy and inserting two of his thick fingers into your heat. 

“Shit! Lo-” his name gets cut off with a girlish moan, a high sound only he could pull out of you, body completely overwhelmed by the excess of pleasure. 

“There she is,” he drawls, voice muffled and thick with lust before enveloping your clit in the warmth of his mouth and sucking. Your grip in his hair tightens as your hips grind into his mouth and down onto his fingers. Fingers which curl up into the gummy walls of your cunt, languidly brushing that sensitive spot inside over and over. 

Soon, slow movements evolve into quicker, but still consistent and deliberate, pumps into your weeping hole. It is precisely then that the ever-growing fire in your belly begins to consume you entirely. The moment Logan’s jaw goes slack and he begins to desperately lap at your cunt with a near entire loss of coordination, your vision goes white. 

Your orgasm crashes over you, an all-consuming force as Logan continues to fuck you with his fingers. It’s like you are bursting at the seams, coming apart in his hands. Every cell in your body catches fire as you roll your hips into his hand, riding out the waves of your climax. 

You’re panting as you come down, hips slowing to a stop as your body becomes over-sensitive to his touch. You twitch as Logan slowly pulls his fingers from you, his head falling to rest on your trembling thigh. 

“You know…For an old man, that was-” 

You suck in a sharp breath, hips jumping at the harsh sensation of Logan intentionally rubbing his beard over your already burning inner thighs. He chuckles lowly at your reaction, but is quick to soothe you, laying tender kisses across heated skin. 

Your hands trail down from his hair, and stroke a thumb softly over his cheek. He allows the sweet touches to continue for several moments before he pushes off his knees with a grunt. Logan falls onto the couch next to you, legs spread wide. Eyeing him in your periphery, you can tell he’s just as exhausted as you; his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.  

You’re still panting softly as you watch him, your limbs like Jell-O, skirt hastily pushed up past your waist, and top askew. The sight of him licking his fingers clean of you makes your clit twitch despite its sensitivity. 

Finally, he finds your eyes. 

“C’mere,” Logan rasps, patting his thigh. 

It takes great effort for you to crawl into his lap, and you don’t do it without some assistance. Logan’s hands grip your waist, pull you so you’re seated sideways over his thighs so as not to further irritate the burn. 

You wind an arm around his neck, tenderly stroking the hair at his nape. 

Logan rubs over the dough of your thighs, thumbs caressing between the split of them. Later, he’ll help you gently rub soothing lotion into them, but for now he’s all desire as he gazes down at where his hands press lightly into your legs. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly. 

You can’t help but squirm in his lap a little, feeling him hot and hard beneath your thighs.

“Mmh,” you muse, staring down at his hands on you, legs raw and tingling. “Good.” 

You can feel his eyes on the side of your face, the warmth of his body beneath yours. “Yeah?”

You nod, meeting his eyes before cupping his jaw and scratching softly at his beard, feeling the lingering wetness there. Briefly, his eyes drift shut and he groans quietly. 

“How’s that feel?” you repeat his question back at him, teasing. 

Logan growls, grabs the back of your head, and desperately presses his lips to yours in answer. 

You moan softly into the kiss, holding his face in your hands as you lick into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue more than the whiskey now. 

Then you’re trailing your hands down his chest and pulling away only briefly to tug his white tank off before your fingers deftly begin to undo his belt. The metallic clink it makes, the sound of leather sliding against cotton as it comes off, only makes your pussy clench around nothing as you whine into his mouth. 

Your ardour makes Logan chuckle, breaking away from your lips in favour of kissing roughly down your neck. His hands now cup your jaw, allowing him to tilt your head back as his lips leave a trail of wet kisses across heated skin. You sigh as his beard tickles your neck. 

“So needy,” he mumbles into your skin. 

You groan and feel his smirk against the skin of your chest before he’s pulling your skirt and top off over your head and tossing them aside. 

Wanting hands find their way into his hair again when he pulls away from your skin momentarily. He enjoys having you completely naked in his lap while he’s still mostly clothed. You can tell from the way his nostrils flare when he drags in a deep breath, the way his tongue wets his mouth before he pulls you close and latches onto your nipple. 

He greedily licks and sucks and bites at one while palming the other in one large hand. 

“Logan,” you breathe his name like a prayer, pulling him closer with hands locked in his hair. 

His teeth graze your nipple, tugging it gently. Gasping in shock, your face twists up at the intense mix of pleasure-pain that swirls around in your gut. He releases your breast, breathing harshly over your now damp skin. 

Impatient and needy, you can’t help but squirm in his lap, rubbing yourself over his hardness. Surely, you’ll leave a damp patch on his clean slacks. The thought only spurs you on, movements becoming desperate. 

His cock twitches beneath you, tip probably an angry red and leaking sticky precum you selfishly wish to lick up. “Fuck, need to feel you, sweetheart.” 

The whine his proclamation elicits borders on pathetic, and in a rush you’re helping him tug his slacks down just enough that his cock can spring free. 

“So pretty,” you whisper, dragging your middle finger across prominent veins that run down his length, prompting him to twitch and hiss through his teeth.

Saliva begins to pool in your mouth, but you’re tugged back to Earth when Logan grabs your waist, ordering you to ‘turn around’. 

Body buzzing in anticipation, you allow him to manhandle you into the right position, savouring the feel of his hands manipulating your movements. 

“There ya go,” He praises, pulling your back flush against his chest. His hand sneaks up your chest. When it reaches your neck, he presses gently so your head falls against his shoulder. 

Your eyes meet as your chest heaves. 

“Open.” 

Eyes remaining on his, you part your lips. 

“Don’t swallow,” Logan instructs gruffly, brow quirked. He may as well have pointed a finger in your face, stern as he is. 

You nod quickly, and he leans forward slightly to spit thickly onto your tongue. It’s so obscene a tremor wracks through your body as heat spills into your gut. 

Hand below your chin, Logan closes your jaw for you, allowing his saliva to mix with your own before putting his hand in front of you, saying, “Spit.” 

You obey a little messily, some ending up dribbling down your chin. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he says, smearing the sticky mess over your already messy cunt. You whine, all high and breathy. Still slightly sensitive. 

Finally, he adjusts you, shoving you forward in his lap so he’s at the right angle to thrust into your wet heat. 

Tandem groans are released into the air the moment he fills you. A millisecond to adjust. To savour how deeply he fills you before his hands are at your waist to help guide your movements.

Using your own hands on his legs as leverage allows for slow, deep thrusts that make your body quake. Those first sweet drags of his cock against your slick walls are enough to make you shudder. 

Reaching a steady rhythm, you begin to pant, the exertion it takes to ride him like this tiring you out quickly. Though Logan is quick to help, supporting you with strong hands as he guides you up and down. Still, you’ve yet to lose your vigour. Entranced by the slow roll of your hips, the way his cock reaches the deepest parts of you in this position. His strong thighs bracketing your body. 

“That’s it…That’s it.” Logan grunts lowly, nearly delirious and wholly mesmerized by how your body takes all of him. How you stretch around him to accommodate his size. Hypnotized briefly as he hungrily watches the place where you connect. 

A gasp evolves into a moan as one of his hands leaves your waist in favour of seeking out the sensitive button at the top of your cunt. Clumsy fingers toy with your clit, slipping around messily. Flames lick at your nerve endings. On occasion he loses his place, unable to maintain a perfect rhythm from behind you, but just as quickly returns to circle the bud.  

Another hand moves to your belly, pulling your body backwards, his sweat-slick chest now pressed up against your back. You wish you could drag your nails down his broad chest, watch as he loses himself in the feeling. But the closeness this position allows is worth the sacrifice. 

Being nearly immobilized pressed up against him like this, giving him full control of your body, it feeds some deep desire. It’s the reason your head has gone a little fuzzy. He knows it too. He knows it when you let a whine slip past your lips. When you begin to grind back against him needily. 

“Feel good, baby?” he rasps. At the same time, he rubs his middle finger over your clit in time with a deliciously deep thrust. All you can do is throw your head back against his shoulder, another wanton moan clawing its way up your throat, directly into his ear. That’s all the answer he needs. 

Logan grunts in response. Pistoning hips setting a rhythm that is both intimate and punishing, making you dizzy. His closeness makes you dizzy. Those low grunts in your ear are enough to drop pearls of pleasure into the pit of your stomach. All of it contributing to the growing fog in your mind. 

You writhe against him, an arm wrapping around the back of his head, keeping him close with a hand buried in his hair. Your other hand remains locked onto his forearm as it flexes with each rub of your sensitive clit. 

Logan begins to grunt animalistically into your ear, unabashed about his desire for you. You feel it in the way his strong arms grip your body, ensuring your security. In the way he lets moans and grunts and groans rumble up from his chest, unafraid to let you hear what you do to him. 

His hands all over your body, the deep strokes of his cock that reach the deepest parts of you, his soft grunts in your ear–it all feeds the flames in your belly. 

“Fuck. S-so full,” you mewl, overwhelmed tears springing to your eyes. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he placates, tone edging on mockery. His voice sends shockwaves through your body. The sweet humiliation it brings presses into your skin like a brand, leaving it white-hot. 

More. You need more of him. 

Desperately, clumsily, you grind back into him enthusiastically, writhing in his grasp. The rhythm turns staccato and messy as a result. But it doesn’t matter. You just need more.

You whine, turning your head towards him and he gets the hint, meets you halfway and licks hotly into your mouth the moment your lips meet. Your hands twist in his hair. 

It’s messy and uncoordinated and your neck hurts twisted to kiss him like this. But then there’s the fiery taste of whiskey. And you. And him, his cigars. And the pain–it’s worth it. It’s necessary. 

When you break away, only a thin line of saliva connecting your mouths now, it’s to gasp. Your brows furrow, pleasure twisting your insides. 

You go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze, and he grins. It’s a wolfish thing. A flash of his teeth, lips kissed red and puffy. The sight makes your pussy clench around him. 

A smile tugs at your own mouth, probably fucked out and hazy with pupils blown wide. It only grows when the hand gripping your waist skims over your hot skin. On its journey, he grabs at your tits, pinches your nipple. Every sensation now blends together, overwhelming you with pleasure.

His hand pauses at the base of your neck where it grazes over the stretched expanse of skin. 

A teasing squeeze. Once. Your brows knitting together. Twice. Your mouth dropping open. His grip not quite tight enough to cut off airflow and elicit that floaty feeling. But enough to make you whine low in your throat. You are at his mercy.

Eyes drifting shut, you cry out, feeling your climax building at the pit of your stomach. Breathy moans escape you with each rub of his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves, edging on overstimulating. Each sharp thrust drives you closer to that edge, setting your body alight. 

“Y’gonna come, honey?” Logan pants, voice hoarse. 

These escapades exhaust him now. You’ve witnessed the way it sinks into his bones after. But there’s also the hint of a grin in his voice. Along with desperation. Desperation to feel you fall apart. An indication that the pleasure he provides, the pleasure he receives, is worth the exhaustion. It’s rewarding for him. 

Your answer is the most pathetic whine, high and wanton as overwhelmed tears blur your vision, threatening to spill over. “Uhuh.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you swear his fingers were made to make you come apart at the seams when he rubs over your clit like that. Like it gives him pleasure too.

“Yeah,” you say, breathless, barely moving over his cock as he pounds into you from below, his strong legs beginning to tremble. 

“Yeah,” Logan repeats. Mockery is thick on his tongue, a faux pout playing at his mouth. You lose it. 

Everything else falls away. Tingling heat spreads beneath your skin as you finally let go. Your body thrums with your release, the feel of his damp skin at your back, his hands on your body, how full of him you are. 

 Logan has little room to be cocky. Because the moment you begin to clench around him–cunt pulsing with each wave of your orgasm washing over you–he’s grunting curses into your shoulder, leaving bite marks on the tender flesh as his warm seed spurts into you. 

He shudders with his release. 

“Fuck,” he growls, grinding up into you, his grasp on your body tightening. 

In a flash, he removes his hand from your throat. And, distantly, past your post-coital fog, you hear the sound of metal unsheathing rapidly. You glance to your right.

Retracting claws reveal three deep holes pierced into the faux leather, showcasing thick wire springs and white stuffing. 

Blearily, you drag your hand down his arm, running over hair and slowly aging skin. Reaching his wrist, you bring his hand up to your mouth, cup it in both of yours. You smooth your thumb gently over the edges of his knuckles, watch for moments as the holes very slowly begin to close. 

You kiss his knuckles thrice. Once over each slowly healing wound. 

Eventually, the skin will mend. The wounds will be nonexistent. They will heal in time. But his body is exhausted. And every time the claws come out, the cracks in his skin take longer and longer to repair themselves. 

He collapses beneath you, rugged breaths pulled from tired lungs. 

Carefully, he slides out of you and you help him tuck himself back into his boxers. Press a kiss to his forehead. 

A whisper of, “Be right back.” against heated skin before leaving on unsteady legs to clean yourself up. His desire is a slow leak down your thighs now. 

If he were a younger man, still full of strength and agility, he’d have done this part for you. You know he wishes he could. Part of you wishes he could too. But you like to take care of him too. 

When you return, he’s still sunken into the couch, chest bare and sweaty. He accepts the glass of water you bring him, gulps it down thirstily. 

Cuddling up next to him now, you brush the sweat-damp hair back from his face. You’ll allow him to pull you close. You’ll hold each other, stroke the skin beneath his eyes tenderly. The fresh dark circles there. And he’ll press soft kisses against the lingering bite marks on your shoulder, whisper praise into your ear. 

When his honeyed eyes catch yours, you know he longs to spoil you. To scoop you up in his arms and take you to bed. 

But this takes a lot out of him now. It will be days–maybe more–before you’ll be able to do something like that again. 

So, you’ll take care of him. He’ll insist on having you underneath him. Begrudge the fact that the exhaustion will have yet to be leached from his bones. But acquiesce the moment your hands reach beneath his belt. 

♡*♡*♡