ovulating again

You’ve been side-eyeing him the entire two hours, wondering who the fuck this handsome man is, and why he is leaning so far away from you. Do you stink? You definitely put deodorant on this morning, brushed your teeth, and put perfume on! Surely not. Daring another quick peep, he was doing it AGAIN! He’s almost fully rotated on the chair, fingers perched up to his chin like he’s having some deep, introspective thought about this below-average lecture. Why is it giving that one scene in Twilight? Rude as fuck, actually. 

And then it happens: that stupid side-effect from that Wanderer.

Everyone in the conference room is gone. You are straddled on Valko’s lap, blouse ripped wide open, skirt sitting up around your waist, panties pulled to the side, riding the absolute shit out of him. Your hands are braced on his shoulders for support, his mouth permanently attached to your pulsepoint, inhaling your smell as he fucks up into you, needing to be closer, needing to hear you scream—

Oh my god. 

You immediately go red, and like a mirror, shift in your seat so he can’t see your sudden flustering. You knew once the conference was over, there was going to be a damp patch left on your chair.

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Sylus 

You’re undercover at an auction, and wouldn’t you know it, guess who else is here? To his surprise, you’re in a suit, sharp yet flattering. The next item to be called is an old desk, beautifully crafted from some kind of sturdy hardwood, but what kind you have no idea.

Well, Sylus does. It’s walnut, and it is quality. 

You’re seated on the edge of it. Pants gone, tits out, blazer ON, Sylus kneeling in between. His mouth is on your aching cunt, drowning in you, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you open. Because you’re quivering, pathetically trying to clamp your legs shut, the overstimulation too much. Too bad. He wants to see how long you can take him, how far you’re willing to go… his ego needs to know how many times he can make you cum with just his tongue. If you give him one more, he’ll give you his fingers next—

“Fifty thousand,” his rich voice calls out.

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Xavier 

He checks in on you the SECOND he hears what happened. He manages to catch you as you leave the med-ward, confirming that the strange Wanderer slime isn’t toxic. With the all-clear, you mention that all you want right now is a nice, steamy shower. You roll your head back with a dreamy sigh, exposing the column of your throat, your body shifting in a way that really emphasises your figure…

(Look, the man just can’t help it, ok? His attraction for you is off the CHARTS, and he is YEARNING for a chance to ask you out… but, bless his soul, he’s also incredibly horny.)

You’re in the shower together, tendrils of steam coiling about you both. Xavier is behind, that thick cock of his pressing against the plush of your ass while he massages your shoulders with soap… His fingers sculpt your muscles, slowly gliding down so he can grope your boobs next. He presses his lips against your nape, tongue running up to catch the trickles of leftover sweat… Teeth tug your earlobe, giving you full body shivers, and you end up grinding back on him, needing him to shove you against the shower wall and fuck the absolute life out of you—

Your clothes are too tight, cheeks definitely red, and you are unable to meet that pretty blue stare of his. 

If that was what he thought about literally standing next to you completely unfazed, all smiley and boyish, what the FUCK did he imagine when he was alone in bed? 

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Rafayel 

All you want is to go to bed, but Rafayel has a showcase tonight, and you have to be there. “No exceptions.” He’d said, arms folded and pouty. 

So, you manage to slip into some pretty thing that is still functional for security, and you make your way over to the gallery. Rafayel is out the front waiting, shooing everyone else who isn't you. The second his eyes meet yours, they flicker down, admiring your outfit… but when his gaze returns to yours again, something happens. 

(What happens is that he is an artist, and he just got hit with some wonderful inspiration.) 

You’re a whimpering, panting mess inside the gallery storage room. He’s got you pinned right against the door, tongue tracing your collarbone as his hands tug the straps of your dress down… he wants to worship you, wants to kiss and lick every inch of your body. For tonight, he’ll settle on your breasts. With the front of you bared for him, he sucks on one nipple, squeezing and kneading the other, all while your fingers are threaded through his hair, nails scraping his scalp, clinging to him, urging him to do more—

You falter mid-step, almost falling face-first into the footpath. Your throat is dry, heart thumping wild inside your head. Approaching Rafayel, you smile, oddly emboldened now that you know what he wants to do to you. 

“You look nice,” he compliments—safe, casual. 

“Nice? Is that all I get?” You give him an offended pout. “Not beautiful? Inspirational? Ravishing?”

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Zayne

You’re late. You practically skip through the hospital halls, rushing but not running, because that’s just not appropriate. Finally, you reach Zayne’s office doors, and without thinking, because you’re frazzled from being late, you barge in. 

Doctor Zayne is seated at his desk, halfway through a chocolate cupcake, some of the icing and crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth. You make eye contact. 

“Busted, Doc,” you tease, your previous anxiety gone. 

He sighs, hiding the dessert back into the top drawer. “I’ve been stressed.”

“There are worse things I could have walked in on, I guess,” you laugh, coming to take a seat. 

Yes, indeed. 

You’re hiding under his desk, that delicious mouth of yours wrapped around his cock, hand gripping what you can’t take. Can't have you gagging on it when someone could walk in, right? You pump at his base, licking and sucking, taking him at a steady pace, drawing out his pleasure as well as alleviating his tension. Because he simply can’t resist, he stops writing his report to caress your cheek, hissing low under his breath as you take him just that little bit deeper down your throat, your quiet moan vibrating through him—

Holy shit. 

You immediately sit up straight, clearing your throat to mask your surprised gasp. Clenching your knees together, you manage a tight smile. 

“Is that why you’re here? You have a cough?” Zayne asks softly, kind. Your friend. 

“Uh, yeah,” you lie, faking another one. “It sucks.”

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Caleb

You’re at a house party, and you thought it would be nice to invite Caleb, since he rarely gets to get out and about in Skyhaven. 

“Pips, where’re you takin’ me?” Caleb slurs, a little tipsy. 

You drag him along, until you both plop down with the group, all neatly sitting in a circle. 

“Truth or dare?” Tara begins, turning to the person next to her. 

And so forth, and so forth. The game continues, people daring and revealing embarrassing stories. The more people drink, the more juvenile it becomes, until it feels like you’re all in college again. Honestly, it’s kind of freeing, and you’re happy to roll with it. 

Eventually, it’s Caleb’s turn, and he turns to look at you. 

You choose dare, and so he dares you to spend seven minutes in heaven with him. You giggle, but you interlace your fingers with him, and before you both know it, you’re pressed up against each other in a small dark wardrobe. Caleb grasps your waist, tugs you even closer as your mouths swallow each other, tongues dancing, drunk on each other’s taste. He could die here. Especially when your hand sneaks down, cupping his bulge, rubbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. His hands cup your boobs, squeezing gently to start, but as you both get sloppier and twitchy, he grows bolder, kneading you through your thin bra, hips bucking into your touch—

“Truth or dare?” Caleb smirks, taking another sip of his drink. 

It stayed heavy on your mind. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have the natural urges for intimacy, you were a grown woman after all, but the right opportunity never seemed to preset itself, and that wasn’t a fact you often dwelled on. You didn’t want to give yourself up to a one-night stand, risk a bad first experience, but you also rarely had time to go on dates and uncover a real connection.

So you avoided it all together.

However, it’d be a lie to say you haven’t been under extra stress lately. Not for any particular reason, you’ve just seemed more prone to feeling overwhelmed. You’ve tried mediation, yoga, breathing exercises, more midday walks. Nothing has seemed to work.

One of your friends recommended sex.

And surprisingly, you haven’t been able to stop considering it. The more people you talk to about it, the more people who vouch for the fact that it’s the perfect thing to help you relieve how tense you’ve been.

But you can’t just spontaneously go out and bring someone to bed, at least not yet. You need a way to break the ice, have a nice first experience full of trust and comfort to erase your hesitance. After that, you can be impetuous. Stop fearing something not working out, because it won’t be your first encounter, and it won’t be your last.

So, you need to find someone to lose your virginity to. Someone you trust, who you know respects you and wouldn’t take advantage of your vulnerability for their own gain. 

There’s one person in your life who fits that description, and you’re on your way down to see him right now.

-

Wriothesley smiles at you when you reach his office at the top of the staircase, but it falls a fraction when you don’t return it. You’re nervous, is all. It isn’t everyday that you ask someone, whose relationship with you has been entirely platonic up to this point, if they’d be willing to have sex with you purely so you can gain the confidence to go out and do so with other people.

God. He might never want to talk to you again.

“Hi,” you greet, forcing the word out through the smallest opening in your windpipe. Your throat feels all clogged up, your anxiety visible everywhere from the spike in your heart rate to the way your fingers are nervously fidgeting with your shirt.

Wriothesley frowns when you take a seat across from him, a cup of tea already prepared in front of you. He’s clearly picked up on your state. “Are you feeling alright?”

You manage a nod, cupping your hands around the warm ceramic cup. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just…” You knit your eyebrows together, your mouth hanging open as you reluctantly meet his eyes. His brows are resting low above his blue hues, a crease between them enunciating his concern. “I wanted to talk about something.”

Wriothesley grins at that. “You can talk about whatever you want. Is something troubling you?”

“I—Well, sort of.” You settle on. “Do you remember what I brought up a few weeks ago?”

Wriothesley chuckles, taking a sip from his own tea, the cup already half empty. You showed up a little bit later than usual, but only because you turned around about five times on the way here before ultimately deciding you had to at least try. “I’m going to need you to be a little more specific.”

Right. You’ve talked about a lot of things. Still, you were hoping he’d get the message just so you wouldn’t have to say it.

“We were talking about dating,” you confirm, and Wriothesley offers you a brief nod. “Um, I mentioned a… Lack of experience.”

Wriothesley looks you up and down, his face twisting like he’s surprised to see you bring this up again. You suppose he did dismiss the subject quite swiftly last time. “I see. Yes, I remember.”

“Okay. Perfect.” You drop your hands to your thighs, nervously flattening your palms over the fabric of your skirt. “It’s about that.”

He nods slowly, his confusion radiating off of him in a way that somehow makes you feel warmer. For a man that’s meant to personify ice, you consider him anything but cold. “Alright.”

You clear your throat, and suddenly your train of thought is lost to the currents on the other side of these metal walls. You bite down on your lip, looking anywhere but his eyes. 

Will you have sex with me?

Too blunt. Way too blunt. 

“Um,” you nearly choke. “When we spoke, and I told you that I, um, have never really gone further than kissing with anyone.”

Wriothesley nods along again, like the trajectory of this conversation even has him too freaked out to verbally guide you along your rambling. You’ve been vulnerable with him before, with embarrassing childhood stories or your deepest insecurities. You probably looked similar to how you do now, shying away from his gaze while also over analyzing every muscle in his face, the most microscopic movements, wanting to know what each word makes him think of you.

Then, he would help you along, shooting out encouraging sentences about how your secrets were safe with him and how he thought too highly of the woman you were now to be too judgmental of any mistakes made in the past. It was a grace you offered him, too, when he told you about how he wound up in the fortress in the first place.

However, you always thought what he did back then, despite how the court viewed it, was a perfect reflection of the man he grew into. Selfless. Assertive. Caring. A person willing to put their bodies and their images on the line in favour of another who might need their help, especially those more vulnerable than them.

You falling face-first into a mud puddle in front of all your peers at the ripe age of seven was surely not a reflection of who you are now. At least, you hope he didn’t think so.

“You said something to me,” you continue finally. “You said, ‘really? You?’”

Wriothesley cocks an eyebrow, one hand wrapped around his teacup and his opposite forearm resting against his desk. He leans forward, as invested in what you have to say as ever. “Um, I did say that, yes.”

“What did you mean by that?”

Wriothesley barks out a small laugh, his rested arm coming up to his jaw as his eyes flicker away for a second. Awkwardness from him is an odd sight. Even when he opened up to you about his life, each word was without stuttering or hesitance, and he held your eyes during even the most gruesome details. Now he can barely look at you.

“I just meant, well, look at you.” He gestures to you subtly, and your face shifts. “I was just caught off guard to find that opportunities haven’t arose for you already.”

“I…” You start, thrown off even more by how he started that sentence. Look at you. Look at what? What is anything he says ever supposed to mean? “Opportunities have come around, I had boyfriends when I was in school and stuff, it’s been more of a choice thing.”

He drops his arm to the desk again. “Hm. May I ask why?”

You shrug, pulling your chair a bit closer, some of your tenseness easing away now that you’ve managed to begin the discussion. However, you’ve yet to ask him to sleep with you in a friendly-favour way. “I didn’t want to give that part of myself to someone who would make me regret it, or look back at it with resentment. I want to have a good first experience, and I’ve never met anyone that made me confident it would be good with them.”

You meet his eyes, finally, looking you over in thought. “That’s respectable.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“It’s just admirable that you’ve maintained that respect for yourself, and didn’t lose it to teenage impulsiveness or the similar urges that come with adulthood. I respect that, is all. The restraint, I suppose.”

The compliment, if that’s what you would call it, drills it’s way into your bloodstream, a new, unfamiliar warmth flowing through your veins. 

“And did you?” You ask quietly. 

He chuckles, dropping his head. “Well, I’ve been a free man for quite some time. I’m not in the same boat as you, but there’s nothing significant enough in my list of experiences to dwell on.”

Comforting. You think. Maybe?

He looks up at you again, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to ease out the tension of such a delicate subject. “Is that all you wanted to discuss?”

“Uh, no.” You confirm quickly. You can quite literally see the way his body stiffens once more. “I’ve, uh, been thinking lately.”

“Okay. And?”

“I’ve been stressed out.” You say quickly. “You know how busy I’ve been, I mean, you’ve been busy, too, with paperwork and a rise in inmate incidents and—”

He utters your name to cut you off, your eyes snapping to his.

“May I ask, does this subject still pertain to your virginity?”

You nod weakly. You don’t believe you ever worded it so bluntly yourself, but alright.

Wriothesley looks confused, sipping his tea. “…Alright. Go on.”

You huff. “Again, I’ve been really stressed, and I haven’t been able to figure out how to feel better. I’ve gone on more walks, I got into yoga, I’ve been sleeping more, eating healthier, I even paid a visit to Sigewinne while visiting a few weeks ago, and she prescribed me medication that hasn’t done a thing.”

Wriothesley furrows his eyebrows, a deep frown enveloping his features. “I’m sorry. You never mentioned this to me. I have herbal teas that help me when—”

“Thank you, Wrio, but that’s not…” You grip the edge of the desk, sighing. “I’ve tried everything. The teas, the exercises, name it, I gave it a shot. To no avail. I started talking to a lot of my friends about it, and the only thing any of them have recommended me that I haven’t already tried is, well,” you pause for a moment. “Sex.”

He freezes, eyebrows firmly planted high on his forehead, the pale skin crinkled in surprise.

“Oh.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Which is a little bit of a roadblock for me, as I’ve explained.”

Wriothesley carefully places his teacup down, the ceramic hitting the plate with a soft clink that manages to rattle you. “I see.”

“I can’t just…” You breathe deeply, your voice shaking with the vulnerability of all this. “Go out and find someone to help me alleviate my stress. Like I said, I at least want my first time to matter, to be memorable and comfortable. Then, after that, I can be reckless without it tainting a milestone that’s important to me.” 

You pray that your words make sense to him. That he doesn’t think you’re being silly or unreasonable. 

He watches you closely, taking in your words. “Have you tried…” He makes a face, halfway between a cringe and an embarrassed scowl. “Doing it yourself?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Uh—Um, yeah, I tried. It’s not really the same.”

It’s true. If anything, trying to handle it yourself just stressed you out more, because it suffocated you with the feeling of it not being enough. You need more.

Him. To be specific. You need him.

You haven’t quite found a solid opening into confessing that yet.

Wriothesley wets his bottom lip. “Okay.” He enunciates the word. “I—What—What’s your plan, then?”

You’re my plan.

“I want that option,” you mumble. All your blood, equipped with the extra warmth he orchestrated, floods your face. “To be able to go out and let off some steam when I get like this. But like I said, I need to have a good first experience first.” You study his plain expression, whatever is going on inside his head barely displaying on his masculine features. “Does that make sense?”

You can feel yourself stalling, word-vomiting all over his wooden desk. You feel a different kind of exposed than you have with him in the past. Not less comfortable, but more expectant. More scary, maybe. Like it holds more weight.

Wriothesley huffs, sluggishly leaning back in his seat, his limbs stiff and constantly readjusting like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Um, I mean, alright. Yeah, that makes sense. I know some men that I trust would be good to you, and I’m sure they’d be—”

No. God no. 

“No—Wriothesley, I don’t want a stranger.”

“I know.” He nods. “It wouldn’t be a stranger. Do you remember Nick? He was at that event Furina invited us to last month, you guys seemed to get along—”

“I don’t know Nick, Wriothesley. I don’t trust him. Especially not with this.”

Wriothesley stares you down, the gears turning in his head. You can tell by the narrowness of his eyes and the slight redness in his cheeks that he has an idea of what you might be implying, but doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“So.” Wriothesley clears his throat, sitting up a little, clearly restless. “Do you have a plan?”

“Somewhat.” You murmur.

“And?” He cocks an eyebrow.

You take a deep breath. The worst he can say is no. At least you’ll know you tried. Maybe then you can just go out, find someone random and hope for the best. But you’ll be glad you tried with him.

“I just really want it to be with someone I trust. That’s my biggest condition.” You reiterate, pulling your chair in again, even closer to him when he leans forward in sync with your movement. “I don’t have a lot of men in my life I trust…” 

You stare at the liquid in your tea cup.

“Except for you.”

Wriothesley’s breath hitches, the noise only loud enough that you just barely catch it. You keep your eyes down, unable to draw your gaze to his, but you picture his reaction vividly in your head. Eyes blown wide, lips parted, hands gripping the armrests of his chair. Whether he does those things out of shock, disgust, or something else entirely, is the fear that makes you refuse to face him.

He says your name, but still, you keep your head down.

“What are you saying?” His voice is controlled, but deeper than before. 

“I just…” Just say it. Stop stalling. “Okay.” You sigh. “I understand if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with, if you say no I won’t take it to heart and we can just… Forget this ever happened.”

You finally meet his eyes. Whatever expression he wore before must’ve fizzled out, because his face has shifted to something more neutral, listening intently while watching you closely. 

“I’m asking if you’ll do it. If you’ll sleep with me. Just once! It doesn’t have to mean anything—It won’t mean anything. I just don’t trust anyone else.”

Wriothesley doesn’t speak right away. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before settling again, indicative of the fact he had already caught on and was simply waiting for his suspicions to be confirmed.

He opens and closes his mouth, then pushes his eyebrows together and looks away.

“I really do understand if you don’t want to.” You say to the side of his face, hands lifted in front of you in a surrender gesture. “You don’t have to sugarcoat a rejection. It’s okay, I can handle it. I just figured I’d ask.”

He draws his gaze to yours, eyebrows still pressed low, and he breathes deeply through his nose.

“If I said no, what would be your next move?” He asks, a bit strained. 

“Uhm, I’d probably just resort to, I don’t know, A Nick type or something. Just hope for the best. But—” You shake your hands. “Don’t worry about that. Seriously. It’s not your responsibility, I’ll be fine. I only want you to say yes if you want to.”

He says your name, resting both forearms against the desk in front of him. “Are you… Sure about this?”

You manage a nod, dropping your hands back to your lap and intertwining your fingers. “Yes. I’ve had a lot of time to think it over. I trust you, and I mean, I’ve always wanted an excuse to break that ice for myself. I’ve just never met anyone to do it with.”

He nods slowly. 

“It really doesn’t have to mean anything,” you repeat in a whisper. “Just think of it as a favour for a friend.”

He laughs at that lightheartedly, lifting one hand off the desk to run it over his hair. “You know, I’ve had many favours asked of me in my time, but never something like this.”

His calm demeanour soothes you, his normal self shining through the awkwardness. Even if he ultimately decides to turn you down, at least he doesn’t seem to find the proposition off putting.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” you tell him. “I can give you time to think.” You blink, a million thoughts rushing through your brain. “…I could write up a contract.

“A contra—What? No—No, you don’t need to—Archons. I don’t…” He sighs, looking at you. “If I can do something to help you, I always want to do it. No matter what it is. I just never expected anything… Like this.”

You smile softly. “I never thought I’d be asking it, either.”

He nods along, biting down on his lip. 

“So, to confirm…” He straightens. “Just once. You lose your virginity to me, and then you…” He urges you to finish the sentence for him.

“Won’t have to be so anxious about sex in the future,” you verify. “I can be like my friends, go out and have one night stands without worrying too much about bad or inadequate experiences, because it’ll just become a small tick on my… Sexual timeline with no significance.”

You cringe at yourself.

“Sexual timeline, huh?”

“Shut up.” You grumble, squeezing your own hand in your lap.

He grins, crossing his arms over his wide chest, the backrest of his chair holding his weight as he loosens up a bit. “Okay.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll do it.” He nods. “I’d much rather it be me than a stranger or someone you don’t fully trust. If this whole good-first-experience-to-break-the-ice,” a mouthful, really, “is important to you, then it’s important to me, too.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Alright.” You nod quickly. “Thank you. Uhm…”

“Maybe I should come to your place?” He offers gently. “Above the surface? Sometime this weekend?”

You nod again, your words jumbling together in your throat. This weekend. “My place, yeah, okay. Uh, Saturday night?”

He smiles. “Good for me. I’ll be there.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. He said yes. You didn’t really think he’d say yes. 

“Okay. I’ll, uh…” You stand on legs that feel like jelly, leaving your tea behind. “Go now. I’ll see you then.”

Wriothesley doesn’t encourage you to stay longer like he usually would, but you don’t take it as something negative. He understands if you stay another second, you might melt to a puddle of humiliation on the floor.

He bids you farewell, repeating the circumstances of your plans one more time before sending you off, and part of you feels like he did so just to tease you. The second the elevator out of the fortress hits the surface, the Fontaine air hitting your skin everywhere it’s exposed, it really dawns on you.

You’re going to have sex with Wriothesley.

Holy. Shit.

-

What the fuck did people do before a hook up?

You did the routine stuff, things you were able to easily come to the conclusion needed to be done. You cleaned your apartment. You took a long shower, almost three hours in length with everything you felt should be covered in there. You nearly passed out four times, but managed. 

And then you started freaking out. What will he think if you put in too much effort to be presentable? Will he believe you’re trying to court him? That your tangent about this being meaningless was nothing but a cover-up? That this is all a ploy to get in his pants?

And then, there’s the fear if you don’t put in a lot of effort. Might he believe that you don’t respect him, don’t find him worthy of the most put-together version of yourself? That you don’t care to make this enjoyable for him, too?

Ultimately, you decided you’d rather feel good about yourself, but the fears that he’ll believe this means more to you than it does lingers.

You put on your nicest dress, a length that goes to your mid-thighs and a colour awfully close to that of the tie Wriothesley often wears. You doused yourself in a perfume he complimented once. You decided against candles and rose petals, but you did brew a tea you have on hand that you know he enjoys.

You quickly opted out of alcohol. Being inebriated would take away from the whole point of this experience. 

You spend enough time on your hair to look nice, but not so much so that you’ll be upset if it gets ruined. Jewellery that’s easy on the eye, but also comfortable and easily discardable if you decide to do such.

By far, the hardest thing to pick was what to put under the dress.

You were worried if you opted for your nicest lace set, that you bought on a whim and never let another person see, he’d, again, think you were genuinely trying to seduce him. But, he’s a man, and he has needs, too. It felt only fair to do whatever you could to help this be something he found enjoyment in.

But, what difference would it make if he’s not even attracted to you?

…

You chose the lace set. It’s red and black and leaves almost nothing to imagination. Just looking at yourself in the mirror made you feel a level of scandalous you never really have before.

Now, the time you two agreed on is rapidly approaching. You’re reapplying your lip gloss for the nth time, having wiped it off countless times already by nervously nibbling on your lip. You’re reconsidering every choice you made tonight. You’re thinking he might not even show up. You—

Three knocks at the front door nearly make you yelp, dropping your gloss onto your vanity with a muted bang.

You hastily collect it, dropping it in the drawer and slamming it shut. 

You start to rush to the front door, but slow down a bit as you fear seeming too eager. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath before turning the lock and pulling it open.

Wriothesley stands there, and his eyes widen for a moment when he takes in your appearance. His outfit is nicer than usual, but nothing you haven’t seen him wear before. He holds flowers. Your favourite.

He brought you flowers?

“Hi,” you greet, your voice quiet and shaky.

Wriothesley offers you a kind smile. “Hello. You look nice.”

You take the flowers when he holds them out to you, mumbling a quick thank you before inviting him in and rushing to the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase filled with water from your sink. He follows close behind, taking in your organized apartment, his gaze continuously flickering back to you and your outfit.

“You didn’t have to doll yourself up so nicely for me,” he tells you, and you turn to face him. “Don’t get me wrong, you look amazing, but I didn’t agree to this on the condition that—”

“I know,” you interrupt, flattening your palms over the front of your dress, Wriothesley’s eyes trailing your movement, his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I just—I’m new at this, y’know? It felt right to… Look nice.”

“You always look nice,” he insists, which flusters you. “But, if your objective was to amplify that, you’ve been considerably successful.”

You smile nervously, his tender words making your head feel fuzzy. You appreciate the environment he’s trying to create more than you can put into words, especially not right now. You’re not sure you can manage more than two sentences. “Uh—Thank you, Wriothesley. You look lovely, too.”

“Aw, shucks,” he grins, walking over to the counter and leaning his hip against it, his body barely a foot from yours.

“I made tea,” you spit out. “Would you like some?”

He hesitates before nodding. “If you’d like to have tea first, of course we can.”

You nod back. The two of you take a seat across from each other with your respective teacups, blending into nonsensical conversation almost immediately that nearly makes you forget the circumstances of tonight. Your anxious tics fade out of frequency, and your tense muscles relax. You’re reminded how easy it is to be calm with him, and the more he studies each comfortable movement you make, the more you think that was exactly his goal.

Wriothesley drinks the rest of his tea, your eyes watching the way his throat moves as he swallows it down.

It’s impending now, and while realizing such does still make a hint of that nervousness return, it returns with something else. Something unfamiliar. Something eager.

Wriothesley meets your eyes, and you offer him a soft smile in which he returns. He leans his forearms forward against your kitchen table.

He says your name gently. “I want to give you a chance to back out of this. Of course, at any time, you change your mind, and we stop. But I just want to remind you that there’s no pressure on you.”

“I know,” you assure him, folding your hands together in your lap. “I haven’t changed my mind.” You pause, watching him closely. “Have you?”

He shakes his head before you even get both words out. “Of course not. I would just hate for you to think I’m expecting anything from you besides your trust.”

“You have my trust,” you tell him.

He nods. “Then we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” you repeat, your eyes gliding from his empty cup to yours, also bone-dry. You flush.

“Uh…” You look at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Should we go to my room, maybe?”

“If that’s what you would like,” he responds easily.

You offer him a brief nod before standing on uneasy feet. His passiveness, his willingness to let you have full control, is almost something you’re averse to. He’s the one with more experience, but you don’t exactly know how to ask him to take the reins. You don’t want this night to peak with the dull request of should you put that inside me, maybe?

As you walk down the hallway, overthinking every movement of one foot in front of the other, something else floods your mind. You imagine him in control, him bringing the assertiveness you’ve witnessed in the fortress to this experience. It makes something twist low in your stomach, and if he weren’t no more than a foot behind you, you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to fight off a more physical reaction to the thought.

The way he doesn’t even have to raise his voice to demand respect in the underworld, how just the cock of an eyebrow will have even the most unruly prisoners compliant at his feet. You can see yourself being just as obedient, becoming putty in his hands at a single murmured request.

That was the whole point of this. He’s the only one you can trust with that, trust to put him in full control and do with your body what he understands both of you will enjoy.

You start to feel that twist in your stomach blend into that physical reaction, a tingling sensation flushing your skin and making your clothes feel too tight, the apartment feel too hot.

Once you’re standing in the middle of your bedroom, you turn to him. He scans the room, illuminated by only a lamp on the right-hand side. Your bed is made nicely, curtains closed, floor vacuumed, smelling faintly of the fragrance you coated yourself in shortly before his arrival.

The two of you lock eyes. The lighting in this room reminds you of that in the fortress when it gets to be dark outside. The metal stronghold is close enough to the surface that the shifting of day and night lightens or darkens the surrounding ocean, dimming the interior through the glass windows. 

Those times are when you’ve most often had the pleasure of seeing Wriothesley in his element, commanding abidance with ease.

Fuck. You can feel his eyes everywhere.

“How do you want to do this?” Wriothesley asks suddenly, the quiet question followed by your name, said in a way that makes you throb. You didn’t think you could get to this point so quickly with nothing but your imagination and a little bit of eye contact. “Would you prefer to maintain control?”

The fact a man of his calibre would even offer submission to you is exactly why you knew from the get-go you could trust him.

You shake your head. “No,” you confess hoarsely. “I wouldn’t even really know what to do.”

Wriothesley nods, the ease in the action making you think he expected that answer. “So, you’d like me to be the director here?”

You pinch the fabric of your dress on either side of your thighs, half-fidgeting, half trying to contain how trapped and warm he’s making you feel. “If that’s… Alright with you.”

He grins. “Of course. I can handle it. Being in charge is my job.”

He steps closer, and all you can bring yourself to do is stare, your feet bolted to the ground beneath you.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

Holy shit. You had barely even considered this. I mean, you got the whole platonic-sex thing out of the way, but you didn’t discuss kissing. You didn’t prepare yourself for kissing.

You nod without a thought in the world, a purely reflexive response, like your instincts and the need starting to course through your veins are taking control of your body like a puppeteer. 

His calloused hand finds the side of your face, his fingers sliding over your hair. You sink into his touch, dropping your eyes to his lips as he leans closer, your own parting in preparation.

The second his mouth presses against yours, the warmth surges through you at a degree so intense your hands immediately find his shoulders for support. You feel the hard bone hiding beneath the fabric of his shirt, and when you squeeze, it feels like the shape was perfectly crafted to be in your palm. You melt into the kiss, into his figure, pressing yourself to him firmly.

He’s so articulate, and God, it’s paying off in your favour. His lips move against yours with a level of precision only such a disciplined man could possess, and when his hand that isn’t on your face glides to your lower back, even more of your nervousness, if any even existed anymore, fades into sheer excitement.

You hook one arm over the back of his neck, pushing up onto the tips of your toes, kissing him with more fervour. The action greatly contradicts your plead to give him full control, however, he doesn’t fight you on it. Instead, he matches the pace you’ve set to regain dominance, guiding the movement of your feet until the two of you separate just long enough for you to collapse back on your bed.

You try to prop yourself back up on your elbows, but Wriothesley slips his hands under your body to sweep them out from under you, pinning both your wrists above your head in one swift movement. Your next exhale comes out as a whine, and he drinks up the sound by pressing his mouth back on yours.

“This okay?” He mumbles against your lips, a roughness to his voice that greatly differs from the one that appears in his exhaustion or frustration. No, what he’s feeling right now is something you’ve never had the pleasure of knowing before this moment.

You prop your knees up, squeezing around his hips, slotting him perfectly against your body with no escape. Your dress rides up your legs, bunching up around your thighs. You nod once, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I’d appreciate if you’d use your words,” he suggests, his lips grazing along your face until he’s planting kisses across your jaw.

“Yes,” you breathe, tugging the dark strands by the root. “It’s okay.”

He groans at the pull, but doesn’t deter you, dropping his face further as he starts kissing and sucking at your neck. You tilt your head back, granting him as much access to your skin as possible.

It’s hard to ignore how much more intimate this feels than what you expected. What you expected was sex, which of course, is an extremely intimate act, but you also prepared for sex. You didn’t prepare for the taste of him, faintly resembling a mix of mint and the flavour of the tea you brewed for him, the combination working through your bloodstream like an aphrodisiac. You didn’t prepare for the feeling of his mouth on your neck, taking the first opportunity to mark you, sucking and biting the skin in a way that would surely linger for days to come, a reminder of what the two of you had done. These weren’t the kinds of deeds you thought people performed for one night together. 

Were you going to complain about it?

Like hell you were.

You mumble his name in response to his teeth sinking into the skin above your collarbone, and he grunts in response, his hips shifting between your thighs. Holy shit.

His mouth travels back up to yours, less careful this time, like he’s already come to realize how welcome he is against you. He pulls your lip between his teeth and bites until you gasp, using the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours.

You moan at the feeling, your hand that isn’t knotted up in his hair clutching the fabric on his side for support. You let him take the lead without any battle for dominance, entirely consumed by his kiss, in the way he conducts it. 

You’re suddenly shifted further up the bed, your head elevated as he tucks a pillow beneath it. You pant, watching with stars in your eyes as he sits up between your thighs, kneeling with your legs tossed loosely around his hips. Your mouth waters.

He shrugs off the top layer of his shirt, revealing a plain white tee beneath it. In a silly way, the simplicity of it once again makes this feel more intimate, almost too much so. You aren’t used to seeing him look so casual, so comfortable. This should be reserved for something different. Something real.

Your train of thought derails when he throws the shirt away and reaches for his belt.

The sound of it being unbuckled is like the crack of a whip, sending jolts of electricity all throughout your body. The sightis something else entirely, the way his lips are parted, chest rising and falling, as the most calm and collected man you’ve ever known fumbles with the accessory like he’s lost all sense of coordination.

You reach forward without thinking, and Wriothesley drops his arms to his sides with a groan when you tug the belt out of his pant loops for him. He’s quick to collect it from your hands, tossing it carelessly onto the floor beside your bed. 

His hands slide up the outside of your thighs, your red dress scrunched up around your waist, your lace underwear barely hiding behind the rolls of fabric. You watch Wriothesley’s face as he examines you, eyebrows furrowed in a deep concentration.

“Can I lift this?” He purrs, his voice a melody that entirely disarms you. You’re gone. You’re entirely gone. You’re beneath him, you’re warm, you’re bothered, and you are gone.

You get halfway through a nod before your lips part. “Yes.”

Wriothesley doesn’t miss your consideration of his prior command. “Good girl,” he praises, pushing your dress higher.

Archons. Add that to the list of things you didn’t expect from casual sex.

He curses at the sight of your underwear, and your skin warms. Red and black lace, the colour scheme happening to match that of his regular uniform. He can’t seem to peel his eyes away, a few beats of silence passing as neither of you make a move.

“Are you okay?” You ask quietly.

He blinks, snapping out of it. “I—Yes. Of course I am.” His hands start sliding up and down your thighs again, a soothing gesture that barely serves its purpose. “I just—Fuck.”

You swallow hard, pushing yourself up a bit. Wriothesley doesn’t coax you back down again, he just watches as you hook your hands under the bundled up dress, peeling it off the top of your head. The noise Wriothesley produces borders on a whine, like the action has fully defeated him.

He helps you strip it entirely, adding it to the pile started by his black blazer and belt. He takes in the sight of your matching articles, the lace bra and underwear, gently guiding you back onto your forearms so he can get a full view of you.

You can’t imagine how erotic the vision is. You’re before him, legs wrapped around his hips, thighs separated, entirely at his disposal wearing nothing but two small, revealing pieces of clothing that also happen to mimic colours he associates with himself. You worry it’s too personal, but he doesn’t wear the face of a man urging to complain.

“You are…” He shakes his head, breathless. “Sneaky.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I’m what?”

“I’m just starting to think this whole proposition was a ruse to kill me,” he confirms, his gaze not leaving you once. “You should know it’s working.”

You manage a smile. “Didn’t take you as a man to surrender so easily, Your Grace.”

He chuckles lowly. “I usually wouldn’t.” His hand is on your stomach now, enveloping the space between your bra and underwear. “I’m a lot of things,” he utters your name, “but I’m not foolish enough to fail to pick my battles.”

You bring both your hands to his, one wrapping around his wrist while the other finds a few of his fingers, holding him flush to you. “And what battle are you picking?”

“The one where I die right here,” he says without missing a beat. “At your hands. I’d go a lucky man.”

Was that a casual thing to say?

Regardless of the way the words go over in your head, your body reacts to them by greedily popping up and forcing him to lean back over you. Your mouths slot back together, and the way you’re depriving him of oxygen makes it believable that you truly are trying to kill him.

You slide a palm up the front of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his scarred skin. He doesn’t shy away from you. He’s never hidden from you, in fact, you’ve already seen the permanent markings of his past that are forever engraved in his skin, and it’s because he chose to show you.

Something crosses your mind, the way this encounter isn’t just about your belief in him. He’s putting himself on the line here, too, offering you vulnerability, offering you his trust.

Wriothesley takes your wandering hand as in invitation to tug the fabric over his head, discarding of it. Both your hands are exploring now, planted just above the hem of his pants and gliding upwards until they’re clutching his bare shoulders.

You push, guiding him to lean off you just enough for you to take in the sight of him. The ragged lines cutting through his skin, a canvas of pain he endured before you even knew his name.

His next breath is uneven.

You meet his eyes, his gaze locked on yours, like he’s studying your reaction to the sight of him in this context.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you tell him, voice quiet, like you’re trying to enunciate how those words are only for him, despite how alone you already are. They aren’t even for the echos between the walls, the four words are for nothing but his own ears.

His jaw tightens, his eyes trailing down your body before flashing back to your awaiting stare. “I think you’re…” He swallows. “Perfect.”

Your breath hitches, reaching for his shoulders instinctively. His words, his touch, it all feels too real. Too honest, too against the words you two shared in his office mere days ago.

You should push him away, tell him how your heartfelt promise of this being meaningless is already starting to fade from reality. You don’t even know how to define the difference between meaningless and meaningful sex, you have no comparisons to make, but you wouldn’t pin a single thing he’s said or done to the former. 

You should really tell him.

But you think he might already know.

He says your name, and you look to him with expectant eyes.

His hands travel downward, hooking under the lace that’s currently the only thing separating him from the flood of arousal he’s already created. 

“Can this come off?”

You whine, your heart rate picking up before you nod.

“Words,” he reminds you, his thumb suddenly finding and pressing against your clit through the fabric. You moan, your neck arching, head pressing against the pillow he placed. You can’t spit out a word right away, clutching the sheets as he draws firm, slow circles, pleasurable but insufficient. “Come on, baby. You can do it.”

Gods. Who’s trying to kill who, again?

You buck against his hand, nodding again. “Yes—Yes.”

He doesn’t waste a moment following your verbal approval, situating himself off the bed, your legs untangling from around his waist. He gently tugs you back down to the edge of the mattress, and then he’s delicately pulling the fabric down and off.

You gasp at the feeling of the cold air hitting you. Wriothesley curses, seeing the way you’re dripping helplessly for him despite the fact he’s barely touched you. He forces your thighs open wide, and your eyes screw shut at the feeling of his gaze studying you, spread open for him like this.

“Fuck…” He says lowly. “Can I touch you?”

You shift, gripping the sheets tighter, your eyes opening. Your voice comes out strained and whiny. “Of course you can, Wriothesley.”

“Archons,” he chokes out, and then he’s lowering to his knees before you. Your legs rest on either side of his figure, held open by his shoulders between your thighs. One of his hands inch up the bed, finding yours.

His hand envelopes yours, encouraging you to release your death grip on the sheets. “It’s okay,” he assures you, first are foremost. “Relax for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

You nod, his tender words and action working in his favour. You manage to loosen up your tense muscles, taking long, deep breaths per his command. “I trust you,” you whisper, allowing him to intertwine his fingers with yours.

He grunts, his other arm wrapping around your thigh, forcing it up onto his shoulder. “Good.”

His palm flattens against your lower stomach, his thumb poking out and finding your clit again. You gasp out, back arching at the feeling of his skin against you. He applies the perfect amount of pressure, rubbing slow circles experimentally, like he’s doing his best to understand your body.

“Wriothesley,” you moan.

“Oh, fuck.” He drops his head to your inner thigh, nipping at the skin there. You gasp again. “You’re killing me, saying my name like that.”

You exhale shakily. “Noted,” you manage, forcing words out despite the way the pleasure shooting you makes your wind pipe feel small. “That’s my goal, according to you, right?”

He chuckles, moving his head to lick a stripe up your cunt, collecting your wetness until he’s moving his thumb away to lap at your clit. You cry out at the sensation, squeezing his hand and darting your free one to grip his hair. 

He pulls back, and when you crane your neck to look at him, you see yourself coating his lips, and he looks fucking drunkon you, a competitive glimmer in his gaze. He meets your eyes and grins. “We’ll see if I don’t take you out first.”

Your comeback dies in your throat when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking firmly. You whimper his name, spurring him on as he hungrily works at you, and fuck if this feels like the amount of effort anyone would put in as a favour for a friend. It feels so real it would scare you if you had time to worry.

“Gods,” he murmurs. “You have no idea how good you taste.”

“Wriothesley,” you whine. “Don’t… Say that.”

He laughs lowly. “Why? Am I winning?”

Your chin tilts back, eyes fluttering shut. “For now.”

He hums, pressing the vibration right against you. “We’ll see about that.”

His thumb pokes back out, drawing those same firm circles on your clit as his tongue starts to tease your fluttering hole. Your grip on his hand tightens, and you buck against his face, making him chuckle.

“Eager,” he notes, though the way the word emerges from his throat makes it seem like he’s more amused than mocking. 

All you can manage is a nod.

His tongue dips inside you, just barely, but it makes you moan out anyway. He repeats the action, dipping in and out of you over and over again, before his hand retreats from your clit and his mouth is back. 

“Shit, Wriothesley,” you choke out.

“I know,” he mumbles reassuringly against you, before suddenly doubling his efforts. His tongue strokes your clit, deliberate and hungry. You squirm and moan, sputtering out incoherent pleads as he periodically responds with choked praises. He sucks hard, a flick of his tongue making you writhe. His hand, which he had resting on your stomach, moves until he’s probing your opening with his fingertip.

Your breath hitches, opening your eyes to catch the moment he peers up at you, silently asking for permission.

He lets you off the hook with a nod this time, sluggishly licking your clit as he presses his middle finger inside your cunt. You pull your lip between your teeth at the feeling, good but unfamiliar, foreign but undeniably him. This wasn’t ever the part that worried you, your lack of partners didn’t take away from your natural inclinations to explore your own body, it was always about who would take permanent residence in your list of lived experiences as being your first time.

With each passing second, you are infinitely happier with your choice.

His finger drags against your walls, his ministrations on your clit never faltering. He rolls his tongue over you again and again, suctioning in a way that has you nearly pulling his dark hair out at the root. He simply grunts, and you’re sure a bullet wound wouldn’t be able to hinder him at this point as he finds the perfect point to curve his finger, and suddenly a coil is winding tight deep in your stomach. You gasp his name.

He recognizes your warning, humming as he continues to devour you with reverence. His finger caresses that spot inside of you just right, and it isn’t long until you’re shaking, holding your breath as you barrel so close to the edge.

“Let go,” he murmurs against you, and it sounds the most like a demand out of anything he’s said all night. “Go on, baby.”

His words, the authority behind them, are the last push until you completely shatter for him. You cry out, your body thrashing as he pulls his hand from yours to hold you down at the hip. He works you through every wave, studying the way you moan and twitch for him, and only when you make a whine-like noise of defiance at the overstimulation does he pull back.

He’s panting, both his hands on the tops of your thighs now as he studies the way you slowly float back down to this plane of reality. You’re near limp against the bed, and only when you peer down at him does he ascend back up your body, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Are you okay?” He asks gently, stroking the side of your face.

You lean into his touch. “Mhm…” 

“Don’t believe that counts as a word,” he notes, a hint of humour in his tone. Your eyes flutter open, meeting the frost hues staring down at you. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t place, but it makes you feel like your heart is swelling to three times the size, and you imagine you’re mimicking the expression as you look up at him.

It feels almost natural, holding his gaze in this way. Somehow, it feels even more natural than your friendly lunches spent in each other’s company, or your casual conversations about the weather or your careers that precede deeper ones about things you’ve only ever shared with one another. 

It’s a look you’ve only ever offered him, fuelled by a feeling only he’s ever drawn out of you.

What is this?

Your mouth twitches up in a small smile. “I’m okay.” Your hand threads through his hair. “Should I do something for you?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Hm?”

You swallow hard. “To help you…”

Realization flashes in his eyes, and he laughs lowly before reaching for your free hand, guiding it until he’s pressing your palm to the front of his pants. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Your breath hitches, heart racing as you feel the bulge insistently pressing against the thin fabric. He keeps his hands over yours, and when you start to massage the tent in his pants, he pulls you away.

You whine his name.

He shushes you by pressing his mouth to yours, and the taste of yourself on his lips is so erotic it makes you buck your hips against his. He grunts, hooking one of your legs over his waist before he grinds himself against your bare pussy. He keeps kissing you, maddeningly slow, rocking his hips with precision.

“Oh Gods,” you whimper against him, slinging an arm over his neck, the other grasping his side.

He says your name, pulling back from you and meeting your eyes. “We can stop here,” he offers, pressing a peck to the corner of your mouth. 

You shake your head. “No—I want to keep going.” You blink at him. “Do you want to stop?”

“No—Archons, not at all.” He sounds almost offended. “But more than anything, I want to give you whatever the hell you want.”

You press your hips up, clenching around nothing at the sensation of his hardness rubbing against you. “I want you.”

He curses, dropping his forehead to yours. “Gods—I want you, too.”

One of his hands travel upwards, cupping your breast through the lace. You tilt your head back, listening to his heavy breathing. He sounds like he’s barely keeping himself together, like every bone in his body is screaming with how desperately he wants to be inside of you, but he’s utilizing his restraint to focus on you and your needs above himself.

“Take it off,” you tell him.

He’s quick to take you up on that, helping you lean up so he can reach for your back and unclip the garment. He’s gentle as he pulls the straps down your shoulders, and his eyes study it one more time with appreciation before tossing it aside. 

He swallows when he looks down at you, now fully naked and on total display for him. You expected to feel awkward or exposed, but you don’t. Not now. Not with him.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth as he continues to fondle your other breast. You grip his shoulders, letting him do what he pleases. His mouth travels to the curve under your chest, sucking and biting enough to leave more marks in his wake.

He thumbs your nipple, taking the nub between his thumb and pointer finger before squeezing gently. You whimper, bucking your hips again.

“You’re doing so well,” he tells you, voice thick with arousal. “You’re such a good girl, you know that?”

“For you,” you murmur without thinking, mind fogged by your need for him.

“Yeah?” He pushes, dragging his lips over your chest, up until he can put his forehead against yours again. “For me?”

You nod rapidly, your hands reaching for his pants, gripping the hem.

“Just me?”

Fuck. Two words further prove to you that this has become nothing like what it was supposed to be. Nothing about this is serving the purpose it was meant to, because hell if you were going to use this incredible experience as motivation to go out and have other mediocre experiences with mediocre men. Your stomach twists just thinking about it, being anywhere but here, with anyone but him.

You start to push down his pants. “Yes,” you breathe. “Just you.”

He doesn’t stop you, mumbling something under his breath as he instead helps you discard of the clothing until he’s kicking it off his feet. He stands then, readjusting you on the mattress again, slipping that pillow back under your head, and he reaches for another to place beneath your lower back. You trust the way he situates you, laying there obediently, waiting for him.

He grabs his pants for a moment, reaching in the pocket for his wallet, and then in his wallet for a condom.

You watch with anticipation as he hooks his fingers in his boxers before he’s pulling them down, too, freeing his cock. Your thighs push together automatically at the sight of him. He’s big, and the head is flushed and dripping precum down his thick shaft. He doesn’t give you the pleasure of ogling for long, crawling back on the bed and pulling your legs open before kneeling between them. You whine at the sight of him ripping open the rectangular package before he’s rolling the condom onto his length.

Your heart pounds against your chest. He catches the bewildered look on your face, dropping down to plant kisses all over your skin, anywhere he can reach, until he feels you start to relax under his lips.

“You’re still sure?” He murmurs.

“Yes,” you say, your voice betraying you with the slightest shake.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, getting so close that his mouth it right by your ear, and his chest is against yours. “I’ll be gentle, alright?”

You nod, both your arms wrapping around his shoulders. He takes this as an invitation to reach between your bodies, grabbing his cock at the base and sliding the tip from your entrance all the way up to your clit, collecting your arousal. You choke out a whine every time he drags back up, nudging the oversensitive bundle of nerves firmly, and eventually, he presses the head against your opening until he’s just barely pressed inside of you.

You gasp at the slight stretch, your head falling back against the pillow. “Wriothesley.”

“I know,” he says, voice rough. His lips find yours, and even as you struggle to reciprocate at the feeling of him pushing you open, it soothes you. “Such a good girl.”

Your arms tighten around him, holding him flush to you as he rocks his hips, filling you another couple inches. You blubber out his name in the midst of a string of moans and gasps, your walls aching around the intrusion. He pauses momentarily, letting you adjust.

“Look how good you’re doing,” he purrs, mouth hovering just above yours. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You cry, moving one hand to his shoulder so you can dig crescents into his bare skin. He grunts.

“There you go,” he encourages. “Just hold onto me, sweetheart. I have you.”

Does he ever.

All the air in your lungs rushes out when he finally starts to press forward again, filling you slowly, and Wriothesley grunts at the way your walls clench around him as his cock bullies it’s way deeper into you. He studies you, every movement, every breath, only giving you more when he’s sure you can take it, and he makes these judgments without you needing to say a word.

You cry out when he fills you completely, his hips flush against yours. The overload of sensation makes you feel like you’re already falling apart for him, breathing in quick moans and squeezing around him like you’re trying to pull him impossibly deeper.

“Fuck,” he curses, bracing an elbow next to your head, making you feel beautifully caged in by his form, trapping you somewhere you’d happily stay forever. “Look at you. Taking all of me.” He kisses you once. “Good girl.”

The praise sends a pleasurable jolt through your bones, your hips shifting in a way that makes him feel deeper. You tremble, unable to form words, and he doesn’t push you. He just peers down at the way he has you filled to the brim, and then his gaze snaps back to your face, all needy and fucked-out, and he’s not even close to done with you yet.

His trails kisses all over your face, down your neck, between your breasts, and you feel like you’re being worshipped. Wriothesley was never one to be too outspoken about the presence of Gods in the world you two shared, but in this moment, you’re sure that would change if you yourself had such status. He praises every inch of you like an altar with no hesitance, no shame.

“You can move,” you manage to tell him, your words ending in a squeal when he shifts the slightest bit.

He adjusts himself above you, one arm resting beside your head again, while the other reaches for your hand, limp against the bed, and interlocks your fingers. You squeeze when he draws his hips back, until you’re only about halfway full of him, and then he thrusts forward once more.

The sounds he pulls from your throat only motivates him further, and he sets a steady, cautious pace, stuffing you to the brim over, and over again. He groans from above you, the feeling of you around him tearing him apart bit by bit. You can’t do anything but helplessly squirm and moan beneath the weight of him, soaking in the soothing kisses and bites he smothers you with as he fucks you.

“Harder,” you gasp out, back arching into his chest, his skin warm and coated in a layer of sweat. “I can take it.”

“Shit,” he murmurs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he fulfills your request. He pulls his hips back further than before, and then he drives back into you all at once. He coughs out your name, your entire body jerking with the punishing thrust. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, his cock dragging along all the right parts of you as he sets a new pace. 

He begins fucking you with abandon, his hips snapping against yours until your eyes are screwed shut so tight you’re seeing stars. Your nails rake down his back, layering old scars with new scratches, covering bad reminders with what can only be described as the best you’ve ever felt in your life. You angle your hips to let him in deeper, and he slams against a part of you that makes you scream.

“Wriothesley—Wriothesley, oh God.” You cry, clinging to him like he’s your only lifeline.

“There you go, baby,” he growls, his pace never faltering as he presses his mouth by your ear. “Keep screaming for me. Let all of Fontaine know who’s fucking you.”

Like your body physically rejects the idea of not obeying him, every snap of his hips makes you scream for him again. You blabber nonsensically, about how good he makes you feel, about how bad you need him, and the last thing on your mind is how far from casual this is. 

His hand retreats from yours, landing on your hip to hold your writhing body still. He grinds all the way to the hilt, and you’re already longing for the feeling of being this close to him before it’s even over.

Just like all your friends said, you can feel all your stress, all the worries of the last week, last month, last year, whisk away under his touch. The pit that’s been living in your stomach explodes and paints the rest of your body with the warmth between you and Wriothesley, and the terrors that have been plaguing your restless mind reform to the shape of his perfect face. He’s all you can see, all you can feel, all you can afford to let haunt you.

When his thrusts pick back up, he’s moved his hand from your hip so he can rub your clit as he fills you. You shriek, a shudder washing over you.

He kisses you again, leaving you with nothing to do but hold onto him and let him drink up every sound you make. His hand leaves you hurling towards your peak, and he chases after it, deliberately fucking into all the right spots as his hands works tirelessly at your clit.

“Come for me,” he urges against your lips, the strain in his voice giving away just how close he is to tipping over the edge with you. “It’s okay, baby.”

He undoes you with his words, your orgasm crashing over you so powerfully you’re left in an absolute daze, all tense muscles and throaty cries, pulsating around his twitching cock. You can do nothing but greedily take the continuation of his bruising thrusts as he works you through the climax, and by the time you’ve come down enough to remember your own name, Wriothesley groans it as he presses all the way into you before spilling into the condom.

He huffs above you, keeping himself buried deep as you both use the sounds of each other’s breathing to ground yourselves. You’re still holding onto him, and he slowly starts to kiss your cheeks, and then your temple, your forehead, your eyelids, mumbling praise after praise like he’s never known something more magnificent.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly, and you hum. “Did so well. So proud of you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “So fucking happy you asked me for this.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, chest rising and falling under the reassuring pressure of his body on yours.

He slowly pulls out of you, groaning as he leans off like it physically pains him to separate from your embrace. You lay there, feeling weightless with all of your limbs so tuckered out they’re near numb. Your eyes beg to flutter shut, but you can’t bring yourself to exit this moment yet, watching him as he slowly navigates around your room, discarding off the condom before pulling nothing but his boxers back on. 

He offers you a reassuring smile, promising his return, before dipping into your bathroom. He returns with a damp cloth, and he doesn’t let you move an inch to assist him as he cleans you up. 

When he’s finished, he finds a pair of underwear and a large tee shirt in your drawers and redresses you with a tenderness so potent it makes you ache. He lifts you into his arms, sitting against your headboard and placing you in his lap.

You clutch his shoulders as he kisses at your neck, soothing the raw marks he left behind. You relax against him, allowing him to tend to you.

He says your name, bringing your attention back to him. You lean back, half-lidded eyes meeting his.

He cups the side of your face, his gaze flickering all over you, studying you like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

He swallows hard. “You’re happy?” He asks gently.

You smile softly. “With your favour for a friend?”

He chuckles at your sarcastic tone, the skin on his face flushed a light pink. “Among other things.”

You cup each side of his neck, feeling so deprived of the closeness already. You don’t know if it’s because you’re still coming down from what just happened, but your want to be near him feels more real than anything.

“Plan went a little off the rails,” you admit warily.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah? What part?”

“The not-meaning-anything part.” 

He pulls you forward, your foreheads pressing together. His breath trembles, one of his hands sliding up and down your back through your shirt. “You’ve never meant anything but everything to me.” He nuzzles his face in your neck. “Fuck, I swear, if you were serious about seeing other guys after this…”

You giggle, hugging him. “I won’t,” you promise, your face pressed against his hair. “Like I said,” you whisper. “Just you, Wriothesley.”

✿ Author's note: second solo wrio fic wooo!!! my biggest roadblock in writing wrio is not wanting to give him too much sexual experience because it seems ooc but also wanting to make him an exceptional lover because that''s my truth. let's just say he reads a lot!!!! hope u guys enjoyed :)))

Even in the lab Grace is always glued to your side, so much so that Rocky has to make snarky comments about it - “Grace knows fellow scientist will not disappear if he leaves them alone for V minutes, question?” - but it’s all in good fun. He can tell how happy Grace is to have someone to share some time with, someone to physically touch. Fist-bumping an Eridian through a protective suit is not the same as actual bodily contact.

Speaking of which…

Yeah, a lot of that has been happening lately.

Dryhumping has kind of become an extracurricular activity for Ryland Grace. The two of you just can’t get enough of rubbing up on each other. You’re not going to rush things, either, because god it’s just wonderful to hear him whimper and whine in your ear about how much he wants to be inside you as his hips stutter out an orgasm, and you want to string that out for as long as you can.

Also. It is a little bit fun to torture him. Because he loves it.

Like every evening, you join him in his home - it’s far comfier than yours, after all. He’s splayed out on the couch as some 90s sitcom blares from the laptop speakers, but sits up immediately as you approach…

… and then he cocks his head to the side when he sees you’ve got something in your hands.

“What are those for?” he asks, eyebrows raised as you put down the clipboard and stopwatch.

“You’ll see,” you hum, getting into your favourite position: mounted on his lap. Whatever questions he had spill out of his mind like cotton wool in a breeze when your lips meet his. He moans into all of your kisses. You always liked kissing, but Grace loves it. You’re not sure if that’s something he brought with him from his Earth days or a product of being touch-starved on Erid but, either way, you aren’t complaining. It means he always gets hard within moments of your tongue swiping his.

You part your lips. Let your head tilt as his hands settle on your hips. And when your tongue does reach out, there’s that groan as he begins to lose his grip on his self control.

His hips buck up into yours, desperate for any sort of friction… he whines like you’ve broken his heart when you slide off to the side instead.

“Wh…what…?” he manages. His glasses are fogging up. Cute. You take them off for him, fold their arms and put them safely on the table… then begin to reach down the front of his slacks.

“Whoa…!” he gasps, practically jumping off of the sofa. You press a kiss into the scruff on his cheek and it helps calm him a little.

“I can stop if you want…?”

“N…no, don’t stop, heck…”

You’ve had his cock pressed up between your legs before, but this is the first time you’ve felt it in your hand. Heavy and hot, already leaking onto your palm. A decent cock. One you can’t wait to play with, honestly.

Grace doesn’t know where to look as you take him out properly. He gasps as ruddy skin hits the cool, manufactured air of his Eridian home, torn between staring into your eyes and watching the way he stands to attention in your hand. When was the last time another person touched him like this? He’s never told you many stories about old flames. He was probably having a bit of a dry spell even before they sent him on his supposed one-way mission.

You smile to yourself at that. You really like making him come. 

“Such a good boy for me,” you mutter and Grace moans. ‘Whorish’ is the only way to describe the noise he just made. You fucking revel in the sound.

You reach over and start the stopwatch. Then you begin to stroke his cock.

His mouth hangs open, partly in pleasure, partly at the audacity. 

“Are y… are you timing me?!”

You shrug and rub your thumb over his slit. He practically jackknives off of the couch.

“I’m doing a science experiment. I thought you’d enjoy it, you nerd.”

The last word was meant to be a playful tease, but from the way he lets that wanton noise rip through him again, you think maybe he feels a bit humiliated by it. What a fun discovery! Perhaps you should bully him just a little more often, if he enjoys it so much.

He throbs in your hand. Yeah. He enjoys it.

It is partly an experiment. You want to see how long he lasts. You know he comes embarrassingly quickly when the two of you fumble around fully-clothed, will his time get shorter when you’re actually on his cock? 

You capture his lips and he willingly follows your lead. When you swipe your tongue out he meets it immediately with his own. The kiss is halting as he keeps breaking it to gasp as you glide your hand up and down, taking special care to squeeze his sac every now and then just to keep things interesting.

After about a minute, his breathing speeds up, hands digging into the cushions either side of him. He looks a little panicked.

“Wait, slow down, otherwise I’m gonna–”

He doesn’t even get to the end of his warning before he comes all over your hand in thick, hot bursts. A groan of pleasure and relief staggers forth from his lips as he tries to hold himself to attention on shaky arms but collapses. You stroke him through the aftershocks just to listen to the way he pants.

Then you reach over to stop your timer and write down the result. 93 seconds. Longer than you were expecting, actually.

“Computer? Can you get us a wet cloth and some water?”

It does. You’ve long since grown out of being embarrassed over asking the computer for aftercare help. The computer does not judge premature ejaculation, and neither do you.

You clean Grace up, clean yourself up, then carefully feed him some water. 

“Are you okay, baby?” you ask, gently. He manages to nod and you reward him with another kiss, this one slow and tender and affectionate. He finds the strength to cup your face in his hand as he returns it.

“Pretty great. Guess I, uh, have a control time to beat,” he says with a wobbly smile and nods towards the clipboard. You grin.

He shirked off his rifle and laid it on the bed. Next was his pistol, set neatly beside it before he unclasped his dual holster strap and slung it over the foot of the bed. Leon noticed, in the dim lighting, the cleaver you’d stolen from the catering table tossed in the middle of the comforter. Beside it was one of your shoes and a littering of your jewelry – earrings, comms, bracelets.

He toed off his boots, setting them on the tile flooring next to the jacuzzi in the corner. He pulled off his wet socks and shoved them in his boots before following the trail of your clothing to the bathroom. 

Your other shoe.

Your overwrap, crumpled in a ball next to the microwave. Oozing off the countertop, looking like a white ferret trying to make an escape.

All over the carpet were the pins from your hair, too, dropped and scattered. Slowly, he pushed open the door, worried at what he might find pulling at his chest, “Ozzy, you always this trusting about leaving keycards lay around?”

The bathroom was neat. Tidy. Bloodless. The sounds of running water louder now that the door was wide open. Your dress was in a crumpled heap on the countertop beside the sink, a puddle of green amongst the otherwise mute colouring of the room.

Your answer was breathy, “Figured you were the only one in the area lucid enough to follow my directions.”

“Smart cookie,” he nodded, stepping further into the bathroom. You’d only turned on the lights above the sink, the dimness giving him only a glimpse of your outline behind the fogged glass shower door. The steam blurred you into more of a shadow than a person, “You, uh… you alright?”

You hummed, “Define alright.”

Leon pressed his hip against the countertop, and folded his arms, trying to think. Alright is… clear minded. Alright is… functioning. Alright is… not thinking about your wet, naked coworker situationship in the shower in front of you… “Alright as in level headed enough not to tear my neck open, and that you’re not bleeding from anywhere important.”

A whimper left you, and he heard you gasp over the splashing of water against the tiling, “Uh–ah– level headed is subjective, here– Leon–” his name left your lips wrapped in a moan, “ – fu–ack–but I won’t tear your neck open unless you ask nicely.”

He closed his eyes and grit his teeth, trying not to picture what you may nor may not be doing in there. He figured he’d ask, though, “Oz, what are you in the shower for, anyway?”

“Too fucking hot,” you whined. Something knocked the wall – he assumed your head, a singular thump of defeat. Your head was probably thrown back, water trailing down your neck– “Trying to cool down. A–and get the hairspra-ay out of my hair–”

“Do you need anything?”

“I need you to come in here and fuck me against the wall.”

Leon gave a start at your sudden abrasiveness, “No…?”

“Please?”

“Oz, I’m not going to–”

“Leon.” you groaned at him, “Even just your fingers–”

“There’s gotta be something– something else–” he argued, uncrossing and re-crossing his arms for something to do that wasn’t thinking about actually joining you.

“There’s not,” you whined, “I tried. It subsides and comes back worse–”

Leon couldn’t help the jump of his half-hard cock at the thought that flashed through his mind – you, splayed out, fingers buried two knuckles deep in yourself in a desperate search of relief from the drugs you’ve been dosed with – followed by an immediate wash of shame.

“You’re drugged,” he stressed with a grunt, “I can’t– I’m not going to take advantage of you, Ozzy, there’s gotta be something–”

He should call it in. Miller, Griffith – someone who can maybe give insight on how to fix this situation– there’s got to be some info at the DSO on what this is and how to fix it without crossing any ethics lines.

“Push–” you trailed off, panting hard, “Push feelings out of this, Leon. You’ve seen what happens if this goes on and I don’t want to turn into one of those things.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose; you were right. Of course you were right. Leon’s been letting personal things cloud his judgement about you, lately, and this – right now – was quite literally life or death for you.

 Something else clattered in the shower, jerking him from his own mind. Leon watched your silhouette slip, one of your hands plastering against the window of the shower, rattling the door. Leon gave a start and – before his mind caught up with his body – reached for the other half of the door to slide it open to make sure you were alright.

As soon as the door slid open a fraction, both of your hands shot out to grip the collar of his shirt, hauling him into the shower with you. You dragged him backwards with you until you were pressed against the wall under the shower head, Leon slipping just enough to have to catch himself with a hand beside your head before your lips were on his.

He was drenched, now, the hot water quick to plaster his shirt to his skin. Your mouth moved desperately against his, hands curling into the hair at his nape. Leon’s other hand gripped the thigh you’d slung over his hip as he bit at your lower lip before finding a semblance of self control and pulling away with a whisper of your name.

You chased after him, grip on his collar tightening to drag him back, hunger wild in your eyes. Leon rested his forehead against yours and moved his hand from the grip on your leg to the apex of your thighs. Your breath fanned his face, lips pulling into a wicked grin, “Good boy.”

Leon’s cock jumped again, and his wet tac-pants were not helping. He swiped two fingers through your slick sex and suddenly his resolve snapped, overridden by the urge to take care of you. He plunged two fingers into you and curled, holding back a soft chuckle at the jolt your body did, “So wet, already.”

You threw your head back against the tiling, again, hips rolling against his hand, a low-grade orgasm shuddering through your body, “Feels so good– always so wet for you, Leon.”

“Did you just–”

“Shut up,” you hissed, manicured nails leaving crescents in his skin.

His fingers beside your head curled before he moved his hand down. He rolled your already hard nipple between his fingers before palming your breast, your heartbeat rapid against his palm. You were absolutely burning up beneath him.

Your hands slid down from his neck, down his soaked shirt, to struggle with his belt, “Off,” you ground out, borderline angry, “Now.”

You managed to get his belt loose, shucking his pants down enough to free his flushed and leaking cock from the confines of his pants. Leon’s eyes screwed shut, mouth going slack when you worked your hands over his cock. 

“Just– jus–” Leon kept moving his fingers, twisting and curling in ways that made your body shudder. He jerked his hips in time with your hands before he pulled his fingers free and batted your hands away. One hand gripped at his base, the other back to bruising your thigh, he lined himself up and bottomed out in one thrust.

Being in the shower fully clothed wasn’t even on the top of the list wrong with this situation–

Leon couldn’t think of any of that with your wet heat wrapped so snugly around him. He snaked his hand down to rub his thumb at your clit and you clenched hard, on the cusp of another orgasm, “Oh-fuck– Leon–”

His hips rutted deliciously up into yours, your back scraping up the shower wall. Between the muscle of Leon and the hardness of the shower, added with the hot water beating down on the two of you– Your eyes screwed shut, mouth stuck open in a soundless moan. Leon hitched your leg from his hip, slinging it over his elbow, stretching your other to your very tiptoes.

The new angle made you squeal and your head fell forward, biting into Leon’s neck. He grunted, hips faltering, “Easy,” he breathed out, punctuating the gentle command with a hard snap of his hips. The tip of him kissing at your cervix.

You couldn’t make any noise except soft oh-oh-uh-ah’s. No witty comeback, no snide comment. You could feel your body temp coming down, clarity coming back into your senses; even if the only sense you had, now, was holy shit, Leon’s hot.

Leon bent his head, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your pulse point before sucking right below your ear. You clenched down on him, again, and he downright whined into your soft skin, “Not gonna last if you do tha-at–”

Your pussy was gripping his cock tight, and you clenched again and held it, “Then don’t,” you snarked quietly, fingers carding into his hair before tugging, “Come for me, Leon. Come in me,” your head fell forward to whisper in his ear, barely audible over the pattering of the shower around you.

He doubled down, rubbing circles on your sensitive clit and one of your hands shot down to grip his wrist, “Wai– no, no–” 

“No?” he cooed, slowing his movements until he was barely moving inside you, “Just a minute ago you wanted–this–” and he snapped his hips, again, sending you up the wall an inch, “Finally come to your senses?”

You squealed, his actions sending another jolt straight down your spine to your already buzzing core. You were so full. Leon’s fingers kept working your clit, working you through wave after wave of your release coming down. Your head was clearer, yet, fog lifting from your mind.

And now you finally realized;

Leon had you pinned.

Against the shower wall.

Inappropriate, but yet; you were alright with this.

A smile slipped onto your mouth, “Hey, Leon.” you breathed out, lifting your other leg to hook your ankles behind his back.

“Hey,” he breathed back, sealing his lips over yours in a bruising kiss that was nothing but teeth.

His movements picked back up, thrusts unforgiving, fingers digging into your hips. One hand left, coming up to rest over your neck as he pressed his full weight into you, breath warm against the shell of your ear. Your hands left him, finding purchase on the showerhead neck to steady yourself against him.

“Want me to come?” he muttered, teeth clenched, “Paint your pretty pussy ‘till your dripping with me? Hmm? That what you want, Oz?”

You nodded, a long, high pitched whine leaving you, “Yes! Yes, yes, yes please, Leon–” you were babbling, hips trying to roll to meet Leon’s despite the position you were locked in. All you could feel was the pressure of him in you – the grip of his fingers on your hip, every inch of him sliding through your slick folds.

“So good for me,” he grunted, “Taking it for me– like you were made for me–”

All you were doing was whining agreements. Another orgasm suddenly ripped down your spine, blindsiding you as you tensed up in Leon’s grip. He tensed, froze almost completely with his head buried in the juncture of your neck. You could feel him twitching inside you, pulsing with his release as he weakly ground his hips up into yours.

The two of you stayed stuck together like that – you, pressed to the shower wall, weakly holding the shower neck, with Leon leaning his whole body into yours. Eventually, your breathing evened out and you nudged your head to the side, knocking it with Leon’s, “Shower’s getting cold.”

“You there?”

“I’m here and I’m as lucid as usual,” you whispered, voice warm.

He chortled, but kept his face buried in your neck, “This was wrong.” his voice was muffled by your wet skin, muffled by the cooling water.

Slowly, he let your legs down until you were standing on your own two feet. You crossed an arm over your chest, and reached with the other to press two fingers under Leon’s chin to make him meet your gaze, “This was lifesaving, Leon. Yeah, I look for any excuse to get folded in half by you, but I literally needed this to survive. So, thank you. Now, also, get out so I can get dressed.”

“We just–” he backed to the opposite end of the shower, clothing heavy with water, and laughed out loud, “I–” I just fucked you against the wall, and you’re worried about me seeing you naked? “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything."

The first word since 8 a.m., so he took it. He sighed heavily. "Fine. Just.. be back by dinner, please? I'll have it ready tonight." He tried to sneak in a kiss, but you were already slipping out of his reach and out of the apartment.

God, he felt like a complete and utter idiot.

And so did you. On your way to shopping at various stores, you began to realize how silly you were being. Your frustration was valid, but the actions of the day were clearly wearing on Leon, and that made you feel bad. You pulled into the parking lot of the mall, checking your wallet and finding his card tucked into the leather, right next to the Polaroid you kept of you two on your first date. You frowned.

In the mall, you found yourself buying silly crap just to spend some money and possibly get on his nerves a little. You'd realize later that splurging did nothing to his financial situation, but that was a later problem. You bought a new necklace, some new clothes, and on your way out, you passed two stores opposite of each other. Victoria's Secret, and right across, sat a store with all kinds of things that Leon could use. Some better tactical gloves, a new watch since he had his old one absolutely destroyed by some creature, and even some different kinds of holsters.

You stopped into the lingerie store first, buying a new baby doll gown, two matching sets, a few lace bras with front clips, and a new perfume. Swiping the card was both exhilarating and guilt amplifying. You knew he'd get the notification on his phone with it being such an expensive purchase. To top it off and end off on a less guilty note, you found your way into the store across, peeking at the watches. One of the employees, a sweet younger lady, happily helped you pick out some heavy-duty gloves and a new watch that had an option for a regular clock or a digital clock—something new for him to figure out.

You arrived him just after your usual dinnertime, having taken time to regroup your thoughts in the car while also having stopped for a small ice cream cone. You walked into the door, and Leon peeked out from the kitchen, drying his hands. He stared at your abundance of shopping bags, but he didn't look angry—if anything, he seemed a little relieved.

"Dinners ready. Made your favorite. I went out and got you some cheesecake for dessert, if you want it." Leon spoke, setting the hand towel on the counter before he came to help you with your bags. He took the first two and paused when he saw the Victoria's Secret bag, but he cleared his throat and looked away.

"Don't get too excited. I'm still not happy." You mumbled, pulling the bag out of his view so he couldn't peek in. He chuckled. You followed him and the two of you dropped the bags in the bedroom and came back to the dinner table for food.

It was quiet for a while, but when Leon finished his dinner first, like usual, he stood up and found his way to the sink to begin washing the dishes for the night. You watched him. "How was shopping? Find anything cute?"

"Few things." You mumbled.

"Like?" He asked, acting like nothing had happened this morning.

The prodding of what you had bought only made you feel worse, a small whine leaving your throat as you looked down at your food. "Nothing that made me feel better." You exhaled.

Leon turned the faucet off, turning to you as he dried his hands and leaned back on the counter. "Are you ready to talk?" He asked, careful in his tone and message.

"I'm sorry." You dropped your face into your palms, groaning at yourself as you rubbed your face, like you were trying to wash away your frustrations. "I was mad. I was angry at you for how you talked to me this morning, about your job and the apartment, and I wanted a reaction, and I was being dumb." You spat finally. When you lifted your head, Leon was crouched next to your chair, turning you to face him.

"A splurge isn't gonna make me angry, or want to lecture you and make a big issue." He said, hands resting gently on your knees. "I know I was an ass this morning." He admitted, watching you slowly straighten up from your guilty slouch. "I shouldn't have been so dismissive toward you and your frustrations. It was stupid of me to get so whiney about simple needs and adjustments that you wanted to talk about."

"Yeah." You grumbled, looking down at your lap as you fidgeted with your nails. "I'm sorry, too." You mumbled. "I shouldn't have been so mean. I should've told you why I was mad when you came for lunch. I'm.. I should've tried a little harder to make you understand rather than keep arguing."

It was quiet for a moment until he rose to his full height again, bending forward to kiss you softly. Finally, you accepted it, happily meeting in the middle. He pulled back and brushed his thumb over your brow bone and smoothed your hair down.

"You still eating?" He asked. You nodded. "Finish up. I'll run a bath. It's been a while since we had a bath, and I think this calls for it."

"Not yet. I still have to try stuff on before I wrap up the night." You turned back to your food, taking another bite.

Leon's soft expression turned mischievous, his lower lip tucked between his teeth. "Would it be too hopeful if I asked for a little haul?" He asked, voice pitched just a touch higher than normal.

"Finish the dishes, and I'll consider it." You said through a mouthful of food.

"Mmh, yes ma'am." He gave a quick snap of his fingers and those clumsy finger guns before he turned and went back to the sink to finish up.

After finishing your food, you rinsed the plate and handed it to him for him to scrub and rinse clean. You stepped back and stared at him—gaze dropping down, only to rise, and repeat a few times until he turned around and you did it exactly the same way again. "Yeah. Yeah. You're lucky you're hot." You mumbled, walking off to make your way down the hall to the bedroom.

"Wha—hey! What's that mean?!" He laughed, rushing to follow you. He found you rummaging through the bags to find your lingerie bag. He came up behind you to get his hands on you, only for you to slip away and swat his hands.

"Uh-uh. Haul time, not touch time." You huffed. "And look in that blue bag. I got you some stuff. Well, you paid, I got it, so it's more the thought that counts." You said, pointing over to the bag that had his new gloves and watch. Leon snickered and sat on the bed as he took the items out while you disappeared into the bathroom and changed. He took out the watch first, opening the box and gasping slightly.

"Damn! How much was this? Thing looks futuristic." He scoffed with astonishment, already moving to slip it onto his wrist. He pressed a button and watched the digital square light up, the background still blank with a regular analog clock. He adjusted the watch band and took out the gloves next, trying them on and humming.

"You like 'em?" You called out from behind the cracked bathroom door. Before he could respond, you stepped out in a white, fluff-hemmed baby doll lingerie piece with pretty lace panties to match. You leaned against the doorway, doing a little shimmy to show the way it flowed just below your hips.

He looked up, eyes wide. "Oh, I like. I like a lot." He stood up, only for you to stop him.

"Uh-uh. I have options. Sit back down."

"Oh, fuck, seriously?" He groaned. "You're killin' me, sweetheart." He pouted, sitting back down. You giggled and returned to the bathroom, changing into the red set that you found. You stepped back out and did a spin, watching his eyes flick up and down. "Red looks nice on you."

"You'll like the other set better." You grinned.

"Ooh, c'mon, you might kill me before I even get to see it."

"Suck it up and be patient." You said, stepping back into the bathroom to change into the dark blue set. The lace was decorated with small, intricate flowers, the trim of the cups threaded with a white ribbon that led straight down the middle and met at the bottom of the valley between your breasts in a cute little bow. The panties had the same thing. When you stepped out, Leon didn't have the boldness to make a snide comment or be flirty, he just sat there and stared, admiration in his eyes as he traced your body up and down.

"You're not even gonna tell me I look pretty?" You feigned offense, a pout forming over your lips. He stumbled over his own feet and met you halfway, taking you by the hips.

"You leave me speechless." He mumbled, leaning in for a deep kiss. He cupped your cheek to tilt your head, encouraging you to let yourself melt into it.

His other hand slid down from your hip, slipping behind to grope your butt and pull you in closer, his pelvis meeting yours as he backed you up against a wall, right next to your tall mirror that you used to get ready. He pulled his head back and peeked over to the side, glancing at you and then the mirror. He looked back at you, down at the lingerie. He tugged you forward and spun you around, making you squeak as he put you in front of the mirror, your hands pushed out to keep your body from being fully against the mirror.

"God, look at how fucking beautiful you are." He purred, moving to kiss along your shoulders and nape, a low groan leaving him as he felt you press back against him, reaching one hand back to grab his wrist and guide his hand back to your hip.

"Lee," you breathed, head falling forward against the mirror.

"Keep your head up. Look at yourself." He mumbled, nipping at your nape and eliciting a light squeak. You lifted your head and looked at him through the mirror. "Eyes on you, not me." He reminded gently.

"Asshole." You huffed.

"Mmh, I know, but you love me." He grinned. With you focused on yourself instead of him, he slipped his hands down, one hand stopping while the other slid down to press your thighs apart and find its home over the gusset of your panties. He ground his palm against your clit, letting you buck your hips in response. He gave a sound similar to approval when your thighs squeezed around his hand. He swatted your thigh gently with his free hand, making you open up once more with a reluctant whine.

He slid the gusset of the panties to the side, middle finger slowly circling your clit in tight, firm motions. You shivered, lips parting in a breathy, shaky sigh of relief. "Oh, fuck." You hissed lightly as his fingers slid down, thumb replacing the stimulation on your clit as he eased two fingers down to your dripping entrance, circling it and spreading your wetness along your pussy lips. He continued teasing your hole, crcling your clit, until you bucked impatiently, one hand reaching to grab his wrist.

"Keep teasing and I might fuck myself in front of you and blue ball you all night." You scowled, but there was no real heat or anger, just desperation and need.

He snickered, head tilting down to kiss your shoulder. "Mmh, I know," he purred. "I just wanted to get you a little warmed up."

With that, he pulled back and tugged his belt undone, pushing them down with his boxers to shimmy them down and kick them aside before he pressed his chest to your back. You nudged him. "Shirt off. The fabric is annoying." You grumbled. He chuckled, tugging he shirt over his head and tossing it aside before reassuming his position.

He took his cock into his hand, stroking it a couple of times before he lined up with your wetness. He nudged your thighs further apart and tugged your hips back, one hand sliding up your waist and to your front to help you straighten up to look at yourself properly. As you straightened your back and stood before the reflection, Leon pushed forward, and your head fell back, thighs quivering as you clutched onto his wrist and forearm for support.

"'ve got you," he soothed, low and smooth in your ear as he lifted you slightly, your toes barely touching the ground as he held you up by your hips and waist, letting your body adjust slightly before he pulled his hips back and pushed forward, making you squeak and curl up slightly. He used his head to nudge yours upright, making you look at yourself as he suspended you in the air with pure strength and stamina, cock pumping back and forth inside of you.

"Oh, my god," you mewled, thighs quivering and closing tight as your feet hung helplessly, toes curling.

"Fuck," he grunted. Your back arched, bottom pressing against his pelvis as he thrusted back and forth, the rhythm hardly there as his cock penetrated your pussy in fast, shallow thrusts, the tip of his cock just meeting your cervix. You cried out, feet kicking back at his shins and desperately searching for something to stabilize yourself on. He tugged you higher, making you squeak. One of his strong arms held you at the spot just below your ribcage, while the other hand held your hip and let his hand wander down between your thighs, two fingers finding your clit to pinch and massage the little nub. Your head fell back against him, eyes rolling back. He watched it all through the mirror—your body rippling with the intensity of his thrusts, your thighs quivering and feet dangling and kicking, your head fallen back as your mouth hung open with loud, incoherent words of desperation left your lips.

"Oh, fuck, shhh—shit, Leon!" You gasped, body tensing as you felt your climax approach rapidly.

"C'mon, don't be shy. Watch yourself while you cum on my cock." He practically growled, lowering you just enough to let you stand on your own. He kept one arm around you, hand still torturing your sensitive clit while the other hand slid upward and came to grab your face, forcing you to look at the mirror and keep your focus there. Your brows knitted together, eyes darting back and forth between watching him fondle and play with you and watching your face like he had demanded. You cried, lips quivering as his fingers dug into your chin, making it harder for you to look away.

"God, Lee, 'm gonna cum—fuck!" You squealed, gasping for air as you felt all the tension reach a peak, lingering there for a long moment—your muscles all pulled taut, eyes rolling back—until finally, it snapped, falling apart in his arms as he followed suit almost immediately. While you pulsed around his girth, gushing warmth and coating the base of his cock in a thick, white ring, he followed suit and let himself go, cum pumping almost dramatically into your twitchy cunt. You shivered, completely limp against him.

While you were dazed and distracted, Leon took the chance to reach for his phone on your vanity, clicking the camera open and holding it up. You barely processed it when you heard the click, the sound making you lift your head and glare at him.

"Seriously?" You whined.

"You look so good in my favorite color." He purred, kissing along your shoulder and neck.

Leon slowly retracted his hips, gentle as he lifted you and carried you back to the bed, laying you down and crawling atop of you, hips slotting between your open legs. He held his phone out to you. "Mmh?" You looked up at him, brows knit in confusion.

"Hold it for a second." He muttered, shifting to pull your hips closer as he leaned down and kissed your breasts over the lace of the lingerie. You held his phone lazily, glancing at the dark screen before he kissed his way down and tugged the panties aside again, watching the mess begin to slowly seep out. He reached and took the phone back and navigated his way to the camera, quickly pressing record as he used two fingers to gently spread your folds and let the cum become more visible on camera. Before you could scold him or tell him how nasty he was, he plunged the same two fingers into you, using the pads of his fingertips to drag out the cum and make you whine as he pressed the phone camera closer.

"I barely forgive you and you're already taking the chance to record me like this?" You squirmed as he pulled his fingers out fully and rose to his knees, slotting in closer to press his already hard cock against your thigh, the phone held higher as his free hand came down to grasp his length lining it back up with your already sensitive cunt. You mewled softly as the tip nudged in, making your thighs close around him. He breathed a soft moan as he put the camera lower and adjusted the angle to properly show how your pussy engulfed him and practically swallowed his cock as he eased forward.

"Lee—mmh!" You mewled, thighs shaking and squeezing around him as he bottomed out and ground his hips lazily into you. He keeps himself upright, dragging back and forth slowly, the camera zeroed in on the slick mess you're leaving on his girth, the way your pussy is stretched over him, twitchy and tight. He pulls out all the way to the tip, only to push back in and make your body squeeze up, back arching.

"Fuck, you're so pretty. So perfect." He breathed, camera adjusting to capture your chest as he took his other hand and palmed your breast. He tugged the lace of the bra down, letting it lay beneath the fat of your breast before his rough palm came to grope and squeeze at the mound. You groaned, pushing your chest against his palm as you reached down to lazily press against his lower abdomen, whimpering faintly at his thrusts growing in intensity.

"Lee—Leon, oh!" You gasped in response to his fingers pinching and rolling your pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger. "Fuck," you shivered, head rolling to the side.

"C'mon," he hissed. "I know you're close already," he purred, panting as he raised the camera higher and captured the entirety of the scene before him, all but your face since you kept hiding it when the camera would twitch too high. He didn't want to push his luck any more than he already was.

He moved his hand off your tit, pulling the lace back up to sit comfortably before his previously busy hand came down, thumb finding your clit to rub along the nub with firm, tight circles. You jolted, another gasp being pulled from you. He continued, your nails clawing into his forearm as you twitched and shook beneath him, nerves overwhelmed and overworked. Leon really did love how sensitive you were.

"Yknow, maybe we should try going another round after this." He grinned, glancing up at you to find your face half-buried into your pillow, a wet spot beginning to pool where your mouth was due to the fact you couldn't shut your mouth, hair mussed and probably getting knotted from all your squirming.

"F-fuck yo—oooh!" You cried out, legs clamping around him and pulling him in closer. You bit onto the pillow the best you could, hips squirming against and away from him at the same time. And before you could warn him, the knot finally snapped in your lower belly, a loud sob of pleasure leaving your throat.

"Shh, shh," he tossed the phone aside, letting the camera be forgotten as he worked you through it, cooing sweet praise and soft reassurance as he chased his own high. He wasn't far behind, but he needed to put in a little more effort and focus now that he had you satisfied. In your dazed state, you slapped around for his phone and found it, grabbing it with trembling hands and holding it up to record him.

"Hah—how do you l-like it?" You stammered, watching his nose scrunch both from your sass and his approaching climax. Only a few thrusts later, and he was throwing his head back, lips parted in heavy groans melting into shaky moans as his cum spilled, balls twitching and emptying into you. You shivered, dropping the phone next to you as he leaned above you and met you for a slow, passionate kiss.

It was sloppy, but full. Full of love, satisfaction, and tenderness in its own way. Leon slowly pulled out, sighing against your lips. "I've got such a sexy wife." He huffed, making you smack his chest.

"Shut up." You breathed, slowly moving to sit upright. Leon helped you, fixing your panties and pushing your hair out of the way. You leaned forward against him. He chuckled, moving to lift you into his lap.

"You're amazing." He murmured, hands soothing up and down your sides and back. "I love you." He mused, squeezing tighter around yous waist.

"I love you." You murmured back, kissing his collarbone before you caught a glimpse of the phone. "It's still recording."

"Mmh, maybe it's a sign." He grinned, head diving to kiss and nip at your neck. You were quick to swat his shoulder and dive off to the side, shaky but firm as you stood from the bed.

"Not a chance." You said with a huff, legs already shaking as you bent at the hips to hold onto the bedside table for stability. He laughed, pressing the button to stop the recording as he moved to stand with you.

"I'm just teasing. C'mon, we can wash off and then soak in the bath. And if you want, we can talk more about the apartment situation." He pressed an apologetic kiss to your temple, helping you toward the bathroom.

"That... that would be nice." You murmured, nodding.

Your dad’s friend’s wedding reception was one that you weren’t too keen on attending. Being as you hadn’t seen these people since you were a child and they were just now getting married, you wondered why they even bothered. And why they even invited you after all this time. Your dad’s friends moved out of state when you weren’t even in your double digits of age, here here you were, twenty one years old and they decided to still invite you. Nice of them, you guess, but you would’ve preferred to stay at home. Nothing more awkward than the constant reminder from each of his friends that, ‘I haven’t seen you since you were a little kid!’

You stood by the bar, not too far from your dad as he bought you and himself a couple of drinks. He was busy chatting it up with a couple of friends he hadn’t seen in a while, and you were just standing there, awkwardly waiting for him to turn his attention back to you so you would have someone to talk to.

You leaned against the bar, your arms wrapped around yourself as you looked around shyly at everyone. One thing you disliked was how many of his friends came out of the woodwork as total creeps. Some of the men who were still single well into their fifties, no secret as to why, weren’t shy of commenting on the fact you indeed, were not a little girl anymore, and you had grown up into a very beautiful young woman. Of course, your dad took is as more of a compliment than you did, but you guessed it was because he didn’t want to look at it as any other way than his friends complimenting him.

The bartender slid you your drink and sat your dad’s beside him. You thanked her, taking your drink and bringing it to your lips. You sipped it and shivered, the taste of the alcohol overpowering. You had made it clear that you wanted a single shot, not a double, but your dad was more about letting loose and having a good time than you wanted him to be and therefore, he did not listen. You rolled your eyes and sighed, reaching out and smacking his shoulder to get his attention.

”What?” He scoffed, almost annoyed that you had interrupted him.

”Will you hold this? I have to go to the bathroom.” You asked and he turned, taking your drink from you and glancing down at it.

”Any good?” He asked, nodding towards the drink and you glared at him.

”I said single shot, not double. Thanks anyways.” You grumbled before walking away, your tall heels clicking on the tile floors of the venue.

You walked across the reception hall, the music loud and lighting dim as you made your way to the bathroom. You saw lots of people you knew, standing off to the sides, talking and laughing amongst themselves. You couldn’t wait for the day that you would be attending your friends’ weddings, or your own wedding for that fact, but you didn’t have the best of luck. It was events like these that you wish you had someone to go with, but no one ever stayed around for long.

You made your way to the bathroom and huffed, trying to pee as quick as you could and wash your hands before your dad would probably either set your drink down and forget, or simply drink it himself just because he could. After you did your business and washed your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror to make sure you still looked ok. You wore a short rust colored dress with gold chain straps and gold strappy heels to match. You fixed your curled hair and lip gloss in the mirror before walking back out of the bathroom.

As you rounded the corner from the bathroom, tugging down the bottom of your dress, you bumped into someone coming from the opposing bathroom, their hand catching your arm.

”Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” You gasped, backing away from the person.

”It’s ok, I wasn’t paying attention, are you ok?” They asked and you nodded, looking up at them. Your eyes went wide, your mouth falling open slightly as you recognized the now much older man in front of you.

Your dad’s friend, Leon Kennedy, stood in front of you, much older now than you had remembered. Honestly, his appearances throughout your life were so scarce, you forgot that he had even existed. But now, you were astounded at how much more handsome you thought he was now than before. Of course, as a child, it would be strange to find your dad’s friends handsome, but now…it seemed a little less strange. He looked down at you with his aged blue eyes, a small smirk appearing on his lips as his greying blonde hair fell in front of his eyes. He reached up and pushed his bangs out of the way, still no words coming from you.

”Holy shit, Y/N Y/L/N? You’re like…a whole grown woman now.” He chuckled and you rolled your eyes, smoothing down the front of your dress as he let go of your arm.

”Yeah, yeah, as if I haven’t heard that enough tonight.” You grumbled and he grinned.

”What, is that a bad thing?” He asked and you shrugged.

”Well no, but I’m kind of over it, you know? Like yeah, I’m an adult now, so what?” You huffed.

”Well, it’s kind of a shock to the system for us older people. You’ll understand someday.” He said and you looked away from him.

”I’d rather not. Anyway, I should…probably go find my dad. He’s probably finished my drink by now.” You muttered and he glanced over at the bar.

”Well in case he did, why not let me buy you another?” He suggested and you raised an eyebrow at him.

”You want to buy me a drink?” You asked and he nodded.

”Is there something wrong with that?” He asked and you shook your head.

”Well no, not necessarily. But don’t you think my dad will think that’s like…weird?” You asked and he rolled his eyes.

”Y/N, I doubt your dad’s first thought is that I’m trying to creep on his daughter that I haven’t seen in years. I’m not worried about it. Plus, from the talk of the town, I’m not the one he should be worried about.” He said and you sighed.

“Fair enough, ok.” You said, following Leon over to the bar.

Leon asked you for your drink order and ordered himself a drink as well, leaning against the bar. You looked him up and down, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a black suit with a white undershirt and a black tie. For his age, he was stunning. He looked a lot better than most of your dad’s friends, considering. You knew that he lived kind of rough around the edges career wise, but he looked no worse for the wear. At one point, Leon glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and caught you staring, a smirk appearing on his lips.

”Like what you see?” He asked and you blushed furiously, looking away.

”What? What are you talking about?” You snapped and he chuckled.

”I’m not blind, kid. What are you looking at?” He asked and you shook your head.

”Nothing. Just…thinking about what you look like now and how long it’s been.” You said and he looked you up and down.

”Well, the same could be said about you.” He shrugged before the bartender handed Leon the drinks. He handed yours to you and you took it.

”Thank you.” You said and he smiled.

”You’re welcome.” He said, glancing down at his cup.

”I’d love to catch up. Come on, I’m sitting over here.” He said, motioning for you to follow him.

You followed Leon over to the table he’d been sitting at, the table littered with empty or half empty glasses and used napkins from other patrons he shared the table with. He pulled out the chair beside him for you and you sat, Leon sitting beside you. He leaned back into the chair and looked over at you.

”Well, how’s life? Last I remember you were like, nine.” He laughed and you laughed with him.

”It’s something. Um, well, I just finished getting my esthetician license, I work at a salon and spa. I live somewhat by my mom by myself, well, with my cat. Other than that, not a whole lot.” You said and he nodded as you spoke, taking mental notes of everything you said.

”Really? Wow, isn’t that something? Do you like your job?” He asked and you nodded.

”Yes, I love it. It’s fun and I love my schedule.” You said and he smiled.

”That’s great, so glad to hear. How’s your mom?” He asked and you shrugged.

”She’s ok. She just bought a new house, lives by herself as well.” You said and he nodded.

”Glad she’s well. Yeah when I see your dad he’s updated me here and there but I’ve been so busy with work, it’s been a while.” He said and you smiled.

”That’s how it goes, isn’t it?” You asked and he shrugged.

”Yeah, I guess so. Last update I got from him was you were in high school and he was all pissed off thinking you had some boyfriend.” He laughed and you rolled your eyes.

”Oh my God, he’s ridiculous.” You scoffed and he raised an eyebrow.

”Yeah? Well where’s that boyfriend now? Dad run him off?” He asked and you snorted.

”What? No, if anyone ran him off, it was me.” You laughed and he laughed with you.

”You don’t have one now?” He asked and you shook your head.

”Nope, sure don’t. Men don’t stick around long with me. Either my schedule puts them off, or they often feel like I love my cat more, which is true.” You said and he snorted.

”Wow,” He chuckled and you grinned.

”What! It’s true! My cat is forever, these little bitch boys are temporary.” You scoffed and he smirked.

”Well that’s why you need a man, and not some little bitch boy.” He said, his tone changing slightly and you met his eyes, your smile faltering as a blush spread across your cheeks.

”I-I don’t know where I’d find one of those…” You trailed off and you watched as his knuckles clenched and unclenched before he grabbed his cup and took a long sip from it, his eyes scanning the room.

”Care to dance? Maybe you’ll find him out there.” He said, nodding his head towards the dance floor. You followed his gaze and nodded. Leon sat his cup down and stood from his chair, reaching out towards you. You took his hand and he pulled you upright, leading you to the dance floor.

You couldn’t even think straight, the drinks beginning to go to your head as the blaring music took over. One Of The Girls by The Weeknd playing as he spun you around and pulled you close, your backside bumping up against him. You gasped lightly and smirked back at him, getting the idea. You seemed to forget in that moment who he was and who all was around as you began to dance with him, your bodies swaying to the music, your ass bumping and grinding against his hips. His hands settled on your sides, your bodies moving together before he reached around and grabbed your hand, spinning you around so that you were facing him now.

He continued to hold your hand as he grabbed your hip with his other hand, bringing you back up against him. Your fronts bumped and ground against each other, his sly smile flashing at you from time to time, your eyes heavily lidded as you began to feel what was happening in his pants the more your hips made contact. After that song, Tik Tok by Ke$ha began to play and you stepped back from him, laughing nervously. He smiled back at you, an almost confused look on his face as you took his hands and began to bounce around, singing along loudly to the song.

Leon watched in awe of you as you laughed and sang, jumping up and down to the song as you held onto him, completely losing yourself in the fun you were having. He kept his eyes on the way your curls bounced around on your shoulders, the way your breasts bounced around in your dress, and the way the bottom of your already pretty short dress rode up your thighs, almost a little too far. You were breathtaking to him, and he wanted more. After that song you leaned against him for support, trying to catch your breath.

”I think I need another drink,” You huffed and he raised an eyebrow.

”Another drink? Couldn’t you use some water?” He asked and you glared at him.

”You trying to kill my vibe?” You scoffed at him and he held up his hands in defense.

”I’m just looking out for you. Don’t get mad and blame me when you’ve got a wicked hangover tomorrow.” He scolded and you rolled your eyes.

”Never.” You trailed off, walking away from him and walking towards the bar.

You leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender to notice you before you felt a hand rest on your lower back. You looked up, seeing Leon looking down at you, his eyebrow raised.

”Can I help you?” You asked and he shook his head.

”You’re pure trouble, aren’t you?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said, looking away from him.

”I’ll buy you this drink, but after that…” He trailed off and you scoffed.

”As if I can’t buy myself the rest. I know my limit.” You grumbled and he chuckled.

”We’ll see about that. Do you think your dad would be mad?” He asked and you glanced around, completely forgetting the fact that you even were here with your dad.

”I haven’t seen him since I left for the bathroom earlier. Who knows where he is or what he’s doing.” You waved your hand in dismissal as the bartender came over and took Leon’s drink orders.

”You came here with him, right?” He asked and you nodded. “And I assume you’re going home with him too, right?” He asked and you bit your lip as a sly grin spread across your face.

”Why? Got any other ideas?” You suggestively asked and you watched his jaw clench, a dark look taking over.

”I’m sure your dad is sauced. You’ll need a sober ride home.” He muttered and your smile fell as you rolled your eyes.

”And you haven’t been drinking?” You asked and he shrugged.

”I pace myself better than you. I haven’t drank enough to be drunk. Plus, I’m kind of law enforcement you know…I’d be a bad influence if I drank and drove.” He chuckled and you looked away from him.

”Good for you.” You grumbled as he handed you your drink.

”I’m sure your dad will appreciate not having to drive his wasted daughter home. She’s got kind of a mouth on her.” He smirked and you snatched the cup from him, beginning to chug it and his eyes went wide. “Woah, slow down, champ.” He chuckled and you raised an eyebrow at him.

”I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.” You huffed before walking back to the dance floor.

You made your way back to the dance floor, closing your eyes and dancing along to Young Lust by Pink Floyd. Leon slowly trailed, not trying to make it obvious to everyone else around as he stalked you like he was a predator and you were his prey. He eyed you up and down from a distance, casually bringing his cup up to his lips when he felt a hand clap down on his shoulder. He jumped slightly, the drink in his cup splashing a little as he glanced to his side, seeing your dad standing there.

”O-Oh, hey,” Leon said and your dad grinned at him.

”Hey, Leon, what’s up buddy? Haven’t seen you in forever.” Your dad went on and Leon nodded, glancing back at you before turning towards your dad.

”Yeah, I know right? How’ve you been?” Leon asked and your dad shrugged before going off into some story, Leon not listening as his eyes flicked back and forth from your dad to you dancing.

”Anyway,” Your dad continued. “Have you seen Y/N? She’s here tonight too.” Your dad said and Leon nodded.

”Uh, yeah, actually. I talked to her a bit earlier, glad to hear she’s doing well.” Leon said and your dad nodded.

”Yeah, she’s great isn’t she? Well, if you see her again, let her know I’m looking for her.” Your dad said before walking away, Leon suddenly releasing the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He looked around for your dad, making sure he was out of sight before quickly approaching you, grabbing your wrist.

”Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” He said in your ear and you nodded, following as he tugged you along.

Leon never released your wrist, leading you outside the reception hall and out to the parking lot. You glanced around, noticing that there was a number of guests standing outside in the smoking area, drinks in hand, laughing and chatting loudly amongst each other. You were definitely feeling the drinks now, your vision slightly off as you struggled to keep up in your heels.

”What are we looking at?” You asked as Leon continued to walk, way towards the back of the parking lot. It was late at night, the only light illuminating the parking lot the street lamps throughout, but Leon was going further back, away from the lights. You both continued to walk until he approached a sleek black Porsche, parked well away from the other vehicles, out of sight and away from the lights. Leon pulled his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door, opening the passenger side door for you.

”Go on,” He nodded and you climbed in, letting out a sigh as Leon closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He climbed in beside you before starting up the car, glancing over at you. “I didn’t tell your dad we were going anywhere.” He said and you blinked slowly at him.

”Does he need to know? I didn’t realize we were either.” You slurred and he shrugged.

”I guess if you don’t want to go anywhere.” Leon said and you reached forward, playing with the touch screen in the dash. You messed around with it, pulling up the Apple Music and scrolling through.

”What have you been listening to?” You asked, your eyes almost unable to read the words on the screen. You blinked, trying to focus before you lost track and began to search up songs yourself.

”You can pick.” Leon said, leaning back into his seat and watching you.

You pushed around on the screen before settling on Older by Isabel LaRosa, a smirk spreading across your face. You leaned back in your seat after turning it up, biting your lip as your dress began to ride up your thighs.

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

Leon glanced at you, his eyes reading your face to see your thoughts. The hooded eyes and glossy lips tugged between your teeth told him everything he needed to know, his knuckles white from how tight he was gripping the steering wheel.

Baby, am I your little secret?

Eighteen, I’m old enough to keep it

Yeah, guys my age just aren’t the same

I’m young and that’s ok

You licked your lips as Leon cut the engine back off, turning towards you harshly in his seat before swallowing nervously.

”Backseat. Now.” He demanded and you giggled, drunkenly clambering into the backseat, definitely not gracefully by any means. Leon chuckled watching you, seeing you leaning your back against the driver’s side door, your legs sprawled out across the rest of the seats. You bit your lip as you reached down, lifting your hips and pulling your dress up, exposing your lacy white panties to him.

Leon practically growled, turning up the music before climbing into the backseat with you. It was pretty spacious, thank god. Leon wanted the full view of you, the only light illuminating you was from the touch screen on the dash. He knelt in the seat opposite of you, one hand beside you on the door, the other on the headrest as he looked down at you, your hair sprawled out around you as you leaned your head back against the window.

”Are you just gonna stare at me or are you gonna fuck me?” You chuckled, bucking your hips up towards him and his mouth almost began to water at the sight of you, his expression changing to a much darker one.

”You can forget all those little boyfriends you’ve had in the past baby, because I’m gonna ruin you tonight.” Leon hissed, reaching down and rubbing you through your panties. You moaned softly, raising your hips to meet his hand.

”F-Fuck,” You stuttered. “Prove it then,” You huffed out and he snorted, looking into your eyes.

”I don’t have to prove anything.” He growled before he crashed his lips into yours, the taste of your mixed drink and the old fashioned he had sipped on earlier combining, the alcohol seeming to burn as your lips moved together, tongues clashing and intertwining with each other. His fingers began to move in slow circles, a damp spot forming on your panties as he rubbed you slowly. You ground your hips against his fingers before he broke the kiss and leaned back, looking down between the two of you.

You propped one foot up behind the headrest of the back passenger seat, spreading your other leg and planting your foot on the center console so that you were spread wide for Leon. Leon grabbed the waistband of your panties and tugged them down, you pulled your legs free from them before returning to your position, your soaking wet pussy fully on display for him.

”God damn,” He grumbled, shaking his head as he peered down at it. He reached forward, sliding his fingers gently up and down your wet slit. He clicked his tongue, meeting your eyes. “Such a pretty little pussy. Tell me, you don’t let a lot of guys have a shot at this, do you?” He asked and you shook your head. “That’s good, that’s good. Have you ever had someone make you cum?” He asked and you shook your head again. “No? What a shame. A girl as pretty as you should have a man that makes her cum over and over, not some little pussy boy that doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.” He said, somewhat aggressively.

”I don’t get around, Leon,” You giggled. “Only two guys have ever touched me and both times they fucking sucked.” You hiccuped and Leon shook his head.

”Poor girl, this is what I meant, when I said you needed to find yourself a man.” He explained before grabbing your thighs and pushing your legs back up to your chest, adjusting himself so that he could get between your thighs.

Leon kissed back and forth slowly between your thighs, nearing closer and closer to your pussy before placing a gentle peck to your clit, a small whine leaving your lips.

”Come on Leon, don’t tease me,” You whined, arching your back and he studied your face for a moment before giving you what you wanted and burying his face into your pussy, closing his eyes. You cried out loudly, the feeling of his whole mouth enveloping your pussy nearly taking your breath away. You gasped out, your legs beginning to tremble as Leon’s tongue lapped at your clit and over your entrance, not an inch of your pussy left untouched.

You reached down, your fingers tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked at your clit, moving his head side to side. To be honest, no one had ever gone down on you before, so this was a whole new sensation for you. You tugged at his hair roughly as he dipped his tongue in and out of your entrance, moans leaving your lips as he tongue fucked you, your eyes rolling back.

”Fuck, just like that Leon, oh my God,” You moaned, his tongue returning to your clit and swirling around. You ground your hips up against his mouth, the feeling of his flat tongue dragging up and down your whole pussy nearly pushing you over the edge. “Leon, you’re going to make me cum,” You cried out, your eyes fluttering closed as you maneuvered his head back and forth between your thighs. You shakily tilted his head back downwards so that his tongue circled your entrance. “P-Please…fuck me with your tongue again,” You panted, and he obliged.

Leon plunged his tongue in and out of your pussy, wiggling it around and swirling it inside as best as he could, causing you to cum with a loud cry, your back arching and your legs shaking furiously and uncontrollably. Leon let you ride out your high on his tongue, gently ceasing his movements as you came down. He finally pulled his tongue from you and leaned back, sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

”Still need me to prove it to you?” He asked and you gave a dark chuckle, shaking your head as you caught your breath.

”Let me,” You huffed out and he raised an eyebrow.

”Let you what?” He asked and you pushed him back against the door so that you could sit up. You sat on the center console and pointed at the seat, signalling that you wanted him to sit, so he did. He sat in the back passenger seat and you climbed into the seat beside him, getting on your knees. You leaned over and struggled with his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. He raised his hips and assisted you in getting his pants and boxers down, lifting up his shirt and suit jacket so that you could easily access him.

Your eyes went wide at the sight of his hard cock, his abs and v-line impressive for his age. You grinned up at Leon before leaning down, immediately taking his cock into your mouth and sinking your mouth down onto it. Leon let out a deep sigh, his head falling back against the headrest as his eyes closed. He basked in the feeling of your wet, glossy lips wrapped tightly around his cock, your tongue gliding all around and up and down his shaft as you bobbed your head, small gags coming from your throat as you wrapped a free hand around the base of his shaft. He reached down, resting his hand on the back of your head.

”Fuck, your lips feel so good around me baby girl,” He panted, his thumb brushing back and forth across the base of your skull. You moaned around him, the vibrations causing him to hiss. You picked up the speed before pulling back, focusing on the tip of his cock. You pumped him with your hand as you licked his tip all around, sucking gently and looking up at him through your lashes. He watched your every move, shaking his head in disbelief. “My god, you’re such a dirty fucking girl for me,” He huffed out and you pulled off of him with a ‘pop’. You leaned back and licked your lips clean, raising an eyebrow.

”How so?” You asked and he pulled you into his lap, hiking up your dress and guiding you down to his cock. Your knees rested on each side of him as his tip grazed your entrance, the tight hole not wanting to give around his large size. He gently pushed and prodded until your pussy finally allowed him to gain entry, both of you moaning out loud together.

”B-Because,” He huffed out, letting you sink down on his cock completely.

”What would your dad think? One of his best friends fucking his daughter in the backseat of his Porsche,” He grunted and you moaned out, your pussy clenching around him at his words. “Oh, you fucking like that? You like the thought of me pissing your dad off? Oh man, I could only imagine how mad he’d be if he found out I ate his daughter’s sweet, tight little pussy in the backseat of my car and made her cum on my tongue. I bet he’d blow a fucking gasket. Or what he’d think of her riding my fucking cock? He’d fucking kill me.” He growled in your ear as he grabbed onto your ass, bouncing you up and down on his cock quickly.

The sounds of his cock slamming up into your pussy were obscene, the wetness squelching loudly as he used you like a little fuck toy, his big, strong arms controlling your every move. You weren’t even moving anymore, he was doing all of the work and you were limp in his arms like a ragdoll as he drilled his cock into you. You were a drunk, moaning mess in his arms, your pussy dripping wet from the feeling of him and his words.

”Look at you, so fucking drunk off my cock, you can’t even move.” He snorted, shaking his head as your eyes rolled back.

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

Leon scooped you up and laid you back onto your back, adjusting himself between your legs as he draped your legs up over his shoulders, your heels touching the roof of the car. Leon reached down and maneuvered his cock back into you before reaching up and pulling the chains of your dress down your shoulders and pulling the front of your dress down, exposing your tits to him. He reached up and grabbed a handful of your breast before he released it and grabbed onto your hips. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, his lips meeting yours harshly as he began to fuck you hard and fast, the Porsche rocking furiously as he pounded into you in the backseat, your moans being drowned out against his lips.

Darling, hold me while you wipe my tears

Falling, you say I’m wise beyond my years

Yeah, guys my age just aren’t the same

I’m young and that’s ok

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

Leon broke the kiss to allow you to catch your breath. When he pulled back, he looked at you, seeing the tears of pure pleasure streaming down your face. He reached up and wiped your tears with his thumb, shushing you and placing a soft kiss to your lips. You inhaled shakily, Leon resting his forehead against yours.

”My cock’s that good huh?” He whispered and you nodded frantically, your breathing uneven and he smirked. “Can’t even fuckin’ answer me, you’re so fucked out,” He groaned, burying his cock deep in you, eliciting a loud moan. “Fuck, I love the sounds you make. I promise you, tonight’s not the last you’ll see of me, I promise you that.” He chuckled and you shook your head. “You want me to keep coming back and fucking you? You want me to keep fucking you behind your dad’s back? Dirty fucking girl,” He whispered and you moaned, your pussy fluttering around his cock.

”I’m gonna cum, Leon,” You whined out and he picked up the pace, reaching between the two of you and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

”Yeah? Fucking cum on my cock, show me who makes you feel this fucking good.” He growled, slamming his hips against yours as your nails dug deep into his shoulders, your back arching and your head falling back as you cried out, your pussy clenching down around his cock as you came. “Shit, shit, shit,” He groaned out, his eyes screwing shut as he came deep inside of you, the feeling of your pussy clamping down around him too much to handle.

The two of you stayed like that for a couple of minutes, catching your breath and just basking in the feeling of each other as you both came down, trying to regain your thoughts and composure.

I know I’m younger as your lover

But I’ve always wanted a man

For the summer, age is a number

My dear, I know you’ll understand

Think I need someone older

Just a little bit colder

Take the weight off your shoulders

Think I need someone older

Leon gently pulled out of you and reached over, opening up the center console and digging out some napkins to clean yourselves up with. He used the napkins and wiped you off, making sure to get you dry. He leaned back and cleaned himself up as well before pulling up his pants and underwear, readjusting his shirt and suit jacket. He opened the back door and climbed out, standing back and looking around for your underwear.

”I can’t find your panties.” Leon grumbled, looking around and you shook your head.

”Don’t worry about it. Consider it a ‘good job’ gift.” You giggled and he helped you out of the backseat, fixing your dress so that you looked decent again. He reached up and smoothed your hair out before using his thumbs to wipe the tear stains and lip gloss smears away.

”You’re so fucking hot, getting all messy and fucked out for me.” Leon grinned and you blushed, batting your eyelashes at him.

”I want to go home with you.” You whined and Leon gave you a sad look.

”I know baby, but people will one hundred percent be suspicious if you leave here with me when you’re supposed to be leaving here with your dad.” He said and you pouted, blinking up at him.

”Promise me this isn’t the last time.” You pleaded and he smiled, kissing you softly.

”I promise, this isn’t the last time.” He whispered. “Are you kidding me? With a pussy like that? You’re going to get me in so much trouble.” He chuckled and you laughed.

”Mmm, I hope so.” You grinned and he linked arms with you.

”Come on, let’s get you back to your dad.” He chuckled, leading you back towards the reception hall.

As the two of you approached the reception hall again, you saw your dad walking out, looking around before he finally saw the two of you approaching. He rushed over, throwing his hands up.

”Y/N! There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you! Literally no one knew where you went!” Your dad shouted, somewhat annoyed and you glanced up at Leon.

”She uh, has had a bit much to drink and kind of wandered off. Maybe you should get her to bed.” Leon suggested and your dad sighed, rolling his eyes.

”Come on, get in the truck.” Your dad grumbled, leading Leon over to his truck.

His fingers reached the lace of your panties and he let out a dark, satisfied hum at how drenched you already were. Without another word, Leon pulled the fabric aside. Then—fuck—he brought one hand to his mouth, spit right onto his palm with a filthy sound, and rubbed it over your dripping pussy.

The wet glide of his spit mixing with your slick made you moan. Two thick fingers pushed inside you instantly, curling, stroking, claiming.

“Leon—!”

“Shh. You earned this, baby.” He pumped his fingers deeper, thumb circling your swollen clit in tight, relentless strokes. “Been hard for hours because of your little games. Now you’re gonna cum on my hand like the needy tease you are.”

The car filled with the obscene sound of his fingers fucking into your soaked cunt. Your head fell back against the seat, hips rolling desperately against his hand.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, leaning in to bite at your neck. “So fucking wet for me. Go on—cum.”

It hit you like a wave. Your thighs shook, pussy clenching hard around his fingers as pleasure ripped through you. Leon didn’t stop, drawing it out until you were whimpering, oversensitive and gasping.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, they glistened. He brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“Tastes even better after you’ve been teasing me all day.”

You were still catching your breath when he freed his cock—thick, flushed, and leaking. He stroked himself once, then gripped your thighs and pulled you closer.

“Legs wider, sweetheart.”

He rubbed the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance before sinking in with one deep thrust. The stretch was perfect. You both moaned as he bottomed out, hips snapping forward immediately.

“Fuck—yes, Daddy,” you gasped, just to watch him lose it.

Leon’s rhythm turned punishing, the car rocking slightly with every hard thrust. “Brat,” he hissed, but his voice was wrecked. “Keep calling me that and I’ll fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

One hand braced on the headrest, the other gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise. He fucked you like he’d been dying to all day—deep, rough, relentless. Your second orgasm crashed over you without warning, walls fluttering around his cock as you cried out.

Leon followed right after, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. You felt every hot pulse as he came inside you, thick and warm.

For a moment, everything was quiet except for your ragged breathing.

Then Leon pulled out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum leaked from your pussy onto the seat. He scooped some up on his fingers and brought them to your lips.

“Open.”

You obeyed, sucking his fingers clean, tasting both of you. His thumb brushed your bottom lip when you were done, almost tender.

“Next time you tease me like that all day…” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you slow and filthy, “I won’t wait till we get to the car.”

You’ve dealt with your fair share of speed-boosted infected; limbs windmilling, clawing and careening, all bursting energy and no finesse.

These aren’t blisterheads. They have stamina. They’re keeping up.

You twist and shoot one whose fingers are uncomfortably close to swiping the back of Leon’s shirt. The nearby white paneled wall goes bright, splotchy red.

“Intel’s getting a new one ripped if we make it out of this,” you pant, breath dry and ragged in your throat. Your lungs are burning.

“We’re making it out,” Leon tells you. Conclusive, no room for argument. He dodges left, hand once again grazing your arm to pull you with, but you’re already there, a perfect shadow.

This hall is wider, brightly lit with glass cases set in between the wall panels.

You’ve only got eyes on one thing as you run.

EXIT

It’s a final sprint.

You grit your teeth, breath loud in your ears, arms and legs pumping hard, trying to build a gap that allows for a sudden smack into the double doors, a loss of momentum and reversal of motion to slam the barrier closed.

‘Slam’ turns out to be optimistic. It’s a hydraulic close. Glacially fucking slow.

“Fuck! Force it!”

You almost bash heads with Leon, throwing your combined weight against the doors as the calamitous wall of infected catch up, arms reaching through the diminishing gap, scratching and clawing at you.

With a roar of effort, the doors finally give way under pressure and close with a crunch. An arm, hand, and various fingers fall onto the concrete.

“Bar it! Bar it!” Leon’s braced against both doors, his body a wedge, jarred by the furious thumping from the other side.

There are massive pneumatic rod locks on either side of the door. The control panel is dark.

“There’s no power!”

“You’re armed!”

Oh, right.

BANG T-SHUNK

Smoke curls from the barrel of your gun. The blasted hole in the control panel sparks weakly, fizzes, then goes dark.

Leon pushes away from the secured doors, rubbing at his ear. Your head’s ringing like a struck bell and you’d been back at arm’s length, not parallel with the barrel.

“Say something?”

“Something.”

“Yeah, can’t hear shit.”

"You only look like it.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

He’s flipping you off.

You grab it like a pinky promise, linking middle fingers, and he rolls his eyes.

“Alright. Let’s bounce,” you say.

He pulls you back. Urgent, abrupt. It bumps you against him.

“Wait.”

You’re in a greenhouse.

Rows and rows of lush, overgrown plants stretch unfamiliar leaves towards a glass-paneled sky. The walkways between rows are made of industrial metal grating, a stale funk rising from the darkness underneath.

No breeze is stirring the air. The back of your neck starts prickling; your animal brain tugging on your metaphorical hem and pointing.

The plants are rustling lightly.

Leon half-turns his head towards you, keeping his eyes on the jungle ahead.

“What’s the sitrep on the door?”

It’s still thumping against the locks, battered by the relentless undead. You glance at the panel you’d shot, burst and gutted, the wall above it blackened.

“Fucked.”

“Other doors?”

It’s just wall. Wall, and wall, and wall, smooth and inhospitable.

“Negative.”

“How long can you hold your breath?”

“I don’t think that’s the concern.”

You’re playing back the last hallway. White walls broken by glass panels, streaking by as you run. Behind every glass panel, a bright orange suit, thick like leather.

Bite-proof.

“Fuck.”

“So you tried to bypass it underground.”

“So we tried to bypass it underground,” you confirm. You watch the man nod, taking notes. He’s a leftie.

“Good thinking.”

“Yeah, well. Apparently not.”

The metal grating isn’t light. Thankfully, you and Leon aren’t weak.

The daylight sits like oil on top of water, only greasing weakly off of the reflective metal of more walkways below; descending levels disappearing into the dark.

“Oh, good. Can’t see the bottom.”

“Endless possibilities,” Leon says. “Cover me.”

The first level is an eight foot drop. Leon swings his legs into the gap, scoots forward, and eases himself down slowly, like he’s waiting for something to file a violent complaint. When nothing does, he drops onto the walkway, the metal clanging despite his rubber soles.

He shines his flashlight forward.

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Love what they’ve done with the space.” He pockets the flashlight, reaching up to you. “It’s a charm you have to see in person.”

His hands are firm on your sides, your shirt riding up a little as he supports you down onto the platform with him. He absently fixes your rucked hem as you shine your flashlight into the gloom.

“Ugh,” you agree.

Roots.

Long, white, spidery roots hang from the ceiling in lengthy clumps and bundles, like massive, cobwebby chandeliers.

Leon’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing.

“Hey. Look.”

He steps forward, reaching into the nearest nest of gauzy filaments. He pulls his hand out, fingers curled around a narrow, dark plastic tube.

You come closer with the flashlight.

The dark color is red.

“It’s warm,” Leon adds, horribly.

The tube snakes off into the darkness below. You point your flashlight down and catch a glint off of something flat, circular, and shiny.

Leon’s separating more tubes from the leggy mass of roots. Only the one is red, but the others don’t look any less… organic.

“God. Which way do you think they run?”

He glances at you. “Three guesses.”

“Plants don’t bleed red.”

“Not typically.”

You share a resigned look, then he brushes past you, face set.

You turn to find him making quick work of the stairs down to the lower levels, hand on his gun.

You check your pistol's chamber and follow.

“A line of tanks.”

“Life support tanks, yes. Dozens.”

“Which way were the tubes running?”

“Both ways.”

“So…”

“The tanks were feeding the plants, and the plants were feeding the tanks.”

“Life support, you said. So there were … humans? Inside the tanks?”

“Yeah,” you say, looking away. “Used to be.”

There’s a thick film of slime on the tank, like growing snot. Your flashlight can’t make out anything coherent inside.

Leon shines his flashlight down the row; cylinder after cylinder, standing like a row of human-sized batteries, all mucky with slime and tickled by the trailing ends of roots from the massive bundles overhead.

Somewhere ahead, a steady dripping, echoing. You don’t appreciate the cliche.

“When was the initial outbreak?” Now that you’re on solid ground, your voice seems to suck right into the floor.

“All the lab logs and entries stop around six months ago.”

“So no one’s been down here for half a year.”

“Yeah.”

Leon shares a long look with you, mouth tight. Then, hesitant, he wipes a window through the muck on the nearest tank.

The beam of his flashlight illuminates the chamber. You can see a vague shadow suspended inside, like a bug in rough, raw amber.

He steps back, jaw tight.

“Dare I even ask?”

He shakes his head. “It’ll put you off soup.”

You shine your flashlight upwards; the root balls catch it and glow, high overhead.

“What was so wrong with good ol’ hydroponics?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Leon says, heading off down the line of tanks.

“Twist my arm.”

“You didn't see it?”

“It was behind one of the tanks. In the dark.”

“You didn't hear it?”

“It was a little noisy at the time,” you say, annoyed.

Third tank from the last, everything goes spectacularly tits up.

Glass shatters outward, slimy and wet as it ricochets off your defensively raised arms. The body in the tank falls forward and swipes for Leon’s legs.

It’s not like the infected you’re used to, desiccated and dry as jerky.

This one is wet. This one is dissolving, skin sloughing from muscle sloughing from bone. Entrails spill from its body cavity, slippery, spreading across the hoary concrete as the disgusting thing writhes for a claim on your partner’s ankle.

Leon stumbles out of reach, gun aiming at the mucky skull. It explodes like a sixpack in a hot car and you’re shouting, ducking behind your arm again—

That’s when the other thing strikes.

Leon shouts in pain and tries to tear free. The pale, rubbery thing keeps hold of his shoulder like an overexcited dog with a rope toy.

“Leon!”

It’s too close to his head and he’s thrashing, you don’t have a clear shot. Something glints in the shadows behind his hip.

The hatchet. He’s already grabbed it.

A roar, a swing, the song of a sharp blade slicing clean through something organic.

The pale thing hits the ground with a sound like a rotting squash, the vine swinging empty into the darkness behind the tanks.

Leon falls to one knee with a grunt, the hatchet clattering onto the concrete.

“Leon! Leon,” you’re touching his back, crouching down with him. He’s breathing hard through his nose, clutching his shoulder. The fabric is darkening under his hand.

“Let me see. Leon.”

You shove his hand clear, unzipping his collar and yanking it aside.

His skin is patterned with circular rows of bleeding dashes. Lots of them.

“What the fuck.”

The pale, rubbery thing lies flaccid on the floor behind Leon. At first glance, it looks like a starfish collapsed on itself.

At second glance, you start to see the teeth, fine and triangular, in diminishing rows like a shark.

Pink with blood.

“Shit. Hey.”

Leon’s still on one knee, head down. You push his hair back, leaving a bloody streak on his skin, and tip his face up. There’s sweat on his forehead.

It takes him a moment to focus on you.

“Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He grunts. His pupils are a little too big, even for the dim lighting, and they’re not reacting right when you pass your flashlight closer.

You’re trying not to panic.

“Can you get up? Can you walk?”

He lets you haul him to his feet but shoves you off when you go to duck under his arm. You don’t take offense; it’s a good sign. He’s steady enough on his own.

“Grab that,” he tells you, voice rough. He’s holding his shoulder again, pointing down at the beheaded plant. You pick it up by the little stem of vine, grab his hatchet, and follow him close, ascending fast while he calls for extraction.

You don’t wait for your debrief to finish writing.

“What did the labs say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What did Medical say?”

“They’re still running tests.”

“What, with a potato? Where's the sense of urgency, here?”

“At last report, Mr. Kennedy was stable,” he says, capping his pen.

“He was half delirious coming off that chopper!”

“They’ve determined he’s in no immediate danger.”

“How can they know if they’re still running fucking tests?”

You get your name in an admonishing tone. You stand up, your chair screeching against the floor.

“I wanna see him.”

“He’s in precautionary isolation.”

“I was exposed to the same bullshit he was. I wanna see him.”

“You weren't bitten.”

“What, you think he’s gonna bite me?”

Your debrief just looks back at you, calm and level, his hands folded prim over the closed folder containing your account of the whole goddamn shit-spackled mission.

“He’s in precautionary isolation,” he repeats.

Your teeth grind, a muscle in your jaw jumping.

“Are we done here?”

“Yes. You are free to go.”

Medical stops you at the door. They aren’t fooled by your purposeful stride, your bored but intent expression. They hook your arm and yank you away like it’s goddamn Looney Tunes.

“We were told you might try that.”

Fucking debrief.

So now you’re sitting at home, dialing the Medical desk every fifteen minutes, certain from the complete non-activity of the past four hours that they’ve filtered your number as spam.

Assholes.

You should go to bed. Medical’s kept you both alive thus far, through hell and high water. Leon’s in good hands. Stable. No immediate danger, they said.

You rotate your phone in your hand, over and over. Upside-down, rightside-up. Staring at nothing.

You call the labs.

Some poor idiot actually picks up.

“I-I-I can’t give you that information,” he stammers, when you demand an update on Leon. On the biting plant. On fucking anything.

“I’m his partner! I was ground zero when it happened!”

“I-I can’t verify that over the phone.”

“Then I’m coming in,” you say, prim. You hang up on more panicked stammering, tossing your phone aside on the couch.

You’ve barely made it to your feet when your phone starts ringing.

Incoming Call Leonnedy

You stub your toe on the couch in your scramble to pick up.

“Leon! Are you okay?”

Immediately you can tell he’s not.

“I need help,” he says. Croaks.

Cold sweat breaks on your skin.

“Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I can’t…” He gasps.

You’re a whirl of activity. You’re grabbing your wallet, your keys, pulling a jacket on over your pajamas. There’s no fucking time to change.

“Leon, where are you.”

“Home.”

“What?” You stop cold in your mad dashing, gripping the phone too hard. “They sent you home like this?”

“They said I could take care of it.”

“Take care of what? They won’t tell me fucking anything, Leon–“

He groans through clenched teeth and oh boy, Medical’s gonna find out just how creative you can be when it comes to revenge. You shove your feet ungracefully into some shoes and grab for the door handle.

“The venom,” Leon’s panting in your ear, and then he gets to the zinger. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You feel it like lightning, a surge throughout your entire body. Your visual of his situation, based on the noises he’s making, takes a dramatic turn.

“Leon.”

“It’s been six goddamn hours,” he grits out.

“Jesus christ, can’t you just–”

“I’ve tried,” he says. “I’m just goddamn edging myself.”

“Did you call Medical? There’s gotta be something they can–”

“Fucking useless,” Leon says, confirming your hypothesis. “They told me to hire an escort.”

“What?”

“I’m not— fuck— fucking doing that.”

You thump your forehead against your front door, your grip on the doorknob tight enough to crush.

“Leon, if you… there’s no shame. They’re professio–”

“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t…” He breaks off, breath hissing through his teeth, and then fails to elaborate.

That’s alright; you’ve got a pressing question.

“Why’d you call me?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You just have to listen to him breathe like this.

Your vivid imagination is a fucking curse.

"I trust you,” he finally tells you. “I know how this… I don’t have… I trust you.”

You’re partners.

No, you’re coworkers. What he’s asking is… can he ask this? What happens to your partnership in the aftermath? Can you go back to–

“Please,” he breathes in your ear, and tops it with your name.

You wrench the door open.

Before you hang up, he gives you the code for the garage door, and fair warning.

You’re still not prepared.

As partners, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress. Usually partial. Usually because you’re bleeding somehow. Always clinical.

This doesn’t feel like the far end of the same spectrum. This feels like a g-force journey into a different dimension.

Leon’s on his couch, head back, knees wide. Taut like a bowstring.

Completely, stark, buck-ass naked.

His shoulder looks like a bisected watermelon, his skin dewy and pink, dotted with the dark little toothmarks from the venomous plant.

His chest is heaving, his hips restless.

His cock is flushed dark, painfully engorged, thick and pulsing against his stomach. There’s a wet smear on his skin; when his cock lifts, straining, it trails a sticky little string of precum.

“Christ,” you rasp, tossing your jacket aside.

He lifts his head and his eyes can barely focus on you. He looks on the verge of passing out, but he reaches out, reaches for you. You shove a bottle of lube out of the way on the couch cushions and take his outstretched hand.

“I’m here. What do you–“

“Touch,” he pants, barely coherent. “Touch me.”

And here you are in the deep end, no time to brace, no time to breathe. You’re touching him, chamois soft skin, hot and unyielding. His hips jerk on a gasp, a groan dragging from somewhere deep within as he lets his head fall back on the couch.

The hot, swooping sensation in your stomach physically bends you, punches your breath out.

You’ve never handled a dick this hard in your entire life.

You’ve maybe never handled a dick this big in your entire life. He’s long and thick, the head flared, cerise and glistening. You pass your thumb over his slit, smearing through the precum, and his stomach tautens as he pushes up into your hand, his breath rushing out hot, hissing back in. He’s desperate.

He breathes your name. His ass keeps flexing with the helpless motion of his hips and his eyes are closed, forehead knotted.

It’s intense concentration. His world narrowed down, only as wide as the circle of your fist.

Six goddamn hours.

You tighten your grip, trail your other hand up the lightly furred inside of his thigh, teasing his balls before stacking your fists and starting to pump him in a steady rhythm that answers the flex of his body.

His hand lands on your thigh, searing, his fingertips firm on your flesh and pulling. Your knee presses tighter against his leg.

He’s just grappling for a hold on something, for an anchor. His other hand is doing the same thing to the arm of the couch. You just hope he doesn’t move his hand any further to the left on you or he’s gonna find you a little too slippery to hold onto.

Fuck, you’re only goddamn human.

You jerk him faster, his hips starting to meet you in earnest, his body rolling as he chases his disobliging release.

And why couldn’t he get there himself?

What if… what if you can’t get him there, either? You don’t know anything about the venom, they’re still running tests. Maybe this is the result. Maybe he’s just… stuck like this, heightening, exacerbating, until he, what, pops?

What a fucking epitaph that would be.

No, you’re not scripting headstones. That’s not happening.

You start to twist on the upstroke, a flick of the wrist, and Leon moans loud.

“That’s it. Come on, Leon.”

His balls are tightening, drawing up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mouth open. He’s right on the edge.

“Look at me.”

He opens his eyes, glassy as they are. You make sure he can see you, and then you bend low.

His skin is velvety soft around the firm rounds of his balls. You fit your lips to one of the shapes, touch your tongue to it, tasting the salt of him.

He cries out, thick ropes of cum hitting his chest, his stomach, spurting and spilling down his shaft, smeared by your hand as you milk him through it, relieved.

You can’t stop your breathy laugh, almost lost under his aereous groans. He just keeps going.

“A little pent up?”

He doesn’t quip back. The situation is dire.

His dick gives one last pulse, the final beads of his release dribbling down the head of his cock. You rub it away with your thumb.

There’s a very noticeable issue.

He’s still incredibly hard.

When you meet his eyes, they’re a little clearer. He’s still sunset pink and breathing hard – messy, now, too – but he can track your face better.

“Do you feel any different?”

“Fuck. Barely.”

"What if you're stuck like this?"

“Don't say that," he says. You’re still stroking him, slow, like an afterthought. He drags his hands through his damp hair, hissing when it stretches the scabs on his chewed shoulder.

"It was venom, do you need some sort of antivenom?"

He doesn’t appear to be listening. His hands grip the back of the couch, his hips rolling, cock pushing through your sticky fist.

You grab his hips and force them down.

“Leon.”

He bucks hard against you, bratty.

"You think I know?”

“Don’t give me an attitude.”

“Don’t fuckin tease me,” he snaps, unwisely.

You move fast.

A whump, a gasp, the silence of breath caught in the shadow of a predator.

His breath fans out over your face; slow, tremulous.

“I’m doing you a favor,” you remind him, low, your face inches from his. “I could just leave.”

He’s not moving, trapped under you.

You’re straddling him, your fist tight at the base of his cock.

“What do you say?”

“Fuck.”

“Leon.”

“I love you.”

It rattles you like a gunshot, strikes you and spreads.

It takes your advantage, crumples it up, and throws it in a trash compactor. And then it lights that trash compactor on fire.

“That’s not fair,” you breathe.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and kisses you.

He’s upgraded your permissions. You kiss him back, heated, and let go of your leash.

He breaks from your mouth to gasp when you sit on his hips, his hands catching your waist and gripping.

“Shit.”

“So we’ve learned that I’m not a monk,” you say, a verbal roll of the eyes.

It’s not just a few tepid inches of water in your basement. At this point, your flood’s halfway up the damn walls.

He rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts. You keen and pick up the motion on your own.

God, you’re aching.

“You should have said something,” he says, breathless.

“That wasn’t on the invitation.”

“Aren’t you a saint.”

“Yeah. Because when you said ‘I trust you’, I heard ‘take advantage of my compromising situation’.”

“Fair,” he says, then pulls you down to speak in your ear, his scruff a ticklish rasp against your skin. “Fuck me.”

Well don’t you make the perfect pair. He’s hard as granite and you’re wet enough to sink a dinghy.

Taking off your clothes is too much fucking bother. You just shove the wet fabric to the side.

He doesn't watch where you’re taking his cock into your body, the hot, hard length of him sliding in tight past your pussy lips.

He’s watching your face. You don’t know it until you’ve got him in to the hilt, your mouth falling open on a sigh, your forehead smoothing out as you gyrate your hips, a delicious little circle, fully seated on his lap.

"Oh my god, Leon."

He comes.

Your name is somewhere in the long groan sieved through his clenched teeth before his mouth drops open, diced breaths tumbling free as he pulses inside of you, so deep, so hot and thick.

He’s still looking directly at you.

You watch his eyes clear just a little more; sharpening, focusing. Smoke becoming a mist.

“Can I tease you about premature ejaculation.”

“No.” He starts unbuttoning your pajama top. The fabric is wrinkled at your sides where he’d been gripping, almost hard enough to bruise.

“Why, because you’re still hard?” He is, but it’s different. You couldn’t bend steel around him anymore.

“Yeah,” he says simply, and grips your open collar, pulling you down into a kiss.

You arch your back, easing him to just the tip, bottoming him out again, cycling his affected breath through your own lungs. He runs his hands down your chest, grazing your nipples, his tongue reaching into your mouth to taste your sigh.

His hips press up into you, lifting you, a gentle swell. You ride it; start to rock your hips.

The fabric of your shirt whispers down your arms, chased by the skim of Leon’s palms. Goosebumps raise on your skin.

You brace your arms on the back of the couch, riding him faster. He trails his lips down the column of your neck, his scruff a pleasant scratch, his humid breaths printing your skin.

He runs the fan of his fingers over your nipples.

“Leon.”

“Lean back,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me see you.”

You sit back on his hips, brushing your hands over the caps of his knees. He scratches lightly down the flex of your thighs as you start slapping down on him harder, dropping your head back, gasping.

“Fuck, gorgeous, just like that.”

“God, Leon.”

Your thighs are burning. He starts meeting you, hips snapping, and you look down.

It almost does you in.

Those broad shoulders, that flushed chest. Muscles rolling and bunching under his glistening skin. Hair sticking to his forehead, wet pink lips, blown eyes hooded, watching you, too.

His hands fall to your hips and he growls, fingers bunching in your pajama shorts. Feral. Like he’s going to tear them.

He hooks his arm around your back and surges up, laying you out on the sofa. You whine when he slips out of you, but he’s lifting your hips to yank your shorts and panties down, surprisingly coordinated for the way he’s wound up.

A small part of you expects them to hit the floor with a wet slap. The rest of you is reaching for Leon, impatient, empty.

He brings your knee up, hooks your leg around his hip and pushes back in, one long thrust, his breath a humid narration. You keen, head falling back against the cushions, feeling his lips at your jaw.

He digs his arms under your shoulders, his body rocking you, fluid motions pushing and pulling as he fucks you slow, deep. You grip his back, obsessed with the animal flex of his body.

You can feel every inch of him, stroking your walls. In, out, a steady tide. You arch your back, your stomach pressing to the rippling heat of his abs.

He’s still sticky. You don’t fucking care.

“Score’s two to zero,” he tells you, breath hot against your cheek. “You gonna catch up?”

“I’m not the medical concern.”

He brings your other leg up onto his hip, adjusting. Seeking.

He finds it. You groan loud, raw, and feel him smile against your neck.

“There you are.”

Your jaw hinges open, your vision glazing over as he rubs the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside you. He snaps his hips, jolting a gasp out of you, then goes right back to massaging your g-spot.

“You’re not real,” you pant. He nips your skin, sharp.

“River in Egypt, sweetheart.”

You dig your heels into his glutes, pressing in like spurs, urging him faster.

“Come on, cowboy– ah!”

He pushes up onto his hands, skin slapping loud as he starts pounding into you hard and fast. You were already tightening, coil building, and he’s hit your fucking warp drive.

“Fuck, fuck, like that, Leon!”

“Shit, you better hurry,” he says through gritted teeth. His hips are stuttering, rhythm starting to fall apart.

“I told you–“

His thumb circles your clit, just one rotation, and that’s it. The bastard’s got you. Screaming, even.

You come apart beneath him, your foundation shaking, walls clenching around him, wracked by seismic waves. He gasps your name, watching you climax on his dick, then slams in deep and comes with a long, stuttering groan.

The third time, it seems, is the charm.

When his phone starts ringing, you don’t hear it at first. His head is blocking your nearest ear.

“Leon.”

“Mm.”

“Your phone.”

“Mmph.”

You shift like you’re going to try to reach for it yourself, but he’s beautifully heavy on top of you, so you don’t try very hard.

You nuzzle your face into his hair and bring your arms around him instead, closing your eyes. He hums, content.

The ringtone stops, bending to your private moment.

Five seconds later, it starts up again.

“Fuck.”

You grouse when Leon shifts up, but his reach is longer than yours and he doesn’t go far.

“Huh. Medical,” he says.

“Oh,” you say, with mock optimism.

He hits answer, settling back on top of you. You run your hand up and down his back, petting him.

“Kennedy.”

He doesn’t have his volume turned up very high. You get vague shapes of words, spoken quickly, and then Leon’s short responses, felt as much as heard, his voice thrumming through you.

“Yeah. … No. … Don’t need it. … I know. … I know. … No, I’m fine. … Sure. Bye.”

“Fucking useless,” he mutters, his phone clattering onto the coffee table. “Antivenom’s ready.”

You start giggling.

“They want me in for reassessment in the morning.”

It turns into laughter, smothered into his shoulder, and he rolls into the couch crease so he can look at you.

“What?”

“All their overtime hours,” you say. “No match for your partner’s Magical Healing Vagina.”

He laughs, a real one, his hand pulling at your hip to twist you towards him, pressing you against his body. You’re both a fucking mess, and the couch might be a write-off.

It was an emergency.

“Should get you certified,” he says. You make a skeptical noise.

“There’d be a demand.”

His arm tightens around you, minuscule. Almost imperceptible. Might’ve been completely imperceptible, if his arms weren’t so big.

“Mm. We’re sticking to best-kept-secret.”

“How selfish.”

He nuzzles your mouth with his, sharing breath.

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” you mention, to his invading tongue. He retreats and lets you speak. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just self-defense?"

"What I said?"

"Don't be obtuse.”

He brushes his lips against yours, just a snag of soft, moist skin.

"I've never lied to you," he says.

"There's a first time for everything," you say. "You're skirting the question."

He brushes your hair back, studying your face. Content to take forever, it seems.

"If it helps," you say, "I can put you back under duress."

You slide your hand to the front of his hip, laughing when he flinches away.

"Ass," he says, and rolls you onto your back again, dipping to kiss you. "Yeah. I love you."

You stroke his cheek, his stubble rasping against your fingertips. His eyes are completely clear, gaze steady looking back at you.

You don't take forever to say it. The forever you want to take is the one that opens up on the other side of it: four words, a door.

“I love you, too.”

On AO3

Y'all mind if I just give our man a bad good time real quick

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 🩷

"forty three next month."

"leon that is not old—"

"tired," he said again with a finality. he turns a page.

you stared at him. "you're seriously choosing a book over me."

"it's a good book."

"i hate you," you said pleasantly, and went to the bedroom.

the toy had been a recent purchase. you'd mentioned it to him once, held it up, and he'd looked at it and then at you and said "hm" in a tone that gave you absolutely nothing to work with. you took it out now with the energy of someone trying to make a point. you tried to not be petty, to be mature.. quiet and  dignified.

you managed to… for about four minutes.

it felt good and you were frustrated and four days was a long time and the sounds started soft and then got considerably less so, and somewhere in the back of your mind you were aware of this and didn't particularly care anymore.

leon read the same sentence five times.

he put the book down. picked it up. put it down again.

sat there listening to the sounds coming through the wall with an expression doing several things at once.

then he got up, walked to the bedroom, and leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed.

you looked up at him flushed and breathing hard and had the audacity to look unbothered. "can i help you?"

"just checking on you," he said.

"i'm fine."

"clearly." his eyes moved to the toy and back to your face. "don't let me interrupt."

you stared at him. "seriously?"

"go on." he nodded at the toy. a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. "you started without me. finish."

"leon—"

"make yourself cum," he said simply. "go on. since you clearly don't need me."

your face went hot. which was annoying because you were already most of the way there and he'd just made it significantly worse, standing there in the doorway looking completely unbothered while you were falling apart. you tried to look indifferent about it. you failed. and when you came it was with your eyes on him and a broken sound you couldn't quite swallow and his expression shifted into something that made your stomach drop.

"there it is," he said quietly. and finally came into the room.

he took the toy from your hand before you'd even finished catching your breath.

"hey—" you started.

"you'll get it back," he said. and settled between your thighs and pressed it to your clit and turned it on and you immediately tried to close your legs and he held them open with one hand, patiently. "you wanted this so bad," he said. "so have it."

"i already—"

"again," he said. "come one more time. prove to me this is enough. that you don’t need me." his voice is gruff.

you tried very hard not to make noise for him. you really did. you bit your lip and gripped the sheets and stared at the ceiling and lasted approximately thirty seconds before a sound slipped out that you could not in any way defend, your hips rolling up toward the toy despite everything your brain was trying to tell them.

leon made a soft sound like a proud mocking tut. "there she is."

"i hate you," you breathed.

"mhm." he kept the toy exactly where it was and watched you with dark eyes as you tried and failed to stay quiet, and when you finally came apart the second time it was humiliatingly loud and he watched every second of it.

he let you come down for exactly long enough to mock you about it.

"aw," he said. tilting his head slightly. "are you all done now?"

"don't," you said.

"all worn out?"

"leon i swear to god—"

"tired?" he asked innocently . and you grabbed his collar and pulled him down and he laughed against your mouth, low and warm.  

except he doesn't laugh for long.

because the thing about leon is that he'd been holding himself together this entire time. standing in the doorway all composed, sitting between your thighs like he had all the patience in the world, keeping the toy exactly where it was while you came apart twice and made sounds you'd probably be embarrassed about tomorrow. and it had cost him. you could see it now that you were paying attention. his breathing was coming a little short, a little patchy. he shifted his weight, restless, and you looked down and looked back up and raised your eyebrows.

"leon."

"don't," he said.

"you're—"

"i know," he said, clipped.

you almost smiled. "this whole time?"

his breathing was, a little uneven, and when you reached up and curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss he made a sound against your mouth that was very close to a whine and very far from the composed man who'd stood in that doorway looking unbothered. his hips shifted forward without permission. his breath kept catching in these short little bursts against your lips, like he'd been clenching his teeth through it for so long that now that you were touching him he couldn't quite get himself under control.

you slid your hand down and wrapped it around him and felt how hard he was, hot and rigid, the veins along his length pulsing under your palm, and he grabbed your wrist. not stopping you. just gripping it, jaw tight, breathing hard through his nose.

"leon," you said again, softer this time.

"yeah," he said. rough. a little wrecked. and then something behind his eyes just gave out entirely. "okay. no. i can't."

and all that patience he'd been so smug about evaporated completely. he reached over and grabbed the pillow and tucked it under your hips and then he pressed forward and the first slide of him into you made you both go still for a second. you were so wet, embarrassingly so, slick and warm and your walls gripping every ridge and vein of him as he pushed in slow, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out and exhaled hard through his nose.

"god," he groaned.

he hooked your leg up over his shoulder and the angle shifted and you felt him impossibly deeper, hitting somewhere that made your eyes flutter, and when he started to move it was not slow or patient and the sounds you both made were the kind that the neighbors would probably complain about tomorrow. his hips drove forward in deep rolling thrusts, every ridge of him dragging against your walls on the pull back, and you reached up and gripped his arm and held on.

"couldn't wait?" you breathed.

"no," he said. simply and without apology. and pressed in deeper.

“gonna fill you up,” he’d said right before, voice wrecked, almost like he wasn’t meaning to say it out loud. “fill this up.” his hand pressing down just slightly, possessive, and you’d clenched around him so hard he’d moaned and his hips had stuttered.

now he looks down at you, panting, and presses a little firmer against your belly. watching your face.

“you feel that?” he says quietly.

“yes,” you breathe.

“yeah?” his thumb moves in a slow circle against your skin, that same unbothered focus he gives everything, except his voice is rough and his chest is still heaving. “you like that. being filled with me.”

it’s not really a question. he can feel the answer in the way you clench around him, still so warm and gripping onto him, and the sound you make is small and helpless.

he stays there for a long moment, hand still pressed to your stomach, neither of you moving. then he exhales slowly and drops his forehead to yours.

he presses his lips to your temple and says nothing for a while.

"not that old," you said eventually.

"no," he agreed. comfortable. satisfied. "not that old."

you felt him smile against your hair.