DEMON FOR CALEB!

Caleb crosses the stone path. Your silhouette crosses the open window. He catches a glimpse of a tray in your hand.

He races to the front door, a smile coming to his face as he hears you move around in the kitchen. You make little grunts of effort, a few noises of delight—you must be trying the dishes you’d prepared for his arrival. Caleb has never smiled so hard in his life since that day at Gran’s house. 

With concentration furrowing his brow, he adjusts his tie, dusts off his cap, and straightens his posture. He places a hand on the doorknob.

You’d left the door unlocked. He swings it open.

“I’m home!” he calls, to a house aglow with soft overhead lights and a ‘Welcome Back!’ sign strung up in golden balloons at the roof of the entryway.

“Oh shit, Caleb!” Caleb melts at the sound of your voice, even with the expletive. “In the kitchen!”

He can’t help himself. Caleb reaches the kitchen in four quick strides, almost running towards the sound of your voice.

He scoops you up in his arms the moment he reaches you. With a reluctant laugh you struggle against him and begin to complain.

“Caleb, the pie! It’s apple pie!” 

He doesn’t let go. And in spite of how funny it is to hear you protesting his affections all to save a pie, he can’t help the melancholic swell in his chest. He has never come home to safety, to love. The last few months, he returned home as a dead man—on paper and to everyone he ever knew.

But you’ve changed that. It took just your smile, he remembers those first few nights he returned to you, to change so many things about him. You made him want to be alive in spite of how he was dead in every possible aspect.

With his face pressed into the crook of your neck, Caleb begins to cry.

You still immediately as the salt of his tears wets your shoulder. His sobs are gentle. He presses himself closer to you, bending down with his arms wrapped so completely around you, stronger than any gravitational pull. Against the typical gentle nature of comfort you pull him into a tighter embrace, savoring the feel of the only man you love coming back home to you, safe and sound, in your arms. He deserves to know that you will never let him go. So you show him that with your arms wrapped just as tightly around him. 

When he stills and his cries turn to sniffles, you pull back from him to smile up at his handsome face, wiping tears from under his glistening supernova irises. Your thumbs are soft on his cheeks as you wipe the tears of your beautiful boy. He gives a gentle smile as he looks down at you.

You’ve never been looked at with so much love. 

“Welcome home, Caleb.” 

And Caleb has never loved the sound of three words more.

—

Caleb compliments your cooking all throughout the meal. Of course he can’t help throwing in a few quips at you here and there. He teases your Julienned carrots, poking you in the nose as he reminds you of how you cut up so-called Julienned carrots into little letter ‘J’s in every home economics class because you believed the kid who bullied you when he told you Julienne meant spelling out the inventor’s name. Seated next to him, knowing you can’t stay away and you would have transferred to the seat over anyway if you’d sat across from him, you get the chance to shove another forkful of, in your opinion, perfectly Julienned carrots in his mouth as he snorts out another laugh at your irritated expression.

“Go ahead and get changed into something more comfy,” you tell him once he finishes the main course. Because, of course, you’d crafted three specific courses for his return. You’ve only gone through two so far.

“I haven’t had dessert yet though,” he says, eyeing the apple pie on the plate next to your elbow. You grab it, holding the plate in front of him in a tempting hover.

“You want it?” 

He snorts. “Boo. I just got home and you’re already bullying me?”

“You heard me, Caleb.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says, standing. He spares one last glance at you, smiling at the sight of you filling his dining room with light and scrumptious home cooking and a smile that could be the sun in all his lifetimes. He goes up the stairs to get changed.

And with that, you undergo your own costume change.

You’d planned this the whole time he was gone. Turned the idea over in your head a million times. He’d so enjoyed receiving you as his gift—matter of fact, he admitted staining his pants a bit when you’d arrived at Fleet HQ in an outfit wrapped in ribbons on his birthday a few weeks back. Wouldn’t he enjoy having you as a gift, just one more time?

But what if he already thought the idea was corny? As you strip down till you’re in nothing but your underwear, regret begins to come to the surface. Here you were being presumptuous about the kinds of things Caleb would like. You’ve never explored anything remotely sexual with him before, and you’d only been together a few months. That one night on his birthday was all you had. Your brow furrows with embarrassment, and you reach for your clothes again—

“Oh,” a voice breathes from behind you. “Pipsqueak…” 

Wrapped in lace that hugs your frame, you know you look like the most mouthwatering meal Caleb will ever have a taste of. But the embarrassment lingers, even as he approaches with sin already pooling in his eyes, his muscles bulging from the tight white shirt he put on, the dogtag you gave him nestled between his outrageous pecs. When you chance a glance downward, you can see how his dick print begins to swell in his grey sweats—its outline grows larger the longer you look at it.

“Is this all for me?” he asks, his fingers ghosting over your bare shoulder. You catch his hand before it can move further downward.

“I haven’t spoiled you rotten already, have I?” you tease. “Be patient. This dessert is for later.” You move to his side and guide him to his chair. “Sit down.” 

Caleb tilts his head, curious at what you have prepared for him when you look more than ready for him to dive in between your thighs. 

You walk around him once he’s seated, picking up the tray of three servings of apple pie. Caleb almost stands up to help. All it takes is a look from you and he’s sitting back down slowly as you set the tray in front of him.

“Here’s your dessert, Colonel.” 

He doesn’t even spare a glance at the apple pie—his eyes never leave you. Pshaw. You’d work so hard on presentation. The caramel on top even shines a creamy gold.

“Pipsqueak—”

“If you keep talking and don’t start eating, you’re going to miss out on your real dessert.” He doesn’t pick up on your impatience. If he asked you nicely right now, you’d bend over for him and let him pound you into next Sunday. You’ve missed him just as much as he misses you.

The Colonel likes a good challenge. He shovels each forkful of pie into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. At times he glances down at your figure and slows down, sometimes pausing completely. But after several seconds of eyeing you like a hungry wolf he seems to remember where he is and what he should be doing and resumes piggin’ out.

It’s when he’s halfway done with the apple pie that you remember the second half to this part of your plan. While sensual, your movements are a bit harried. 

Caleb pauses eating as you stand in front of him, as you had made enough space between the table and his seat when you planned this slightly new kitchen layout. You motion for him to continue eating. With a swipe of your thumb to his lips, you catch a crumb of apple pie that had caught on his mouth, and press it to your lips, swallowing while maintaining eye contact with the man whose hard-on grows more and more prominent by the millisecond. 

He knows better now than to stop eating. He just has to be good for you. So even as you press gentle kisses to his jawline and along his neck, akin to the fluttering touch of a butterfly, he continues to obey your previous orders. 

But when your body slides downward, your chest pressing warm against his before you keep going down and down and down, smooth as molasses, finally landing on your knees between his spread legs, he finds his voice again.

“Pip—”

Any words he might have for you are lost in a grunt and him nearly choking on a mouth full of apple pie as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his cock through his sweats. Already more than half-hard, it was easy for you to find the tip. You give him another kiss through his sweatpants, mouth catching in just the right way at the tip. His thighs part to make more space for you. When your eyes find his again and take in him obediently finishing up the apple pie, you smirk. His reward will be priceless. 

You pull his sweats to his ankles. He didn’t even bother wearing boxers. His cock springs up to smack gently against your lips, and as it slaps into your mouth you give a hungry little gasp.

You don’t hesitate to kiss and suckle along the length of him. You start kissing from the side of his cockhead to the base, before you press intimate kisses to the rest of his length, tongue lolling out to lick at him with every. Single. Kiss. Caleb, with only about a total of five hours of experience since that night on his birthday, nearly cums then and there.

He grips the wood of the table hard in his hand as you kiss the underside of his cock, licking and sucking in heavy sweeps with your tongue. You moan against him, the vibrations crawling right up his spine. He leans back against his chair. Savors the first feel of your mouth on him. You didn’t get to have him like this that first night. He was too busy finding places to lick between your thighs.

“That’s so good (Name),” he murmurs. You look up. The fork is back on the plate at the table, and his hand is drifting towards you to hold your face in the most gentle touch.

You swat his naked thigh with a loud slap, your mouth still on him. Caleb looks down at you in real bewilderment, his dusky eyes hazy as a lazy sunset, before he recognizes your command and, with strain in his body, pulls the fork back to his mouth. He chews open-mouthed on the apple pie, panting through his meal, his head rolling back into the chair. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily as he swallows. 

One thing you are truly skilled in is making this man struggle. You wouldn’t tell him just yet, but while he was away on mission you were busy practicing with a sex toy you’d kept hidden in your drawer for several months. Having him in your life as more than a friend has made you bring it back out into the world. While he was gone, you eagerly went over articles and forums, imagining with great pleasure how your newfound skills and efforts would translate into giving him the craziest head of his life. 

You were a tad nervous earlier. But you reveal just how much you’ve practiced now. 

“Baaaabyy, have you always been so good at this?” Caleb moans. “Ooohhh, oh fuck.”

You suck your cheeks inward. Bob your head up and down with your wet tongue pressed flat against the underside of his throbbing cock, caressing the sensitive skin of his frenulum every time you bring your head back up to his tip. Caleb shudders, swallowing another slice of apple pie through his struggle, his fists clenching. He hunches over the table and pants. It provides him with minimal relief, obstructing at the very least his hyper-arousing view of your mouth swallowing his cock down into your throat while you look up at him with the prettiest pair of teary eyes.

“You finished the pie yet, baby?” 

Caleb’s cock twitches at the sound of your voice. It’s all fucked-out, raspy when you give voice to a vowel. He can only imagine the strain on your throat every time you sucked his cock into the back of your throat, holding it there so that he could feel the way your throat squeezed at his cockhead every time you gagged. When did you learn how to do such lewd things? 

He decides to voice the question, leaning back to meet your gaze while he breathes hard through each word, “Where did you… learn to… do things like that?” 

“Hmm?” You press a sweet kiss to the tip of his cock. Your tongue swipes over a bead of precum that slips out of the puckered hole on his tip. Caleb clenches his fist, holding steady in spite of your ministrations. Still he falters slightly when you nuzzle your soft mouth into him, your voice vibrating against his cock deliciously with your words, “What d’you mean, Cay?” 

His eyes flutter. His nails bite into the skin of his palm as he clenches his fist harder. “I-I mean, have you had practice… before?” 

You freeze. Guilt creeps upon your expression. At that, jealousy begins to churn in Caleb’s gut, corroding his patience. 

You stammer out something silly, unwilling to admit you’d been going to town on a dildo the entire time he was gone so you could practice for his return, “Don’t get the wrong idea—”

Caleb bends down and lifts you from the ground. 

In the past, Caleb would reel in his instinctive responses of jealousy. When you were teens and you’d gush to him about cute love letters left in your locker, all that would reach you were subtle words that reeked of envy, perhaps a “he’s never gonna be good enough for you” or “there’s somebody so much better out there just waiting for you.” Tonight, after every time you’ve given in to him, every time you let him push your limits, he decides to finally, just once, surrender to his petty jealousies. 

Caleb has picked you up, his hands on the backs of your thighs. You’re vulnerable in his arms as he stands from his chair, not quite looking at you, his expression unreadable. You’d be afraid if you hadn’t put your life in this man’s hands a dozen times and without fail he prioritized it above all else.

“You’ve let somebody else touch you?” he asks, his face so close to yours you can almost taste the jealousy on his breath. “Somebody who would never even bother to take the time to learn exactly what you like, like I’ve always done?” 

You don’t give him an answer. 

He tilts his head at you. Even with his patience running thin, he will give you a chance to escape. “I’ll give you five seconds to answer.” 

One second passes. Then two. Something inside him shifts as he closes his eyes in a final attempt at restoring his composure. Beneath his eyelids, images of how you might have let other people touch you, how you allowed somebody else to hold your precious body in their hands and give you pleasure that should have only been reserved for his eyes, the only ones that would look at you with love like his, pass through his mind. Inside him, a yawning, vicious black hole forms at those thoughts.

Caleb’s eyes open. You search his gaze and arousal jumps in your stomach as you take in the unnatural darkness in the eyes of your usually sweet, tender boyfriend. His pupils are blown wide in his lavender irises.

“Your five seconds are up,” he whispers. 

With a gentle sweep of his arms, he sets you on the table. Caleb settles between your spread legs, his hands coming under your knees and hooking your thighs over his shoulders as he leans back to marvel at how beautiful you look with lace tracing the lines of your body. He knows exactly how he’ll ruin you so that you forget that anyone could have ever touched your body before him.

“We’ll need a safe word tonight,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing hair from your eyes. His eyes fall to your lips as they part with a soft noise of surprise. 

“Apple,” you tell him. 

“The moment you don’t like what I’m doing,” he says, “The very nanosecond you feel anything, you say it.” 

Caleb’s thumbs slip under the underwear hiding your core from him. Later, he’ll tear through the rest of your clothing with his teeth. The lace ribbons especially.

“Because now,” he says, his fingers ghosting over your hole, “I’m not going to hold back. I’m going to spell my name out on your hole with my fingers, and my tongue, and my cock. And you won’t ever forget who you belong to.” 

You shiver. 

“I want you to,” you say. Your eyes don’t break away from his even as you moan while he circles your hole with a finger. Caleb drops to his knees, his head settling between your thighs. His tongue slips from his mouth and laves over your hole. You lie back onto the table and wrap your legs around his shoulders as he begins to devour his favorite dessert.

Vaguely, through the haze of three orgasms, you recall various sensations. 

Caleb’s tongue lapping at your hole with dangerous vigor. How he sank his teeth into every inch of the fat of your inner thighs to mark the holy space between your legs with bruises that would remind you who you belonged to every time you looked down in the shower. The hickeys he sucked into your lower stomach will bloom a fresh purple in beautiful juxtaposition with the rest of the marks he left. 

He tried to be sweet after turning you into nothing less than his last meal, after scissoring his fingers into your hole to the point where you had to beg for him to pull his skilled digits out and give you his cock already. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. You parted your lips for him, looking up at him with dazed eyes, before arousal filled your gaze once again as he spat your cum into your mouth. His mouth hovered over yours as he let his spit and your cum dribble onto your waiting tongue, and he watched with dark eyes as you took it all, writhing beneath him with arousal. 

“Swallow,” he commanded. You did, without question, without hesitation. “You like your taste?”

You can only nod.

“Yeah?” He rubs your bottom lip. “Discovered that it’s my favorite in the universe that night. June 13th, I’ll save the date. But from now on, I might just have to eat you up for breakfast every morning to get my fill.” 

“You…” You shake your head at him. “Have always talked way too much.” 

“Hm, what else should I be doing aside from havin’ a nice chat with the love of my life?” 

Your eyes roll back into your skull for reasons you don’t like.

“You say that like you didn’t just suck the soul out of me,” you mutter. 

“C’mon. Tell me what you want, honey.” Caleb hovers over you, a boyish smirk playing on his chapped lips. 

You take his hand in yours. You never break away from his gaze, even as your hole twitches when you brush the pads of his fingers over your puckered, stretched entrance. 

“Can’t you feel how hungry I am for you?” you ask. You guide his index finger, press it just enough so that it slides inside you ever so slightly. Caleb’s breathing hitches. “You neglected me for three whole weeks. I need your cock inside me, baby.” 

Your breathing hitches as he gathers you in his arms, taking your hand away from your core to guide your arm over his neck. He captures your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slick inside your mouth—you arch into the warmth of him, chest pressing to his, before your mouth opens with a loud gasp as his cockhead presses against your hole. 

“I’m putting it inside,” he whispers quickly, his forehead against yours, voice mingling in relieved moans with your own sweet chorus of pleasure as he finally slides through your slick and into you. You watch as his whole face goes slack at the sensation of your tightness sucking him inside.

You arch against him, cling to him in desperation as he gives deep, seeking thrusts into your hole. You squirm as his tongue seeks your own once more, overwhelmed by sensation. 

“Mnnn!” 

Neither of you last long. You’d been apart from your lover for weeks with only his photos and pre-recorded vids for company. Some were innocent recordings of him singing his favorite song that you’d put on the record to keep you company while you cooked. Some were videos shot in the dark of his body soaked in sweat while he moaned your name, with you sitting on the other side of the screen imagining his hands on you.

Caleb falls apart first, moaning ‘pipsqueak, pipsqueak’ in reverence as he fills you. And when you cum for him, crying his name in relief and from the fullness of him in your body, he doesn’t give you a break. He lifts you into the air and slides you down onto his dick. In this position, you can’t run from him, can only writhe and twist as he presses relentless thrusts into you. He cages you against the wall, covering your neck in relentless kisses. After driving you to two orgasms against the cold concrete he rips the rest of the lace off you and bends you over his couch. Caleb commits the sight of you bent over for him, arching for him, to memory right then and there, taking in every dimple in your skin and every muscle that contracts as he fucks your aching hole. 

“Caleb, I want more,” you say in a needy voice after he finishes inside you on the carpet, having ridden him till he whimpered for you to stop. Evening has already fallen over Skyhaven. The moonlight shines on your beloved as he pants with exhaustion on the carpeted floor, his cock at half-mast, craving your heat once more in the same way your eyes devour the sight of him now. 

Caleb chuckles, the sound so low and rough and frankly so fucked-out. You shiver at how primal he sounds. 

“Can’t get enough of me, huh, pips?” 

You whine needily, upset that he’s taking so long to give you what you want. It isn’t like him to deprive both you and himself. “Caleb,” you mewl, calling for his attention as you bring yourself to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows and present yourself to him under the stagelights of a bright moon. He turns to watch you, smirking, before his smug demeanor falls apart an instant later.

You press your chest to the glass as you bend over with weak legs to spread your ass for him with your fingers. Caleb gives a groan at the sight, crawling up to you in a hurry, his hands sliding over your ass and your hips as he reaches you. Finally, he stands, and adjusts his body to settle his torso over your arched back. You feel his length rise between your thighs before the now familiar spread of him spears inside you. Your hole stretches for him once more. Caleb inhales sharply at the first press.

“Caleb,” you moan, head thrown back. Caleb bends over your body, pressing a hand into the glass. He nuzzles into the back of your neck and gives a slow, lazy thrust into your hole.

“I’ll give you two more,” he promises. That nearly makes you weep.

“I can’t,” you whine. The noise is pathetic even to your own ears.

“Yes, you can.” His arms engulf you in a bear hug, dragging you into his hips as he meets your ass with his thrusts even as you try to squirm away from him. You feel the familiar weight of his Evol balance the both of you as he presses you into the window, and yet you know that with it, you have no means of escape from him. His hands settle over your chest and collarbone. “Say it with me, (Name).”

You shake your head. He squeezes your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint in your skin, forcing a surprised yelp out of you. The night has made you familiar with how he makes good on his threats. If you don’t give him two now, he’ll make you give him four.

“I-I can,” you whimper.

“Say it again. Say my name.” 

“I can, Caleb, I can,” you say, voice breaking in the middle when he gives a precise thrust into a sensitive spot inside you. He learned all your ticks so quickly. Can push your puttons with just a shift of his hips or a kiss to a certain spot on your shoulder, or behind your ear.

Caleb grunts at your words. “You’re soaked down here,” he murmurs into your ear, probing your hole with his fingers even as he pistons his cock into you. You can feel him scooping up the fluids pouring from your hole. “But… did you see? All of it is my cum.” 

Caleb tilts your head upward and brings his hand in front of your face. You moan at the sight of his fingers drenched white with his cum, pooling into the crease of his palm, all of it gathered from the nut he filled your hole with. Every single inch of your body throbs with arousal. You squeeze his cock as he shoves it inside you and he chuckles, the sound low in his throat. You can hear the smug smile on his face.

“Can you a-also give me two?” you ask, hiding your greed with sweetness in your voice. 

Caleb huffs at your saccharine, honeyed tone. You sound so sweet underneath him, sounded sweet the whole night. His perfect little pipsqueak. 

He might not know it yet, but he’s nothing but a fool when he’s balls-deep inside you. You’ve already noticed—you know you could ask for anything and he’d beg to be the one to give it to you. 

You can feel the exact moment he gives in to your innocent plea. His body steadies over yours. He’s getting ready to give you everything you asked for.

“Easy peasy,” he mutters, feeling how easy it’ll be to cum inside you twice more especially when you look back at him with your tear-stained eyes, the pleasure in them matching his. 

You laugh in a tired voice. But you know to brace yourself as he crowds you into the glass, his body pressing you to the window as his thrusts grow harder, find deeper places inside of you. It barely takes a minute of him simply giving you his cock in such an intimate, tight position against the window, his grunts breathing heat into your ear and nailing arousal straight into your brain, before you’re going limp in his arms and falling back into him with the first of the two orgasms he plans on giving you.

Your knees give out beneath you. Your body slides downward. Caleb’s body simply follows, too heavily weakened by the tight clench of your hole as your orgasm has you milking him with every piston of his hips. He doesn’t stop thrusting into you, letting you ride out the entirety of your orgasm, as you cum for him and slowly fall to the floor. Caleb’s chest heaves as he hunches over you, gritting his teeth as you clench up so tight around him.

Your moans are incomprehensible, uncontrolled noises pulled from your throat. He thinks he might hear syllables of his name in between, but you’re too far gone after the orgasms he gave you to put the words together. Your body writhes in his grip and he holds you close, keeps you steady even as your whole body submits to gravity and you end up on your hands and knees on the floor, body rocking back and forth with the continuous, unrelenting pistons of his hips. 

“Oohhhh, baby, I’m never gonna get tired of how tight you squeeze me,” he mutters, watching the way your body slides back and forth on the rug every time he brings his hips to your ass. Your back tightens and he watches the muscles there strain. He can’t imagine how he survived being weeks away from this. This view only he gets to see, this pleasure only he is allowed to indulge in with this body of yours.

“Cum for me, Caleb, please,” you whine. “I need you to fill me up.”

It hits him then and there. The moment that plea leaves your lips, Caleb’s body, exhausted from so many rounds and sensitive from each one, gives out. The backs of his thighs tremble as you both collapse into the rug. His heartbeat presses into your back as he holds you close, folds you into the carpet beneath with his weight. He’s heavy above you, rasping your name in an endless, pleasured mantra as he pulsates within you to fill you with his cum. You cry at the feel of his weight, unable to escape from him as he pumps you full of cum, holding him to you with a hand on the back of his neck. 

But he doesn’t stop. Even as he trembles and whimpers from the overstimulation, he continues to piston himself into you. You squeal in protest, too brainless to string together the vowels in a word. 

“One… more,” he whimpers, kissing and biting the lobe of your ear, his breaths hot as he whispers his love to you, “One more, my baby. Soak my cock one more time.” 

Your body writhes hard in his grip as his fingers find the most sensitive parts of your pelvis. He fingers you to and over the brink of overstimulation, and you can’t even tell him it’s too much, can’t ask him to stop—there are no words for the pleasure he gives you, the love pouring from his body into yours. Like always, you can only take what Caleb has to give. Even if it’s too much.

Vaguely, you register the pattern his fingers press into your body. You squeal in pleasure as you realize—C-A-L-E-B—and he does it over and over again, tracing his name where you’re most sensitive.

“Love you,” you finally babble after he pulls you to his chest to thrust up into you. “I love you so much, my Caleb.” 

He whines, his cock as sensitive as your hole, drenched in slick, his cum and yours, and pulsating with overstimulation. “I love you, pipsqueak, baby, I love you—” 

His voice cracks as his moans grow ragged. Caleb flips you onto your back and folds you into the floor. Pushes your legs up and locks them around his waist. And as his thrusts deepen, as your hole froths to become creamy with your cum and so much of his, your bodies give together at the same time. 

Caleb cradles you to him as he cums first. He cries your name, looking down at you and never breaking your gaze as his cock fills you with final spurts of pleasure. You claw at his arms, nodding up at him and meeting his eyes just the same as he tells you to cum for him, to show him who your body belongs to, and he kisses your forehead as you finally twist beneath him and shower him in slick. 

“My pipsqueak,” he murmurs softly, exhausted, but unwilling to pull away from you. You feel his cum drool from out of your hole, slipping down onto the carpet. Closing your eyes, you stroke his hair as he sighs into you, peppering your face in kisses. 

“I missed you so much,” he says. He pulls back to look at you, at the mess he’s made of his lover. His pipsqueak, his his his. You’re all his. 

“Mm, I can feel it,” you whisper, voice still hoarse from screaming his name. You let him maneuver you onto your side, still connected with him, as he snuggles you into his embrace. He ignores your complaints of being dirty and sweaty. He smells like sex. The scent of his cum dripping forth from inside you hits your nostrils.

“Give me five more minutes with you like this,” he says, and he sounds so sweet and how could you ever, ever tell him no, when throughout all the years he has given you everything you’ve ever wanted without protest, without complaint?

“I’ll be here however long you want, my Caleb,” you whisper into his ear, kissing him there. You feel him blush a bit as you settle into his side, and know just how to tease him further. “My Caleb, my Caleb, my Caleb.” 

“Yes,” he says, sighing with content, “Caleb is all yours.” 

—

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Caleb crosses the stone path. Your silhouette crosses the open window. He catches a glimpse of a tray in your hand.

He races to the front door, a smile coming to his face as he hears you move around in the kitchen. You make little grunts of effort, a few noises of delight—you must be trying the dishes you’d prepared for his arrival. Caleb has never smiled so hard in his life since that day at Gran’s house. 

With concentration furrowing his brow, he adjusts his tie, dusts off his cap, and straightens his posture. He places a hand on the doorknob.

You’d left the door unlocked. He swings it open.

“I’m home!” he calls, to a house aglow with soft overhead lights and a ‘Welcome Back!’ sign strung up in golden balloons at the roof of the entryway.

“Oh shit, Caleb!” Caleb melts at the sound of your voice, even with the expletive. “In the kitchen!”

He can’t help himself. Caleb reaches the kitchen in four quick strides, almost running towards the sound of your voice.

He scoops you up in his arms the moment he reaches you. With a reluctant laugh you struggle against him and begin to complain.

“Caleb, the pie! It’s apple pie!” 

He doesn’t let go. And in spite of how funny it is to hear you protesting his affections all to save a pie, he can’t help the melancholic swell in his chest. He has never come home to safety, to love. The last few months, he returned home as a dead man—on paper and to everyone he ever knew.

But you’ve changed that. It took just your smile, he remembers those first few nights he returned to you, to change so many things about him. You made him want to be alive in spite of how he was dead in every possible aspect.

With his face pressed into the crook of your neck, Caleb begins to cry.

You still immediately as the salt of his tears wets your shoulder. His sobs are gentle. He presses himself closer to you, bending down with his arms wrapped so completely around you, stronger than any gravitational pull. Against the typical gentle nature of comfort you pull him into a tighter embrace, savoring the feel of the only man you love coming back home to you, safe and sound, in your arms. He deserves to know that you will never let him go. So you show him that with your arms wrapped just as tightly around him. 

When he stills and his cries turn to sniffles, you pull back from him to smile up at his handsome face, wiping tears from under his glistening supernova irises. Your thumbs are soft on his cheeks as you wipe the tears of your beautiful boy. He gives a gentle smile as he looks down at you.

You’ve never been looked at with so much love. 

“Welcome home, Caleb.” 

And Caleb has never loved the sound of three words more.

—

Caleb compliments your cooking all throughout the meal. Of course he can’t help throwing in a few quips at you here and there. He teases your Julienned carrots, poking you in the nose as he reminds you of how you cut up so-called Julienned carrots into little letter ‘J’s in every home economics class because you believed the kid who bullied you when he told you Julienne meant spelling out the inventor’s name. Seated next to him, knowing you can’t stay away and you would have transferred to the seat over anyway if you’d sat across from him, you get the chance to shove another forkful of, in your opinion, perfectly Julienned carrots in his mouth as he snorts out another laugh at your irritated expression.

“Go ahead and get changed into something more comfy,” you tell him once he finishes the main course. Because, of course, you’d crafted three specific courses for his return. You’ve only gone through two so far.

“I haven’t had dessert yet though,” he says, eyeing the apple pie on the plate next to your elbow. You grab it, holding the plate in front of him in a tempting hover.

“You want it?” 

He snorts. “Boo. I just got home and you’re already bullying me?”

“You heard me, Caleb.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says, standing. He spares one last glance at you, smiling at the sight of you filling his dining room with light and scrumptious home cooking and a smile that could be the sun in all his lifetimes. He goes up the stairs to get changed.

And with that, you undergo your own costume change.

You’d planned this the whole time he was gone. Turned the idea over in your head a million times. He’d so enjoyed receiving you as his gift—matter of fact, he admitted staining his pants a bit when you’d arrived at Fleet HQ in an outfit wrapped in ribbons on his birthday a few weeks back. Wouldn’t he enjoy having you as a gift, just one more time?

But what if he already thought the idea was corny? As you strip down till you’re in nothing but your underwear, regret begins to come to the surface. Here you were being presumptuous about the kinds of things Caleb would like. You’ve never explored anything remotely sexual with him before, and you’d only been together a few months. That one night on his birthday was all you had. Your brow furrows with embarrassment, and you reach for your clothes again—

“Oh,” a voice breathes from behind you. “Pipsqueak…” 

Wrapped in lace that hugs your frame, you know you look like the most mouthwatering meal Caleb will ever have a taste of. But the embarrassment lingers, even as he approaches with sin already pooling in his eyes, his muscles bulging from the tight white shirt he put on, the dogtag you gave him nestled between his outrageous pecs. When you chance a glance downward, you can see how his dick print begins to swell in his grey sweats—its outline grows larger the longer you look at it.

“Is this all for me?” he asks, his fingers ghosting over your bare shoulder. You catch his hand before it can move further downward.

“I haven’t spoiled you rotten already, have I?” you tease. “Be patient. This dessert is for later.” You move to his side and guide him to his chair. “Sit down.” 

Caleb tilts his head, curious at what you have prepared for him when you look more than ready for him to dive in between your thighs. 

You walk around him once he’s seated, picking up the tray of three servings of apple pie. Caleb almost stands up to help. All it takes is a look from you and he’s sitting back down slowly as you set the tray in front of him.

“Here’s your dessert, Colonel.” 

He doesn’t even spare a glance at the apple pie—his eyes never leave you. Pshaw. You’d work so hard on presentation. The caramel on top even shines a creamy gold.

“Pipsqueak—”

“If you keep talking and don’t start eating, you’re going to miss out on your real dessert.” He doesn’t pick up on your impatience. If he asked you nicely right now, you’d bend over for him and let him pound you into next Sunday. You’ve missed him just as much as he misses you.

The Colonel likes a good challenge. He shovels each forkful of pie into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. At times he glances down at your figure and slows down, sometimes pausing completely. But after several seconds of eyeing you like a hungry wolf he seems to remember where he is and what he should be doing and resumes piggin’ out.

It’s when he’s halfway done with the apple pie that you remember the second half to this part of your plan. While sensual, your movements are a bit harried. 

Caleb pauses eating as you stand in front of him, as you had made enough space between the table and his seat when you planned this slightly new kitchen layout. You motion for him to continue eating. With a swipe of your thumb to his lips, you catch a crumb of apple pie that had caught on his mouth, and press it to your lips, swallowing while maintaining eye contact with the man whose hard-on grows more and more prominent by the millisecond. 

He knows better now than to stop eating. He just has to be good for you. So even as you press gentle kisses to his jawline and along his neck, akin to the fluttering touch of a butterfly, he continues to obey your previous orders. 

But when your body slides downward, your chest pressing warm against his before you keep going down and down and down, smooth as molasses, finally landing on your knees between his spread legs, he finds his voice again.

“Pip—”

Any words he might have for you are lost in a grunt and him nearly choking on a mouth full of apple pie as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his cock through his sweats. Already more than half-hard, it was easy for you to find the tip. You give him another kiss through his sweatpants, mouth catching in just the right way at the tip. His thighs part to make more space for you. When your eyes find his again and take in him obediently finishing up the apple pie, you smirk. His reward will be priceless. 

You pull his sweats to his ankles. He didn’t even bother wearing boxers. His cock springs up to smack gently against your lips, and as it slaps into your mouth you give a hungry little gasp.

You don’t hesitate to kiss and suckle along the length of him. You start kissing from the side of his cockhead to the base, before you press intimate kisses to the rest of his length, tongue lolling out to lick at him with every. Single. Kiss. Caleb, with only about a total of five hours of experience since that night on his birthday, nearly cums then and there.

He grips the wood of the table hard in his hand as you kiss the underside of his cock, licking and sucking in heavy sweeps with your tongue. You moan against him, the vibrations crawling right up his spine. He leans back against his chair. Savors the first feel of your mouth on him. You didn’t get to have him like this that first night. He was too busy finding places to lick between your thighs.

“That’s so good (Name),” he murmurs. You look up. The fork is back on the plate at the table, and his hand is drifting towards you to hold your face in the most gentle touch.

You swat his naked thigh with a loud slap, your mouth still on him. Caleb looks down at you in real bewilderment, his dusky eyes hazy as a lazy sunset, before he recognizes your command and, with strain in his body, pulls the fork back to his mouth. He chews open-mouthed on the apple pie, panting through his meal, his head rolling back into the chair. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily as he swallows. 

One thing you are truly skilled in is making this man struggle. You wouldn’t tell him just yet, but while he was away on mission you were busy practicing with a sex toy you’d kept hidden in your drawer for several months. Having him in your life as more than a friend has made you bring it back out into the world. While he was gone, you eagerly went over articles and forums, imagining with great pleasure how your newfound skills and efforts would translate into giving him the craziest head of his life. 

You were a tad nervous earlier. But you reveal just how much you’ve practiced now. 

“Baaaabyy, have you always been so good at this?” Caleb moans. “Ooohhh, oh fuck.”

You suck your cheeks inward. Bob your head up and down with your wet tongue pressed flat against the underside of his throbbing cock, caressing the sensitive skin of his frenulum every time you bring your head back up to his tip. Caleb shudders, swallowing another slice of apple pie through his struggle, his fists clenching. He hunches over the table and pants. It provides him with minimal relief, obstructing at the very least his hyper-arousing view of your mouth swallowing his cock down into your throat while you look up at him with the prettiest pair of teary eyes.

“You finished the pie yet, baby?” 

Caleb’s cock twitches at the sound of your voice. It’s all fucked-out, raspy when you give voice to a vowel. He can only imagine the strain on your throat every time you sucked his cock into the back of your throat, holding it there so that he could feel the way your throat squeezed at his cockhead every time you gagged. When did you learn how to do such lewd things? 

He decides to voice the question, leaning back to meet your gaze while he breathes hard through each word, “Where did you… learn to… do things like that?” 

“Hmm?” You press a sweet kiss to the tip of his cock. Your tongue swipes over a bead of precum that slips out of the puckered hole on his tip. Caleb clenches his fist, holding steady in spite of your ministrations. Still he falters slightly when you nuzzle your soft mouth into him, your voice vibrating against his cock deliciously with your words, “What d’you mean, Cay?” 

His eyes flutter. His nails bite into the skin of his palm as he clenches his fist harder. “I-I mean, have you had practice… before?” 

You freeze. Guilt creeps upon your expression. At that, jealousy begins to churn in Caleb’s gut, corroding his patience. 

You stammer out something silly, unwilling to admit you’d been going to town on a dildo the entire time he was gone so you could practice for his return, “Don’t get the wrong idea—”

Caleb bends down and lifts you from the ground. 

In the past, Caleb would reel in his instinctive responses of jealousy. When you were teens and you’d gush to him about cute love letters left in your locker, all that would reach you were subtle words that reeked of envy, perhaps a “he’s never gonna be good enough for you” or “there’s somebody so much better out there just waiting for you.” Tonight, after every time you’ve given in to him, every time you let him push your limits, he decides to finally, just once, surrender to his petty jealousies. 

Caleb has picked you up, his hands on the backs of your thighs. You’re vulnerable in his arms as he stands from his chair, not quite looking at you, his expression unreadable. You’d be afraid if you hadn’t put your life in this man’s hands a dozen times and without fail he prioritized it above all else.

“You’ve let somebody else touch you?” he asks, his face so close to yours you can almost taste the jealousy on his breath. “Somebody who would never even bother to take the time to learn exactly what you like, like I’ve always done?” 

You don’t give him an answer. 

He tilts his head at you. Even with his patience running thin, he will give you a chance to escape. “I’ll give you five seconds to answer.” 

One second passes. Then two. Something inside him shifts as he closes his eyes in a final attempt at restoring his composure. Beneath his eyelids, images of how you might have let other people touch you, how you allowed somebody else to hold your precious body in their hands and give you pleasure that should have only been reserved for his eyes, the only ones that would look at you with love like his, pass through his mind. Inside him, a yawning, vicious black hole forms at those thoughts.

Caleb’s eyes open. You search his gaze and arousal jumps in your stomach as you take in the unnatural darkness in the eyes of your usually sweet, tender boyfriend. His pupils are blown wide in his lavender irises.

“Your five seconds are up,” he whispers. 

With a gentle sweep of his arms, he sets you on the table. Caleb settles between your spread legs, his hands coming under your knees and hooking your thighs over his shoulders as he leans back to marvel at how beautiful you look with lace tracing the lines of your body. He knows exactly how he’ll ruin you so that you forget that anyone could have ever touched your body before him.

“We’ll need a safe word tonight,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing hair from your eyes. His eyes fall to your lips as they part with a soft noise of surprise. 

“Apple,” you tell him. 

“The moment you don’t like what I’m doing,” he says, “The very nanosecond you feel anything, you say it.” 

Caleb’s thumbs slip under the underwear hiding your core from him. Later, he’ll tear through the rest of your clothing with his teeth. The lace ribbons especially.

“Because now,” he says, his fingers ghosting over your hole, “I’m not going to hold back. I’m going to spell my name out on your hole with my fingers, and my tongue, and my cock. And you won’t ever forget who you belong to.” 

You shiver. 

“I want you to,” you say. Your eyes don’t break away from his even as you moan while he circles your hole with a finger. Caleb drops to his knees, his head settling between your thighs. His tongue slips from his mouth and laves over your hole. You lie back onto the table and wrap your legs around his shoulders as he begins to devour his favorite dessert.

Vaguely, through the haze of three orgasms, you recall various sensations. 

Caleb’s tongue lapping at your hole with dangerous vigor. How he sank his teeth into every inch of the fat of your inner thighs to mark the holy space between your legs with bruises that would remind you who you belonged to every time you looked down in the shower. The hickeys he sucked into your lower stomach will bloom a fresh purple in beautiful juxtaposition with the rest of the marks he left. 

He tried to be sweet after turning you into nothing less than his last meal, after scissoring his fingers into your hole to the point where you had to beg for him to pull his skilled digits out and give you his cock already. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. You parted your lips for him, looking up at him with dazed eyes, before arousal filled your gaze once again as he spat your cum into your mouth. His mouth hovered over yours as he let his spit and your cum dribble onto your waiting tongue, and he watched with dark eyes as you took it all, writhing beneath him with arousal. 

“Swallow,” he commanded. You did, without question, without hesitation. “You like your taste?”

You can only nod.

“Yeah?” He rubs your bottom lip. “Discovered that it’s my favorite in the universe that night. June 13th, I’ll save the date. But from now on, I might just have to eat you up for breakfast every morning to get my fill.” 

“You…” You shake your head at him. “Have always talked way too much.” 

“Hm, what else should I be doing aside from havin’ a nice chat with the love of my life?” 

Your eyes roll back into your skull for reasons you don’t like.

“You say that like you didn’t just suck the soul out of me,” you mutter. 

“C’mon. Tell me what you want, honey.” Caleb hovers over you, a boyish smirk playing on his chapped lips. 

You take his hand in yours. You never break away from his gaze, even as your hole twitches when you brush the pads of his fingers over your puckered, stretched entrance. 

“Can’t you feel how hungry I am for you?” you ask. You guide his index finger, press it just enough so that it slides inside you ever so slightly. Caleb’s breathing hitches. “You neglected me for three whole weeks. I need your cock inside me, baby.” 

Your breathing hitches as he gathers you in his arms, taking your hand away from your core to guide your arm over his neck. He captures your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slick inside your mouth—you arch into the warmth of him, chest pressing to his, before your mouth opens with a loud gasp as his cockhead presses against your hole. 

“I’m putting it inside,” he whispers quickly, his forehead against yours, voice mingling in relieved moans with your own sweet chorus of pleasure as he finally slides through your slick and into you. You watch as his whole face goes slack at the sensation of your tightness sucking him inside.

You arch against him, cling to him in desperation as he gives deep, seeking thrusts into your hole. You squirm as his tongue seeks your own once more, overwhelmed by sensation. 

“Mnnn!” 

Neither of you last long. You’d been apart from your lover for weeks with only his photos and pre-recorded vids for company. Some were innocent recordings of him singing his favorite song that you’d put on the record to keep you company while you cooked. Some were videos shot in the dark of his body soaked in sweat while he moaned your name, with you sitting on the other side of the screen imagining his hands on you.

Caleb falls apart first, moaning ‘pipsqueak, pipsqueak’ in reverence as he fills you. And when you cum for him, crying his name in relief and from the fullness of him in your body, he doesn’t give you a break. He lifts you into the air and slides you down onto his dick. In this position, you can’t run from him, can only writhe and twist as he presses relentless thrusts into you. He cages you against the wall, covering your neck in relentless kisses. After driving you to two orgasms against the cold concrete he rips the rest of the lace off you and bends you over his couch. Caleb commits the sight of you bent over for him, arching for him, to memory right then and there, taking in every dimple in your skin and every muscle that contracts as he fucks your aching hole. 

“Caleb, I want more,” you say in a needy voice after he finishes inside you on the carpet, having ridden him till he whimpered for you to stop. Evening has already fallen over Skyhaven. The moonlight shines on your beloved as he pants with exhaustion on the carpeted floor, his cock at half-mast, craving your heat once more in the same way your eyes devour the sight of him now. 

Caleb chuckles, the sound so low and rough and frankly so fucked-out. You shiver at how primal he sounds. 

“Can’t get enough of me, huh, pips?” 

You whine needily, upset that he’s taking so long to give you what you want. It isn’t like him to deprive both you and himself. “Caleb,” you mewl, calling for his attention as you bring yourself to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows and present yourself to him under the stagelights of a bright moon. He turns to watch you, smirking, before his smug demeanor falls apart an instant later.

You press your chest to the glass as you bend over with weak legs to spread your ass for him with your fingers. Caleb gives a groan at the sight, crawling up to you in a hurry, his hands sliding over your ass and your hips as he reaches you. Finally, he stands, and adjusts his body to settle his torso over your arched back. You feel his length rise between your thighs before the now familiar spread of him spears inside you. Your hole stretches for him once more. Caleb inhales sharply at the first press.

“Caleb,” you moan, head thrown back. Caleb bends over your body, pressing a hand into the glass. He nuzzles into the back of your neck and gives a slow, lazy thrust into your hole.

“I’ll give you two more,” he promises. That nearly makes you weep.

“I can’t,” you whine. The noise is pathetic even to your own ears.

“Yes, you can.” His arms engulf you in a bear hug, dragging you into his hips as he meets your ass with his thrusts even as you try to squirm away from him. You feel the familiar weight of his Evol balance the both of you as he presses you into the window, and yet you know that with it, you have no means of escape from him. His hands settle over your chest and collarbone. “Say it with me, (Name).”

You shake your head. He squeezes your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint in your skin, forcing a surprised yelp out of you. The night has made you familiar with how he makes good on his threats. If you don’t give him two now, he’ll make you give him four.

“I-I can,” you whimper.

“Say it again. Say my name.” 

“I can, Caleb, I can,” you say, voice breaking in the middle when he gives a precise thrust into a sensitive spot inside you. He learned all your ticks so quickly. Can push your puttons with just a shift of his hips or a kiss to a certain spot on your shoulder, or behind your ear.

Caleb grunts at your words. “You’re soaked down here,” he murmurs into your ear, probing your hole with his fingers even as he pistons his cock into you. You can feel him scooping up the fluids pouring from your hole. “But… did you see? All of it is my cum.” 

Caleb tilts your head upward and brings his hand in front of your face. You moan at the sight of his fingers drenched white with his cum, pooling into the crease of his palm, all of it gathered from the nut he filled your hole with. Every single inch of your body throbs with arousal. You squeeze his cock as he shoves it inside you and he chuckles, the sound low in his throat. You can hear the smug smile on his face.

“Can you a-also give me two?” you ask, hiding your greed with sweetness in your voice. 

Caleb huffs at your saccharine, honeyed tone. You sound so sweet underneath him, sounded sweet the whole night. His perfect little pipsqueak. 

He might not know it yet, but he’s nothing but a fool when he’s balls-deep inside you. You’ve already noticed—you know you could ask for anything and he’d beg to be the one to give it to you. 

You can feel the exact moment he gives in to your innocent plea. His body steadies over yours. He’s getting ready to give you everything you asked for.

“Easy peasy,” he mutters, feeling how easy it’ll be to cum inside you twice more especially when you look back at him with your tear-stained eyes, the pleasure in them matching his. 

You laugh in a tired voice. But you know to brace yourself as he crowds you into the glass, his body pressing you to the window as his thrusts grow harder, find deeper places inside of you. It barely takes a minute of him simply giving you his cock in such an intimate, tight position against the window, his grunts breathing heat into your ear and nailing arousal straight into your brain, before you’re going limp in his arms and falling back into him with the first of the two orgasms he plans on giving you.

Your knees give out beneath you. Your body slides downward. Caleb’s body simply follows, too heavily weakened by the tight clench of your hole as your orgasm has you milking him with every piston of his hips. He doesn’t stop thrusting into you, letting you ride out the entirety of your orgasm, as you cum for him and slowly fall to the floor. Caleb’s chest heaves as he hunches over you, gritting his teeth as you clench up so tight around him.

Your moans are incomprehensible, uncontrolled noises pulled from your throat. He thinks he might hear syllables of his name in between, but you’re too far gone after the orgasms he gave you to put the words together. Your body writhes in his grip and he holds you close, keeps you steady even as your whole body submits to gravity and you end up on your hands and knees on the floor, body rocking back and forth with the continuous, unrelenting pistons of his hips. 

“Oohhhh, baby, I’m never gonna get tired of how tight you squeeze me,” he mutters, watching the way your body slides back and forth on the rug every time he brings his hips to your ass. Your back tightens and he watches the muscles there strain. He can’t imagine how he survived being weeks away from this. This view only he gets to see, this pleasure only he is allowed to indulge in with this body of yours.

“Cum for me, Caleb, please,” you whine. “I need you to fill me up.”

It hits him then and there. The moment that plea leaves your lips, Caleb’s body, exhausted from so many rounds and sensitive from each one, gives out. The backs of his thighs tremble as you both collapse into the rug. His heartbeat presses into your back as he holds you close, folds you into the carpet beneath with his weight. He’s heavy above you, rasping your name in an endless, pleasured mantra as he pulsates within you to fill you with his cum. You cry at the feel of his weight, unable to escape from him as he pumps you full of cum, holding him to you with a hand on the back of his neck. 

But he doesn’t stop. Even as he trembles and whimpers from the overstimulation, he continues to piston himself into you. You squeal in protest, too brainless to string together the vowels in a word. 

“One… more,” he whimpers, kissing and biting the lobe of your ear, his breaths hot as he whispers his love to you, “One more, my baby. Soak my cock one more time.” 

Your body writhes hard in his grip as his fingers find the most sensitive parts of your pelvis. He fingers you to and over the brink of overstimulation, and you can’t even tell him it’s too much, can’t ask him to stop—there are no words for the pleasure he gives you, the love pouring from his body into yours. Like always, you can only take what Caleb has to give. Even if it’s too much.

“Love you,” you finally babble after he pulls you to his chest to thrust up into you. “I love you so much, my Caleb.” 

He whines, his cock as sensitive as your hole, drenched in slick, his cum and yours, and pulsating with overstimulation. “I love you, pipsqueak, baby, I love you—” 

His voice cracks as his moans grow ragged. Caleb flips you onto your back and folds you into the floor. Pushes your legs up and locks them around his waist. And as his thrusts deepen, as your hole froths to become creamy with your cum and so much of his, your bodies give together at the same time. 

Caleb cradles you to him as he cums first. He cries your name, looking down at you and never breaking your gaze as his cock fills you with final spurts of pleasure. You claw at his arms, nodding up at him and meeting his eyes just the same as he tells you to cum for him, to show him who your body belongs to, and he kisses your forehead as you finally twist beneath him and shower him in slick. 

“My pipsqueak,” he murmurs softly, exhausted, but unwilling to pull away from you. You feel his cum drool from out of your hole, slipping down onto the carpet. Closing your eyes, you stroke his hair as he sighs into you, peppering your face in kisses. 

“I missed you so much,” he says. He pulls back to look at you, at the mess he’s made of his lover. His pipsqueak, his his his. You’re all his. 

“Mm, I can feel it,” you whisper, voice still hoarse from screaming his name. You let him maneuver you onto your side, still connected with him, as he snuggles you into his embrace. He ignores your complaints of being dirty and sweaty. He smells like sex. The scent of his cum dripping forth from inside you hits your nostrils.

“Give me five more minutes with you like this,” he says, and he sounds so sweet and how could you ever, ever tell him no, when throughout all the years he has given you everything you’ve ever wanted without protest, without complaint?

“I’ll be here however long you want, my Caleb,” you whisper into his ear, kissing him there. You feel him blush a bit as you settle into his side, and know just how to tease him further. “My Caleb, my Caleb, my Caleb.” 

“Yes,” he says, sighing with content, “Caleb is all yours.” 

—

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Caleb crosses the stone path. Your silhouette crosses the open window. He catches a glimpse of a tray in your hand.

He races to the front door, a smile coming to his face as he hears you move around in the kitchen. You make little grunts of effort, a few noises of delight—you must be trying the dishes you’d prepared for his arrival. Caleb has never smiled so hard in his life since that day at Gran’s house. 

With concentration furrowing his brow, he adjusts his tie, dusts off his cap, and straightens his posture. He places a hand on the doorknob.

You’d left the door unlocked. He swings it open.

“I’m home!” he calls, to a house aglow with soft overhead lights and a ‘Welcome Back!’ sign strung up in golden balloons at the roof of the entryway.

“Oh shit, Caleb!” Caleb melts at the sound of your voice, even with the expletive. “In the kitchen!”

He can’t help himself. Caleb reaches the kitchen in four quick strides, almost running towards the sound of your voice.

He scoops you up in his arms the moment he reaches you. With a reluctant laugh you struggle against him and begin to complain.

“Caleb, the pie! It’s apple pie!” 

He doesn’t let go. And in spite of how funny it is to hear you protesting his affections all to save a pie, he can’t help the melancholic swell in his chest. He has never come home to safety, to love. The last few months, he returned home as a dead man—on paper and to everyone he ever knew.

But you’ve changed that. It took just your smile, he remembers those first few nights he returned to you, to change so many things about him. You made him want to be alive in spite of how he was dead in every possible aspect.

With his face pressed into the crook of your neck, Caleb begins to cry.

You still immediately as the salt of his tears wets your shoulder. His sobs are gentle. He presses himself closer to you, bending down with his arms wrapped so completely around you, stronger than any gravitational pull. Against the typical gentle nature of comfort you pull him into a tighter embrace, savoring the feel of the only man you love coming back home to you, safe and sound, in your arms. He deserves to know that you will never let him go. So you show him that with your arms wrapped just as tightly around him. 

When he stills and his cries turn to sniffles, you pull back from him to smile up at his handsome face, wiping tears from under his glistening supernova irises. Your thumbs are soft on his cheeks as you wipe the tears of your beautiful boy. He gives a gentle smile as he looks down at you.

You’ve never been looked at with so much love. 

“Welcome home, Caleb.” 

And Caleb has never loved the sound of three words more.

—

Caleb compliments your cooking all throughout the meal. Of course he can’t help throwing in a few quips at you here and there. He teases your Julienned carrots, poking you in the nose as he reminds you of how you cut up so-called Julienned carrots into little letter ‘J’s in every home economics class because you believed the kid who bullied you when he told you Julienne meant spelling out the inventor’s name. Seated next to him, knowing you can’t stay away and you would have transferred to the seat over anyway if you’d sat across from him, you get the chance to shove another forkful of, in your opinion, perfectly Julienned carrots in his mouth as he snorts out another laugh at your irritated expression.

“Go ahead and get changed into something more comfy,” you tell him once he finishes the main course. Because, of course, you’d crafted three specific courses for his return. You’ve only gone through two so far.

“I haven’t had dessert yet though,” he says, eyeing the apple pie on the plate next to your elbow. You grab it, holding the plate in front of him in a tempting hover.

“You want it?” 

He snorts. “Boo. I just got home and you’re already bullying me?”

“You heard me, Caleb.” 

“Okay, okay,” he says, standing. He spares one last glance at you, smiling at the sight of you filling his dining room with light and scrumptious home cooking and a smile that could be the sun in all his lifetimes. He goes up the stairs to get changed.

And with that, you undergo your own costume change.

You’d planned this the whole time he was gone. Turned the idea over in your head a million times. He’d so enjoyed receiving you as his gift—matter of fact, he admitted staining his pants a bit when you’d arrived at Fleet HQ in an outfit wrapped in ribbons on his birthday a few weeks back. Wouldn’t he enjoy having you as a gift, just one more time?

But what if he already thought the idea was corny? As you strip down till you’re in nothing but your underwear, regret begins to come to the surface. Here you were being presumptuous about the kinds of things Caleb would like. You’ve never explored anything remotely sexual with him before, and you’d only been together a few months. That one night on his birthday was all you had. Your brow furrows with embarrassment, and you reach for your clothes again—

“Oh,” a voice breathes from behind you. “Pipsqueak…” 

Wrapped in lace that hugs your frame, you know you look like the most mouthwatering meal Caleb will ever have a taste of. But the embarrassment lingers, even as he approaches with sin already pooling in his eyes, his muscles bulging from the tight white shirt he put on, the dogtag you gave him nestled between his outrageous pecs. When you chance a glance downward, you can see how his dick print begins to swell in his grey sweats—its outline grows larger the longer you look at it.

“Is this all for me?” he asks, his fingers ghosting over your bare shoulder. You catch his hand before it can move further downward.

“I haven’t spoiled you rotten already, have I?” you tease. “Be patient. This dessert is for later.” You move to his side and guide him to his chair. “Sit down.” 

Caleb tilts his head, curious at what you have prepared for him when you look more than ready for him to dive in between your thighs. 

You walk around him once he’s seated, picking up the tray of three servings of apple pie. Caleb almost stands up to help. All it takes is a look from you and he’s sitting back down slowly as you set the tray in front of him.

“Here’s your dessert, Colonel.” 

He doesn’t even spare a glance at the apple pie—his eyes never leave you. Pshaw. You’d work so hard on presentation. The caramel on top even shines a creamy gold.

“Pipsqueak—”

“If you keep talking and don’t start eating, you’re going to miss out on your real dessert.” He doesn’t pick up on your impatience. If he asked you nicely right now, you’d bend over for him and let him pound you into next Sunday. You’ve missed him just as much as he misses you.

The Colonel likes a good challenge. He shovels each forkful of pie into his mouth, eyes never leaving yours. At times he glances down at your figure and slows down, sometimes pausing completely. But after several seconds of eyeing you like a hungry wolf he seems to remember where he is and what he should be doing and resumes piggin’ out.

It’s when he’s halfway done with the apple pie that you remember the second half to this part of your plan. While sensual, your movements are a bit harried. 

Caleb pauses eating as you stand in front of him, as you had made enough space between the table and his seat when you planned this slightly new kitchen layout. You motion for him to continue eating. With a swipe of your thumb to his lips, you catch a crumb of apple pie that had caught on his mouth, and press it to your lips, swallowing while maintaining eye contact with the man whose hard-on grows more and more prominent by the millisecond. 

He knows better now than to stop eating. He just has to be good for you. So even as you press gentle kisses to his jawline and along his neck, akin to the fluttering touch of a butterfly, he continues to obey your previous orders. 

But when your body slides downward, your chest pressing warm against his before you keep going down and down and down, smooth as molasses, finally landing on your knees between his spread legs, he finds his voice again.

“Pip—”

Any words he might have for you are lost in a grunt and him nearly choking on a mouth full of apple pie as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his cock through his sweats. Already more than half-hard, it was easy for you to find the tip. You give him another kiss through his sweatpants, mouth catching in just the right way at the tip. His thighs part to make more space for you. When your eyes find his again and take in him obediently finishing up the apple pie, you smirk. His reward will be priceless. 

You pull his sweats to his ankles. He didn’t even bother wearing boxers. His cock springs up to smack gently against your lips, and as it slaps into your mouth you give a hungry little gasp.

You don’t hesitate to kiss and suckle along the length of him. You start kissing from the side of his cockhead to the base, before you press intimate kisses to the rest of his length, tongue lolling out to lick at him with every. Single. Kiss. Caleb, with only about a total of five hours of experience since that night on his birthday, nearly cums then and there.

He grips the wood of the table hard in his hand as you kiss the underside of his cock, licking and sucking in heavy sweeps with your tongue. You moan against him, the vibrations crawling right up his spine. He leans back against his chair. Savors the first feel of your mouth on him. You didn’t get to have him like this that first night. He was too busy finding places to lick between your thighs.

“That’s so good (Name),” he murmurs. You look up. The fork is back on the plate at the table, and his hand is drifting towards you to hold your face in the most gentle touch.

You swat his naked thigh with a loud slap, your mouth still on him. Caleb looks down at you in real bewilderment, his dusky eyes hazy as a lazy sunset, before he recognizes your command and, with strain in his body, pulls the fork back to his mouth. He chews open-mouthed on the apple pie, panting through his meal, his head rolling back into the chair. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily as he swallows. 

One thing you are truly skilled in is making this man struggle. You wouldn’t tell him just yet, but while he was away on mission you were busy practicing with a sex toy you’d kept hidden in your drawer for several months. Having him in your life as more than a friend has made you bring it back out into the world. While he was gone, you eagerly went over articles and forums, imagining with great pleasure how your newfound skills and efforts would translate into giving him the craziest head of his life. 

You were a tad nervous earlier. But you reveal just how much you’ve practiced now. 

“Baaaabyy, have you always been so good at this?” Caleb moans. “Ooohhh, oh fuck.”

You suck your cheeks inward. Bob your head up and down with your wet tongue pressed flat against the underside of his throbbing cock, caressing the sensitive skin of his frenulum every time you bring your head back up to his tip. Caleb shudders, swallowing another slice of apple pie through his struggle, his fists clenching. He hunches over the table and pants. It provides him with minimal relief, obstructing at the very least his hyper-arousing view of your mouth swallowing his cock down into your throat while you look up at him with the prettiest pair of teary eyes.

“You finished the pie yet, baby?” 

Caleb’s cock twitches at the sound of your voice. It’s all fucked-out, raspy when you give voice to a vowel. He can only imagine the strain on your throat every time you sucked his cock into the back of your throat, holding it there so that he could feel the way your throat squeezed at his cockhead every time you gagged. When did you learn how to do such lewd things? 

He decides to voice the question, leaning back to meet your gaze while he breathes hard through each word, “Where did you… learn to… do things like that?” 

“Hmm?” You press a sweet kiss to the tip of his cock. Your tongue swipes over a bead of precum that slips out of the puckered hole on his tip. Caleb clenches his fist, holding steady in spite of your ministrations. Still he falters slightly when you nuzzle your soft mouth into him, your voice vibrating against his cock deliciously with your words, “What d’you mean, Cay?” 

His eyes flutter. His nails bite into the skin of his palm as he clenches his fist harder. “I-I mean, have you had practice… before?” 

You freeze. Guilt creeps upon your expression. At that, jealousy begins to churn in Caleb’s gut, corroding his patience. 

You stammer out something silly, unwilling to admit you’d been going to town on a dildo the entire time he was gone so you could practice for his return, “Don’t get the wrong idea—”

Caleb bends down and lifts you from the ground. 

In the past, Caleb would reel in his instinctive responses of jealousy. When you were teens and you’d gush to him about cute love letters left in your locker, all that would reach you were subtle words that reeked of envy, perhaps a “he’s never gonna be good enough for you” or “there’s somebody so much better out there just waiting for you.” Tonight, after every time you’ve given in to him, every time you let him push your limits, he decides to finally, just once, surrender to his petty jealousies. 

Caleb has picked you up, his hands on the backs of your thighs. You’re vulnerable in his arms as he stands from his chair, not quite looking at you, his expression unreadable. You’d be afraid if you hadn’t put your life in this man’s hands a dozen times and without fail he prioritized it above all else.

“You’ve let somebody else touch you?” he asks, his face so close to yours you can almost taste the jealousy on his breath. “Somebody who would never even bother to take the time to learn exactly what you like, like I’ve always done?” 

You don’t give him an answer. 

He tilts his head at you. Even with his patience running thin, he will give you a chance to escape. “I’ll give you five seconds to answer.” 

One second passes. Then two. Something inside him shifts as he closes his eyes in a final attempt at restoring his composure. Beneath his eyelids, images of how you might have let other people touch you, how you allowed somebody else to hold your precious body in their hands and give you pleasure that should have only been reserved for his eyes, the only ones that would look at you with love like his, pass through his mind. Inside him, a yawning, vicious black hole forms at those thoughts.

Caleb’s eyes open. You search his gaze and arousal jumps in your stomach as you take in the unnatural darkness in the eyes of your usually sweet, tender boyfriend. His pupils are blown wide in his lavender irises.

“Your five seconds are up,” he whispers. 

With a gentle sweep of his arms, he sets you on the table. Caleb settles between your spread legs, his hands coming under your knees and hooking your thighs over his shoulders as he leans back to marvel at how beautiful you look with lace tracing the lines of your body. He knows exactly how he’ll ruin you so that you forget that anyone could have ever touched your body before him.

“We’ll need a safe word tonight,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing hair from your eyes. His eyes fall to your lips as they part with a soft noise of surprise. 

“Apple,” you tell him. 

“The moment you don’t like what I’m doing,” he says, “The very nanosecond you feel anything, you say it.” 

Caleb’s thumbs slip under the underwear hiding your core from him. Later, he’ll tear through the rest of your clothing with his teeth. The lace ribbons especially.

“Because now,” he says, his fingers ghosting over your hole, “I’m not going to hold back. I’m going to spell my name out on your hole with my fingers, and my tongue, and my cock. And you won’t ever forget who you belong to.” 

You shiver. 

“I want you to,” you say. Your eyes don’t break away from his even as you moan while he circles your hole with a finger. Caleb drops to his knees, his head settling between your thighs. His tongue slips from his mouth and laves over your hole. You lie back onto the table and wrap your legs around his shoulders as he begins to devour his favorite dessert.

Vaguely, through the haze of three orgasms, you recall various sensations. 

Caleb’s tongue lapping at your hole with dangerous vigor. How he sank his teeth into every inch of the fat of your inner thighs to mark the holy space between your legs with bruises that would remind you who you belonged to every time you looked down in the shower. The hickeys he sucked into your lower stomach will bloom a fresh purple in beautiful juxtaposition with the rest of the marks he left. 

He tried to be sweet after turning you into nothing less than his last meal, after scissoring his fingers into your hole to the point where you had to beg for him to pull his skilled digits out and give you his cock already. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. You parted your lips for him, looking up at him with dazed eyes, before arousal filled your gaze once again as he spat your cum into your mouth. His mouth hovered over yours as he let his spit and your cum dribble onto your waiting tongue, and he watched with dark eyes as you took it all, writhing beneath him with arousal. 

“Swallow,” he commanded. You did, without question, without hesitation. “You like your taste?”

You can only nod.

“Yeah?” He rubs your bottom lip. “Discovered that it’s my favorite in the universe that night. June 13th, I’ll save the date. But from now on, I might just have to eat you up for breakfast every morning to get my fill.” 

“You…” You shake your head at him. “Have always talked way too much.” 

“Hm, what else should I be doing aside from havin’ a nice chat with the love of my life?” 

Your eyes roll back into your skull for reasons you don’t like.

“You say that like you didn’t just suck the soul out of me,” you mutter. 

“C’mon. Tell me what you want, honey.” Caleb hovers over you, a boyish smirk playing on his chapped lips. 

You take his hand in yours. You never break away from his gaze, even as your hole twitches when you brush the pads of his fingers over your puckered, stretched entrance. 

“Can’t you feel how hungry I am for you?” you ask. You guide his index finger, press it just enough so that it slides inside you ever so slightly. Caleb’s breathing hitches. “You neglected me for three whole weeks. I need your cock inside me, baby.” 

Your breathing hitches as he gathers you in his arms, taking your hand away from your core to guide your arm over his neck. He captures your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue slick inside your mouth—you arch into the warmth of him, chest pressing to his, before your mouth opens with a loud gasp as his cockhead presses against your hole. 

“I’m putting it inside,” he whispers quickly, his forehead against yours, voice mingling in relieved moans with your own sweet chorus of pleasure as he finally slides through your slick and into you. You watch as his whole face goes slack at the sensation of your tightness sucking him inside.

You arch against him, cling to him in desperation as he gives deep, seeking thrusts into your hole. You squirm as his tongue seeks your own once more, overwhelmed by sensation. 

“Mnnn!” 

Neither of you last long. You’d been apart from your lover for weeks with only his photos and pre-recorded vids for company. Some were innocent recordings of him singing his favorite song that you’d put on the record to keep you company while you cooked. Some were videos shot in the dark of his body soaked in sweat while he moaned your name, with you sitting on the other side of the screen imagining his hands on you.

Caleb falls apart first, moaning ‘pipsqueak, pipsqueak’ in reverence as he fills you. And when you cum for him, crying his name in relief and from the fullness of him in your body, he doesn’t give you a break. He lifts you into the air and slides you down onto his dick. In this position, you can’t run from him, can only writhe and twist as he presses relentless thrusts into you. He cages you against the wall, covering your neck in relentless kisses. After driving you to two orgasms against the cold concrete he rips the rest of the lace off you and bends you over his couch. Caleb commits the sight of you bent over for him, arching for him, to memory right then and there, taking in every dimple in your skin and every muscle that contracts as he fucks your aching hole. 

“Caleb, I want more,” you say in a needy voice after he finishes inside you on the carpet, having ridden him till he whimpered for you to stop. Evening has already fallen over Skyhaven. The moonlight shines on your beloved as he pants with exhaustion on the carpeted floor, his cock at half-mast, craving your heat once more in the same way your eyes devour the sight of him now. 

Caleb chuckles, the sound so low and rough and frankly so fucked-out. You shiver at how primal he sounds. 

“Can’t get enough of me, huh, pips?” 

You whine needily, upset that he’s taking so long to give you what you want. It isn’t like him to deprive both you and himself. “Caleb,” you mewl, calling for his attention as you bring yourself to stand by the floor-to-ceiling windows and present yourself to him under the stagelights of a bright moon. He turns to watch you, smirking, before his smug demeanor falls apart an instant later.

You press your chest to the glass as you bend over with weak legs to spread your ass for him with your fingers. Caleb gives a groan at the sight, crawling up to you in a hurry, his hands sliding over your ass and your hips as he reaches you. Finally, he stands, and adjusts his body to settle his torso over your arched back. You feel his length rise between your thighs before the now familiar spread of him spears inside you. Your hole stretches for him once more. Caleb inhales sharply at the first press.

“Caleb,” you moan, head thrown back. Caleb bends over your body, pressing a hand into the glass. He nuzzles into the back of your neck and gives a slow, lazy thrust into your hole.

“I’ll give you two more,” he promises. That nearly makes you weep.

“I can’t,” you whine. The noise is pathetic even to your own ears.

“Yes, you can.” His arms engulf you in a bear hug, dragging you into his hips as he meets your ass with his thrusts even as you try to squirm away from him. You feel the familiar weight of his Evol balance the both of you as he presses you into the window, and yet you know that with it, you have no means of escape from him. His hands settle over your chest and collarbone. “Say it with me, (Name).”

You shake your head. He squeezes your ass hard enough to leave a red handprint in your skin, forcing a surprised yelp out of you. The night has made you familiar with how he makes good on his threats. If you don’t give him two now, he’ll make you give him four.

“I-I can,” you whimper.

“Say it again. Say my name.” 

“I can, Caleb, I can,” you say, voice breaking in the middle when he gives a precise thrust into a sensitive spot inside you. He learned all your ticks so quickly. Can push your puttons with just a shift of his hips or a kiss to a certain spot on your shoulder, or behind your ear.

Caleb grunts at your words. “You’re soaked down here,” he murmurs into your ear, probing your hole with his fingers even as he pistons his cock into you. “But… did you see? All of it is my cum.” 

Caleb tilts your head upward and brings his hand in front of your face. You moan at the sight of his fingers drenched white with his cum, from where he’d just touched you. Every single inch of your body throbs with arousal. You squeeze his cock as he shoves it inside you and he chuckles, the sound low in his throat. You can hear the smug smile on his face.

“Can you a-also give me two?” you ask, hiding your greed with sweetness in your voice. 

Caleb huffs at your saccharine, honeyed tone. You sound so sweet underneath him, sounded sweet the whole night. His perfect little pipsqueak. 

He might not know it yet, but he’s nothing but a fool when he’s balls-deep inside you. You’ve already noticed—you know you could ask for anything and he’d beg to be the one to give it to you. 

You can feel the exact moment he gives in to your innocent plea. His body steadies over yours. He’s getting ready to give you everything you asked for.

“Easy peasy,” he mutters, feeling how easy it’ll be to cum inside you twice more especially when you look back at him with your tear-stained eyes, the pleasure in them matching his. 

You laugh in a tired voice. But you know to brace yourself as he crowds you into the glass, his body pressing you to the window as his thrusts grow harder, find deeper places inside of you. It barely takes a minute of him simply giving you his cock in such an intimate, tight position against the window, his grunts breathing heat into your ear and nailing arousal straight into your brain, before you’re going limp in his arms and falling back into him with the first of the two orgasms he plans on giving you.

Your knees give out beneath you. Your body slides downward. Caleb’s body simply follows, too heavily weakened by the tight clench of your hole as your orgasm has you milking him with every piston of his hips. He doesn’t stop thrusting into you, letting you ride out the entirety of your orgasm, as you cum for him and slowly fall to the floor. Caleb’s chest heaves as he hunches over you, gritting his teeth as you clench up so tight around him.

Your moans are incomprehensible, uncontrolled noises pulled from your throat. He thinks he might hear syllables of his name in between, but you’re too far gone after the orgasms he gave you to put the words together. Your body writhes in his grip and he holds you close, keeps you steady even as your whole body submits to gravity and you end up on your hands and knees on the floor, body rocking back and forth with the continuous, unrelenting pistons of his hips. 

“Oohhhh, baby, I’m never gonna get tired of how tight you squeeze me,” he mutters, watching the way your body slides back and forth on the rug every time he brings his hips to your ass. Your back tightens and he watches the muscles there strain. He can’t imagine how he survived being weeks away from this. This view only he gets to see, this pleasure only he is allowed to indulge in with this body of yours.

“Cum for me, Caleb, please,” you whine. “I need you to fill me up.”

It hits him out of nowhere. The moment that plea leaves your lips, Caleb’s body, exhausted from so many rounds and sensitive from each one, gives out. The backs of his thighs tremble as you both collapse into the rug. His heartbeat presses into your back as he holds you close, folds you into the carpet beneath with his weight. He’s heavy above you, rasping your name in an endless, pleasured mantra as he pulsates within you to fill you with his cum. You cry at the feel of his weight, unable to escape from him as he pumps you full of cum, holding him to you with a hand on the back of his neck. 

But he doesn’t stop. Even as he trembles and whimpers from the overstimulation, he continues to piston himself into you. You squeal in protest, too brainless to string together the vowels in a word. 

“One more,” he whimpers, kissing and biting the lobe of your ear, his breaths hot as he whispers his love to you, “One more, my baby. Soak my cock one more time.” 

Your body writhes hard in his grip as his fingers find the most sensitive parts of your pelvis. He fingers you to and over the brink of overstimulation, and you can’t even tell him it’s too much, can’t ask him to stop—there are no words for the pleasure he gives you, the love pouring from his body into yours. Like always, you can only take what Caleb has to give. Even if it’s too much.

“Love you,” you finally babble after he pulls you to his chest to thrust up into you. “I love you so much, my Caleb.” 

He whines, his cock as sensitive as your hole, drenched in slick, his cum and yours, and pulsating with overstimulation. “I love you, pipsqueak, baby, I love you—” 

His voice cracks as his moans grow ragged. Caleb flips you onto your back and folds you into the floor. Pushes your legs up and locks them around his waist. And as his thrusts deepen, as your hole froths to become creamy with your cum and so much of his, your bodies give together at the same time. 

Caleb cradles you to him as he cums first. He cries your name, looking down at you and never breaking your gaze as his cock fills you with final spurts of pleasure. You claw at his arms, nodding up at him and meeting his eyes just the same as he tells you to cum for him, to show him who your body belongs to, and he kisses your forehead as you finally twist beneath him and shower him in slick. 

“My pipsqueak,” he murmurs softly, exhausted, but unwilling to pull away from you. You feel his cum drool from out of your hole, slipping down onto the carpet. Closing your eyes, you stroke his hair as he sighs into you, peppering your face in kisses. 

“I missed you so much,” he says. He pulls back to look at you, at the mess he’s made of his lover. His pipsqueak, his his his. You’re all his. 

“Mm, I can feel it,” you whisper, voice still hoarse from screaming his name. You let him maneuver you onto your side, still connected with him, as he snuggles you into his embrace. He ignores your complaints of being dirty and sweaty. He smells like sex. The scent of his cum dripping forth from inside you hits your nostrils.

“Give me five more minutes with you like this,” he says, and he sounds so sweet and how could you ever, ever tell him no, when throughout all the years he has given you everything you’ve ever wanted without protest, without complaint?

“I’ll be here however long you want, my Caleb,” you whisper into his ear, kissing him there. You feel him blush a bit as you settle into his side, and know just how to tease him further. “My Caleb, my Caleb, my Caleb.” 

“Yes,” he says, sighing with content, “Caleb is all yours.” 

—

Reblogs are deeply appreciated !!

Men had never appealed to Grace. Or so he thought — until you walked into the conference room behind Eva Stratt, dark suit, sunglasses pushed into your hair, frowning at a tablet. You had turned his head and distracted him from the tissue papers he’d been idly tearing into little pieces. Stratt introduced you to the crowd. You stood up front with an expression so bored and so critical that it communicated your authority before Stratt could announce it. You were the Director of Operations, her second-in-command. You dealt with logistics, and connections, and making sure Stratt got whatever she wanted.

There had to have been at least a hundred people in that room, yet when you lifted your eyes, you immediately caught Grace’s. He felt his breath hitch. He kept staring long after you’d looked away.

You asked to meet him after the assembly.

You had a nice office, Grace noted. You had him on a chair in front of your desk, tilting his head up your wall and admiring how well they were able to put the room together on such a short notice. Except what he was really doing was distracting himself from the anxiety that came with being called to a boss’ office. You had a lot to your name. What did you possibly want with him?

Grace flinched when the door opened. He heard the thick clicking of your polished shoes before he saw you. You walked to your desk.

“Dr. Grace,” you said.

He swallowed. “That’s me.”

You introduced yourself again. You briefly got into the specifics: how you handled resource acquisition and interagency politics. Stratt came up with what should happen and you made it happen.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Astrophage Division,” you said.

“Okay.” Grace nodded. His science team was in the process of maximizing astrophage production. He couldn't have helped the way his heart sank at the mention of his department. There was no room for errors in the Petrova Taskforce. He felt eager to fix it, even if he was yet to know what needed fixing. “Is there a problem with the output?” he asked.

“No, but there is a problem with the division.”

You were very serious. You were all deadlines and documents and clearances. You didn't speak the science that Grace understood, and there was a lot more to being the boss than he initially thought. You told him that you felt the division was lacking in direction.

“Twelve researchers,” you continued. “Four distinct but contradicting methodological approaches. A month's worth of your team’s data hasn't been showing the progress we were hoping for.”

Grace opened his mouth, ready to apologize. You stopped him.

“I want you to run the division, Dr. Grace.” You barely let him digest it. “Your team is brilliant but without command, you operate blind. I need someone who can make the work cohesive. We don’t have the luxury of taking our time.”

Grace blinked. “I don’t think the astrophage division was built with a leading scientist in mind.”

“No, it wasn’t. It wasn't our intention. We thought more hands meant more progress but we've achieved the opposite. We adapt, we pivot, we appoint you as Chief Scientist. Yes?”

Grace had been looked at by a lot of people in those past several weeks. Stratt looked at him like she hadn't yet decided if she’d made the right call, the other scientists looked at him like he was competition, (depending on whether they'd read his work,) and the military personnel looked at him like he was in the wrong room.

You, on the other hand, looked at him like you wanted to eat him alive.

He took a breath before speaking. “It doesn’t really sound like you’re giving me a choice.”

“Correct.”

That was fine. He supposed he could be the lead scientist. It was a lot of responsibility and a whole lot more work, but he told Stratt he would help. And so, he would.

Grace thought about you on the walk back to his lab, which he didn't think was strange. You were his superior, and it was reasonable to think about you. What was less reasonable — what he noticed and promptly set aside — was the kind of thinking he’d been doing. He kept returning to particular details without being asked to: like the way your palm felt when you shook his hand before dismissing him from your office. The way the room smelled like your cologne, the way the tone of your voice rose and fell depending on what you were saying. He made it approximately forty steps down the corridor before he realized he was still thinking about the way you said ‘Correct’. Then, he had to make a conscious effort to think about something else.

Ryland Grace had never been particularly fond of sex. It never really appealed to him the way he thought it should. Some feelings were strictly physical. There was no fire in his stomach, nor heat pooling between his legs. There was, instead, a narrow window of about ten minutes where things were reasonably interesting, followed by a growing awareness that he could be doing something else. And it wasn't like he didn't try. He was very thorough with his experiments. But his evenings always ended as though he'd followed the recipe to a T and still ended up with a bland dish. Where were the electric sensations? Where was the inexplicable need to please and be pleased?

Oh, he thought, moaning into your mouth. It was here.

God, what was he doing here? He was in your office, that much was certain. But how was an entirely different question and required a more sober state of mind. There was a party— no, an event. The taskforce had marked the successful synthesis of two million kilograms of astrophage, which was extraordinary progress for the project and supposedly warranted an open bar. Grace didn't drink, as a rule. Tonight was apparently an exception to that rule. Why? He'd be darned if he knew. He couldn't think that far back. He couldn't recall what made his evening so bad that he would dare challenge his embarrassingly low alcohol tolerance. Had his night been that awful? It didn't matter; it was certainly fixing itself now.

Grace's breath was hot against your face. The heat of your dimly-lit office made it even more difficult to see through his foggy glasses. He had tried to remove them earlier, but you stopped him.

Your lips left his, briefly connected by a string of saliva, then moved to explore the expanse of his neck. You were in search of a spot he liked best, only to happily discover that he liked them all. He tilted his head back and moaned.

Grace remembered the first shot; vodka, as encouraged by Ilyukhina. The subsequent ones? Not so much. He remembered you, across the room, in a dark jacket, still working. He remembered being annoyed that you were still working. You should have been having fun. You should have been singing and drinking and playing beer pong with Carl. Instead you were sitting in the corner of the room, accompanied only by a glass of champagne.

Grace faintly remembered dragging his feet across the floor and sitting next to you.

He couldn't recall the part that came between that and this. Next thing he knew, his hands were in your hair and your mouth was doing something catastrophic to his ability to form a linear thought.

He tried to fight through it. He strained to remember. Memories returned, slowly, carefully, only for everything to turn fuzzy again when he felt his crotch grind against your firm thigh. Whoomp, there it is.

“Holy–” Grace felt himself arch into you. His shaking hands found purchase on your collar.

You were seated on your office chair, and he was straddling your lap. You held a fistful of his hair and pulled. Grace yelped, then you were kissing him again, and he was tasting the expensive champagne off your tongue. So rough, so demanding. There was so much touching— had there always been this much touching? He could hardly keep track of where your fingers were going, grasping and pawing at every mound of flesh you could find. You gave his thigh a tight squeeze.

“C-Could I– if you just–” He intended to ask you for a second to breathe, but you weren't listening. A rough hand slid under his shirt and felt the curve of his waist. Grace flushed.

Your fingers traveled downward, tugging on the band of his trousers. You found a button, undid it, then pulled his fly open. Woah, Nelly!

“Wait!” Grace gripped your shoulders and pushed, forcing distance between you. The sounds of your labored breaths interrupted the silence.

You turned your head to kiss his knuckles. “Is there a problem, Dr. Grace?”

Oh, how he could melt at your voice. Soft and rough and worn by all the breathing you'd been doing. And you were teasing him, he knew that. You weren't really asking him if there was a problem. You had a smug look on your face, which he could not decide if he loved or hated.

“Uh, I–” Grace swallowed. His glasses were falling down his nose and he pushed them back into place. “I don't know.”

You seemed to like that he didn't know. You placed a trail of kisses up his arm until you were back on his neck. Grace made a small sound.

“Tell me to stop.”

His stomach flipped. It didn't sound like an offer. If anything, you'd said it like a challenge — like you knew he couldn't do it. And he would have taken the time to get mad at that had you not bucked your hips up and grinded your bulge against his. He groaned.

Instinct took over. Grace rolled his hips to match your agonisingly slow pace. He was hardly comprehending how his body just knew what to do and what it wanted. His eyes fluttered shut, heightening the knot in his stomach. He regretted stopping you from removing his pants. Now it only felt as though he had too many clothes on.

“We– We shouldn't.” He hooked his arms around your neck, pressing his erection against yours. “Oh, god, I'm gonna get fired.”

You grinned, your hands guiding his hips. “I won't let that happen.”

Grace felt the knot in his stomach unravelling. Too soon, too soon! His eyes went wide. He shoved at you with all his might and sent himself stumbling to his feet. Only then did he realize he was missing one shoe.

“Wait!” he said, holding a finger up at you. He caught his breath and doubled over like he had run a marathon. “Wait, wait, wait, wait.”

You sat back, hands dropping to your sides. You were staring at him with an annoyingly endeared expression, similar to how one might look at a dog chasing its own tail. Like he was some little thing in the palm of your hand, a bird or a bug or something. Grace found it mildly dehumanising and entirely arousing.

“You need to know a few things,” he said, now upright with his hands on his waist. He tried his utmost best to look put-together, but his shirt was three buttons down and his hair looked as though he had wrestled a rabid animal. “I have never done this before. I mean, I have. But, you know— not with– not with your type.”

You smiled. “What is my type?”

Grace huffed. “You know.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. Did you really have to make him say it? “I-I've never slept with a guy before. Ever. I don't know what it's like, or what I should do. And frankly, even if I have slept with women, it doesn't contribute anything to my proficiency. So… you know.”

“I know, what?”

“Stop returning my questions!”

“I'm just trying to help you hear what you sound like.”

Grace felt his entire face heat up. His eyes fell to shyly look at his shoes. Well– shoe. He was yet to remember where the other one went.

Your gaze darkened. “I want you to say it.”

Grace fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, still avoiding your face. He felt his breathing pick up. “Say what?”

“That you want me.”

His heart was a drum in his chest. His brows knitted together. God, if the ground could only swallow him whole.

“Look at me, Grace.”

He did.

He shrank at the sight of you, seated on your chair like some sort of king. Your knees were apart, wrists languidly placed upon the armrests. His eyes trailed down to the daunting bulge between your legs. He swallowed hard. He felt a drop of sweat run down his neck.

“What do you want?” you asked again.

“Y-You.”

“Speak up.”

“You.” Grace could hardly recognize his own voice. “I want you.”

A slow grin stretched across your lips.

“Good boy.”

Woah.

He was discovering a lot of things about himself tonight.

“Come here.” You tapped your thigh twice.

Grace did as he was told, closing the distance between you once more. He resumed his earlier position and made your chair creak in protest. Neither of you paid it any mind. Your hand found his. You guided his touch back to your shoulders, connecting his wrists behind your neck. You were grinding against him again. A helpless string of moans came tumbling out his lips. The surrender of his body was concerningly immediate.

You licked the shell of his ear. “You'll use your words, do you understand?”

His hair rubbed against your cheek as he nodded frantically.

There was a hard smack against his thigh. Grace's entire body jolted as he cried. Your wide palm rubbed over the clothed spot as though to soothe the sting. You repeated yourself. “Do you understand?”

“Yes! Y-Yes. I'm sorry. I-I'll use my words.” Was that really him talking? He wasn't sure. Holy moly, what had he gotten himself into? Was this the dirty talk he'd been missing out on? He couldn't believe his ears. He couldn't believe his life.

“Good,” you whispered. “Very good.”

You buried your nose into the crook of his neck and breathed him in. His scent was addicting. You smelled a mix of his bath soap and the sterile cleanliness of his lab. Beneath it, vodka.

You kissed along his jaw. “I can take care of you, Grace. Do you want that?”

He whined. “Yes.”

You mouthed at his neck, your hot tongue amplifying the sensation. Your fingers tugged his pants off, and Grace felt himself lift his hips to assist you. You shoved his waistband down his thighs until they fell to gather at his ankles. Grace whimpered, feeling exposed in his damp boxers.

The rest of the evening was an intoxicating blur.

You kept Grace pressed against you, still seated on your chair, one hand wrapped firmly around his cock while the other pinned his hip in place. He was leaking steadily, head flushed and slick as you stroked him with slow, deliberate pulls. It was just enough to make his thighs tremble, but never quite enough to let him tip over the edge.

Grace whimpered, head falling back against your shoulder. “Please— I can’t— it’s too much—”

You murmured sweet nothings against his ear, thumb circling the sensitive tip of his cock on every upward stroke. “You’re doing so well.”

His hips jerked helplessly into your fist, chasing the friction. You let him rut against your palm for a few moments before you undid your pants to press your own hard cock against his. The sensation made Grace gasp. The whine that ripped out of him seemed to bounce off your walls.

You rocked forward, sliding your lengths together in a slow, filthy grind, skin on skin, slick with pre-cum and the steady rhythm of your hand.

Ryland’s breath hitched into broken little moans. “Oh f— that— that feels—”

You tightened your grip around both of you, stroking in time with the roll of your hips. The obscene wet sounds of skin sliding together filled your quiet office. Grace's whole body shuddered each time you dragged your cock along the underside of his, hands clutching desperately at your arms.You kissed the side of his neck, then bit down gently.

Grace made a strangled sound. “I— I’m sorry— I can’t stop—”

“Then don't,” you said, squeezing just a little tighter.

You shifted the pace to torturously slow, frotting against him while your fist worked both cocks in long, firm strokes. Grace's legs shook. His head lolled against you, mouth open on silent gasps as you dragged him closer and closer to the edge only to ease off again, keeping him teetering there. You rewarded each broken little “Please—” with a tighter tug or a slow roll of your hip. You didn't stop until he was shaking.

By the time you finally let him cum, Grace was a ruined, panting mess. His hips twitched uncontrollably as he spilled over your fist with a choked cry. You followed moments later, painting his stomach and your hand with thick stripes of release.

Grace slumped against you, boneless and unable to breathe. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, too embarrassed to look at what he’d just done. You pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to his temple, your hand still loosely wrapped around his softening cock.

Afterwards, he passed out.

Then, he woke up in his room.

He spent the first five minutes of his newfound consciousness nursing an agonising headache, trying to remember if any of last night's events were real. Sure enough, looking in the mirror to gape at the bruises down his chest helped narrow it down.

The following days were a pain to get through.

Things didn't seem any different to you; which annoyed him to no end. You would speak to him, look at him, and arrange meetings with him as though nothing had ever happened. As if you didn't have him humping your clothed cock like an animal in heat a week prior. He had absolutely no idea how you managed to maintain your composure when the mere sight of you made his heart leap.

It was starting to look bad. His fellow scientists had PhDs in being in other people's business. They had questioned him about his whereabouts during the party, which he'd defensively countered with a reminder to focus on their work. It only ever seemed to raise suspicion. He'd heard them talking behind his back, mentioning that you were gone the same time he was. He pretended not to hear.

Grace had to tolerate your usual schedule. The conferences and meetings and Friday briefings where he had to sit across from you and act like nothing had changed. He had to hold his hands behind his back and run his fingers over the bruises you'd left on his wrist as he waited for you to finish reading his reports. You would furrow your brows assessing the research, and he would be reminded of the face you made as you coaxed him to his climax. You'd been so indifferent to the air of tension around the both of you that Grace had begun to wonder if he had dreamt the whole thing.

“It looks good,” you said to him one afternoon, still looking at the details of his folder.

Your office was occupied, then. Three other scientists were seated on your couch and awaiting their turn. It was your job to make sure each department did as they were told. These people have no idea, Grace thought. They hadn't the slightest clue as to what transpired in this very room. You sat, unbothered, on the same chair where you had him crying just a few nights before. He was beginning to feel insane. Didn't you remember? Had you been drunk as well?

“Dr. Grace.” Your voice blurred into focus.

He flinched out of his thoughts. “What?”

You sighed a tired breath out your nose. You closed his folder. “I asked you if you've run the data over to the engineering department.”

“Oh.” He blinked, suddenly very aware of the fact that the two of you were not alone. He could feel three pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his skull. This would be a very bad time for one of them to be a telepath. “Uh, I– the— um.”

“Use your words.”

Grace froze. His eyes widened at the subtle, knowing smile on your lips. How dare you!

“May we have the room,” he mumbled under his breath.

You leaned in, quirking a brow. “I'm sorry?”

“We need the room!” The sudden raise of his voice made the other scientists flinch. They clutched their folders to their chests, baffled by his outburst. Grace turned to them, his expression hasty and serious. “Gentlemen, I need the room with the Director. He'll see you when we're done, thank you.”

They blinked at him, stupefied. They turned their heads to you and awaited your response.

After a short moment of silence, you nodded your head and gestured to your door. They gathered their things and hesitantly shuffled outside. Grace went as far as following them out to close the door behind them. He clicked the lock shut.

He twisted his heel to face you, opting for an angered expression, only to manage a sulking sort of pout.

“Is there a problem, Dr. Grace?”

There it was again! Your feigned concern. You weren't really worried about a problem. You just happened to like that he was unsettled by something.

Grace huffed. His mouth opened, then closed. He'd been meaning to have this conversation, but now that it was here, he hadn't the slightest clue what to say.

He raised and dropped his arms in an ‘I give up’ gesture. “Is this how it goes?” he said. “Because I'm not afraid to admit that I'm unfamiliar.”

You looked up at him with a small, amused smile. A little thing in the palm of your hand.

“How what goes?”

Grace removed his glasses from his face to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He paced the cramped space of your office. He was exasperated.

You tilted your head. “Are you bothered by it? Our evening together?”

He stopped to look at you. “Maybe? I don't know!”

It didn't feel fair to be the only one so affected. Grace continued to frown at you.

“Yes,” you said. “To answer your question: that is how it goes. The stress and isolation caused by our work gets to us. We get drunk, we search for an outlet, we fuck. The pressure is relieved and we go back to how things are.”

You saw him visibly flinch at the word ‘fuck’.

You allowed yourself a breathy laugh before you continued. “What is it you're so hung up on, Dr. Grace? Can't you see that I'm giving you the opportunity to forget about it?”

He looked away. He didn't want to forget about it. And he didn't want to admit that, either.

You leaned forward on your desk.

“Would you like to continue seeing me in that manner?”

What was it with you and your inexplicable need to have him spell it out for you?

Grace felt his jaw set. He made a fist in his pocket.

“Speak.” The tone of your voice dropped. “Do you want to keep seeing me, Grace?”

He kept his eyes on his shoes. He was lucky to have found the other pair down the hallway of his room. “I just think that—”

“Look at me when I'm talking to you.”

Ryland's eyes flicked up. He met your steely gaze and felt his heart sink. “Y-Yes. Sorry. I want to keep seeing you.”

You stood from your chair. His breath caught. “Good.”

Grace stood frozen in the middle of your office, fists clenched at his sides like he was trying not to explode. Where had all his fervor gone?

“That’s very honest of you, Dr. Grace.” You reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead with the back of your fingers. The touch was light and tender, but it made him shiver anyway. Your hand slid down to cup his jaw, thumb stroking slowly along his cheekbone. “I like it when you’re honest.”

You wore his glasses back on his face. He swallowed hard, gaze darting away again. You didn’t let him. With a firm grip, you tilted his chin back up so he had to look at you.

“Eyes on me,” you reminded softly.

Ryland’s breath hitched. His hands trembled at his sides, unsure whether to reach for you or keep still. You guided him backward with slow, measured steps until the edge of your desk pressed against the back of his thighs. He let out a small, startled sound when he felt the wood behind him.

“Turn around,” you murmured.

He hesitated, cheeks burning. “Here? Now?” Oh, god, what had he done? It was the middle of the day. Were you being serious? He searched your expression for any trace of a joke and paled upon realizing that there was none. Those scientists were still waiting outside your office. The thought of them hearing what noises you could draw out of him made his stomach burn.

His throat bobbed. “W-What are you going to do?”

You leaned in until your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Turn around, Ryland.”

His breath trembled. You had never called him by his first name; not until then. It sent shocks down his spine. He turned slowly, hands bracing against the desk as he faced away from you. The position left him bent forward, ass presented in a way that made heat crawl up the back of his neck. Alarms were sounding in his mind, yelling at him to bolt. This wasn't right. It wasn't safe, and he wasn't using his head. The previous night could have been written off as a drunk mistake, but now here he was: bent over and stone-cold sober.

You stepped in close behind him, chest brushing his back. One hand settled on his hip, the other sliding up his spine in a slow, possessive caress.

“Very good,” you whispered against the nape of his neck.

Ryland shivered hard, a soft, embarrassed whimper escaping before he could stop it. His fingers curled against the polished wood of your desk as you pressed closer. His hot, shuddering breaths bounced off the table and fanned back to his face. It fogged up his glasses.

You took your time, hands roaming over his sides, his waist, his chest.

“Don't worry,” you said. Your hand cupped the bulge in his pants. “I'll be quick. All you have to worry about is keeping quiet. Do you understand?”

Ryland’s head dropped forward, his forehead resting against the desk. He was already grinding against your palm. The desperate, clumsy movement of his hips made you bite your lip.

Without warning, you struck him hard, your hand hot and heavy on his clothed ass. His mouth fell open, and he flinched with a choked sound. He tried to stifle a small whine into your desk.

“Do you understand?” you repeated.

He should have just left you alone. He didn’t know what this meant for tomorrow, or next week, or the rest of the mission. But for all his uncertainties, one thing was unequivocally sure:

“...Y-Yes, sir.”

You drag the door of the huge shipping container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the monsters. It would be if it weren't for Caleb. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on your brother. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the monster you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Caleb keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Caleb helping you from a distance is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Mindless moaning monsters you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Caleb anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find the only person you loved and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well, check it out then!" another commands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the moaning dead are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Caleb would be watching... waiting. A predator in the shadows. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of sight, using the edge of the container as a shield, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking," he adds.

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's a predictable evil. You're prey to people like them—something to hunt and occupy their time with in a world without the threat of consequence.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage. It's not hard to pull off considering the genuine fear wracking your body. It helps your performance. Make them drop their guard. Small. Afraid. Unthreatening. Alone. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

They hesitate. The barrels on their guns start to lower.

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims.

Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was: little thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Caleb more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Caleb was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something. You repeat it to yourself like a prayer.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response.

Their guards are down. They're distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

Their flashlights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger—probably still a child—a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him.

Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. Their hands send a wave of repulsion through you as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their slimy touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm growls, impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of monsters, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're pulled to a halt. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn of sudden emotion threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry undead. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Caleb was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all. A heavy weight sits in your chest, reaching it's hands out towards you, like the monsters in the pit: doubt.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol, and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the forehead before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though. Those moments with an enemy weapon pointed directly at you always do.

But then Caleb is there, strangling the man from behind with the body of a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck that you spot the bodies behind him: eliminated during your own attack.

He'd been waiting for you. If he attacked before you were ready, they'd use you against him. So he'd waited until the exact moment you'd shot the first one under the chin.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his eyes and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his purple eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky. His fingers struggle to secure your hair back behind your ear, trembling.

You nod.

"You did so good," he soothes, that familiar comforting voice easing you back into your own body. "You were perfect." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point before it rests at your clavicle. "We need to leave," he says, finally steadying his own breathing. "Stay close to me."

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember how close death is. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs—to the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His long, thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you. A protective warmth.

"You like that, sweetheart?" His lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. It falls down around his neck at the back, a messy wolf-cut that you hack at with a knife when it gets long enough to bother him. "You're so soft for me... dripping all over me... welcoming me in. You did so good today... so perfect..."

You offer a small whine in response, squirming a little.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your twitchy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"It's alright," he soothes. "You need me here? Inside?"

"Mm," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely with his huge body, a living blanket shielding you from all the world's dangers.

"I'm sorry they put their hands on you." His breath warms your skin, and he sounds pained.

"I'm not hurt," you remind him, again.

"Shouldn't have let them touch you."

You'd been through this before. More times than you could count. He would torture himself in the days after this. Perfection was all he ever accepted from himself, and arguing would get you nowhere.

So you reach blindly to find his wrist and grip it firmly. "Hold me tight," you whisper into his ear.

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas. Another apology.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he always knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you—like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"Won't let anyone touch you again," he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. "Never."

The loss of his hand on you is temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he buried himself deep—as soon as his cock was guided safely inside your dripping cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I've got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats.

He mumbles it over and over as he teases—plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink as he guides his tip over your twitchy hole and through your lips over and over.... and over... until you forget everything but the feeling of him against you and all the desperate need building up inside.

Then, eventually, he presses inside. Just the tip... and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a little taste of his actual strength. The strength he used to keep you safe every single day. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his thick arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a teasing sample of that fullness—of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he orders, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's wet and messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily.

His lips chase yours as you attempt to catch your breath. One kiss to your swollen lower lip as you pant. Then he licks at the drool glistening across your chin.

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck with a whimper.

And then, without warning, he pulls you down to meet his leaking cock—to fuck himself deep. It's sudden, and it's all forceful strength, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his shoulder as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin a little more, a silent warning moments before he's moving—fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his powerful thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

He attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear as you jostle against him. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... it's okay... you're okay..."

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My pretty girl." He holds you down against him, buried to the hilt, and grinds up into you with a roll of his hips. "My pretty little baby... fu-fuck... keep you safe."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips, lifts them up, and tugs you onto him—each thrust a vulgar slapping of skin that punches a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength.

You watch the muscles in his arms move as he uses you, moving you against him like you weigh nothing at all. His calloused fingers dig almost painfully into your hips. He's all power and murderous protection, and you feel it all as he drives himself through your walls again and again.

Fingers slowly wrapping around your wrists, he gently tugs your hands away from his sensitive nubs. The faint brush of your fingertips letting go makes his hips involuntarily buck up against you again. “Hah…!” 

The pressure makes your eyes teary, cheeks flushing. “Calebbb!” Eyes half-lidded with want you cover his lips with yours and pathetically mouth at him, groaning when he tries to kiss you back. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he pants against your lips, struggling to keep up the pace. Your tongues slide against each other, filled with spit and heavy breaths. 

The frantic frotting makes his whole body shudder as you keep pushing against him, his hips giving one final desperate thrust. "No, no, no!" Caleb moans brokenly into your mouth, chanting your name as he cums hard, head falling back against the pillows. 

His cock twitches, still tucked in his sweats and boxers as his creamy semen seeps through the fabric. Caleb’s head falls down on your shoulder as cries fall out of his mouth, too sensitive as you continue to use his bulge like a toy. 

“I said not to cum without me,” you wail, holding onto his shoulders tight as you overstimulate him. 

His whole body trembles as you keep moving, nerves fraying. “Pips, just give me- hah, a few minutes! Seconds even!” His voice cracks, fingers weakly scrambling to grip your hips but failing as another small wave of pleasure rips through him. 

When you ignore his babbling, his teeth sink gently into your shoulder, muffling his whimpers as his legs spread wider under you, helpless. 

You frot against his clothed, softening length, eager to finally reach your orgasm. Your toes curl when you nudge your clit perfectly against his cock, seeing stars behind your eyelids as you finally cum. 

His eyes roll back as he feels your body tense and release, his own sensitive cock twitching at the sudden pressure against his softening member. A choked whimper escapes him as he feels your warmth soaking into his sweats, your pleasure triggering another small, weak orgasm from him. "F-fuck..." 

“Language,” you scold weakly, ears ringing as you fall limply against his sturdy chest. You’re sweaty and out of breath, scowling at Caleb’s dopey grin. 

"That was hot." He admits, his face flushing pink as he looks up at you. "You cummin’ on me like that..."

“…!” You pinch his thigh with an embarrassed whine and press more of your weight onto him. “Whatever just… h-help me clean up, I can’t feel my legs.”