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. “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.” 

—

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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.”

He ignores your whines and pushes your thighs further apart, tongue flicking out to sneak another taste. “Shhh… let me indulge for a little longer then maybe I’ll help you, you poor thing.” 

After what feels like hours, Caleb finally lets up to take in the mess of you, his pretty little lamb, limp and trembling from overstimulation and exhaustion.

You hardly feel his fingers hook against the side of your panties to push the fabric to the side, revealing your flushed, chubby folds and swollen clit. The sight makes him groan, eager to finally get a taste of the creamy meal he’s been prepping. 

“W-wait!” You cry out when his fingertips drag through the mix of his spit and your dripping arousal.

“Behave,” Caleb says gruffly, thumbing your clit.

Eyes clamped shut, Caleb leans in and gets to work immediately, nose hooked over your mound as he sloppily presses his lips against your cunt, ignoring the babbling and feeble protests leaving your mouth. 

You thrash against him, hand reaching out to tug him away by his hair. “Caleb…! Hngh… no more…!” 

Caleb’s eyes roll back. “Fuck,” he grunts, voice raspy. “Do that again.” His hands grip your thighs tighter, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to bruise. 

He dives back in, tongue dragging through your slick folds as he laps at you desperately. The way your hips stutter under his tongue makes him buck his heavy, leaking cock into the mattress, grinding against his boxers. 

Your thrashing and pleading is driving him wild. Caleb hooks his arms underneath your thighs to pull them over his shoulders, anchoring you down and burying his face deeper into your pussy. His tongue flicks rapidly against your clit, the sensitive bundle of nerves instantly responding by swelling further under his ministrations. 

“Gonna cum,” you choke, pulling at his hair frantically. “Gonna cum, Caleb please… hah…!” 

“There she is,” Caleb coos at your submission, sucking your clit just right as he presses his middle and ring finger into your sopping mess. “Good girl, let it out for me.” 

You’re shaking and docile, letting Caleb guide you towards your orgasm. 

“Mhm, that’s right. Let Caleb take care of you…” His fingers brush over your sweet spot and its enough to make your vision white out, pussy milking his fingers as you cum. 

“Caleb… Caleb…!” You babble incoherently, reaching for him. Caleb brings his hand up to clasp it with yours, smiling adoringly into your folds. 

With a sweet kiss to your clit and a please sigh, Caleb withdraws his fingers from your cunt. “I’m right here, pips. Look at you, falling apart so beautifully for me.” 

You think that he’s done until you look down, wincing shyly when you see his glowing, needy eyes and his hand palming his cock through his pants. 

“Mhm… ‘m not done with you yet.”

Even without seeing him, he could imagine the way Erwin’s angled nose would have crinkled as his displeased hum reached Levi’s ears.

“They don’t donate because they actually care about the nobility of the scouts cause, Levi.” Came his stern rebuttal.

Levi scoffed, but his eyes remained firmly on the winding hall stretched out before them as he continued walking.

“Why does it matter? We’re still getting the funds we need.”

He brushed a speck of dust from his dark blazer as he moved, face contorted in an expression of mild annoyance.

“Besides, you’re the one who’s always harping on about how stringent the budget is.” He continued, now content that he’d stripped his jacket of any rogue specks that may have followed him back to base.

“I wouldn’t need to if you didn’t insist on drinking that particular tea blend.” Erwin murmured behind him, a sly note of humor worming its way through his voice, and Levi felt the corners of his lips twitch.

“Tch.” He tutted, considered the implications of turning around and slapping a superior officer, but ultimately said nothing further, deciding better of it.

The corridor was void of voices for a moment, utterly silent aside from the resumed dull clicking of their collective footfalls as Erwin tailed him down the hall toward his office.

“It’s the way they look at you.” Erwin’s voice broke the silence once more a few moments later, this time his tone was reserved somehow, softer.

Even with his back toward Erwin, the way the Captains eyes rolled was palpable in the charged air settling between them.

“And how do they ‘look at me’, Commander?”

Levi’s brows knitted, shaking his head a little before he realized that the secondary set of boot steps behind him had ceased. He too stopped his focused trek, coming to a halt mid stride so he could turn to peer back at Erwin in confusion.

He found the Commander was halted in the middle of the corridor, jaw clicking the way it always did when he was thinking - that sharp mind of his clearly mulling something over. His typically easy expression was hardened, thick brows knitted together, his mouth tugged into a flat line.

Levi watched the amber light of the lamps reflect off the high points of his cheek bones, trail over the slick angle of his clean cut jaw as it ticked. Erwin’s eyes were locked on his, blue turned dark as smoke in the dim light.

“They look at you like they want to fuck you.” He answered plainly.

Levi stared. His eyes narrowed a little, and Erwin’s gaze burned back into him, unblinking as he continued.

“I can see it in their eyes. They’d all just love to push you over the bar and ravish you until you couldn’t walk.”

Levi was frankly a little taken aback as he stood statuesque in the hallway. The Commander never usually cursed, always endeavored to keep that perfectly curated mask of cool composure clasped in place. But here he was, stood in the flickering candlelight letting Levi’s eyes roam over worn cracks in the polished veneer.

“I don’t know why it matters so much to you.” Levi replied coolly, lithe arms coming up to cross over his chest, and he cocked his hip a little as he studied the Commander in return.

“So what if the rich bastards want to fantasize a little? We’re still getting what we want.”

“It’s unbecoming.” Erwin replied flatly, voice edged with something sharp now. “We can’t afford to fuel any rumors that the scouts are soliciting funding by any unsavory means.”

Grey eyes dropped lazily to watch the Commanders jaw clench.

Levi’s mind wandered back to the evening just passed, considering Erwin’s words. Most nobles watched him from the sidelines, only ever crept close enough to strike up a conversation with the much more approachable Commander. They never strayed close enough to touch, but Erwin was right in some regard - their eyes wandered, swirled with something dark and greedy. They looked at him like he was something to claim. The little Captain plucked from the underground, tongue still sharp and a little wild - yet to be conquered, yet to have his rough edges worn down smooth.

“Oh, I see what this is about now.” Levi rumbled, and he watched Erwin’s face quirk in a barely concealed expression of surprise.

The corner of Levi’s lips twitched in satisfaction, and he poked a little harder - dug his nail beneath a loose shard of that perfect porcelain mask and felt the smooth ceramic beneath his fingernail…

And then he ripped.

“It’s you who’s fantasizing, isn’t it, Sir?” Levi drawled, let the words drip off the tip of his tongue like syrup.

The Commander said nothing, but Levi caught the way his thick brow twitched. Bingo.

Levi took a purposeful step forward, closing the distance between them with a few slow strides, watching the way The Commanders wide eyes were locked on him.

“Levi…” Came Erwin’s voice. Stern - a warning. One the Captain would usually heed, but not tonight.

No, tonight the brimming curiosity, the all consuming urge to finally peek below that controlled mask was much too tempting to ignore.

When Levi reached the Commander, he tilted his head up, angled his jaw and spoke in a hushed rumble, so low that only Erwin could hope to hear it.

He licked his lips, blinked up at him slow through his dark lashes and watched the almost imperceptible way Erwin’s eyes flickered down to catch the slip of Levi’s tongue as it ran over his lower lip.

“Do you want to fuck me until I can’t walk, Commander?”

There was a beat of deafening silence, in which Levi could hear nothing but the distant chirp of crickets, and the soft hum of the night breeze whistling through loose wooden window panes.

“Of course not.” Came Erwin’s sharp refusal. “What a wildly inappropriate suggestion, Captain.”

Levi didn’t miss the slow dip of the Commanders Adams apple, fleeing below his crisp shirt collar.

Levi scoffed and spun around on his heel.

“Good.” He concluded, as if he hadn’t just watched the way the Commanders pupils dilated, azure blown black and hungry as if a cut of tantalizing meat had been dangled before him. As if he hadn’t felt his own gut curl betrayingly hot at the sight.

The remaining few yards to Erwin’s chambers lapsed in an uneasy sort of silence.

When they finally entered the room, Erwin made a beeline for his desk, depositing an armful of reports over the surface, his back turned to Levi as he began to flick through the loose papers.

Levi pressed the door closed behind him, watched Erwin’s fingers slip through pale sheets for a silent moment before the bookcase on the side wall drew his attention.

“That Lord Byron has some deep pockets.” Levi noted casually as he leaned against the closed door, boot tapping a slow rhythm against the dark grain.

Erwin gave nothing but a gruff hum in response, head still down turned as he studied the contents of a yellowed page.

Levi busied himself lazily looking over the collection of thick-spined books slotted into the bookshelf opposite him, noting where the binding had begun to fade with age.

“He donated nearly three thousand after just a quick chat.” Levi considered aloud, humming a little.

He took a few steps into the room toward the bookcase, and when he reached it he bent over a little to wipe away invisible dust from one of the lower shelves.

“How much do you think he’d pay for a little more, hm?” He wondered aloud, studying the fine layer of dust coating the pad of his finger.

A sudden force stopped Levi in his tracks, and he peered down to find that Erwin’s hand was wrapped around his other wrist in a tight grip, a fleshy handcuff biting into his skin.

Levi didn’t turn to face him, just tilted his head to peek at the Commander from over his shoulder. Hooked him with the glint of that cold silver steel, a knife pressed to a collared throat.

“Something you want to say, Sir?” Levi drawled, eyes dropped to watch the Commanders jaw twitch. “Spit it out.”

“Stop that, Levi.” Erwin demanded, blue eyes sharp, cold as a lake frozen over.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Levi turned so he was facing Erwin, tore his arm free with a practiced ease and crossed both over his chest. He met Erwin’s gaze coolly, lifted his chin in an unspoken defiance.

“I’m afraid I really don’t.” Came his flat retort.

With a final pointed look, he ducked out from beneath Erwin’s arm and made his way toward the Commanders desk, lifting a hip onto the smooth surface as he fingered through the loose papers scattered there.

“Care to enlighten me?” He quirked leisurely, arched a thin brow at Erwin, who was making his way toward the desk, expression tight.

“Do you enjoy prodding me this way?”

Levi almost smiled at that, instead he kept his face even and unreadable, discarded the slip of paper in his hand and settled back onto the desk.

“Yes.” He replied smoothly.

Erwin exhaled, and Levi watched him lift his arm and hook a finger over his bolo tie, tugging down until it slipped loose from his throat, glimmering like a polished gem in the lamplight.

“Shameless.” Erwin accused, fingers beginning to trail down his chest, popping the buttons of his crisp dress shirt as they went, until Levi could see the curve of his broad chest dipping beneath the pale white.

“What’s there to be ashamed about?” Levi replied, eyes openly roaming over the new slip of skin. “Think you should take a page out of my book, Erwin. You can’t even admit what it is that you really want.”

“What I want is for you to have some respect for the chain of command.”

“Oh please.” Levi scoffed. “Don’t act like you want just another spineless lackey.”

Erwin crowded over him then, hands pressing into the desk either side, caging him between his solid form and the unmoving table.

“You’re a brat, Levi.” Erwin murmured, so close that Levi could feel his breath against his cheek.

Levi lifted his chin, met the Commanders gaze with a goading flash of grey.

“Yeah. And you love it.”

With an unrestrained sound Erwin slammed his lips against Levi’s, desk abandoned to instead curl his thick fingers around the nape of the Captains neck. The Commander held him in place as he nipped furiously at his lips, until he heard Levi grunt and his mouth went slack, letting him press his tongue inside.

Levi followed the practiced roll of Erwin’s jaw, the kiss turned deep and slow as his hands found the knot of his cravat, which he tore free with ease - fingers simultaneously making short work of the top few buttons of his own shirt.

Somewhere between the hungry slide of Erwin’s tongue and Levi’s roaming hands, two sets of clothes ended up slid to the floor, crumpled beneath bare feet pressing into polished wood, boots discarded - tossed into the shadows.

With a muffled gasp, Levi broke the kiss and peered up at the Commander through his lashes, gaze thick and heated.

“What happened to this behavior being ‘unbecoming’, Commander?” He poked, taking a moment to drink in the sight of Erwin’s bare chest, broad shoulders lifting with his panting breaths.

Erwin tilted his head in reply and raised a hand to capture Levi’s jaw in his big palm, thumb sliding over Levi’s lips, smearing the spit there.

His thumb slipped between Levi’s lips with ease, pressed inside until he could feel the Captains tongue, smooth and hot against the pad of his finger. Levi curled the muscle over the calloused tip of Erwin’s finger, and the Commander hummed in approval, watching him through a glint of polished ice.

“Oh, we’re well past that point, don’t you think Captain?”

Erwin felt his breath catch a little when Levi wrapped his lips around the digit and hollowed his cheeks in a slow suck, dark eyes blown and taunting as his teeth grazed skin.

“Like I said, shameless.” Erwin breathed, watching Levi blink slowly, roll his tongue tauntingly over the pad of his thumb as he held Erwin’s wrist in a surprisingly delicate grip.

With his spare hand, Erwin tugged the top draw of his desk open and fished a glass vial from the compartment. Levi eyed it, slipped Erwin’s thumb from between his teeth with a ‘pop’. Erwin swallowed thickly, watched a glittering thread of spit connect Levi’s bottom lip before he licked it away.

“You keep that in your desk?” Levi accused, nose crinkled. “Tch. Always knew you were a pervert.”

“I think you should be grateful.” Erwin replied smoothly, popping the lid. “You could be taking it raw, Captain.”

He tilted the vial, let a few thick drops of oil slide down onto his waiting fingers, already slick with Levi’s spit. Sufficiently coated, he gripped Levi’s knee and tugged it to the side until he could slip his fingers down between his thighs.

“Or maybe you’d like that?”

Levi couldn’t help the shiver that arrested him when he felt Erwin’s fingers slide teasingly over his hole, and he clenched his jaw tight to stop any sound from escaping.

“Of course not.” He gritted. “Hurry up.”

Erwin’s lips curled into a smile, fingers tracing the tight rim in a slow circle until it was slick enough for him to slide a finger inside.

Levi groaned, jolted in place as Erwin eased the digit back and forth in a slow, measured thrust. Once he felt Levi relax an inch against him, he slipped a second in beside the first and set a steady rhythm. His fingers curled, pumping slow and deep until he hit something soft and silky, and he watched Levi’s cock twitch where it was already stood to attention, smearing a slick line across his lower belly.

Levi’s eyes were cast downward, watching Erwin’s fingers disappear inside him, thin brows knitted together as he bit his lip so hard Erwin was surprised he didn’t split the skin.

“You’re doing too much.” Levi grunted when Erwin’s fingers hit that sweet little spot inside again, and a sizzle of pleasure zipped down his limbs. His own fingers gripping at the edge of the desk in an iron grasp.

“Hm?” Erwin tore his eyes from the sight of Levi clenching tight around his fingers, and tilted his head, wrist still moving. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

Levi didn’t answer, instead he simply let his eyes flutter closed and his head tilt back until all Erwin could see was the long line of his throat and the sharp curve of his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

Erwin pressed a third digit inside, scissoring his fingers until Levi made a breathy sound. But on the next curl of his wrist, when his fingers slipped out for a moment, Levi’s hand snaked out from beneath his thigh to slap him away.

Before Erwin could utter a reply, Levi had slipped from the desk, fixing him with a flushed scowl before he turned his back to the Commander in a huff of defiance.

Erwin watched, eyes widening as Levi bent over, palmed his way along the desk until his chest was pressed flat against the polished wood, feet arched onto his tiptoes.

“Enough. Just do it already.” Levi murmured, voice deceptively even. But he even from the lone slip of his sharp profile pressed against the wood grain, Erwin could see the way Levi’s face was flushed a rosy pink alongside the tips of his ears.

Erwin took a few moments just to appreciate the rarity of the view. The sight of the fearsome Captains toned form laid out before him. Acres of pale skin tugged over toned muscle, peppered with pale wisps of silvered scars and tiny chocolate freckles. Before he could think better of it, his hands had wrapped around Levi’s narrow waist, and he ran his palms up the smooth expanse, feeling taut muscle twitch beneath his fingertips.

Levi squirmed in his grip, gritted his teeth and pushed his hips back against him. “Move.”

Erwin sighed, though the sound was gentle and unmistakably affectionate. He slid his hands down, fingers curling over his hip bones, thumbs sliding up the delicate dimples above his ass.

“You still want to act like a brat, hm? Want to get bent over like one? Fine.”

He slipped his big palm flat over Levi’s tailbone and pushed down, forcing the Captain into a deep arch. Levi made a sharp sound beneath him, tenfold when he felt the Commander press his hips against the back of his thighs, thick length teasing over his slick hole.

“Hurry up and fucking put it i-hnn!-“

The sound caught in Levi’s throat when he felt Erwin finally push his thick tip inside, thumb braced over the top of his length, guiding it inside inch by long inch until he was stuffed about halfway.

The Commander groaned a breathy sound, kneaded at the plush skin of Levi’s ass as he felt the Captain clench around him. He could feel the way the muscles of his thighs were tense and twitching with the effort.

“So tight, relax for me.” Erwin breathed, craned his head to brush his lips at the milky strip of skin between Levi’s tensed shoulder blades.

Levi simply grunted beneath him, head buried between his bent arms, forehead rubbing against the smoothed wood of the desk.

With a tiny retreat of his hips, Erwin pressed forward once more, setting a hard earned rhythm. His thrusts stayed shallow and slow as the man beneath him trembled, breaths coming hard and strained.

In an effort to soothe the bundle of tension, Erwin’s hand ghosted up the curve of Levi’s spine and closed over his nape, fingers tickling against his sharp undercut as he pressed him down against the desk.

“You think any of those nobles could have you like this?”

Levi let out a long strained groan, hips bucking back against the tender rhythm the Commander had set, but he gave no verbal response.

Erwin pinched the soft skin of his ass with his spare hand. The motion was light, taunting - like you would nudge a stray animal back in line. A wayward stallion not quite broken.

“I asked you a question, Levi.”

Feeling the Captain relax an inch, Erwin’s hips began rolling a little faster, thrusts deeper now, stern and purposeful.

He issued another pinch, just sharp enough to sting.

Erwin felt Levi swallow beneath his palm, throat clenching where his fingers were curled around the width.

“No.” Levi managed, eyes squeezed shut, cheek brushing against the desk with each obscene slap of Erwin’s hips. “Just -ah… you… only you.”

Erwin released his grip on Levi’s nape, and instead trailed his hands down to rest over his waist where his back was arched deliciously, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the dimples above his tailbone.

“Let me hear it then.” The Commander coaxed.

Levi shook his head, grunted out a strained growl. The sound was interrupted, cut short as he felt Erwin’s hands suddenly slide beneath his chest until he was braced against his thick forearm. The other curled over his hip, grip tight as he flipped Levi over.

Levi’s bare back hit the desk with a sticky slap, and he gazed up at Erwin, sweat dappled face contorted in a cocktail of annoyed confusion.

“What are you?-“

His sentence was interrupted by the sensation of Erwin suddenly sliding back inside, buried down to the hilt in a single purposeful thrust - earning a surprised, strangled sound from the Captain.

Erwin resumed his rhythm, thick hips pressing to the blushed underside of Levi’s thighs where his legs were tugged up onto the desk, and Levi sighed, let his head tilt back until it hit the wood below.

Levi had a forearm tossed over eyes and his cock pressed up against his toned stomach, blushed pink and weeping over the planes of his abs. Erwin’s hand snaked down, thick fingers wrapped around his throbbing length, wrist beginning to pump in time with each smack of his hips until Levi was blinking away stars.

“If it feels good then let me hear it, Levi.” Erwin insisted, voice pitched above the obscene huffs and sticky slaps now filling the air between them.

Levi shook his head frantically behind his forearm, his face gritted - coiled up tight into a grimace like it was painful, but Erwin caught the glitter of tears wetting his inky lashes.

Erwin’s gaze burned a hole into the limb as he slipped his thumb up to rub the pad of his finger over the tight bundle of nerves at the tip of Levi’s cock, painted a pretty pink against milk white.

That did it. He felt the Captain suck in a shaky gasp, and then go limp beneath him. Levi’s swollen lips parted as whined a sound more broken and desperate than Erwin had ever heard him utter.

Levi was a truly sinful sight beneath him. His toned shoulders raised and twitching, expression turned soft and needy as he lost the last thread of his resolve, stroked away with the unending pump of Erwin’s wrist, his steady thrust stealing the breath from him. The Captain swallowed thickly, panted out muffled little ‘ah’ sounds, huffing with each frantic roll of his hips as he tried to meet Erwin’s vicious rhythm.

“ErwinErwinErwin-fuck-hah!pleaseplease-…” Levi babbled in a desperate chant like his name was a prayer, hands scrambling over the scarred wood beneath him like it could save him. “‘s so good, don’t fucking stop…nnghah-“

“That’s it, shhhh, just let go.” Erwin praised, leaned inward between Levi’s parted legs where they tugged up and spread, trembling around his shoulders.

Breathing in the heady scent of Levi, tea leaves and something clean laced with a burst of fresh sweat, Erwin dipped his head to press a feather soft kiss to Levi’s mottled throat, and that was all it took.

Levi choked a spineless sound, body clenched tight as a spring as he came undone, painting the Commanders knuckles with thick weeping spurts. Erwin cursed into the heated skin of his neck, pressed his head to Levi’s shoulder before he was tripping over the edge alongside his Captain, hips slowing to a controlled halt - despite the way his thick thighs were trembling - as he felt himself pulse, filling him.

They both lay still for a few quiet moments, reveling in the air, thick and heady with sex, filling with the gentle sound of their collective breathing as their pulses slowed.

“Oi, get up. You’re heavy.” Came Levi’s voice, graveled from use, a touch softer than usual.

When Erwin lifted his head, any words of retort died on his tongue. Levi blinked up at him, face blushed and slick with sweat, hair dark where it was feathered over his lashes. His expression had slid back to its usual stone, but there was a softness there now, eyes warm like he was being dipped in melted silver.

“Tell me you’ll stop entertaining those nobles, hm Levi?”

“Tch.” He tutted, though the corners of his lips crept up, and the sight alone made Erwin’s chest ache.

“Sneak me a tin of those top shelf tea leaves next ration and you’ve got yourself a deal, Commander.”

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