Inevitable Indruck

See? That’s his fault, too. We could be fucking a gorgeous man and a beautiful woman right now if it weren’t for him.

“It’d just be Otto. Sunshine’s at a wedding, remember?” he steps onto the balcony, summer heat rippling off the building. Below him, families and couples splash around an elaborate pool in the afternoon sun. 

He’s been so busy the last few weeks he can’t even remember where she was going, hasn’t had time for even the shortest of calls. 

A shriek of laughter; a woman in the pool scooped up into the arms of a young man. She clings to him, kissing him, and Norman’s whole chest aches. 

He should call her. Call her and tell her he misses her, that he can’t stop thinking about her, that he…he….

Coward. You can’t even say it to yourself.  

“Be quiet.” He leans his arms on the balcony railing. 

So maybe she doesn’t say it back. So what? She didn’t say it back to me and I’m doing juuuuust fine.

Norman groans; this is an old argument at this point and it always ends in a stalemate. 

He scans the pool as The Goblin continues making a case for making a complete fool of himself. There’s a family poolside on the concrete nearest to him, the adults lounging as three kids scamper up, demanding the attention of two of the women. Looks like the age-old request to watch them do a cannonball. 

He smiles; Harry always used to do that. 

As the kids move back to the pool, one of the women laughs. 

I know that laugh

Norman shades his eyes against the sun, desperate to pick up details. Laying in the sun, in a swimsuit he bought her, is his girlfriend. 

“Of course. She said something about the wedding being at Disney and I thought she meant Flor-” he white knuckles the railing as The Goblin fights to climb over it, “stop it, you do that we’ll either break an ankle or get arrested for public indecency. Let me handle this.”

His body relaxes back from the edge.

Don’t disappoint me.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nice job” you high five your nephew as he climbs out of the pool. Your aunt and her new husband are already off on their honeymoon, but much of the family decided to stay an extra day or two to make the trip worthwhile. You’re one of the few to spring for a room at the Grand Californian; handily, you being a guest means you can let everyone else into the pool.

Your phone buzzes and you steal a glance at it. Norman’s number. You wonder where he is; he mentioned Stark moved the event to Anaheim. You thought about suggesting a meet-up, but decided against it; Norman, like both you and Otto, gets a kind of tunnel vision around work that can last for weeks. 

You swipe open the message. 

Osborn: Look up.

You lift your head, scanning the balconies. It takes craning your neck backward to spot him. Leaning over the balcony, he gives you a little wave. Smiling, you blow him a kiss, then type into your phone. 

You: Room 421. Done with family stuff by nine. 

Someone calls your name and you turn to answer their question. When you glance back, the balcony is empty.

Osborn: See you then, cinderella. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The knock on your door doesn’t come until well after 11 p.m. You’ve already called Otto to say goodnight, taken a long bath in the fancy tub, changed into your pajamas, and discovered the shocking number of cable channels on the hotel T.V. 

You’re reading Scientific American on your phone when Norman raps on the door. When you open it, his tie is askew and his jacket is slung over his shoulder. He waits until the lock clicks to wrap his arm around your waist and kiss you hello.

“You try to drink Drake under the table again?” You kiss him again, softly, whiskey heavy on his breath.

“No.”

“Did the other guy try to drink him under the table?”

His guilty expression is all the answer you need. 

“I swear the guy is an alien or something, he could out-drink my old man, and that’s saying something.” He hangs up his jacket and toes off his shoes. He’s the only man you’ve ever seen do that with any amount of grace.

You undo his tie, “You’re lucky I didn’t decide to just throw the deadbolt and go to bed.”

“Of course you didn’t. You like your men hardworking and ambitious, even when it keeps them up late.” 

“I also miss them when that happens. I’ve missed you. Otto has, too.” You move toward the bed with Norman following you

“I missed you too” his arms close around you from behind as he kisses your neck, “my princess.”

You set your hands on his, “This ‘princess’ has been on her feet all day. If you want to make a move, you’d better do it before I fall asleep standing up.”

“No moves tonight.” He murmurs, releases you so he can finish undressing, “as much as I want to throw your legs over my shoulders and make you scream, right now all I’m good for is being a lump under the covers.”

(Jesus, he must have drunk a lot; he’s been stumbling, cackling drunk and still trying to get his hands under your skirt in the back of the car).

“That’s all I need.” You hold out a hand as he steps out of his pants, black boxer briefs showing off his legs. 

It’s hot enough that you’re just under the sheet, rolling onto your right side so Norman can cuddle up behind you. His arm drapes over your waist and you feel him relax, a warm and welcome pressure at your back. 

“Do you fly home tomorrow?”

You shake your head, “Day after, I got a deal if I booked five nights instead of four. You?”

“The same. I built in a buffer day in case Stark decided to hold some sort of post-conference nonsense.” He pets your stomach, “Spend the day with me.”

“If you insist.” You say with faux resignation.

“I do. Think of it as…team building.” He kisses your neck as you snicker, “sleep tight, sunshine.”

You nestle back against his chest, eyelids already heavy. After a few moments, the hand laying on your stomach twitches before sliding down your thigh. His hips roll and you feel the tell-tale press of his cock against your ass. 

“I was wondering if you’d show up.” You murmur. 

“Norman may be outta commission, but I’m not.” He nuzzles at your neck through your hair, “c’mon, sleeping beauty, don’t you want prince charming to kiss you on the lips?” He gropes his hand against your cunt through your sleep shorts. 

“Baby, I don’t know how many miles I walked today but it’s pushing double digits. I’m too fucking tired to cum.” You turn your head to look at him, graze your nails down his cheek, “you can fuck my thighs. Final offer.”

“Goddam I missed you.” He growls, kissing your face as he wrenches your thighs apart and shoves his cock between them. You relax into his arms as he thrusts purposefully, wonder if it’s comfortable without lube or if Norman will discover chafing when he wakes up. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t jump on you all the way from the balcony. You in that swimsuit, s’like putting a juicy steak in front of a hungry dog.”

“More like a horny dog.” You mutter with a smile. 

Teeth bite down on your earlobe and you squeak as Goblin growls, fingers digging into your hips as he cums on your thighs. 

The bite gives way to a kiss, followed by another on your throat. Goblin pulls back, and you feel him adjusting himself back into his underwear. Then he’s cuddling up with a content sigh, and you can’t tell if it’s him or Norman who whispers, “christ, I missed holding you” as you fall asleep.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Fingers brush your side and the scent of coffee tickles your nose, “Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

“If it’s before seven I’m pushing you out the window.” You crack an eye open to see Norman in a hotel bathrobe, coffee cup in hand. 

“There’s my sunshine. It’s seven-thirty.”

You stretch and climb gracelessly out of the bed. Norman passes you a coffee cup en route; a mocha, clearly from room service. 

You shower quickly, pulling on your own robe and stepping back into the room in time to see him glare at his phone and move out onto the balcony. As he takes the call, you check your own messages. Among the good morning texts from Otto and the photos of yesterday from your brother, there’s one of those “photo memory” alerts from your phone. This time it’s a picture from exactly a year ago. Of your foot in a flip-flip.

Right, it’d been so hot your shoe was melting when it hit the concrete. That turned out to be the least remarkable thing from the day.

“Told them not to call me again unless we’re in the middle of a hostile takeover.” Norman shuts the balcony door behind him. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Norman Osborn?”

“I keep telling you, you and Octavius are making me soft.”

You meet him halfway across the carpet, “He did ask me to give you this.” You kiss him sweetly.

“See?” He kisses you back, “making me into a sap.”

“So that means you don’t want to know why today is significant?”

His brow crinkles with thought, and after a moment he says, “I’ve got nothing. What am I forgetting?”

“Exactly a year ago, you and the other guy admitted that you wanted to be with Otto and I.” You loop your arms around his waist, “it’s our anniversary.”

The sentence is a fucking Manchurian Candidate trigger.

Norman’s eyes widen, “Then what are we standing here for? We’ve got to celebrate, dinner, drinks, where’d I put my phone-” 

“Table” you tilt your head and he scrambles for it.

He clutches the phone to his chest, “What do you want to do? Anything, princess, any place, any present, name it and it’s yours.”

“Well…” an idea clicks into place, “I did promise you the chance to pick out every part of my outfit, down to the lingerie and perfume.” You flutter your lashes, “want to take me shopping, Mr. Osborn?”

His face is placid but his eyes are huge, “Get dressed. I’ll call for a car.”

“You gonna go like that?”

He looks down at his own robe and growls, “No. You, changed, now.”

You laugh and pull clothes from your bag; black linen shorts and a comfy, peacock green halter top. A black rectangle hits the bed. Norman’s phone.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t look at that! The other guy was driving.” He darts out the door; of course, his clothes would all be in his suite. 

You flip the phone over. As much as you care about Norman, he’s still him. The odds of a scheme brewing in the background are never zero. 

There are four tabs open. The first is for fancy restaurants  in Beverley Hills. The remaining three are: flights to Vegas, nearby jewelry stores, and 24-Hour chapels. 

So the Green Goblin is the marrying kind. Who knew? 

It doesn’t worry you. Goblin is impulsive and intense, but he and Norman seem better able to balance each other these days. Otto’s theory is that they’re united in the common goal of the project you all are working on. 

“Plus” Otto toys with your hair as you lay on his chest, “getting you into bed is something they BOTH want to devote energy to.”

At least you know Norman was telling the truth; he’d never stoop to a Vegas wedding. 

(Would he stoop to asking someone to marry him without ever saying “I love you?”)

The handle jiggles and you let Norman in, passing him his phone. 

“Beverley Hills?”

A glower, his playful one, “Curious little kitten.” He kisses you, “you think I’m taking my girl anywhere other than Rodeo Drive?”

You blush, “That’s not a short trip.”

“Hired a car for that reason. Lots of time for you and I to catch up on the way.” 

You undo the top button on his blue button up–short sleeved, letting you enjoy the muscles in his arms–and scritch the exposed skin with your nails. 

“Then let’s get on the road.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“This is too fancy, I’m gonna get fucking hives.” You link your arm more tightly through Norman’s. 

“Ah ah, don’t get skittish on me sunshine. Besides, you’ve been to swanky events before.”

“For work. That’s different, I just have to look professional. Even when I went to dinner with Harry, that was just a restaurant's worth of people.”

“Just pretend we’re back in the lab in the early days. Y’know, your little ice queen act.”

“It wasn’t an act, you were being a dick to Otto and me.”

“Nah, that was all Norman. I was sweet as could be.”

“Bullshit” You glance at Goblin, “I’m amazed Norman is letting you out.”

“It’s our anniversary too.” He pulls you from the flow of traffic, kisses you hard in the shadow of the awning, “it was me on the couch making you cum like a goddamn freight train, me with the guts to actually get Otto’s cock down my throat.”

“That’s true.” You cuddle up to him, enjoying the affronted looks from a few passersby, “you can still take more of him in your mouth than I can.”

“We’ll get you deep throating like a pro one of these days.” He nuzzles his nose to yours, “Norman can make as many stops here as he wants, but I got a spot for us to go to before dinner. Until then, anyone so much as thinks about insulting you, I’ll throw ‘em through a window.”

“I’m a big girl, baby. I can handle myself. So no assault charges on my behalf. Got me?”

“Fine” he pinches your ass, “see you soon, sunshine.”

A blink and then Norman is back in front, “Sorry about him.”

“But not the positioning of his hand?”

A gentle grope before his touch retreats, “Let’s go. First stop: Armani”

“.....Are we going alphabetically???”

—----------------------------------------------------------------

“Try these next” Norman passes you two more dresses through the changing room door. You were half-expecting Chanel to be his stop for perfume (Otto told you about the year, early on, when Norman proudly gave Emily a bottle of Chanel Number Five for her birthday). Instead, it’s looking like it might be the winner for tonight's dress. 

Norman’s made it clear that while he has something in mind for your date, anything you like, he’ll buy. So far you’ve only taken him up on it once: a pair of Armani ankle boots (that you’ll be storing on a high, high shelf so Bot doesn’t get his bunny teeth into them).

You examine the latest dress in the mirror. It’s black, hem sitting at your ankles with a long slit up either side. The top is a simple bandage wrap, showing off your curves more than your cleavage. You look elegant, stylish, and extremely fucking hot. 

Judging by his expression, Norman agrees. 

After the dress comes the shoes. Norman doesn’t bother with the alphabet this time, making a beeline for Jimmy Choo and selecting six pairs in under five minutes. 

On the third pair (blood red, strappy sandals) you stand and shift your feet. 

“I didn’t tighten it enough on my left side, can you-”

Norman kneels on the ground without further prompting. He adjusts the strap, pats the top of your foot, “How’s that?”

“Much better, thanks.” You give him a kiss as he stands up, “I’m gonna take a lap.”

As you circumnavigate the store, one of the young men working murmurs, jokingly, “Is he on something? I never see boyfriends be this patient.”

You chuckle and wiggle your toes for emphasis, “He just appreciates the merchandise.” 

Norman’s final selection is a pair of matte black heels with straps across the top and up the ankle. When he escorts you into a lingerie store, you suspect he’s been scoping out the inventory online. He goes to the counter, and after a quick exchange presents you with two hangers of clothing. 

“Check to see if these fit. But don’t let me see you in them. I deserve a little surprise tonight, too.”

One of the intimidatingly polished saleswomen shows you to a dressing room. The set is all black and made of four pieces: underwear, bra, garter belt, and stockings. Everything but the stockings is studded with small, white crystals. When you put it on, it’s like you snipped pieces of a starry sky to wrap around yourself. 

When you hand the hangers to Norman and murmur, “It’s perfect,” his excitement is palpable. 

It’s only when he guides you to a salon that you hesitate. You haven’t given another human a say in how your hair or make-up looks since you were sixteen. 

“You said everything, remember?” Norman gathers your hair into one hand and drapes it over your shoulder. 

“Promise you won’t make me look like a Barbie doll?” You aim for a joke and miss.

Norman brushes his fingers over your cheek, “I promise. I may be a  cold-hearted, self-centered bastard, but I know what you like.”

A year ago, you wouldn’t have believed him. Hell, even six months ago you’d have been wary.

You lean into his touch, smiling, “Okay, baby. I trust you.” You turn your head and nip his thumb, “But if I come out of there blonde, you’re looking down the barrel of a two month dry spell, minimum.”

“My spitfire.” He takes your hand, holds it as the two of you talk with the receptionist. When she shoots you a subtle, concerned glance as he asks to see specific polish colors, you smile reassuringly. 

“He’s got a much better eye for style than I do.”

“This is the only time she lets me boss her around even a little, believe me.” Norman winks exaggeratedly, laughing when you playfully whack his arm. 

He excuses himself once you settle into the chair for the manicure. Ninety minutes later, your nails are space-age silver and your hair falls in pin-up waves around your shoulders. Norman appears with two new bags (“surprises for later”), whipping out his credit card with a self-satisfied smile. 

Once you’re back in the car, you expect to be in for a long drive–you two agreed eating at the Napa Rose in the hotel was ideal for keeping up the mood of the evening–only for your driver to pull over in another mall. 

“Perfect” your boyfriend growls, closing his hand around your wrist as he addresses the driver, “keep this baby parked right here. C’mon, Cinderella, I got something to fit you for that’s much more fun than a glass slipper.”

“Well that answers whether we’re going into the Good Vibrations or not.”

“Make no mistake, Norman is an equal partner in this plan, he just knows I’ve got the better eye when it comes to choosing our toys.” Goblin scans the shelves, grinning when he spots the shelf of remote controlled toys, “Bingo.”

“You can’t be serious” it’s a pro forma question.

“This counts as an accessory.” Goblin is methodically pressing buttons on each of the display vibrators. Then he pauses, grinning.

“Hear that?”

“Hear what?” 

“Exactly.” He turns off the small vibrator, grabs an unopened one from the shelf, “don’t give me that look, kitten. I heard you telling Octavius about the time you did this before. How much of a thrill you got.”

You go bright pink, “That was in college. But you’re not wrong.”

“I never am.” 

—------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the hotel, Norman leaves you with your shopping bags and the instruction to meet him at the restaurant at 7 p.m.

Investigating the make-up bag produces soft pink lipstick, a gold and rose palette of eyeshadow with matching eyeliner, two compacts of blush, and mascara. You look up tutorials on Youtube, settle on a pin-up inspired one to match the hair. 

There’s also a perfume in the bag. It smells like sweet, tart rose petals, crushed into a palm on a hot summer day. It smells divine when you spritz it on. 

The last accessory of the night is the small vibrator. You slip it inside yourself, adjust your underwear and skirt back into place, and go to strap on your heels. 

Once you’re fully dressed you take a selfie and send it to Otto. In the elevator down, your phone buzzes. 

Otto: You look amazing. Norman is going to short-circuit. And when you get home, I expect you to show me all of that in person so I can do a thorough evaluation.

You: it’s a date, doc. 

When you arrive at the restaurant, Norman is waiting for you in one of his black suits. The shirt beneath is deep blue, and the tie is subtly silver. His hair is combed but loose, just the way you like it. 

“There she is.” He grasps both your hands and pulls you to him for a kiss. 

He barely takes his eyes off you on the walk to the table, and is having a noticeably hard time focusing on his menu. 

“How am I supposed to even think when you’re sitting there looking like that?” 

“You dressed me like this, sweetheart. You have no one to blame but yours-” you cut off with a clack of teeth as the vibrator switches on. 

“You were saying?”

You glare playfully over your menu, “Nothing.”

He toys with the tempo, clearly pleased by the blush spreading down your neckline, until the waiter comes over to take your drink order, at which point you’re granted some relief as the toy shuts off. 

When the server departs, Norman asks casually, “What looks good?”

“Everythingnng” You take a quick sip of water to cover your surprise at the vibration, “I’m starving, we were so busy today we never ate.”

“Shit” Norman mutters, looking genuinely chagrined, and the toy stops, “you shouldn’t be going hungry.”

“Norman, I missed a meal, not an entire month of them. And; that’s very rich from the coffee who subsists on coffee half the time.” 

“I have the serum in me” he whispers, then adds with a sharp grin, “now, if you wanted to talk about getting you some kind of enhancement….”

“No. Also, I don’t think that’s how most men in your tax bracket ask their mistresses to get a boob job.”

Norman chokes on his whiskey, quickly covering it with a cough, “You’re not my mistress, you’re my girlfriend.”

“My point is, no ‘enhancements’ unless it’s, like, knee surgery or something.”

He takes your hand where it rests on the table, “I worry about you. That’s all. And I know, I know” he raises his other hand, palm facing you, “I know you don’t need me. Or Otto. But I don’t want you to have to take care of yourself. If you care about someone you...a man is supposed to take care of his family.” The words are quiet. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed to say them.

You squeeze his hand, “That’s both sweet and concerningly 1950s of you.”

“So I’m an old fashioned guy. Sue me.” The joking expression is paper thin. 

“Do you really think of me as your family?” He certainly acts like you are, but he’s never come close to putting it into words. 

“You and Otto both. If you’ll have me.”

“I can’t speak for Otto but…yes. I love being your partner, Norman. In and out of the lab.”

His right eye twitches and he takes another drink. 

“Everything okay in there?”

“We're just...happy.” He flashes a smile, “glad you can finally stand me.”

“I’d say I can do a lot more than stand you.” You run the toe of your shoe up his calf under the table. 

Norman waits until you’ve ordered your food to turn the toy back on. It’s nowhere near enough to get you off, even as he plays with the rhythm and intensity, but it does make you glad your table is at the back corner of the room and you’re facing him, not the other diners. It’s just as thrilling as you remember, made all the better by the fact that the man across from you is calculating, clearly dedicating quite a bit of his brainpower to fucking with you. 

In between his attempts to make you spill water on your chest, you and Norman talk about some of the more promising research coming out of both Mesa and the Oscorp Chicago branch. Norman also mentions he’s hoping to take Harry on a “boys trip” sometime in the next few months, asks your thoughts on his different ideas (“the other guy is lobbying for Vegas. Too tacky if you ask me”). 

The food is good but, if you’re honest, tonight it’s barely registering. And not solely due to the vibrator that means you’re currently sitting here with soaked underwear. Norman’s conversation is bright, his grin even brighter, and as you talk you feel like he means every word, like the only thing he wants in the entire world is your attention and affection. 

When the waiter asks if you’d like dessert, you both shake your heads. As he leaves, blue eyes lock on yours and you watch Goblin slip through. 

“Got something sweet that I’ve been waiting alllllll day to sink my teeth into.” He turns the toy up as high as it’ll go.

You bite your lip, “I hate you.”

“Love you too, princess.”

Norman blinks back into place and the toy stills. He stands, keeps your arms linked as he pays for dinner and guides you to the elevator. 

When you reach his suite, you expect him to pounce the moment the door closes. Instead he stands, contemplative, fingers resting on the handle.

“Norman?” You’re not worried, just curious.

He looks at you, chest rising in a deep breath, “I love you. I have for a while and was too much of a coward to tell you but it’s been blaring like a goddamn siren in my head all day. I wanted to say it before we got distracted by all the” he gestures toward the bed, “wild stuff.”

The simplicity of it wrong-foots you into silence. Norman waits, only half looking at you, and it gives you time to think. 

You have dozens of thoughts and questions about what it means to be with Norman, what it means about you that you can trust him, care about him. But under all that noise, there’s a very simple truth. 

Norman looks like a scared, cornered dog when you first step toward him. You set your hands on his cheeks and kiss him, feel his lips part in a shaky inhale. 

“I love you, too.”

His hands settle on your hips, voice painfully earnest, “Say it again.”

“I love you.” You kiss each cheek, then his chin, “I love you.”

“Yeah?” He grins, nuzzling your face as he guides you backward toward the bed, “You love me?”

You giggle as he cheerfully peppers you with kisses, “Yeah. I do. I love you.”

He’s laughing too, now, boyish and sweet, “I love you too, love you so much” he moans as you push his jacket off and away, “so much, let, let me?” He rests his hands on the straps of your dress. 

You nod, feel the fabric slide down your arms. Norman kneels, continues peeling the dress down as he does. Once it pools around your feet, you step out of it. Norman pivots, still on his knees, and runs his hands up your thighs. 

“You look so good like this, goddamn I love being right.”

“Shocking.” You tease as he presses kisses from the top of your stockings to your underwear. 

A light slap to your ass, “Play nice, princess.”

“I’ve been low-level turned on for hours. If you don’t do something about it soon I’m going to see if Drake is still hanging around.” You tug his hair as he kisses the front of your underwear. 

“No you won’t.” He kisses your stomach, looking fondly up at you.

“No?” You take two steps back. 

Norman follows you on his hands and knees, “No. Because you love me. And you know I’d come find and take back what’s mine.”

“Mmhmm. All yours.” You sit on the edge of the bed, legs spread enough for him to watch you nudge the thong aside and remove the vibrator, “now what are you going to do about it?”

He crawls until he reaches your left foot. Dips his head to kiss the top of your foot. Plants a row of slow, firm kisses through the stockings, onto your bare skin, and along your inner thighs before hungrily dragging his tongue up your cunt.  

“Fuck” You gasp as the fumbling rustle of clothing comes from below you. When Norman presses his mouth back against your folds, warm skin rubs your stockings. His cock ruts along your leg, the silk becoming wet from the pre-cum dragging along with it. 

“Good boy.” You brace on his shoulder with one hand, grip his hair with the other, “fuck, Norman, baby, that feels so good.”

He tips his face up at you, pleased, and you kiss the taste of yourself from his lips before letting him go. 

His teasing of you at dinner means your orgasm doesn’t take long to arrive. Your thighs tense and you dig your fingers into his hair, beg him to keep going and praise him when he does. 

You cum with a moan, Norman pulling back to kiss your thighs as the pleasure rolls through you. He wraps his arms around you, hands scrabbling at your lower back as he grinds against your leg. 

“Gonna make a mess of my stockings, handsome?”

“Yes” He grunts, jerking his hips more firmly, “I’ll buy you more, buy you enough that we can do this every night.”

“I know you will.” You scritch his cheek with your nails. He shudders, moaning, and spills down your leg, the last pulse catching the top of your foot. 

He straightens, running his hands up your sides, “You’re perfect.”

“You’re sweet.” You peck his cheek. 

“I’ll get something to clean up with. Be right back.”

As he heads for the bathroom, you shift to lay fully on the bed. The lingerie makes you feel like a goddess, and you’re loath to take it all off just yet. Maybe the stockings, though you need to get the shoes off first…

You sit up, intending to draw your foot toward you and take off the high heel. A voice freezes you in place.

“It’s not midnight yet, Cinderella. Those slippers stay on.” Goblin is fully naked as he rounds the end of the bed.

“Gonna take me dancing, tough guy?”

“Nah” he clambers between your legs, “gonna have a ball, though.”

“You’re impossibAH!” You clamp a hand over your mouth. You didn’t mean to shriek when Goblin threw your legs over his shoulders, but you weren’t expecting him to shove his cock in with one thrust, either. 

“Awwww, sensitive sunshine?” 

“A, a little. Norman made me see stars.”

“Too bad.” He thrusts aggressively, “I’m not letting him shut me out on my anniversary. Fuck, fuck, love it when you get this wet. Really makes a guy feel smug.” He leans forward, reminding you why you’ve been shelling out for those yoga classes. 

“Does it now?” You manage to reach up and cup his cheek with your right hand. 

Goblin rubs into the touch for a moment, then licks his lips, “Do it.”

Your palm stings when you slap him, but you don’t have time to dwell on it. Goblin snarls in delight, sinks his teeth into your right stocking and the leg beneath it. You whimper happily at the pain, cling to the blanket when he does the same to the other side. 

“Ah ah, no use crying now, spitfire. If you dish it out, you better be able to take it.” He thrusts harder, yanks the cups of the bra down enough to expose your tits. 

“You hit me again, I’m gonna hit back.” He pants. 

You slap him, swallow down a cry as he slaps your right breast. He does it to the other side, then seems to become distracted by the prints his fingers leave as he gropes you and switches you playing with your tits rough enough to bruise. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, “Holy fuck. If you keep doing that while you fuck me I, I think I might cum.”

He smiles adoringly, turns his head to kiss your leg. “Good. Nothing quite like watching a pretty little princess go to pieces to get the blood flowing.” His nails dig into your skin, and when you whine his name he simply chuckles, “oh, sunshine, you’re never getting rid of us now.”

“Don’t want to” is all you get out before you cum. Goblin fucks you wildly as you do, lets your legs fall from his shoulders to focus on thrusting deep and staying there, grinding against your with short, demanding motions until he pulses inside you with a gleeful moan. 

You stroke his back, smile as he kisses your face and murmurs that you’re his, that he loves you, that he hasn’t been this happy in a long time, all while Goblin gives way to Norman so subtly you can’t really tell when it happens. Goblin isn’t as opposed to the mushy stuff as he tries to pretend (especially if he’s just cum). 

“Y’know” you push his hair from his sweaty forehead, “for a cold-hearted, self-centered bastard, you’re pretty fucking loving.”

I HAVE A 'COMTE AND THE BISHOP ARINGAROSA ARE BROTHERS AND DECIDE TO SHARE A READER (NO INCEST)' FIC IN THE WINGS THAT I FORGOT ABOUT U TIL YOU JUST MENTIONED THAT!!!!!

Ok, so while I don't think the Comte would bring just anyone into the bedroom with him, I could totally see him being manipulated by a corrupt man of the clothe like the Bishop Aringarosa...I could definitely see the Bishop demanding to perform a 'purity' check on the Comte's love interest (maybe fiancee?) that gets out of hand and he ends up fingering her and the sound of the reader's wet cunt leads to Comte losing control and tongue kissing her for the first time as Manuel coaxes her thru her first orgasm...

Hmmmmm who else, who else...

There's a Leland Drury and Angelo, I still need to finish, too!

I wanna write a fic where these two are in on some scam and trick a poor innocent nun into going on the run with them (I'm thinking she doesn't know they're on the run, she thinks she's just travelling with a priest and reformed gambler who's found god, so her guard is completely down), and they definitely get her drunk and take advantage, not taking her virginity, but doing everything but as they strip her down to her small clothes one night by the fire and Leland coos some bullshit about her being the temptation in the desert as they direct her on how to stroke their cocks as they pinch and grope and play with her all over...

Hm who else...

From my Anastasia fic, Vlad and Dmitri would totally share Anya!Reader 💯 percent...

I HAVE A 'COMTE AND THE BISHOP ARINGAROSA ARE BROTHERS AND DECIDE TO SHARE A READER (NO INCEST)' FIC IN THE WINGS THAT I FORGOT ABOUT U TIL YOU JUST MENTIONED THAT!!!!!

Ok, so while I don't think the Comte would bring just anyone into the bedroom with him, I could totally see him being manipulated by a corrupt man of the clothe like the Bishop Aringarosa...I could definitely see the Bishop demanding to perform a 'purity' check on the Comte's love interest (maybe fiancee?) that gets out of hand and he ends up fingering her and the sound of the reader's wet cunt leads to Comte losing control and tongue kissing her for the first time as Manuel coaxes her thru her first orgasm...

Hmmmmm who else, who else...

There's a Leland Drury and Angelo, I still need to finish, too!

I wanna write a fic where these two are in on some scam and trick a poor innocent nun into going on the run with them (I'm thinking she doesn't know they're on the run, she thinks she's just travelling with a priest and reformed gambler who's found god, so her guard is completely down), and they definitely get her drunk and take advantage, not taking her virginity, but doing everything but as they strip her down to her small clothes one night by the fire and Leland coos some bullshit about her being the temptation in the desert as they direct her on how to stroke their cocks as they pinch and grope and play with her all over...

Hm who else...

From my Anastasia fic, Vlad and Dmitri would totally share Anya!Reader 💯 percent...

(When you first helped him, the other members of the team didn’t take you seriously until you turned up in a leather jacket with a hard-ass attitude to match).

He casts you a sympathetic smile, “As much as you can get away with.”

Your dry reply makes him laugh. 

“Goody.”

—------------------------------------------------------------

Two days into your assignment, you’ve developed the following impressions of the rest of the team: Fitch is in over his head, Laura is doing her best, Dan is a sweetheart but why on earth did the recovery team need an “empath”, Preston needs to be slapped upside the head and not in a fun way.

And then there’s…

“Morning, sunshine.” Dr. Stephen Arden appears at your side, holding two paper coffee cups, one of which he hands to you, “you’re with Dan and me.”

You take the cup with a tight lipped smile, “Good. If I have to deal with Preston for that long a drive we’ll end up with two murderous women on our hands.”

“There we go, that’s the spirit. It’ll give the three of us time to bond.”

This is what’s throwing you about Arden; he’s either deliberately ignoring your bristles or he likes them. You have a bad feeling you know which.

You’re introducing yourself to the rest of the team as you all wait for Fitch to prepare the visuals for his presentation. 

Arden shakes your hand, then sticks his hands into his pockets, giving you a once-over as he says, with faux casualness, “You’re a professor you said? Where do you teach? I’m a Harvard man myself-” 

“UCLA. I run the top astrobiology program in the country. But I’m sure the ivy league anthropology world is glad to have you.” You match his tone with fake politeness. The last time you worked closely with an ivy league professor he questioned every last one of your credentials until he got himself eaten by a chupacabra. 

Arden looks as if you’ve slapped him, but only for a moment. Then his expression shifts to that of a dog seeing a bone just out of reach, “well, you’re just a ray of sunshine aren’t you?”

Look. Arden, with his fluffy dark hair, expressive brows, and crooked nose, is catnip to you. You want to make him kneel, pull his hair, suck bruises into his skin while he giddily fucks you. 

But you can tell Arden is naturally flirtatious, the kind of man who evaluates every woman he meets through the lens of whether they’re fuckable. You watched Preston do it too, leering rather than playful, and conclude that you’re not his type. 

You don’t need any of it right now.  Not when you have a reputation to uphold. 

You’re following the tip that Sil might have taken a train toward L.A. You and Stephen spent much of yesterday debating whether her human DNA would lead her to be a social creature or if she’d seek out solitude. You wouldn’t blame her, given her current experience with humans includes them trying to gas her. 

Arden drives, insisting you take shotgun because Dan always falls asleep in the car. You assume he’s exaggerating, but after an hour of amiably chatting, the empath is sound asleep.

“Music? I’ve got lots.” Arden gestures to a box on the floor by your feet. 

You select The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust. It doesn’t take long for Arden to start singing along. It’s charming and he knows it. 

“C’mon, sunshine, join in.”

“Don’t push your luck; I’m not singing ‘Sweet Head’ with a co-worker.” You add a glare, “put those puppy dog eyes away.”

“They’re working,” Dan murmurs from the backseat.

You set your head in your hands with a joking sigh of despair, “I should’ve just gone with Preston and Laura.”

“You would’ve been a third wheel to them eye-fucking each other.” Arden changes lanes toward the exit. 

“Something you haven’t been trying to do this whole drive?” You give him a pointed look. 

“That’s eye-lovemaking, I’ll have you know.” 

You laugh, Dan doing the same from behind you as he says, “I changed my mind, please grab the steering wheel and crash us before he tries anymore wordplay.”

Thirty minutes later, you’re staring at the remnants of a fucking cocoon, trying to get a sample for testing while the others strategize as to whether Sil got off the train in L.A. Fitch fussed at you to be careful, that this was foreign material, potentially dangerous, until you snapped and told him you’d handle material samples far more volatile and classified than this. 

You join them just in time to hear Arden saying “it’s perfect for her, totally mobile population.”

You snort, “Ah yes, major metropolitan areas. Notoriously without a stable population of people making them run.”

“You know what I mean. It’s a big city with lots of people coming and going.”

“Then say that.” You brush past him, “investigation lives and dies in the details.”

He scoffs, “Well excuse me, sunshine.”

You ignore him and start talking about make-shift lab options with Fitch and Laura. Yes, you’re being pedantic, but you didn’t get where you are by being fucking careless. 

Arden keeps his distance until lunch. The group discusses whether Sil might be looking for a mate, and then you and Arden start speculating on what non-human genetics mean in terms of estrus, until Preston tells you to shut the hell up because some people are trying to eat. 

You can’t prove it, but you suspect Preston is the one responsible for you all being short a room when you check in to the hotel, as he’s a little too quick to suggest you and Arden be the pair to double up. 

“That way you can practice your bickering married couple act in private.” 

Some battles aren’t worth picking, so you take the offered key. 

As you’re unpacking, Arden keeps glancing over from where he’s pulling items from a duffle bag, “Don’t look so worried, sunshine. I know how to be a gentleman, I swear.”

“Firstly, my face just looks like this. Secondly; good. Because if you didn’t, I’m not beyond tying your hands when you go to bed.”

“Really?” He takes a few steps towards you, “you promise?”

You bring yourself toe to toe with him with a sly smile. Then you set a hand on his belt, quickly unbuckling it and yanking it off. Arden grins, moves his hands toward your waist and, in the process, puts them where you need them. 

Wrapping the leather around his wrists, you tighten the belt and step out of reach. You carefully watch his face for distress and get only mild confusion. 

He looks between your face and his bound hands before playfully saying, “I thought we were finally getting along.”

“We are. If we weren’t, I’d just leave you like this until we have to go to the lab.” You hold out your hand and he sets his wrists in it without hesitation. You undo the belt, pass it back to him, “I need to rinse off; the scent from that cocoon is sticking to me and I hate it.”

“Right” he shoots you a shyer, sweeter smile this time and you realize that the charming bastard can, in fact, make you blush.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

An extremely stressful twenty-four hours later, you, Arden, and the rest of the team stand by a pool. The body of Sil’s newest victim has yet to be gurneyed out, and you watch Laura and Arden trade increasingly anxious comments about whether she successfully mated. 

“Check the pool filters.” Arden barks toward some of Fitch’s men. 

You raise your brows “For what?”

“Ejaculate.”

“Oh for-” you gesture to the body, “it’d be more reliable to do a urethral swab to determine if there are any sperm present, indicating recent ejaculation.”

“....Right, that’s a much better idea, do that instead.” Arden steps back from the pool, glancing your way, “good thinking.”

You flash him a smile as Fitch approaches you with the new plan; stake out the club Sil seems to be using as her hunting grounds in the hopes that she’ll repeat her pattern that night. 

Which is why you’re now squeezed in a bar chair as bass thumps all around you. The six of you have spread out, searching for her. 

“This is ridiculous.” Arden mutters as he passes you. 

“Agreed. We all look like fucking narcs.” You tilt your head at Preston and Laura at the bar, standing out stiffly in spite of their flirtation, “even if Sil doesn’t know most of us on sight, right now anyone, alien or not, can tell we’re looking for someone.”

He nods, then taps your shoulder, “I’ve got an idea. Take off the jacket and follow me.”

You lay the leather coat on the back of your chair, only for Arden to toss his own jacket on top of it and pull you into the chaos of the dance floor. 

“We’ll blend in this way.” He gracefully spins you so your back is to his front, mimicking many of the dancers around you.

“I’m only going along with this because you’re right. And she might be looking for men already paired with women; letting someone else vet suitable mates for her.” You grin at him as he sways you to the beat. 

“I’m suitable for mating?”

“Don’t push it.” You scan the floor, Arden doing the same, with no sign of Sil among the gorgeous blondes prowling for partners. 

“These are a surprise” he runs his hands up your arms and over the tattoos on your biceps, “you’ve got a wild side, sunshine. Check behind me.” He spins you chest to chest. 

“Nothing so far.” You slip your hands into his back pockets, roll your body to the music.

“You’ve done this before.” He runs his hands up your sides, emboldened by your touch. He’s a good dancer, easily following the beat and syncing with your movements. 

“Girl has to blow off steam somehow.” You wish you were in one of those clubs now, that Arden was just another guy who’d made it clear he liked women in leather boots and black lipstick who looked like they could kick his ass. The problem is he’s not, the more you talk the more he feels like he’s your match in all the right ways, even when you snipe at each other. 

“How else do you like to blow off steam?” He’s looking down at you now, arms around your waist so you can’t bolt from the conversation. It’s flirtatious, curious too; like he’s trying to get to know you. You want to lower the curtain, give him just a little peek. 

“I’ve got a whole box of tricks.” You purr.

He bends down, barely audible over the music, “Maybe when this all over you can-”

A commotion from outside, Laura and Preston sprinting for the door with Fitch on their heels. 

“Guess someone spotted her.” Arden keeps hold of your hand, tossing you your coat as you follow the others into the night, leaving whatever was blooming between you to die on the dance floor. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------

You’re back in a club far sooner than you anticipated. The hotel bar this time, not quite as rowdy but still packed with bodies pursuing a wild Saturday night. 

Technically, you’re celebrating; Sil crashed a stolen car straight into a transformer, electrocuting herself. At least that’s what the body you all found suggests. Fitch seems satisfied with that conclusion. 

Arden is enjoying the excuse to buy drinks on “Uncle Sam’s dime,” ordering long island ice teas for himself and Dan. You tease him for drinking like a valley girl on vacation, to which he insists you shouldn’t knock it until you try it. 

Two drinks in, you have to say that he has a point. 

“Well, sunshine, am I allowed to order again?” His arm drapes over the booth behind you.

You fiddle with the straw, smiling at him, “Provisionally.”

“Hey, you’re moving up in the world.” Dan teases, making you both laugh. 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, Arden’s eyes tracking you all the way to the door. As you’re checking your lipstick in the mirror, the woman next to you asks if she can borrow it. 

“Mine melted” she says as you pass over the tube and check the corners of your mouth for any plum pigment that went astray. 

When you step back into the club, you’re just in time to see Laura and Preston disappearing together. You’ve worked on plenty of professional teams. Many of the men on them saw that as the natural outcome for a woman co-worker; a girlfriend, a wife, someone just in the field until she can find a man to take her out of it. 

A hand on your arm makes you jump, on account of the whole “killer alien” thing being top of mind. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Arden’s hand moves slowly down your arm as he talks, “Things are wrapping up down here so I thought maybe it was time we headed back to our room. Got into bed.” His voice dips seductively lower as his hand finds yours. 

The natural outcome. 

You pull your hand from his and step away, “I, I need to get some air. Take a walk.”

His face falls, “So you don’t-”

You want to say “not yet” or “we’ll see” but a frustrated, entitled look lingers in his eyes a little too long. 

“No. I don’t.”

He might say something else, but you move to the door too fast to catch it. 

The swirl of smell outside–hot pavement, night air, a dozen different perfumes from passersby– grounds you. You take deliberate, measured breaths as you circle the block. You love cities at night, the play of lights off the buildings and snatches of conversation you catch as people bustle past you. 

It takes three laps before you’re ready to go inside. You got up in your own head, got ahead of yourself, and at the very least you want to explain things so Arden knows there’s no bad blood between you, not really. Just some baggage. 

Opening the hotel room door, you’re met with the tell-tale sound of post-coital panting. 

“Seriously, Ar...den-” You freeze in the doorway. 

Arden is on his back on the bed. You’re straddling him. 

“Fuck.” Is all you get out before Sil swipes down at Arden. He’s midway through rolling out from under her when she does, screaming when she makes contact with his back and sides. 

You hurl the desk lamp at her, catching her in the head. She charges you, slamming you into the wall and digging claws into your leg. You scream as tendons tear, jab your fingers forward and connect with her eyes. She drops you, hissing, then smashes through the back window as footsteps thunder down the hall. 

Dragging yourself across the floor, you reach for Arden. He’s breathing, manages to look at you when you weakly call his name.

“I thought…I thought she was you.” He whimpers.

You manage a dry laugh through the pain flooding your body, “Yeah, Stephen, I gathered.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

When you went under for surgery on your damaged leg, you weren’t sure if you’d wake up in a hospital or in government quarantine. 

The speckled ceiling suggests the former. The fact Agent Stern is sitting near your hospital bed suggests the latter. 

“Are we in Area 51?” You’re mostly joking.

He shakes his head, “No. You’re in L.A General. We did initially keep Dr. Arden in more intense containment since there was fluid exchange.” He indicates the other bed in the room, where Stephen is asleep.

“That answers my question of whether he fucked the alien.” You rub your forehead, “jesus, I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

“The good news is you don’t have a concussion. You escaped your ‘car accident’ with just a leg injury.”

“If anyone asks, he was driving.” You shrug a shoulder toward Stephen. 

“Lies. You Americans drive like maniacs, everyone knows that.” His voice is faint, but there’s a tiny smile on his face that makes you feel like everything will be okay.

Stern updates you on what happened after Sil’s attack, including the fact that she’s confirmed dead. 

“Guess you won’t be able to claim you’re the father of a new hybrid species.” You turn your head on the pillow, looking at Stephen. 

“Course not. I’m far too young to be a father.” He frowns at the ceiling, “although if she had offspring with me, they’d be more genetically human than not…”

“I wonder what traits would dominate. Like, would having majority human DNA turn off the genes that allow for shapeshifting?”

“Or limit it, maybe, so the offspring could only change facets of their appearance…”

From your left, Stern chuckles, “I’ll leave you two alone.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------

“Is it bigger than a breadbox?”

“Yes.”

“Is it metal?”

“Yes.”

“Can it fly?”

“Yes.”

“Sunshine, are you thinking of a UFO?”

“Yes. What?” You shoot him a faux annoyed glance as he laughs, “they’ve kind of been on my mind lately!”

—-------------------------------------------------

“You know, it’d be safer if I kept my eyes open when you change.”

You look over your shoulder as you finish pulling on your shirt, “Oh?”

He smiles, “That way if an alien impersonates you again, I’ll be able to tell if she matches the genuine article.”

“If she’s trying to fuck you, she’s not me.” Pain sharpens the comment beyond what you intended. Your leg is doing better, your mobility is returning, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. 

Stephen is quiet for a moment, then murmurs, “Why do you hate me? I’ve spent the entire time we’ve known each other trying to get on your good side.”

You decide to blame the sniffling in his voice on the painkillers.

“I don’t hate you. But I should point out, you try to get on everyone’s good side, especially if they’ve got nice tits.” You sigh, “Stephen, how many women are on this team, including all the agents Preston called in and the techs Fitch used?”

He counts, thoughtfully, “Laura, you, at least one lab tech…”

You hold four fingers where he can see them, “That’s it. And do you know how many women are doctors in exobiology? Six in the whole country, including me. Every room I’m in, there are people thinking that I’m there to match up with one of them, not do my work, because that’s what the nearest available woman is clearly for.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“I know. Look, Stephen, I do actually like you.” You smile, “Sil could have done a lot worse for mates.”

He’s quiet for a long time, hands resting on his stomach. Finally, he says, “She didn’t smell right.”

“What?”

“Your shampoo is distinct. It wasn’t there when she came on to me, but it happened so fast and I wanted so badly for it to be real that I ignored the fact something was missing. She even had your lipstick.”

“She must have been who borrowed it in the bathroom.” You wonder, not for the first time, how much Sil got right about your body. If Stephen enjoyed what he saw.

“I like that lipstick.” He muses, then winks at you, “you’ve got a lot of style for a geek, sunshine.”

“And you’ve got a lot of charm for a nerd, professor.”

He blows you a cheeky kiss, grinning ear to ear when you laugh.

—------------------

“Promise you’ll keep in touch?” Given his injuries are more severe, Stephen is being kept under observation another few days, but you’re officially discharged. 

“I’ll do my best.” You offer him your hand, “Don’t get up to too much trouble now that you’ve got the room to yourself.”

He takes your hand, hesitates, then pulls you into a hug, “Thanks for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.” You step back, not quite ready to take your eyes off him, “if you’re ever in L.A again, look me up.”

Stephen gives your hand a final squeeze, “you’ll be my first stop.”

—---------------------------

Spring semester gives way to summer; you only teach two classes, use the extra time for your own research. 

You hold office hours early on Fridays. Today you’re busy revising your exam questions when brisk footsteps cross the threshold. 

You don’t look up as you say, “Let me just save this and I’ll be riiiight with you.” 

“No need to hurry on my account.” Stephen flashes a brilliant smile when you look up, “I’m just here to introduce myself to my fellow professors.”

To keep from jumping up excitedly, you cock an eyebrow, “You’re on the wrong end of campus for that.”

“I know. I went to the Anthropology department yesterday. Forgive me for not making you my first stop?”

“Yes–wait, you're actually here to teach?”

“A one-year visiting professorship. Arranged by the men in black, if I had to guess. Think they’re worried Sil might not be as dead as we thought.”

“Peachy.” 

A soft chuckle, “I missed you, sunshine.” He runs a finger along your “out” tray, “on the flight over, I kept asking myself ‘how do I get off on the right foot this time’. Then I thought, ‘no point in overcomplicating things, just ask her to dinner.’”

“And are you?” You move around the desk to stand next to him. 

“Yes.” He nods, still toying with odds and ends on your desk, expression sincere as he adds, “Dinner with a woman I can’t get out of my head. That’s all I want. No strings attached, no expectations.” 

“None?” You adjust his lapels to keep your fingers from getting other ideas.

“None.” His eyes glint hopefully as you pick up a pen.

You scribble your address on a post-it, “Pick me up here at seven. If you behave at dinner, I might invite you in for coffee after.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

The front door whams into the wall much louder than you intended. In your defense, Stephen is at your back, whispering endearingly filthy promises as the pair of you fumble your way into the apartment. Your keys land near their usual hook, your heels come off in a hurry, and Stephen shucks his jacket the instant the door is shut. 

The red roses he brought you when picking you up rustle precariously as you back him into the table. He kissed you sweetly outside the restaurant, asking if you’d like to find somewhere to dance. Kissing you now, he’s equal parts doting and demanding, pressing his lips to yours like it’s where he belongs, and like he’s so fucking happy to have found it. 

“I tried going out a few times since I last saw you.” Stephen murmurs between kisses, “kept looking for you on the dance floor, couldn’t even make a pass at someone unless she had on a leather jacket.”

“Baby, plenty of women dress like I do.” You coax him down the hall after you with kisses.

“Never got through more than one dance without losing interest.” He catches up to you, embraces you and sways you into your bedroom, “not like tonight, fuck” he groans as you nip his collarbone, “you’re lucky we didn’t end up fucking in the middle of the floor.”

“Mmmmm, you do move your body well, Mr. Arden.” You unbutton his shirt, “gonna show me how else you can use it?”

“Yes, mmhyes” He keeps trying to answer even as he cups your chin and kisses you. 

“Get naked and get on the bed.” You wiggle out of your dress and panties, toss your bra on top of it. The sight of you topless moves his disrobing from energetic to frantic. You toy with him a little, kiss his face and stroke his chest as he fights to get his pants and underwear off. 

He topples onto the bed and you pounce on him, straddling his thighs and kissing him hungrily, his fingers carding your hair, before sitting back to take in the view. 

The view suddenly looks very anxious. 

“M-maybe not cowgirl just yet?” His brown eyes flick back and forth as if he’s in danger. 

“Fuck, you’re right, I’m so sorry.” You clamber off him and he sits up, noticeably relaxing as he moves in to kiss your neck and chest. 

“You recover quick, huh?” You run your hands up his thighs

“You make it easy.” He brushes his nose against yours, “are you gonna show me something from that ‘box of tricks.’”

“Wait right here.” You kiss him and hop off the bed, grabbing a small, black box from the closet. When you turn, Stephen is laying with his back against the wall, hands behind his head.

“Just enjoying the view.”

“Yeah?” You saunter back toward him, “hoping for a peek at my box?”

“Oh it’ll be more than a peek.” He sits up, peering excitedly in as you lift the lid. You’re curious which item he’ll gravitate to, and he licks his lips excitedly as takes in the collection of toys and bondage gear.

Stephen gingerly lifts the black leather collar you bought the one time you made the trek to San Francisco for the Folsom Street Fair. It’s lined with silver fur, adjustable enough to fit any throat. He contemplates it a moment, then wraps it around his neck. You automatically move behind him to do up the buckle.

“Comfy?” You slip two fingers under the collar to check the tightness as you kiss your way from his ear to his mouth. 

“Uh huh. Never worn one of these before; how do I look?” 

“Like you’re made to wear it.” You stroke your fingertips under his chin. He tilts his face up with a blissful expression. 

Curious, you hook a finger into the O-ring and gently tug him toward you. He moves easily, eyes wide and delighted the whole time. 

“Gonna make me be a good boy, sunshine?”

“You are a good boy.” You reach down with your free hand, teasing the head of his half-hard cock, “you just need to learn a little patience, learn not to rush into things.”

“I can be patient. I’m being patient right now, aren’t I? I’m not balls deep in the gorgeous, naked woman in front of me.”

“True. But I think you need more…concerted practice.” You pull his head down by the collar and he groans as you press it into your chest, “entertain yourself for a second while I find what I need.”

Stephen happily gropes your tits as you pull the box over to your side. You grab both the wand and the rabbit vibrator, along with a condom, moan and arch your back when he teases his tongue over your left nipple. 

“Good boy.” You scritch his head, luxuriating in the warm, wet swipes of his tongue, “sit up.”

He obeys, reaches for the wand, “My last girlfriend swore by this thing, you want me to use it on you?”

“Another time, baby. Put this on.” You hand him the condom. He tears it open and rolls it down; fuck, his cock is perfect, nice and thick, just the way you like. 

“Now, here’s how this is going to go…” You turn the wand to the lowest setting and press it to the base of his cock. He’s panting instantly, chest heaving as you rub the device in small circles. 

“Oh, oh sweetheart, ohfuck” He braces his hands on your thighs, “god bless modern technology.”

“I know, it feels good. As I was saying, I’m going to do this until you’re about to cum. When you’re close, you tell me. If you can hold off until I’m ready, you’ll get to fuck me and cum while you’re inside me. If you can’t be patient, you’ll just have to sit there like a sad puppy while I get off. Understood?”

“Uh huh, oh, ohoh” he hunches forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder, “I’m so close already, that’s” he whines as you pull the wand away. His cock drips pre-cum onto the bedspread, and a gorgeous blush covers his chest. 

“Good boy.” You kiss his face, “you look so handsome.”

He beams at the praise, sighing as you kiss between his pecs. When you bite down he moans, the sound petering out as you suck a bruise into his skin. 

You click the wand back on without warning and he yelps. You grip the collar again, aiming for a comforting pressure, “That’s it, I want to hear you.”

“Th-that’s a first.” He grins. You snicker and kiss him.

“Pick up the other vibrator.” Once it’s in his hand you spread your legs a little wider, “use it on me.”

Stephen shoves the toy inside you, hits the button with obvious glee. The twin vibrations on your clit and your g-spot make you moan, almost distract you from Stephen gasping, “close.”

You turn off the wand, roll your hips as you purr, “Fuck me with it.”

“Yes” he rocks the toy against you, thrusting it deeper, “oh, oh you like that?”

“Very much.” It’s heady, the degree to which he’s curious about your pleasure, the way he watches your expressions, the way your muscles tense and your hips roll as he tries out different motions with the toy. 

You wait until he’s half-soft to click the wand back on. He’s so focused on fucking you with one hand and caressing your tits with the other that it takes him by complete surprise. 

“Fuck!” He jerks his hips, “please, sunshine, please let me fuck you, really fuck you, I’ll make it so good for you.”

“You know what you have to do to earn it.” You press the wand to the head of his cock and he gasps, dropping his grip on the other toy to claw the bed.

“Close so close” he cuts off into a pitiful whine that juxtaposes with his grin, “you’re terrible.”

“I tend to be more agreeable once I cum-AH! Fuck, Stephen, baby, yes.” You cant your hips into the movement of the toy, orgasm building in your belly. Stephen’s hips are moving, cock bobbing as they mimic the motions of his hands. 

A lifetime of apartment living taught you to keep quiet when you cum. This time, you let yourself be loud, even when you surge up to kiss him. 

He watches you, starry-eyed, as you pull the toy free. When you press the wand to his cock the fourth time, he simply whimpers. 

“I know, baby, I know. You’re doing so well, you can be patient a little longer.”

He nods, fumbles for your other hand and sets it on the ring of the collar, “I want you so badly, I’ll do anything, god I want this every night, want you to put me on my knees, on a leash, put me anywhere you want, fuck, ohfuck sweetheart, I’m so close-”

You turn off the wand and toss it aside, “Get down here and fuck me.”

He lunges down with a grateful moan, pushing his cock into you as you laugh and wrap your legs around him. 

“What do you say?” You tug the collar playfully.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you” he moans as he drives his hips into you, “you feel so good, sunshine, feel like heaven” he presses a desperate kiss to your cheek, “god you’re perfect.”

He cums with a sharp, grasping groan. You hold him, murmur in his ear that he did so well, that he made you feel so good.

After a few more shaky breaths, he kisses you and rests your foreheads together, “She didn’t even come close to how beautiful you look undressed. Won’t be able to think about anything else for the next day, at least.”

“In that case, you should probably stay the night. Can’t have you driving distracted and getting into another ‘accident’.”

He chuckles, sits up and manages to throw the condom in the trash by your desk. You kick the covers away and pose alluringly on your side, “well, Dr. Arden, shall we perform some more ‘research’ in the field of human sexual response.”