Toram_Toram

It’s unfair.

You already feel envy over the thick lashes framing Robert’s tired doe eyes.

Already feel the curling green vines of jealousy whenever he’s below you, said lashes fluttering and pupils blown wide as he stares up at you in a daze.

So, it’s incredibly fucking rude of him to look so pretty with dewy tears clumping his lower lashes, fattening with each half-baked blink.

His furrowed brows deepen the sweet expression on his flushed face, bite-plump lips parting around each trembling exhale that leaves him.

It’s unfair how the copper of his irises almost glitter in their wetness, especially when his eyes roll and stutter shut when your hips give another slow grind against him.

“Fffuh–ck.” Robert chokes out, fists twisting in the sheets fitfully before they release the fabric to blindly fumble for purchase on your waist, “Sl–ow down.”

The envy continues curling in on itself until it reinvents, blooms into an almost aching adoration as you watch him. The hand you have braced on his chest skims his collarbone on its trajectory to his throat.

Your fingertips make contact with the sweat on his neck before they travel up, up, up to his jaw. They form a cradle against his heated cheek, his head easily tilting back further at your gentle direction.

“Look at me, Robert,” you murmur sweetly, thumb drifting over to press on his bottom lip with light pressure, a soft low sound puffing around it, “Open your eyes.”

He sucks in a stunted breath through his teeth before they peek open, just barely able to focus on your face above him before they’re rolling again when you reward him with another grind.

The resulting wheezing groan that punches from his chest vibrates from his jawbone to your fingertips, the tendons in his neck flexing as his head presses further against the pillow it rests on.

It’s almost sinful—how the tear that falls from his lashes adds so beautifully to his thoroughly debauched demeanor, how his eyes struggling to stay open send another wave of broiling heat to your stomach.

It’s so. Fucking. Unfair.

Yawning for the umpteenth time, the crappy reality TV you put on doesn’t even help you stay awake anymore. You’d crawl in bed but you want to wait for Robert to get home when you feel like you haven’t seen him in ages. The only times that the two of you have crossed paths this week can be counted in one hand. Whenever you’d kiss him goodbye while he’s still half asleep, and when he’d greet you with a kiss when you’re already deep into slumber. Your schedules haven’t matched up as well as before with the amount of work the two of you had to do. If you’re not at home, he is, but when you’re home, he’s out there burning the midnight oil with the Z-team. Forget meeting up for lunch at work either when your breaks don’t match with his.

But now that it’s the weekend, you’re both free to see each other, hopefully more of each other.

Your hearing picks up the sound of keys outside and you immediately perk up with a smile. As if you were jolted with lightning, you’re vaulting over the couch and towards him in the speed that even Chase would be proud of.

The second the door opens, Robert is met with your smiling face, like a golden retriever, who’s excited to see him home.

“Hi.” Tilting his head, Robert smiles softly at you, feeling that you’re practically vibrating from the longing, waiting for his go signal. “C’mere.” He opens his arms and you’re immediately right on him like velcro. “Missed me?”

“Do you even have to ask?” You say whilst peppering his face with kisses. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Fuck,” his facade falls as he drops his bag and keys onto the floor, arms patting the back of your leg as he tells you to hop and wrap yourself around him. You do as you’re asked without a second thought as he kicks the front door closed. He can’t ignore the fact that he heard his knees creak when he carried you, but if you did hear it, you didn’t say a word. But you did hear it though. “I missed you.”

Your back meets with the wall, his hand tucked in between your head and the hard wall, acting like a cushion to shield you. “I missed you too— wait, where’s beef?”

Robert clings to your warmth and the cucumber scent of your soap as he inhales deeply atop your neck. “With Chase.” Voice muffled, he tilts your head up with a nudge of his nose on your throat as you comply happily and give him space. “I figured…” his lips peck you sweetly, teeth grazing your skin, tongue brushing along your pulse point. “That we need alone time.”

“And you’re absolutely right.” Sighing with longing, your fingers dig into his hair as you push him impossibly close against you. Pulling his hair back to kiss him, you meet with his glossy eyes, cheeks flushed, mouth agape as he heaves and waits for your next move. And yet, you find his tired eyes and blanched face worrisome. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Does half a granola bar and three cups of coffee count?” He jokes, but you don’t find the humour in it when he tries to lean into your lips only for you to tug at him back. Robert would let out a satisfied hum if not for the worried look in your eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m fine, it’s just been a busy day. Fuck, I just need you, please—”

“What you need is food.” Unwrapping your legs around him, you stand and peck his cheek with a promise. While he looks utterly disappointed, like you dangled a candy bar to his face only to yank it back. “And sleep.” Brows furrowed, you wince at the heavy dark bags under his eyes. “And moisturizer. Lots of it.”

“Am I that crusty?” He chortles, hands still on your hips, thumbs pushing aside the waistband cheekily, waiting for you to change your mind.

“No,” you shake your head with a gentle smile. Taking his wrists away and pecking his knuckles. “Just a bit, come on, I’ll warm your food.”

“I’m really fine—”

“It’s lasagna.”

He doesn’t even contemplate or protest some more as he gratefully follows after you in the kitchen.

—

His stomach is so full of pasta and cheese that he could barely stand up from his seat. You went somewhere else while he was unbuttoning his pants to give him some breathing room. Robert signs in content, a hand wrapped around a glass of wine, that he doesn’t even know he had in the apartment, as his nails click against the glass rhythmically.

Robert hears the faucet squeak, and the sound of running water, as he tilts his head to take a peek inside the bathroom. He swears that you already took a bath judging from your still damp hair and the scent of the cucumber and citrus soap on your skin when he got home.

You feel his eyes on your back whilst you pour bubble bath inside the tub. “This’ll only take a minute, babe.”

“Take all the time you need.” Ogling you unabashedly, Robert smiles as you twist your hand back to flip him the bird playfully as if you have eyes on the back of your head. “Those shorts look good on you.”

“They’re your boxers.” Your voice bounces off the tiles, grabbing a clean fluffy robe from the cabinets, the same one that is all pink and girly that Chase gifted to Robert as a gag gift for his birthday. It even has his name bedazzled on the back like he’s some Victoria’s secret model.

Robert usually loves seeing you use it, especially when it has his name right on your back. But he can’t lie when he occasionally uses it to feel how soft it is after a shower.

“Everything looks good on you, sweetheart.” He watches you with a fond smile, eyes glimmering with want as you saunter out of the bathroom with the bathrobe in tow.

“You’re not getting lucky tonight until you’re properly taken care of.” Opening the robe and showing him how fluffy it is, you smile over it, wiggling your brows. “Take your clothes off. After this I’m putting a face mask on you and lathering you up in my finest lotion.”

“Can I suggest one thing though?”

“Of course.”

“How about a massage too?” He asks innocently, but you just know from the glint in his eyes and the slight smirk on his lips that it’s not so innocent.

“If you don’t fall asleep before then, sure.” You lean against the doorframe casually, acting nonchalant from his proposition and hugging the towel. You’re not the best at massages, but you’ll try your best, or at least for a minute or so before he pulls you on his lap instead. Or fall asleep the moment you squeeze his aching muscles.

He’s already stripping his clothes off with excitement. Starting from unbuttoning his work shirt that has become associated with your boyfriend. The colour does suit him though, but you’d rather see him wear something else that doesn’t smell like day old coffee.

You don’t notice him walking closer and closer to you whilst you’re utterly fixated to his bare torso.

“Calm down, Robert, this is for relaxing—” you’re suddenly lifted off the ground, finding that Robert has you over his shoulder, smacking your behind as he takes you to the bathroom. For someone who has only eaten a granola bar and inhaled three cups of caffeine today, he’s stronger than he looks. Maybe this is what people say when it comes to adrenaline, this is his lifting the car moment. “Robert!”

“What? If I’m going to relax then so will you.” He says casually, entering the steaming bathroom as he kicks the door shut with his foot.

Your squeals echo around the tiled walls, as Robert’s amused laughter mingles with the sound of splashing water and the towel landing right over his face.

The bathroom is quickly flooded with bubbles and sweet scented soap, and you find yourself back in the bath once again with him joining you.

—

The hair dryer blows hot air right at his silky tresses, now free from oil and whatever Golem accidentally spilled on him during his lunch break. Robert sits in between your legs, back pressed against your front, and eyes closed as the hot air flutters his lashes. He looks utterly blissed out, smelling like a bed and body works. He’s absolutely content in your arms as you gently rake the comb through his hair.

He has a face mask on, “it’s aloe vera,” you said, he doesn’t care whatever it is but it’s doing wonders to him. It’s like having a slice of frozen ham slapped right on your face minus the smell but with twice the cooling effect.

Robert feels fucking amazing.

His palms cup around your knees, thumbs drawing small gentle circles all over your well moisturized skin. The two of you smell incredibly good, enough to eat, and he’d kiss every bit of your skin if he wasn’t so sleepy.

Robert could sleep right there and then, he would, if not for the loud whirr of the hair dryer and the hot air blowing right at his head.

“You okay?” You whisper to the shell of his ear, gooseflesh immediately rises on his arms as he hums a reply. The hair dryer shuts off, and he could feel sleep take him. “I guess you’re too tired for massages.”

His eyes suddenly open at the speed of light. “No, I’m not.”

“Really?” Your hands knead at his arms tenderly, like you’re massaging herbs and spices onto a slab of beef. You truly have no idea what you’re doing, but it seems that Robert loves it. “Let me take care of you this time, okay?”

He would be on his knees begging for it if he wasn’t already in bed. Eyes gazing up at you sweetly, Robert’s brows furrow, lips pouting slightly as he lets out a sound from the back of his throat that is akin to a whine. “Please.”

“Anything for my Robert.” With a smile, fingers grasping at his chin, you lean down to press a saccharine kiss on his forehead, one of many for tonight.

—

“So I said to him, go suck a fat— what the fuck is that?” Sonar looks perturbed, eyes wide and staring at something, or someone that just walked through the door.

Malevola follows his line of sight, gasping at the sight, almost stumbling over herself. “What happened to you?” She asks, almost disturbed by the sight.

Chase hears the commotion from the bullpen, he peeks over the breakroom doorway and sees Robert walk in normally. “What the fuck are you two gawking at?” He asks, walking closer to the pair as he holds onto his cup of coffee.

“That!” Mal takes his head and turns him to face Robert.

“Holy shit…” he utters, spluttering out his coffee all over Sonar’s suit, earning an intense bat screech from the man bat that is quickly ignored by the others, who are completely perplexed at the sight in front of them. “Alright, who died?”

Robert makes a face, nose scrunched as he places his things on his table. “No one? Why do you all look at me like I just killed someone right in front of you?”

“Yeah, you killed Robert Robertson.” Chase sidles beside him, leaning against his table with suspicion in his eyes. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” The dispatcher asks, lashes fluttering on the apples of his pinkish cheeks, looking healthy and glowing.

His lips shine with raspberry chapstick, and the dark circles underneath his eyes are almost non-existent, as if he made a deal with the devil to get rid of it and make him look ten years younger. The best part is the soft smile that is seemingly permanently etched on his face that remains even when he almost got a face full of Waterboy’s water splashed on him when he first walked inside the building.

“You look like how a skin walker would wear Robert’s skin.” Sonar says, leaning close to his face to examine him further. When he tries to poke him with his claw, Robert pushes him away with a grimace.

Robert rolls his eyes, he does feel rejuvenated, almost reborn from your pampering. Throughout the whole weekend, you took your pledge to heart, you did not let him lift a finger, and the two of you spent the whole weekend in bed together. Eating meals on it, catching up on your shows whilst cuddling underneath the covers while the blackout curtains are completely covering the light outside. Not to mention the ‘strenuous exercises’ that you two did together. It was absolute bliss, and Robert almost did not go to work today to extend the peace.

“You look good, buddy.” Malevola is the first to compliment him with a friendly clasp on his shoulder.

“Smells good too.” Sonar adds, taking a whiff of him. “Looking too good. Which way is the fountain of youth? Chase could use it.” He teases before chuckling at his own joke.

Chase punches him right in the gut, making him curl around himself with a sharp inhale through his nose. The others act like this is a normal occurrence in the office.

“Seriously though, what products did you use? I could use a good under eye mask.” Mal pulls down at her under eye for emphasis. “What’s your secret?”

Robert shrugs with a knowing smile. “Get the best girlfriend in the whole damn world.” The chorus of groans echo around the office that has him smiling in satisfaction.

The hum of computers was the only sound left in the bullpen. Most of the dispatchers had long gone home, leaving the overhead lights to cast long, lonely shadows across the cubicles.

Robert was still at his desk, sleeves rolled up, sorting through mission logs. His jacket hung on the back of his chair—the ever-neat, ever-disciplined Mecha Man reduced to wiping crumbs off his keyboard.

You leaned lazily against the side of his cubicle, arms crossed, watching him with a smirk.

“Didn’t think the Robert Robertson stayed late to clean. Should I be impressed or worried?”

Without looking up, he replied dryly, “Should be impressed. I’m a man of many talents—fighting crime, managing chaos, and apparently disinfecting my own desk.”

You tilted your head. “Heroic. Truly. The city sleeps soundly knowing their champion is armed with a bottle of surface cleaner.”

That earned a faint chuckle. “Someone’s got to keep this place from turning into a biohazard zone. Not all of us can just… loiter.” He finally glanced up at you, eyes catching the soft blue glow of the monitor.

“Oh, I’m not loitering,” you said, tapping your finger against the cubicle wall. “I’m supervising.”

Robert leaned back in his chair, a smirk threatening at the corner of his mouth. “Supervising, huh? Are you planning to write me up if I forget to alphabetise my mission reports?”

“Maybe,” you said, leaning closer. “Depends. How persuasive are you feeling tonight, Mecha Man?”

“Careful,” he murmured. “I’m feeling persuasive enough but if you keep teasing me, I might start thinking you stayed late for me.”

You tilted your head, crossing your arms. “Who says I didn’t?”

The words hang there—not playful, not serious, just dangerous enough to make his hand still on the edge of his desk. The two of you have danced this dance before: banter, tension, pretending it meant nothing. Pretending you didn’t already cross that line once, twice, maybe three times too many.

Robert straightened up and you could see it—the flicker of conflict in his eyes, the familiar pull of something neither of you ever found the courage to name. Your fingers traced the edge of his desk, brushing past a mug of half drunken coffee. 

“You really should head home,” he said quietly. “Before someone gets the wrong idea.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “Someone like you?”

He exhaled, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “Especially me.”

Robert stayed still for just a beat too long. Then he shook his head, grabbing a stack of papers as though the motion could hide the slight flush creeping up his neck.

You caught it anyway. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now. You weren’t exactly shy last time—”

“Don’t,” he warned, but there was no real heat in it.

You tilted your head, smirking. “Touchy subject?”

He exhaled, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

You paused, glancing around his cubicle. “Where’s your dog?”

“Huh?” Robert blinked, clearly thrown off guard by the sudden change in subject. “Oh, Beef? Chase took him home for the night… said something about wanting to scare a neighbour or something…”

You chuckled. “Ah, so your emotional support menace is gone. That explains the brooding.”

“Brooding is my default state,” he said dryly, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, crossing your arms. “And here I thought it was denial.”

That earned you a look—one part warning, one part weary amusement. You grinned wider.

“You really shouldn’t make it so easy,” you murmured, lowering your voice.

Robert looked up, brows furrowing slightly, the flicker of confusion in his eyes betraying the steadiness in his tone. “Make what easy?”

You tilted your head, letting your gaze trail over him—the rolled sleeves, the faint smudge of grease on his wrist, the tight set of his jaw as if he already regretted asking. A slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips.

“Teasing you,” you replied softly, your voice threaded with laughter. “You get that little crease between your eyebrows every time I do it. It’s practically an invitation.”

His frown deepened—exactly the reaction you were aiming for—but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching with the faintest, unwilling smirk.

Before you could push further, the shrill buzz of his phone ringing cut through the quiet. He sighed and fished it from his pocket, the faint blue light reflecting on his face.

You leaned back against the edge of his desk, arms folding across your chest as you watched him glance at the screen. The name flashing there made your grin sharpen.

“Blonde Blazer?” you said, whistling low under your breath. “Didn’t know you two were on after-hours terms.”

Robert rolled his eyes, thumb hovering over the answer button. “It’s work.”

“Maybe you should take that,” you teased. “Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

Robert let out a dry laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose before finally answering the call. “Yeah, this is Robertson.” His voice had shifted instantly—clipped, professional—though his eyes flicked to you once, warning, half-amused.

You only smiled, mouthing, “I’ll be quiet” before pushing off the desk and taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. The faint scrape of your shoes against the floor seemed too loud in the stillness of the office.

Robert’s brows knitted together, half wary, half curious—though he didn’t move as you came closer. You stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the residual warmth radiating off his body. Your hands found his chest—solid, warm beneath the fabric of his shirt—and you pressed gently, coaxing him back down into his seat.

He let out a small, involuntary huff as he sank into the chair, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a mix of confusion and something else. You could feel his breath, shallow and uneven, the faint warmth of it brushing against your wrist where your hand still lingered near his collarbone.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. Then a voice crackled faintly through his phone, still clutched in his hand.

“Robert? Robert, are you still there?” Blonde Blazer’s tone was impatient through the speaker.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” Robert replied, voice low but steady, his eyes following you as you slowly sunk to your knees before him. 

Roberts grip tightened on his phone, knuckles pale as he tilted his head to the ceiling—trying to avoid your gaze. He tried to focus on the conversation with Blonde Blazer, but your touch was distracting, your fingertips light and teasing on his thigh.

That caught his attention. His gaze snapped back down onto you, narrowing his eyes and mouthing, “Don’t start.”

You smiled sweetly in response, mouthing back, “Too late.”

He shifted in his chair, attempting to subtly move out of your reach, but you followed him, your hand gently wandering a little higher to his belt.

He was doing his best to sound unaffected, but you could see the small betrayals—the way his jaw flexed, the twitch in his fingers, the brief flicker of his gaze toward you when he thought you weren’t watching.

He muttered a sharp curse under his breath, his free hand clenching the armrest of his chair so tightly the plastic creaked in protest. You grinned to yourself, slowly moving your hands up to unbuckle his belt. 

The simple action suddenly felt far more significant than it had any right to. Robert tried to mask his reaction, his voice still steady and professional as he continued his conversation over the phone.

Once his belt was unbuckled, you popped the button of his work trousers and oh-so-slowly pulled his zipper down. Roberts grip on his phone was bordering on painful, his knuckles straining to the point of turning white.

“Lift your hips for me,” you mouthed, tugging at his trousers. 

He froze completely for a moment, the order sending a jolt through him. His voice caught in his throat and he swallowed hard. Despite his best efforts to resist, his body reacted, his hips lifting obediently without hesitation. 

“Good boy,” you teased, pulling his trousers down so they pooled around his ankles. 

A sharp exhale escaped him at your words, his entire body tensing in response. The way you said it—so casually, so deliberately—hit him like a live wire. His fingers flexed around the phone like he was considering hanging up.

He didn’t move to stop you though; instead, he let out a low growl under his breath as you left him exposed in nothing but boxers now half-tugged down from the force of your teasing hands.

His voice came out strained when Blonde Blazer asked for confirmation on some detail—too rough-edged for normal professionalism. "Yeah.” He cleared his throat immediately after realising how that sounded over speakerphone and tried again with more control: "I said yes."

You bit back a chuckle, tracing your index finger over his growing erection. The second your finger brushed over him, he flinched, his entire body locking up. His breath hitched audibly, and for the first time in this entire exchange—he actually dropped his phone onto the desk with a sharp clatter.

Blonde Blazer’s confused "Robert?" was abruptly cut off as he rambled out some excuse. He sent you a sharp glare but you knew it had no bite so you continued your teasing ministrations, fully palming him now. 

The fabric of his boxers did little to hide the effect you were having on him—his cock strained visibly against the material under your palm as you began to stroke him diligently. He let out a low curse under his breath before remembering he was still on speakerphone and quickly bit it back. 

Blonde Blazer's voice piped up again—an oblivious distraction. "Robertson, are you still there?"

He cleared his throat, swallowing down the guttural response that nearly escaped him. "Mm-hmm," he managed to get out, his voice gravelly, almost hoarse.

He forced himself to focus on the conversation, but it was becoming increasingly hard to think about anything other than you. Your touch, the way you teased him mercilessly, the way he was powerless to stop you right now.

Blonde Blazer chattered on, blissfully ignorant of the tension crackling the air and the barely restrained need between you two.

You smiled, biting your bottom lip as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down in one swift motion. His cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach with a lewd wet sound. He wasn’t huge per say but he definitely wasn’t small. 

His head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut for a brief second before snapping open again, locking onto you with intensity. His control was thinning, frayed more and more with each deliberate touch.

You swiped your fingers through the precum glistening at his tip before wiping it up and down his length like some form of lube. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, giving it a torturously slow pump. 

His hips move upward to match your movements, desperate to chase the slowly building pleasure inside him. Your mouth skimmed up his shaft, your tongue flicking out and circling the tip as your other hand came up to cup his sac, rolling his balls through your fingers.

Your hands continued their measured pace, stroking and fondling with calculated restraint. It was slow, torturous, and unbelievably good. Despite Roberts' attempt to maintain some semblance of control, his hips instinctively lifted, straining towards you. 

“Impatient,” you tsked, shaking your head and pressing his hips back down with your hand. 

You looked up at him through your lashes as your tongue traced a vein along the underside of his cock before taking him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing. You tried to fit as much of him in your mouth as possible, your hand staying at the base of his cock to stroke what couldn’t. 

All Robert could do was groan, his hips lifting again and trying to find a rhythm. His fingers finally released their grip on the arm of his chair and buried themselves in your hair. You pulled back, catching your breath before your mouth returned to its task. Your teeth grazed his cock, just enough to send a shiver up Robert’s spine, but not enough to hurt. 

His chest rose and fell quickly, his hand in your hair guiding you gently. You moaned around him, the vibrations sending an addictive sensation through his body. He wanted more, needed more. More of your mouth. Of you.

Robert slumped back in his chair slightly, his hips beginning to slowly thrust themselves into your mouth. The chair creaked, and Robert vaguely wondered if it would break. But the thought was quickly lost in a wave of pleasure as you moaned around him, taking him deeper. 

“Oh, fuck!” Robert groaned a little too loudly.

“Er—are you alright, Robert?” Blonde blazer asked, her voice muffled through the phone.

“Yeah, shit, I just stubbed my toe,” Robert lied, trying to hide the strain in his voice as he bucked his hips into your mouth again. 

The sudden movement caught you off guard, your fingers moving to his thighs and digging into the flesh. You moaned around him, tears springing to your eyes as the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat.

Robert's body was wound up so tight, he could feel the tension coiling in his stomach, muscles quivering. The office was filled with lewd, wet sounds as you bobbed your head. Robert’s hips were thrusting desperately into your mouth now, lost to the overwhelming pleasure.

All sense of rhythm was gone, replaced by a primal need to release. He was close, so close, teetering on the edge of his release. His grip in your hair tightened almost painfully. Just when Robert thought he couldn’t take anymore, just as he was about to come undone, you suddenly pulled back off his cock with a wet pop.

He let out a strangled gasp of protest, muttering an excuse to Blonde Blazer as his body yearned for the continuation of that delicious release. He looked down at you, his vision foggy with pleasure and confusion.

Your fingers barely grazed the inside of his thigh causing him to involuntarily buck his hips. Your nails scraped lightly over his balls as you glanced at his cock, seeing it twitch and throb. 

Your hands moved to glide over the expanse of his stomach, fingers lingering at the v of Robert’s hipbones. He knew what you were doing—drawing out the tension, making him wait for what he so desperately craved.

“Please,” Robert mouthed, his grip tightening in your hair.

You grinned, leaning forward and taking him into your mouth again. You went straight to work, your mouth working him eagerly. Robert bit his bottom lip, hips twitching and pushing his cock further into your mouth.

He could feel his orgasm building again, faster this time. You moaned around him, your tongue sliding against the vein on the underside of his cock. Roberts' replies to Blonde Blazer soon became incoherent as he was on the verge of snapping. 

He tried to pull you off his cock as his orgasm approached but you just moaned around his sensitive tip and let him cum into your mouth. Robert’s entire body tensed up, toes curling as waves of pleasure washed over him. 

You pulled back, gasping for air as a string of saliva connected your swollen lips to his tip. You swallowed his release, the warm, salty liquid gliding down your throat smoothly. 

You sat back on your heels, collecting a small dribble of release from the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb and sucking it clean. You kept your eyes locked on Roberts as you stood, brushing yourself down.

For a few moments, you could hear Blond Blazer’s voice still talking through the phone drawing out short, distracted replies from Robert as he kept his focus on you.

Then, silence.

The call ended, but Robert didn’t seem to notice. He was still staring at your lips, taking in how they were slightly parted and glistening with his release. 

You tilted your head, watching him. “You realise she hung up, right?”

He blinked, snapping out of whatever daze he’d been in. “What?”

“The call,” you said, gesturing to the quiet phone in his hand.

He gave you a flat look, opening his mouth to retort—only for his phone to chime with a new notification. The screen lit up, casting a soft blue glow across his face. A message preview flickered across it:

[ Blonde Blazer ]

We have cameras, dipshit.