🪲JUNEBUG🪲

Your eyes find his, knowing where to look even through the white slits of the cowl, and you both enter a mix between a staring contest and what would seem like a telepathic conversation. Even without being able to see his face or having him mutter any words, just by the fact that he's standing in your apartment —probably having left blood marks on your carpet, that he will replace without you having to ask— you know what he's asking for. He doesn't have to say it to know he's hoping on a truce, a moment where the both of you can ignore how bad your last conversation had gone, how definitive the conclusion had been.

You could kick him out. Just a nod towards the cracked window he had sneaked through, and he'd be gone without any questioning. But you know that him leaving then would mean he'd leave completely, and that seems like too heavy of a decision to make in the middle of the night.

Instead you walk towards him, waiting for him to adjust his grip on his messed up ribs before sliding under his free arm, making sure to lean his good side against you as you drag more than walk him to your couch. Despite how gentle you try to be when setting him down, he all but flops onto the cushions, letting out a strangled groan that has even you wincing at what you're sure must be searing pain.

Murmuring a little apology under you breath, you make sure to adjust his arms and legs, affording him as much comfort as possible despite the bulk of kevlar and injuries loitering his skin. For a second you check his pulse, only feeling sure about leaving to fetch the first aid kit when it proves to be stable.

It barely takes you a minute, heading into the bathroom and back to the couch, but it seems to be enough for Bruce to feel like giving you a heart attack. With panicked speed you set the kit on the coffee table, gripping both sides of his head that has gone limp to the side. Ignoring how fast your hands starts to tremble, you make sure to keep him in a properly aligned position before sliding the cowl off.

Neither of you react when it clanks to the floor, instead your focus resides on pressing too fingers to the side of his neck, checking again for a still present but a little too-soft pulse before you're giving his cheek a couple pats. "Bruce? Bruce, can you hear me?"

A mix of relief and a strong want to punch him square in the face flood you alike when his eyes flutter a bit, head barely able to bob in agreement in your grip. "Mhm, hear you."

The mix of emotions comes out as a huff through your nose, hands still a little shaky as you make sure a throw pillow is properly supporting his neck this time. "Yeah? Then listen to me closely, don't fucking do that again." He's the one releasing a small puff of air now, one supposed to carry amusement even if it portrays the weight of his bones better.

"Eyes open," the reminder comes softer now, said at the same time as you click the closest lamp on, adjusting it so it gives you proper sight of his state.

It's pitiful, really. Half lidded eyes barely able to hold your gaze, puffy in one side, skin raising in a way that seems painful just by the sight of it. Skin quickly turning purple, spading onto the bridge of his nose and transitioning to the cooler yet still-dark tone of his other eye's bags. Tracing down doesn't make it any better, a split lip that is still bleeding, red smudged against his jaw and part of his neck, explaining the slight dampness on your right hand and the metallic smell that seems to be clinging to the air since he laid down.

By now you're an expert in both dismantling the bat's armour piece by piece and ignoring the way his barely-focused eyes follow every single one of your movements. Another sigh leaves you when the last bit is off, all of them piled onto an old towel and moved to the side so you can kneel beside him once more.

"Gonna tell me where it hurts?" despite your question, you don't really wait for an answer, already taking note of the few places his underlayer has been either ripped or sliced through. Before he can gather his thoughts enough to say anything you lean down, pressing you ear to his chest and listening to make sure there's no weird sounds that could mean there's broken ribs or punctured organs.

It all seems relatively normal, aside for the more laborious breath that comes with the pain he's in —and perhaps the feeling of having you lean on him—. You sit back on your heels a moment later, rummaging through the kit before getting out all you'll need to disinfect and stitch his cuts.

"One cut on the shoulder, two on the side. Knife. Should be good with stitches. Bruised ribs. Busted lip and a very bruised eye and knee." You trail the words off while doing your prep, eyes too focused on threading the needle to notice the hint of a smile on his lips or the satisfaction that seems to radiate from him when the thought of you sounding just like Alfred crosses his mind. "Am i forgetting something? Barring scrapes and smaller bruises."

This time you look at him when he lets out a gravely sound, starting by cleaning the blood that has made it to his neck and cheek while he does his best to answer. "'S pretty much it."

"Doesn't seem like there's anything broken or any internal bleeding. Should get a CT to know for sure, though." A barely contained huff leaves through your nose at his grunt of complaint, head shaking a bit in disapproval before you're moving a bit further down his body, clipping away his tattered shirt and disinfecting the multiple wounds covering his torso. "Right. So you're here instead of getting screened at the cave."

He just hums in agreement, because saying that is easier than having to explain that he consciously made his way to your place while actively bleeding out instead of letting the self-driving mode in the bat-mobile take him back to Alfred's much more experienced care.

"What happened to you anyway?" Both you know you don't really want to know it, you'd always kept a bit of space between yourself and the Bat's doings, mostly to avoid worrying yourself sick. But getting him to talk was a good way to keep an eye on his level of consciousness while you were busy stitching his wounds closed.

So that's what you do, nodding along as he goes on about how he thinks Two-Face and The Penguin might have struck a deal, about all the clues he'd found of an interchange happening at the docks that night and how it had ended up being a trap. You refrain from pointing out that the docks is pretty much across the city from you apartment, instead focusing on applying an antibiotic ointment over the stitches and finally covering them up with soft gauze.

He's already looking at you when you turn back to him, his eyes slowly scanning over your face for a moment before a hand slowly reaches out for your own, as if he were approaching a scared animal instead. The hint of a frown that had settled on his brows smoothing down when you don't pull away, even when his fingers loosely wrap around yours.

"Thank you," it's quiet, gravely. Like every syllable is weighted by all the times he knows he should've said it but didn't. You just give a light nod, not returning the grip of his hand, but not minding that it stays around yours either.

"Wasn't going to let you bleed out," it's soft, followed by a light bite to you lip when you tilt his head to the side with your free hand, noticing how much worse his blue eye has become, now almost shut due to inflammation. "It needs ice." His response is a light nod, and yet his hold doesn’t loosen.

"Bruce."

There's a light hum of acknowledgement, but his eyes are almost pleading when he blinks at you.

"I'm just going to get the ice. Will be back in a moment," it seems convincing enough for him to let go this time. Although you can hear him shift to try and keep an eye on you as you make your way to the adjacent kitchen.

He's trying to play it cool when you finally get back, lying how you had left him. Still, his hand finds yours as soon as you're back at his side. "You're staying the night here," it's not a question and he knows. "You're stable, but i can’t know how much blood you've lost and you could pass out on your way back."

There's not a single peep from him, not about the decision nor the way you press the ice pack to his bruised-shut eye. He just slides his hand a bit higher, fingers tracing random shapes against your wrist—just over your pulse point— as you lean close to his side, making sure the swelling is going down.

The hour is unclear , but by the time the ice has mostly melted the deep purples of Gotham's night sky are melting into cool shades of blue, the closest to a hint of the early sun rising. Bruce has drifted off at some point, fingers now laced with yours, head tilted into the hand that was holding the ice pack in place for him.

You know you should get up and go back to bed, your alarm is bound to go off in a couple hours at most and you've got a busy day waiting for you at the office. Bruce would know where you were whenever he woke up, he'd get his things ready and leave straight for the cave, like he'd done before. There wouldn't be questions asked, just quiet understanding. This night would only be a parenthesis in your much needed distance.

Instead you take the melted pack back to the kitchen, make sure your alarm is off and send a last minute email about a sick leave before you're back at his side.

✴︎⋅ ┈ ⋆⋅☆⋅𖤓⋅☆⋅⋆ ┈ ⋅✴︎

The sun is definitely out by the time you wake up, the light seeping through the curtains carrying a silver hue rather than a golden one, thanks to the very unsurprising clump of clouds covering the city's sky. You should have a sore neck by now, given the unceremonious way you'd slumped against the side of the couch before drifting of.

Instead you're considerably comfortable, if a little squished. It doesn’t take long for your brain to register the line of a warm body pressed against yours, even less for it to recognise the familiar scent right under your nose. There must be some sort of tell, your breathing pattern must change or light tension has to appear in your muscles because before you can shift away, his arm is tightening around you. Mostly to avoid letting you slip over the edge, but also to make sure you stay against him for a little longer.

"Bruce," the scolding tone easily carries on from the night before, and so does his stubbornness. With a huff of air against the back of your neck, he just presses you back into his chest until you're flush against him, one of his legs petulantly tangling between yours.

"You shouldn't even be laying on your side!"

Your efforts to make him see reason prove sorely useless. Instead he just tucks his face into the crook of your neck, a happy little sigh leaving through his nose and against your skin as your familiar scent surrounds him.

"Seriously, Bruce this is not—"

"Don't leave," it's incredibly quiet, something you're only sure you hear because of how close to your ear it has been said. His chin rests on top of your head now, his hand gripping right over your hipbone. "Just… For a moment. Let me feel like it's still the same. Like we are."

That's where you should have pulled away, get up and and do one last check over on his injuries before sending him on his merry way. You should have said no and kept up the walls and distance you had so carefully built up over the last few weeks. You really should have.

Instead you give in, eyes closing as you let the tension release from your muscles, the lack of force making them go slack against his body. You try to ignore it, the way your contours fit perfectly, how the warmth that radiates from his skin to yours feels like coming home after a long day. For a moment you're sure you can feel it, his heartbeat against your back, perfectly synchronizing with yours.

It's too much, feeling like everything settles into place when you're with him. A lingering regret getting louder in the back of your mind, questioning if this right now wasn't the perfect spot to be in, to return to. So you do the only thing you know will distract you long enough from it. "You better not have lifted me while I was asleep."

"Nothing's broken."

"That doesn't make it any better." Despite your annoyed scoff, he only pulls you closer. "You really shouldn't do any force right now, and you know it perfectly."

A dismissive hum leaves Bruce and against the skin of your shoulder, his lips brushing in a barely-there kiss before his face is tucked against the curve of your neck. "Had worse."

"That doesn't help your case either."

"I know. Still rings true, though."

He takes your silence like a small victory, shifting once more so you can be fully enveloped by him now. The armrest of the couch doesn't hold the weight of your head anymore, the firm yet tender plush of his bicep taking the spot now. Equally, his arm isn't draped over your middle as a make-shift safety measure anymore, now fully enveloping your body to hold it as close as physics allow.

"I'm sorry." It's a quiet mutter, something he acknowledges at least a few minutes later, long enough for the shadows projected by the cloudy skies to have shifted around and created new light patches across the quiet room. "'Bout everything, not just bleeding on your pillows."

As much as your chest tightens and your breath seems to get caught in your throat, you can't help the small amused huff that leaves through your nose. "Been through worse."

He hums lightly, giving a squeeze of acknowledgement at the same time his lips brush another almost imperceptible kiss to your neck. "Shouldn't have."

You both know it's not about the pillows you're talking about, but neither of you dare to say it overtly. Instead you let you weight sink in a little further into the couch, head tilting back and giving him the chance to place another kiss on your neck, this one a little more confident, more tangible.

"'M trying." It comes after a few more minutes and kisses, and gets a light hum from you. One of your hands reaches down, finding the arm his has around your middle, nails lightly brushing the skin and causing goosebumps to spread through his body. "For you."

The room falls into a comfortable silence once more and you know it's definitely been a while this time —even suspecting you might have drifted in and out of sleep for a bit— because the next time you pay attention, the clouds seem to have given Gotham a break, golden rays seeping through the curtains.

There's a light squeeze to your hip then, and when Bruce doesn't fully release you, you understand the intention behind it. Carefully to both avoid slipping off the edge and to avoid bumping into any of his bruises, you slowly turn around in his arms.

Your breath catches a bit when you finally settle on your opposite side, because out of your medical attention last night —because even if you'd leaned in to check his state, it had been done while in survival mode—, this is the closest you've been to him since the split. Your chest is practically flush against his and your legs are fully tangled with his now. You can feel every breath he takes in, a soft brush of air against your forehead every time he lets it out.

"You look horrible," you murmur after a moment, eyes tracing over his half-shut, black and blue eye, the loitering of scratches on his forehead and cheeks. Your eyes land on his lips and you try hard to convince yourself is due to the crusted-up blood that shows his split lip is starting to heal, and not due to anything else.

A gruff little laugh leaves him, one that has him wincing at the pain and your hand quickly reaching out to cover his ribs, as if the touch would make the deep seated pain magically fizzle out.

"You look beautiful."

Fuck, you hate it. You hate the way you love the softness in his tone, the sincerity in his eyes. You hate that you feel like you've been struck by lightning and like a thousand butterflies have materialised in your stomach with the only purpose of fluttering like crazy just because his knuckles carefully caress down the slope of your cheek. In a hopeless effort you forget his ribs to hold onto his wrist, but all it accomplishes is for his warm palm to settle on your skin instead.

"You've always been."

Again, you're struck with a wave of awareness, of clarity on how this is just making everything so much worse and complicated for the two of you. Helping him last night was one thing, but letting him stay the night, then the morning and now this… You had to get up, help him up and back into his clothes, into a car that would take him directly to the Manor. You had to do anything but let this continue.

He leans in, chapped lips brushing against your forehead. And all you can do is let your eyes flutter shut when it's followed with a kiss to your temple, to the spot between your brows and down the bridge of your nose, to either of your cheeks and on your chin. There's a moment of pause, a beat where you give each other the time to do anything but this. Instead his lips land on yours.

It's tentative at first, barely there brushes where all the unsaid words seem to float between you. But then you hand moves up to rest over his on your cheek, your fingers perfectly slotting in the space between his, and suddenly it's like puzzle has been solved.

Much more decisive and fervent, one kiss turns into two and then three, enough for you to lose count and taste blood at some point. You pull back for a second at the metallic feeling on your tongue, easily spotting the source. His lips are glossy and kiss bitten, the split bit clearly having been irritated enough for the scab to give out and blood to slip though again.

"Love, you're—"

You don't get time to realise what you've said before he's back on you, yet another kiss muffling your words and completely erasing them from your thoughts. Bruce adjusts then, one hand staying on your cheek while the other pushes off the couch and lets him hover over you. A chocked grunt leaves him and against your lips, one that clearly shows the move has hurt like a bitch. Still he doesn't stop, barely getting air before his tongue is licking the corner of your lips and into your mouth to tangle with yours.

"Say it again," It's muffled and lost in between kisses, a mutter that you oversee, too busy feeling his taste after so long, sliding your hands over his sides and against the warm skin of his broad back.

Your focus seems to snap back into place when he whispers your name against your lips, one of your hands finding its home in his hair when you manage to blink bleary eyes at him. "Saying it again, darling. Call me that again."

He shifts down a bit, just enough so that his kisses can follow the shape of your jaw and the slope of your neck, so he can nibble and lick to every weak little spot he's come to know so well after so long by your side.

It's with a little gasp that you finally comply, one hand lightly tugging at his dark locks when he nibbles on that sensitive bit by your clavicle. "Bruce- My love."

Neither of you are sure wether the grunt that leaves him is out of pleasure or pain, but he's planting his forearm by your head and leaning his weight on just one side again, his free hand busy guiding your legs apart and around his waist.

You're the one letting a choked out little groan when he carefully lets his weight down on you, the bulge barely contained under his boxer briefs pressing right where you needed it to. He happily complies when the hand on his hair lightly tugs up, his hips giving an excruciatingly slow roll while he muffles the noise that leaves you with another kiss.

It's due to he insistent pain on his side —or that's how you try to justify it to yourself— the reason as to why he keeps on teasing you with slow grinding motions, every roll of his hips making you feel his full length through the thin layers between you.

In reality you don't care why it is, because while Bruce keeps his composure perfectly, maintaining the same rhythm, able to kiss your lips and your neck and chest like nothing is happening, you're an absolute mess under him. Your hands are trailing all over him, his hair is all ruffled by now, you've touched and groped everywhere; his arms, his shoulders, his well-defined pecs and up and down his broad back.

You're really trying, being mindful of the bruises and the bandages, but you're sure your clothes are soaked through now —you're sure he knows they are—, and he just keeps on going. Even when you whine and moan, when you tug at his hair and drag your nails down the expanse of his back. It just gets a pleased grunt and a harder rut from him, a grumbled «getting feisty» against your ear while he keeps on torturing you.

"Love," that seems to get his attention, eyes focusing on you from under his unfairly long lashes, giving you the chance to notice how the blue has been mostly swallowed by his dilated pupils. "Need to actually feel you, now."

Shit, you would've said so way sooner if you'd known that was all it would take. Despite the way his stitches pull and his muscles burn with the effort, Bruce sits up, making a quick job of getting your sleep shorts and underwear off of your and somewhere on the living room's floor. He doesn't have the same patience for his own boxers, just tugging them low enough to get himself out of them before his blanketing over you once more.

You could lose your mind with the way he drags against you when he gets back in position, with the firm press of him against your slick skin, the way he's just shy of pushing into your entrance.

Maybe that's what he wants, to drive you completely mad. Because he's taking his sweet time with it, guiding one of your legs around his waist before carefully doing it with the other. He pushes some hair out of your face and leans in so his forehead is against yours, and just when you think you're going to fully lose your sanity, he guides one of your hands off his shoulder and to wrap around him.

"I'm sorry." It's a quiet whisper, just like it had been earlier, more a brush of his lips against yours than it is a sound. You feel it all the same. "For that night, for last night too. For not being better. For not saying it before."

There's a pause for a moment, a sigh that leaves him and some saliva that is swallowed to push down a quickly-forming not that threatens constrain his throat. He pecks your lips before he continues.

"I love you. I'm incredibly bad at showing it. I know, and I'm sorry for that too. But I do love you. More than anything."

His eyes search yours and you know exactly what he's asking with them. You also know you don't need words for it, instead your face tilts forward so you can stop the million thoughts running through his mind with a kiss.

At the same time your hand adjusts between you, guiding him so his tip nudges right at your entrance. All you need to do is give a light squeeze of your legs around his hips and he's pressing forward, sinking into your welcoming heat in one smooth movement.

It seems to constrain his lungs just as much as it does yours, chocked little gasps being shared in the minuscule space between your mouths, everything else seeming to fade away when a shudder runs down your back at feeling this full again.

Bruce has always been a caring lover, so it's no surprise when he stays fully pressed into you, murmuring praise of how well you're taking him, how good you feel and how much he's missed you while you get used to him again. He trails kisses everywhere while the words spill from him, once more biting through the pain so he can push your shirt up and kiss as far as he can reach, every touch reverent.

He knows what's coming when your hands cup his cheeks, when you guide him so his hooded eyes can find your equally as hazy ones. Still, he waits for you to give the green light.

Your head bobs lightly, a little nod while he leans further into you, breaths mingling once more. "Go on. Move for me, love. Show me how much you've missed me."

That's all he needs to fall into the same slow and deep rhythm as before. And for how desperate and pent up it had made you feel when it had been a dry drag over fabric, now —when you can feel all of him with every roll of his hips, when a whimper threatens to leave you when he's almost fully out just to press back in and to the hilt, and a mix of a wet squelch and the slap of skin on skin is all that fills the room— you can't help but cling to him and hope he'll keep doing just that for the rest of time.

His voice gets gruffer and more breathless with every minute that ticks by due to the restrain it's taking him to keep going like this; to make the effort to feel every bit of your gummy walls and the way they seem insistent on pulling him back in with every thrust, to keep focused despite how pretty you sound and look under him. It feels like his brain is buzzing in his skull every time you mumble a praise, every time you ask him to keep going, to hit that plushy spot again. He's worried it could just shut off when he tilts his hips just right to make you moan his name.

There's moments where he just has to muffle them with kisses, when he needs to feel your mouth against his and focus on only that feeling unless he wants to finish much too early.

It's until he feels another squeeze of your legs around him, your back arching and hips managing to meet his thrust for thrust, that's how long his decisive nature lasts. Because then you're whimpering a soft little «need more, love» against his ear and he knows he can't handle it anymore.

He straightens out, just enough to cage your head in between his forearms, to look down at the way your head presses back against the couch cushions and your glossy and kiss-bitten lips part to let out moans of his name when he puts more weight on his knees. His thrusts increasingly gaining force until one hand has to cup over the top of your head given the way they make your whole body rock with every swing, how they push you up the couch's length.

"Bruce," He feels a shiver run down his spine at how wrecked you sound, at how long it's been since he last heard you call for him like that. "Love, I-I'm… Close- getting close."

He gives a hum of acknowledgement, his face finding it's way back to the crook of your neck as he bows over you, leaving lingering kisses and marks as he somehow only fucks you faster. "Gonna come for me, darling?"

You feel how he falters a bit, how every swing of his hips is becoming harder, feel the skin under the bruises and bandages burn under your touch. Still, it doesn't seem to bother him, if anything he's just driving harder into you, getting louder against the side of your neck.

"Mhm… Almost there, love. I can— Bruce!"

He revels in the way you choke on your words, how quickly your brain seems to go blank when he reaches a hand between the two of you and rolls even circles against your clit. "That's it, darling. Let go for me, let me feel you."

It's too much, all of it. His praise against your ear, the pistoning of his hips, the teasing brush of his thumb against your clit and how gentle his other hand is at keeps you from bumping your head against the couch's armrest.

All you get to do as warning is cry out his name. By the next thrust, one of the best orgasms you've ever had is washing over you, making your head trash back and into his hold as your eyes squeeze shut, you back arching and pressing your chest flush against his. Your legs, still wrapped around his waist, tremble before they press tighter together, right at the same time your hole clutches down on him and pulses with every wave of pleasure that runs through you.

That's when you notice, though. When you can tell that the way your pussy seems to make an effort to make him cum right after you isn't the only thing making him moan along with you. Because you feel it, the soft texture of the bandage that covers one of his cuts. And as mind and bone less as that orgasm has left you, you're as tuned into Bruce's pleasure as he's yours.

So you don't doubt it, one hand buries in his hair so you can guide his lips to yours, while the other finds the big bruise turning his ribs purple and presses down.

A chocked little sound you'd never heard before leaves his lips and against yours, his hips stutter and give a few more halfhearted thrusts, pushing all the way in before he's cumming with a moan of your name that comes out just as wrecked as yours had just moments ago.

The room falls back into silence except for the ragged breaths leaving the both of you and the soft pitter-patter of rain that you're not sure when even started.

You're the first to move, loosening your legs from around him before they're just lightly bracketing his sides. The hand that was nestled in his hair gently scratching against his scalp and earning you a grateful little hum, while the one that had inflicted the pressure that seemed to break him into pieces rests, warm and reassuring, against the centre of his back.

You can feel it like that, the way his breathing and heartbeat even out, the tension that leaves his muscles when he fully comes down from the mind-numbing orgasm as his body goes slack over yours.

"Never knew you liked that."

You feel that too, the chocked laugh that leaves him, the shift of his muscles when he adjusts to look at you with a softness and playfulness that you hadn't seen in a long time playing in his eyes. "Didn't know it, either."

His smile only widens when that has you laughing, melting into a softer one when you lean to give him the nth kiss of the morning.

"You've probably pulled most of your stitches." It earns you a hum of agreement and another kiss. A light hiss leaving you when he shifts and pulls out, fully damming the state of his injuries when he reaches down for your discarded clothes to wipe the translucent fluid that slips out of you before repositioning the both of you.

At least he has half a mind of not worsening all the damage he's already done, laying on his good side and pulling you close. "You can check them, in a moment."

"That's such a bad idea," despite your mumbled disagreement, you're only snuggling closer, happy to bury your face into the crook of his neck and melt against the warmth of his skin while he drapes a throw blanket over the two of you.

"It is," he concedes, pausing to press a kiss to the top of your head. "But I'll deal with it later. This is more important. You are."

⋆. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𐙚˚ || 𓄹 ⊹ . 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 . 𐐒𐐚₊⋆｡˚

The case had been a rough one; with JJ stuck back at home having had her new baby, Rossi away on a book tour, and Derek out on an injured knee from a renovation incident. JJ’s liaison duties had fallen to you, to your silent horror.

It wasn’t that you were bad at public speaking or presenting. It’s just, your palms got all sticky with sweat, your legs shook, and there was a tightness in your chest that you knew was going to stick around for hours.

Which was not exactly ideal when trying to impress your hot boss.

So you stuffed your anxiety down and did what needed to be done. Because even false confidence had to become actual confidence at some point, right?

As of that moment though, you wouldn’t dare let Hotch know you felt out of your depth. Not while you had something to prove, and especially not when any amount of his attention gave you butterflies in your stomach.

With you on PR duty, the stress that Emily and Spencer were under had doubled.

And with Rossi gone, Hotch had no one to split the administrative duties with.

Which left you all so busy that you had barely seen much of Spencer and Emily. While you and Hotch had been alone together at the station the entire time, with little more than orders and questions conveyed back and forth between the two of you.

Until Hotch had gathered you all into a conference room together to go over the evidence and write up the profile—press releases and administrative bullshit be damned.

Which left you reeling, because the three of them were just as stressed as—if not more so than—you, and when they got stressed...

They tended to get undressed.

Not completely—obviously—just a suit jacket here, a few popped buttons there, maybe some rolled up sleeves and messy hair.

But a girl could dream.

And God, did you dream vividly.

Nothing about Hotch escaped your notice. The width of his shoulders and chest made you itch to splay your hands over them. His thick hair would look so tempting between your thighs. You wondered if he would like the way you’d tug on it as he devoured you. Even the way the man dressed drove you crazy. His suits must have been tailored, because they fit far too well for your sanity. His silk ties looked soft and pullable. Your fingers itched to give them a good tug, preferably while guiding him to your lips.

Your attraction to Spencer was different from how you lusted after Hotch.

Spencer had an innocence and pureness about him that was impossible not to adore… An innocence you fantasized about corrupting. You often watched Spencer read, a habit you couldn’t break. It was so hard to look away, however, when he drug his fingers down the page, gentle and reverent. You wondered how that would feel against your ribs. Or lower. His sweet smiles often tempted you to tease him mercilessly. The way his amber eyes lit up when he rambled on made your stomach fill with butterflies. His soft voice always left your heart pounding and your pussy throbbing. Not that he knew that—thank God—though even if he did, it would just embarrass him.

Emily was, well… Emily.

Confident, strong, sassy and could break you in half, something you definitely wished she would do. Her dark hair and porcelain skin were a thing of beauty. The way she held herself with such surety was enthralling. Her clever and bold personality was absolutely deadly, both to unsubs and your libido. You often wondered how it would feel to earn her attention. She had a ‘take charge’ attitude in the field that you were almost sure would extend to the bedroom as well. You found yourself daydreaming about her scarlet lips giving commands of the erotic variety, smiling, and calling you a good girl… Among other things you imagined they would be very good at.

In layman's terms you were metaphorically fucked.

If only you could get physically fucked… specifically, by one of them.

Alas, it’s against regulations to fuck your co-workers. So your imagination, that new vibrator, and—if you were lucky—a wet dream or two would just have to do.

Being alone with one of them was truly a battle between your common sense and your carnal imagination.

However, being in a room with all of them… that was enough to put you in a mental crisis of truly epic proportions.

Just to make everything astronomically worse, you were pretty sure they had started to notice.

They had all started to notice.

You had been so relieved to wrap up the case and finally head home. Until you realized that heading home meant being on that cramped jet for several hours with just the three of them.

Hotch, who was sitting across from you, had immediately noticed that something was off with your demeanor. You were usually so exuberant, talkative and flirtatious in a way that rivaled even Penelope.

Now your eyes darted around the cabin, never lingering longer than a second on anything—especially a person. Your cheeks were flushed, like you were a little overheated or had spent just a little too long in the sun.

His biggest clue, however, was the way your chest expanded in small rapid breaths. He was growing concerned and was about to ask if you were alright.

Before he could, you offered a quick excuse to Emily—who had been chatting animatedly to you—and headed toward the restroom.

“Okay, has anyone else noticed that she’s been acting strangely all day?” Spencer asked the other two, once the bathroom door latched behind you.

Hotch nodded his head, agreeing with Spencer’s assessment of your odd behavior.

“I agree, she’s not been quite herself this week.” Hotch murmured, raising his brows and shaking his head. “She definitely hasn’t been nearly as flirtatious as she normally is.” The usual crease in his brow returned to its proper place. “She didn’t say anything remotely off-color in front of me at all this week, now that I think about it.”

Your quiet, nervous state was so unlike you—not that he had watched you enough to know.

Usually, you would crack a poorly timed joke or two, earning a disciplinary glare, and he would have to bite back a grin all the way through it.

There were no jokes today, no flirting, just intense focus. Your eyes locked on the evidence board. Never straying for a second, not even when he made an attempt to draw your attention. You only responded when asked a direct question and only made eye contact when absolutely necessary.

He had easily noticed your skittish state. How you seemed to duck out of a room as soon as he entered, or disappear for a while and come back laser focused on anything that wasn’t him.

You were usually quite confident. Or at least did a very effective job at hiding it when you weren’t.

“No kidding.” Emily snorted in halfhearted amusement. “I’ve been trying to snap her out of it the entire flight, and apparently, my flirting only made it worse.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like girls, Em.” Spencer joked with a smug grin.

“She definitely does…” Emily countered, giving Spencer a healthy dose of side-eye and a knowing smirk. “She flirts with me all the time, and Penelope told me that she has an ex-girlfriend. If anything she doesn’t swing your way.”

In Emily’s humble—expert—opinion, you practically had a flashing neon sign above your head that said: GAY!

Hotch chuckled and shook his head, smiling faintly, “I think you’re both wrong.” He refereed. “She’s bisexual, at the least.”

He glanced up from his case file, his brows raised and a smug smirk on his face.

“She very well could be.” Spencer admitted, his face stuck in that expression that said he was overanalyzing every detail about you that could ever apply to this situation. “We could test that hypothesis…”

His eyes were sparkling with a curiosity that was definitely scientific.

“It’s not a bad idea…” Emily mused. “It could be fun… and we do have five uninterrupted hours of airtime left…”

“Ground rules would be necessary,” Hotch added, murmuring almost as if to himself. Pretending to be lost in the case file again. His eyes traced boredly over the lines of text on the page, “and clear consent, from everyone.”

“Now we’re talking.” Emily smirked, sitting up a little straighter. She had been waiting for a chance to take her harmless flirting into a more serious pursuit. “I'm surprised though, you’re seriously gonna let us do this Hotch?”

“I can’t say I’m not curious to see where it goes…” He admitted, smirking a bit. However, his eyes barely lifted from the page, seemingly disinterested.

He was, in fact, very interested.

He saw the way you looked at him—and the other two—on a regular basis. He knew you were attracted to them.

What he didn’t know—with certainty anyway—was how you would react to an advance by all three of them at once. He was certain, however, that you were in for the surprise of your life—and a very good time—if you let it get that far.

“It’s settled then.” Reid smiled in self satisfaction. “When she comes back out we’ll conduct a little… experiment.”

Then the three of them produced a hurried plan.

When you exited the restroom a few minutes later you were no better—if not worse—off than you had been before. Trying to get yourself off had not only failed, it had also made the problem almost painful. However, staying in the restroom any longer would not only be embarrassing, but suspicious as well.

You tried not to look at Emily when you sat back down, looking anywhere else would be safer. So you shifted, only to catch Spencer’s eye, who was studying you with a strange expression.

The last time you felt so scrutinized, you had been defending your thesis to earn your Master’s.

You decided it was probably safest to stare at your lap instead, fiddling with the hem of your pencil skirt. Anxiously rubbing circles in the cotton fabric between your fingers in an effort to soothe… something. Hoping, praying, that none of them knew it had been hiked around your waist only moments before… with your hand tucked between your thighs.

“Hey, are you alright?” Emily asked softly.

You could feel all three sets of eyes burning into you, you didn’t dare look up. The racing of your pulse was only getting faster.

“Mm hmm.” You nodded, continuing to play with the seam of your skirt and then trying to smooth a run in the delicate black nylon of your stocking. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Your voice was a little higher than normal, and you knew they hadn’t missed it.

“Hmm, I don’t know…” Emily responded, you could hear slight teasing in her voice. “You haven’t been acting fine. In fact, you seem a little stressed,” You could practically feel the grin on her face as she turned, “Hotch, doesn’t she seem stressed?”

“Incredibly stressed.” He agreed, and if you’re not mistaken, that was amusement in his tone.

You flush even brighter.

“You should relax a little.” He suggested in that stupidly hot low timbre of his. He didn’t even have the decency to toss you a glance. You often wondered if anything could tear the man away from his file. God, maybe one of these days you’d strip down and stand in front of him butt-ass naked, just to see if that would do it.

You couldn’t help the little snort of indignant laughter that escaped you, because Hotch’s tone was practically sinful—proving that, yeah, you could get wetter than you already were—and the fact that Hotch, of all people, told you to relax.

“You’re one to talk.” You retorted before you could think better of it. A slight feeling of panic washed over you at your brashness and you risked a glance up at him, his expression was frustratingly neutral.

His eyes, however, held a peculiar spark. A spark that still somehow gave you nothing.

Emily scooted a tad closer to you, turning her body to face yours and pulling her knees up under her on the bench seat.

“Turn around.” She commanded, twirling her finger around in a circle. You raised a brow at her questioningly, unsure of what she was about to do. She rolled her eyes. “Just trust me.”

You sighed—long sufferingly—and did as she asked, turning to face the other end of the jet. Your back now facing the others. You had little indication of what Emily intended to do with your back facing her, but you didn’t have the energy, or the nerve, to argue with her. The only hope in your mind was that she didn’t touch you and send you spiraling down another unfortunate slip-n-slide of arousal.

Then you felt the french pin slide out of your hair, which promptly unfurled and cascaded down your back. The pressure lifted off your scalp, leaving behind a dull ache.

Why had you twisted it so tight that morning?

Oh, that's right.

So you could at least appear put together when you’d realized that it would only be the four of you on the jet home, with no case briefings to distract you.

You could only dream of where you wanted this to go.

Hot mouths, desperate grabs, pleasured moans… snap out of it before you let one slip, holy shit.

You stiffened, very aware that this was a bad idea and tried to pull away.

“Relax…” She cooed, alarmingly close to your ear. You bristled a little further. “I only want to help…”

Her hands slid into your hair then, nails raking over your scalp gently before her fingertips began firmly massaging your temples. Your eyes closed involuntarily and most of the tension fled your body without warning. A little sigh escaped your lips and you felt your cheeks start to burn as you sunk into her hands.

“There, isn’t that better?” She murmured softly, a lilt to her voice you couldn’t quite place yet.

“It does feel nice…” You admitted nervously.

Her fingers trailed down from your temples to the back of your neck. Working into the muscles, tight with the start of a tension headache.

“I bet it does, your knots have knots.” She hummed sympathetically, if not a little disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t let it get this bad. It’s not healthy and it feels painful.”

“It’s been a long week…” You responded a little defensively. “I don’t think I can handle many more cases without JJ and Rossi around.”

The words are almost strangled, her hands on your neck both a blessing and a curse. Then they slide down to your shoulders. Kneading and digging into your traps in an earnest attempt to banish the tension there.

“Why is that?” She asked curiously, but there was something more… sensuous, about the way she said it. It sent a small shiver down your spine that, luckily, was easy enough to conceal. But you still wondered if she felt it.

You tensed up slightly again.

“Because, I am not a trained press liaison. JJ does a much better job, and we’re all better off with more of us in the field. You guys almost ran yourselves ragged trying to get everything done, and Hotch didn’t have Rossi to delegate administrative tasks to. Not to mention the locals were being a pain in the ass the whole time. It honestly felt like a bit of a clusterfuck.” You confessed, though that was only half the truth.

“You did a wonderful job with the press, JJ even texted me to tell me she was proud of you.” Hotch murmured from across the aisle, giving you a rare compliment. You glanced over at him in surprise, you hadn’t known JJ had sung your praises to Hotch as well. “But she told you that herself earlier. So why are you really so anxious?”

“It was just a lot for the four of us to take on, that’s all.” You insisted, but Emily’s hands started to work their way down your spine. She found a particularly sore spot and dug her thumb into it mercilessly, forcing a moan to escape your lips without permission.

“Sorry.” You murmured in absolute mortification.

“Don’t apologize.” Emily hushes you, a sly knowing smile on her face. “I like it when you're vocal.”

That startled you so thoroughly that you actually jumped a little. Any other day and it wouldn’t have phased you at all. That type of flirting was normal from Emily, she liked to make you blush. Tonight, however, you were woefully underprepared for her raunchiness. You laughed nervously, knowing that she would expect you to laugh on a normal day.

“Mmmm, I’m with Hotch.” Spencer hummed, finally entering the conversation. “I think something else has you all worked up. You’re missing Morgan, JJ, and Rossi because they’re a good buffer.”

You almost choked on air, he couldn’t possibly have worked that out so easily.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.

He didn’t respond, and instead shared a glance with the others behind your back. Hotch gave a subtle nod to Emily, and she smiled in pure glee, before pulling your hair to one side and tracing her nose down the side of your neck. Her breath caused goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“You don’t? Are you sure?” She murmured, voice taking on a blatantly seductive tone.

You shot a worried glance in Hotch’s direction, only to find his eyes glazed over. Something heated hiding just beneath the surface.

“I- I’m sure.” You stuttered, every bit of that false confidence you’d been building ripped away in an instant. Leaving you a mess, you squeezed your thighs together once more trying to silence the throbbing ache between them, and his eyes flicked down to track the movement.

“You can’t lie to us. We’ve all been paying attention, sweetheart, and we see everything.” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and husky. “You know better.”

Sweetheart? Oh god. What on earth was happening?

You looked away from him quickly, hoping the truth wasn’t on blatant display in your eyes.

He chuckled softly.

Emily’s hand cupped your chin gently as she turned your head to face her, to face all of them.

“Emily?” You murmured in apprehension. She started to lean in closer to you, much closer. Too close for you to keep your wits about you. “What are you doing?”

She was searching your eyes intently for any hint of discomfort or fear.

She found none.

“This.” She whispered and then her lips met yours.

It was a gentle, seeking kiss. Her lips sure and firm against your own. You couldn’t help but lose yourself in it for a moment. The world narrowed down to her.

Her soft lips against yours. The way her mouth moved, seeking more from you. Her hand skimmed up your jaw from your chin and tangled in your hair as she deepened the kiss, pulling a soft whimper from your throat.

A whimper that was echoed by Spencer, just a few feet away.

His soft needy whine pulled you back down to earth, or rather, inside the jet. Where it suddenly dawned on you that Emily was shoving her tongue down your throat, in front of the team. In front of the team and your boss, who was-unfortunately–a stickler for rules.

Jerking away from Emily, you looked over at Hotch.

“Emily!” You gasped quietly, scrambling backward away from her on the seat. Despite your very, very willing participation. She followed you slowly. “What has gotten into you!?”

You were panting, your breaths shaky, your hands even shakier.

She smiled at you softly and threw a glance back over her shoulder at the others. Her gaze seemed to project, I told you so, as she crawled a little closer to you. You looked around at them then—panicked and breathless—the throbbing between your legs not at all helping you to make sense of the situation.

You focused on Hotch. Your eyes searched his frantically, knowing a reprimand would be swiftly coming your way. Or the inevitable glare of disappointment. Or worse, suspension.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor when he smirked at you instead.

“Don’t stop on my account.” He murmured, his voice thick and low, a slight rasp starting to come through. “It was just starting to get interesting.”

What. The. Fuck.

“W-w-what?” You stuttered, unsure if you had maybe misheard him, or imagined the whole fucking thing.

“You heard what I said.” He shrugged at you. “Don’t stop.”

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to form words when you were pretty sure your brain was on a hiatus.

“But-” You started to argue and he furrowed his brows at you.

This absolutely could not be happening. It was impossible. Any second now you were going to wake up and employ that new toy you had ordered specifically to deal with this issue.

“Are you saying you don’t like it when Prentiss kisses you?” He asked, his expression making it clear that he already knew the answer was no. You searched his eyes intently, looking for any sign that this would end poorly for you. What you saw instead was pure, unadulterated lust. The deep hazel of his eyes was almost consumed by his pupils and dark with hunger. He wanted you, he wanted to watch you make out with Emily, wanted to hear your moans and it was driving him crazy. So you shook your head no. Because you definitely did like the way Emily had kissed you and you wanted more. “Then close your mouth before I use it, and let Emily make you feel better.”

“Okay.” You murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

That was all Emily needed to hear.

Her mouth crashed into yours again and she pressed you back against the seat, slowly laying you down. Her body hovered over yours, the sweet scent of her perfume curling around you and numbing your senses. A moan ripped its way out of your mouth and she devoured it whole as her hand rested softly on your leg, just below the knee length hem of your skirt, and began to push it slowly up your thigh. The coolness of the air on your newly exposed skin made you shiver, a small shuddery breath accompanying it.

Emily grinned against your lips.

“Garters, huh? Can’t wait to see if they match your panties.” She murmured, Hotch and Spencer both groaned.

The idea of the two of them watching the two of you and enjoying it… was enough to make you squirm, the throbbing between your legs became agonizing again. Your thighs were rubbing together seeking any amount of friction…

Until Emily forced her knee between your legs, forcing them apart and not allowing the friction you so desperately needed. Her fingers still slowly dragged your skirt up the expanse of your thigh until she had it hiked up around your waist again.

“So pretty…” Hotch murmured, his voice thick and rough.

You turned your head to look at him, not at all phasing Emily who began kissing your neck instead, and found him sitting with his legs spread. His pants were undone and his long thick member was firmly gripped in his palm. If you weren’t so occupied with the fact Emily had found a spot on your neck that made your entire body tingle, your eyes might’ve bugged out of your head.

Emily’s lips managed to coax another soft moan from you and your attention was temporarily diverted. Your head rolled back a little to give her space to work, which made her chuckle. A sound that you were sure was pure sin.

You heard another sound, a soft moan from across the aisle, and you realized that Hotch…

Wasn’t the only one.

Spencer had taken his out as well, watching you intently while stroking himself slowly. A loud and surprising moan erupted from your lips, pulling soft groans from the three of them in response.

You didn’t know what you wanted more.

Emily’s mouth… or either of the cocks now standing at attention in front of you.

However, the decision would not be left up to you.

Emily’s hand was now popping open the buttons of your blouse one by one. Working her way down your stomach, her mouth following her hands slowly. She was taking her sweet time, kissing, sucking and biting gently. Sucking your skin into her mouth and rolling it softly between her teeth, probably leaving some little red marks. Her head dipping lower and lower toward the apex of your thighs.

More little moans escaped through your heavy, panting breaths.

Her mouth finally hovered over the place you wanted it most. Emily’s breath was hot as she slowly closed her lips around your clit over your black lacy panties. A strangled cry breaking free as you threw your head back, your mouth wide and your eyes closing tightly.

Hotch knelt down behind you, pushing his shoulder under your head, forcing you to look down at Emily between your legs. His hand brushed your hair out of your face gently.

“Do you like having Emily’s mouth between your legs, sweetheart?” He hummed against your temple, placing a tender kiss there.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Emily had other plans, sucking harder on your clit that she had been previously, while flicking at it with her tongue. Your panties weren’t even off yet and she had you nearly in tears from the pleasure.

A strangled, half moan, half gasp left your mouth in the place of words.

Hotch chuckled softly and his breath moved your hair, tickling your forehead.

“Where did that clever mouth go? It was working so well earlier.” His fingers curled around your open blouse, and he gently pulled it off your shoulders. He guided you back onto his shoulder again as he placed kisses to the side of your neck, and then tossed the shirt to Spencer, who brought it to his nose and took a deep breath of your perfume.

“She smells so good…” Spencer mumbled softly, still palming his own erection and watching Emily's head move between your legs.

“You have no idea how good she smells.” Emily groaned, biting the inside of your thigh hard enough to sting and then started to suck a hickey over the indentations her teeth had made.

“Why don’t you take her panties off and tell us how she tastes.” Hotch suggested with a smirk, you groaned softly in agreement. Your hips bucked slightly and that knot in your core squeezed tight.

“You like that idea, huh?” He teased gently, you could feel his grin against your temple. Then he threaded his hand through your hair and pulled your head back to mouth hot kisses down the line of your throat.

“I definitely do.” Emily smirked, then hooked her thumbs into the waist of your panties and slowly began to drag them down your hips. Her fingers deftly unclipping your garters from your stockings, then continuing to drag your panties down your legs until she had freed them completely and tossed them to the floor. Her warm breath fanned out across your skin and yours hitched at the sensation. Much to Emily’s delight, goosebumps pebbled your thighs and she ran her fingertips over them slowly. Which only made them worse.

“It’s not braille.” You hissed at her impatiently. “It’s not going to magically spell anything out.”

“That fucking mouth…” She mumbled as she finally closed the distance between her mouth and your pussy. Your hips bucked at the heat of her tongue as she licked a path from your entrance to your clit.

A strangled cry flew from your lips. Emily’s laugh puffed against you, and the only thing keeping you aware of anything at all was the combination of Spencer and Hotch’s laughs filling the space as well.

“Not such a smartass with a tongue on your pussy are you?” Hotch’s gravelly voice reverberated in your ear before he took your ear lobe in his mouth and bit it gently. “Be good for us and we’ll see just how many times we can make you come.”

You only had the mental capacity to nod… because Emily had just sucked your clit into her mouth and was rolling her tongue over it. That—combined with the gentle suction she so mindfully applied—meant whimpering, nodding, and squirming was all you could manage to do.

The warmth of her mouth was obscene, the slick firmness of her tongue enough to make you see stars. She gave a particularly rough pull of suction against your clit and you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Fuck!” You gasped, throwing your head back and closing your eyes.

Hotch wasn’t having that though.

Especially since Spencer was barely containing his own whimpers and moans from the chair across the aisle, where he was watching the entire scene with rapt attention, soaking in every detail. Hotch took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at Spencer.

“Look at him.” He commanded, growling in your ear. “Look at what you’re doing to him, Sweetheart, and you haven’t even touched him.”

You made eye contact with Spencer then, his eyes full of longing, sweat glistening on his brow and his hand struggling to maintain a steady rhythm on his cock. His chest was heaving from the effort it was taking him to remain in control, you could clearly hear his ragged breaths from your place across the cabin. His cheeks were flushed–a ruddy pink–and his hair was disheveled from his fingers, which he kept dragging through it.

“Spence…” You murmured softly, for no other reason than you felt the need to say his name. To acknowledge him and make sure he knew you saw him. To be certain he knew that you appreciated what you saw.

His cock was so hard it was closer to pink than his natural skin tone and you were anxious to do something about it. It looked almost painful.

You felt like you could hear everything he was thinking as he broke eye contact to study the length of your body, then brought his gorgeous amber doe eyes back yours.

“Tell her how beautiful she looks Reid, talk to her, she loves it when you ramble.” Hotch urged him gently. “Don’t you, pretty girl?”

You really did and the pleading look in your eyes was all he needed to see to know that was true.

“You should see yourself right now, Angel…” Spencer murmured softly, hesitantly at first but the heat in your eyes as you gazed back at him was undeniable, and the boost in confidence he needed. “You’re stunning, absolutely ethereal, bewitching even. From the luster of your hair to the delicate curves of your legs, you look like a dream. Your perfect breasts look so firm and smooth, I want to cup my hands around them just to see how it would feel.”

You moaned softly at that and Hotch hummed his agreement and approval of Spencer’s pretty words. He had to admit he was impressed, Reid seemed to have a way of waxing poetic. He watched with glee as your body reacted, both to Emily’s ministrations and Spencer’s words as he continued to speak. “Darling you are divine, the very smell of your perfume is intoxicating. Your lips are tantalizing and I can only imagine the feel of them on mine would be soft as silk.”

You hung on every word, his voice mesmerizing you as he spoke. You had no idea that Spencer had such a way with words. His poetic phrasing had your heart racing and your stomach fluttering.

Emily’s warm tongue slowly drifted away from your clit, trailing down your pussy to the wetness of your entrance… and she began to leisurely fuck you with it. You moaned so loudly it startled you and bit your bottom lip to stifle the noise.

“They can’t hear you in the cockpit, Angel. The door is too thick and the engines are too loud. Not to mention, they’re wearing headsets to communicate with air traffic control.” Spencer explained quietly.

Hotch’s hands started to travel down your body. One slipping into the black see-through mesh and lace of your bra, the other sliding slowly down your stomach and finding your—recently abandoned—clit. He circled it with his fingertips gently. His other hand firmly massaging your breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You heard him, Sweetheart. No one can hear you but the three of us, and like Emily said: we like it when you’re vocal.”

You let out a soft whimper and he hummed in approval.

Emily drew most of your attention back to herself as she replaced her tongue with two fingers, stretching you wider and filling you more satisfyingly than before. She stayed between your legs though, sucking and biting at your thighs as she made her fingers match the pace of Spencer’s hand.

You knew that’s what she was doing because you were still watching him from the corner of your eye, and for every downward stroke of his hand, she thrust her fingers inside you at the same moment. Hotch caught on to what she was doing, and he also began to match that rhythm and pace, kissing and nipping at the column of your throat as he played with your clit and nipples.

“Let go babe, we’ve got you. I can feel how close you are, you’ve got my fingers in a vise.” Emily murmured against the skin of your thigh, pressing a kiss to the place she had just bitten. Hotch hummed against your neck.

“Are you gonna come on Emily’s fingers, Sweetheart?” He murmured, before biting your exposed throat gently and laving at it with his tongue.

All you could do was moan in response.

Emily’s mouth found its way back to your clit, nipping Hotch’s finger playfully to make him move it. He looked down at her with a smirk and flicked her forehead teasingly before bringing his hand up to your other breast.

She rolled her eyes at him and flattened her tongue against your clit, then circled it and finally began sucking on it again as she continued to fuck you with her fingers. Hotch was rolling both your nipples between his fingers and returned his mouth to your throat, you were almost certain he was leaving marks there.

He was and it was completely intentional, it was the weekend, and he intended to give you all two extra days off at the start of next week. They would fade.

Emily was getting worked up herself and the sound of your little pants and moans were driving her to distraction. When you let out a particularly loud whimper, she hummed in satisfaction and the vibration made you throw your head back farther and moan so lewdly that Hotch picked his head up to look at your face.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, your supple lips were shaped in a wide ‘O’ and he couldn’t help himself anymore, your mouth was just begging to be filled.

You were vaguely aware that he had lifted your head off his shoulder and moved to stand, but you were too focused on Emily—and her mouth— to wonder why.

Then something warm bumped your chin.

You opened your eyes and found Hotch standing in front of you, his cock bouncing just out of reach of your mouth. You looked up and met his eyes, questioningly.

He smirked down at you, reaching out and cupping your jaw in his hand. His calloused thumb rubbed a small circle on the smooth skin of your cheek.

“I told you to close your mouth or I’d use it.” He murmured, voice low and rough. His thumb stretched to pull your lip down just a little and let it snap back into place, then brushed the corner of your mouth softly.

You didn’t respond, you just opened your mouth a little wider and offered it to him.

“Fuck.” He murmured, barely louder than a whisper.

Em chuckled quietly and the vibrations ran straight up your spine then down your legs, making your toes curl. You threaded your hands through Emily’s hair, needing something, anything, to hold on to.

“A little wider sweetheart.” Hotch prompted you.

You obeyed immediately, opening your mouth as wide as you could and maintaining eye contact with him. You knew he would like the attention and he did, rewarding you with his thick cock as he slid it slowly into the warmth of your mouth.

He tasted clean, but salty, and the precum that was already leaking from him was sweet as well with a slightly bitter—but delicious—aftertaste. You groaned as you closed your lips around him.

“How does her mouth feel?” Spencer’s voice was strained, he still hadn’t moved to touch you, content to observe.

To learn.

“She’s perfect.” Hotch groaned, his hand buried in your hair fisting it firmly but not roughly. He began to use it to pull you slowly up and down the length of his cock. “Fuck sweetheart, you feel amazing.” He murmured looking down at you affectionately, “You’re so warm, and you’re being so pliant for me.”

You kept eye contact with him, trying to focus on him… While also being on the verge of coming from Emily’s tongue on your clit, her finger pumping in and out of your pussy. All three of them were still matching pace with each other, and it was intoxicating. In and out and in and out, all at the same time.

Realizing how close you were, just needing a little push to fall over the edge, Emily reached up and started rolling your nipple beneath the lace of your bra. Then she slightly changed the angle of her fingers, curling them slightly to brush against your g-spot with every thrust.

You uttered a very strangled cry, the sound muffled around Hotch’s thickness. “Whatever you just did, she liked it. Didn’t you, pretty girl?”

You moaned in response and his hand tightened in your hair, a low hiss sliding through his clenched teeth.

Emily chuckled and kept her pace steady, but the vibration of her laughter around your clit as she sucked on it was all it took to send you spiraling into blissful oblivion.

Your body felt fuzzy and warm and your pussy was pulsing uncontrollably around Emily’s fingers. Your legs were shaking and you finally broke eye contact with Hotch as you scrunched your face up in pleasure. Eyes closed tightly as she fucked you through it, then licked your pussy from bottom to top as though savoring the taste of your orgasm.

Your body slowly relaxed again and when Emily pressed one more kiss to your clit then stood from the couch, you opened your eyes again to look up at her. Panting heavily as you realized now, that Hotch had pulled out of your mouth so that you could breathe through your orgasm.

Emily smirked down at you and then held her two glistening fingers up to the light for Hotch to inspect. He looked at them with a feral sort of hunger in his eyes.

“Do you want to taste her?” Emily asked him, a sly grin on her face as she offered her middle finger up to him. “She’s delicious…” She purred, and Hotch glanced down at you, recovering from your orgasm with a look of pure adoration for Emily in your eyes.

Then he turned his head toward her and grabbed her wrist with his free hand, before drawing her finger into his mouth… and sucking it clean.

You groaned and let your head rest against his hand that was still tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, she tastes like heaven. Reid, you wanna taste?” Hotch asked the younger man, then turned his attention back to you, tugging lightly on your hair. “Get down on your knees for me, Sweetheart.” He coaxed gently.

You obeyed him, getting down on your knees in front of him, but watched Reid and Prentiss as you did it. She was offering her ring finger to him and he was licking it clean and groaning, as he stroked himself a little harder.

Spencer… Spencer who didn’t shake hands because of germs… was licking Emily’s finger, just so he could taste you.

Fuck…

You whimpered softly and Hotch chuckled quietly, using your hair to tilt your face up to look at him .

“You can have him as soon as I’m done with your pretty little mouth.” He murmured teasingly. “Open up sweetheart.” You let your mouth fall open in what you hoped was a sexy expression. “So pretty…” He whispered for the second time that night as he slid his cock back into your mouth.

He used your hair—again, to your delight—to guide your mouth up and down his considerable length. He was taking it slow, going easy on you… you didn’t like that, not one bit. So you surged forward on his cock, taking as much of him as you could without gagging and he let out a sharp, gasping, string of barely intelligible obscenities.

You tried to pull back a bit to do it again… but he held you firmly in place.

“You want me to fuck your mouth, pretty girl? Blink once for no, twice for yes.” You moaned, looking up at him from under your lashes and pleading with your eyes, you blinked twice.

That is exactly what you wanted.

He chuckled quietly and then gave you a soft look.

“Have you ever had your mouth fucked before? Once for no, twice for yes.” You blinked once—you hadn’t and you were nervous because with his cock so deep in your throat you couldn’t breathe, you were also struggling not to gag—but you wanted him to do it so badly in that moment.

“Then listen closely, so I don’t hurt you.” He warned you, then caressed your neck tenderly. “Relax your throat, soften the back of your mouth.” He instructed gently. “Go ahead, I’ll tell you when you’ve done it right.” You tried to do as he asked, relaxing all the muscles in your throat and opening the back of your mouth. “Good girl, that’s perfect.”

Your head was starting to feel fuzzy from lack of oxygen, but you knew he wouldn’t hurt you so you didn’t panic.

“Keep your jaw loose and let me move you, don’t fight against me or try to help. It’ll make you sore if you do. You can’t breathe right now can you?” He asked, seemingly knowing the answer was no, but you blinked once anyway. “You are going to have to focus on your breathing. Time it so that you take a full inhale through your nose as I’m pulling out.”

He pulled you back off his cock just enough so that your airway was clear, you immediately sucked in a full breath and your head cleared.

“Good girl…” He soothed, stroking your cheek with the back of his finger. “When you take a breath, hold it. Then release it when I pull out the next time. Do you understand?”

You blinked twice.

“Perfect.”

He started so slowly—barely moving at all—letting you get the hang of how to breathe and how to keep everything loose and relaxed.

“That’s perfect, sweetheart, just like that.” He praised you after a minute, and then he slowly increased his pace, going a little deeper as well.

“Look how well she takes it…” Emily purred, kneeling down next to you and brushing a stray hair from your face. “Such a good girl…” She cooed, running her hand down your bare back.

Her words only served to fuel your ego and you preened under her praise.

“She’s a natural…” Hotch agreed and brought his free hand up to your cheek. “Think you can take it a little faster, pretty girl?” He asked, stroking your skin with his thumb.

You blinked twice.

“Good girl, remember to breathe in on every other one.” He both praised and reminded you softly as he picked up the pace. His cock was touching the back of your throat now with every inward thrust. His hand in your hair supported your head and held you completely still. You were like putty in his hands, and Hotch was reveling in it. He loved the way you completely surrendered and trusted him with something you’d never experienced before. “Fuck, Sweetheart… you’re taking me so well. I’m so proud of you.”

The tone of voice he was using—low and rough—was making your pussy throb all over again.

You moaned and he lost a little bit of his restraint, fucking into your mouth a little harder than he had been before, but not hard enough to hurt you. It was making your eyes water, however, and you had tears running down your cheeks. Hotch was enthralled by them, by the mascara tracks they were leaving and the way they changed the shade of your eyes slightly. “Such a good fucking girl, letting me fuck your mouth like this… you’re perfection, sweetheart.”

“Look at what you’re doing to him…” Emily whispered softly in your ear. “He’s barely holding on, you’re driving him crazy with those pouty, fuckable lips and pleading puppy dog eyes… you should see yourself the way he’s seeing you right now… you’re fucking beautiful baby.”

You moaned and it would’ve been loud and obscene if not for the cock in your mouth.

Hotch’s hips stuttered and he cursed, you knew that meant he was close.

“I’m about to come, pretty girl…” He gritted out, his hand in your hair tightening. “Can you take it?”

You moaned and blinked twice at him, then held eye contact. You didn’t know how you knew that would send him over the edge, you just did.

Then he was spilling himself down your throat, and you swallowed every fucking drop, then sucked him clean. He pulled his cock from your mouth and tucked it back into his briefs, then squatted down in front of you. The thumb of his free hand wiped a drop of liquid off your chin and he brought it to your lips, the look in his eyes almost challenging.

You licked his thumb from base to tip, then closed your lips around it and lightly sucked on it. He smiled at you then, pulling his thumb from your mouth and sliding that hand back to join his other in your hair. Hotch pulled you toward him gently as he started to lean in and murmured, “Such a good girl…”

The kiss he gave you was hot, sloppy and branding. He could taste himself in your mouth as his tongue invaded it and he was obsessed with the mingling of his flavor and yours. You moaned into his mouth and tried to deepen the kiss again, but he heard Spencer’s ragged breathing behind him and pulled back.

“You wanna ride Reid’s cock, Sweetheart?” He murmured loudly enough that Spencer also heard him and you both whimpered pathetically at the suggestion.

Hotch and Emily both chuckled, and then Hotch put his hands on your waist to help you stand and guided you over to the chair Spencer was in. Your legs were shaking and you were as clumsy as a baby giraffe stumbling over to him.

Spencer was looking up at you with those big amber puppy dog eyes and you felt even weaker in the knees, luckily you didn’t have to stand for much longer. Hotch steadied you on your wobbly legs until you climbed up onto Spencer’s lap, straddling him.

He was hesitant to touch you, his observation had started this whole thing and when he had suggested an experiment… he hadn’t expected it to end in sex…especially not group sex. When Hotch and Emily had started talking about consent and ground rules—lines that couldn’t be crossed— he had been sent reeling.

When he had asked if they’d noticed you acting strangely it had been out of concern for your wellbeing. When he had suggested they test the hypothesis he had merely meant to prove whether you were into men, women, or both.

He had wanted a scientific experiment, not sexual experimentation.

Not that he was complaining…

He, Emily, and Hotch were all three bisexual. Hotch didn’t really broadcast that fact, especially not in front of the others. Even though Spencer was pretty sure the only two on the team who weren’t queer were Rossi and Derek, and he wasn’t even sure about Rossi sometimes. So it wasn’t a big deal if you were or were not bisexual. He had only been curious.

Curiosity killed the cat or something like that… yet this time he had ended up with your bare pussy hovering over his cock, and he was not at all upset with this outcome. Just incredibly shocked. You were so beautiful, looking down at him with your tear stained cheeks and swollen lips. He still hesitated, however, because he wasn’t sure whether or not you really wanted him, or if he was being included simply because he was here.

You could see that hesitation, that self doubt in his eyes… you hated it.

So you leaned in and kissed him. It was a sweet kiss at first… reassuring and gentle. You were giving him plenty of time to work his nerve up. When he didn’t pull away—and even started to reciprocate—you deepened the kiss and teased at his lips with your tongue.

Requesting entry.

He parted his lips for you immediately, you smiled against him before you let your tongue caress his sinfully. His body was no longer rigid, but he was still tense. You moved to kissing his neck and nipping at his skin.

“Relax Spence…” You murmured sensually, running your hands through his hair and brushing it back from his forehead. “Let me lead, I’ll take care of you.” Pulling back and checking in to make sure, before you went too far, you looked him in the eyes, searching them intently. “Is this okay with you, Handsome?”

He nodded, biting his bottom lip in a way that made you want to bite it too.

“Yes.” He murmured, still hesitating… then whispered, “I just– I’ve only done this twice… I don’t know what to do in this position…”

Oh…

“That’s okay, I didn’t know what to do a minute ago and Hotch talked me right through it… We can do that for you, if you want?” You offered him gently. Your eyes were soft and kind, but let him see just how badly you wanted him. “Besides… I’ll enjoy being able to teach you something for once.”

He laughed softly, and some of the tension melted away from him.

“Okay.” He agreed. “Tell me what to do.”

Then in a burst of confidence, he reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear.

You hummed in approval.

“Touching me would be a great start.” You teased gently, not at all trying to bruise his ego.

“That’s true…” He joked quietly and his hands settled on your waist, then started to slowly trail up your sides. Lightly dancing over your ribs. “What if… I did this as well?”

And then his hands were reaching around to the clasp of your bra and deftly unhooking it. Which shocked you given his inexperience… you’d bet anything that he’d practiced somehow so he wouldn’t fumble when it mattered.

You reached down between your bodies and wrapped your hand around him. He sucked in a sharp gasp, jumping at the contact and your soft chuckle was echoed by two more behind you.

“Then I would do this and tell you that you have great instincts if you’ll just listen to them.” You started to slowly pump your hand up and down his length and he groaned. It was an almost tortured sound, as though you were both killing him and pleasuring him at the same time.

He slid the straps of your bra down your arms and you briefly let go of him to toss it to the floor. You sat up a little straighter as he took in the sight of you, sitting astride him in nothing but a garter belt and thigh-high stockings.

“You’re so beautiful, Angel…” he murmured, then leaned forward and pressed kisses to your breasts.

You lost patience then.

“Are you ready?” You asked him as you lined him up with your entrance, barely putting the tip in.

Your hands were trembling and your breathing was rapid and shaky.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one who asks you that?” He responded, but his voice cracked and you knew he was putting on bravado. He was every bit as desperate as you, his breaths ragged and harsh.

“Spence…” You whimpered, needing his permission to sink down on it. “Please.”

He didn’t respond, instead he gripped your hips firmly and tugged you down onto his cock until you were fully seated on it. You swore you could feel every ridge, every vein, and every little twitch it made.

“Fuck!” You moaned, loudly, earning snickers and snorts from the two voyeurs sitting on the couch behind you.

“Shit, sorry! Did I hurt you?” He panicked.

“That was definitely not a sound of pain, Reid.” Hotch murmured.

Spencer looked at you closely anyway, unsure if you were alright.

“You told me to follow my instincts so I–”

You kissed him, to shut him up and stop his doubts from running away with his head. Then you started to ride him slowly. He groaned against your lips and you smiled. The feel of him—filling you up—was exquisite.

“Your instincts are perfect Spencer…” You praised him, letting your hands drift back into his hair. “That was hot.”

His beautiful eyes gazing up at you as you rode him made you feel a little dizzy, he was so fucking pretty. He was gripping your hips tightly and every time you brought them back down he whimpered. The sounds he was making were driving you insane.

“Tilt your hips forward a bit more, sweetheart.” Hotch instructed you, his voice low and raspy. “It’ll help you take him deeper, and feel twice as good for him.”

He was right, and you did know that already, but it was so fucking sexy when he started giving orders.

“And for her.” Prentiss added, you could hear the salacious smile in her tone.

“Like this?” You asked in a faux bashful tone, as if you didn’t know how to do it. Then you did it perfectly, so that you and Reid both groaned, and your ass popped back enticingly for Hotch and Emily.

They both groaned softly and you smiled, winking at Spencer. Letting him in on your antics. He smiled back at you, as amused as he could be—given the circumstances.

“What about this? Do you think this would make him feel good?” You asked, rolling and circling your hips seductively as you rode him.

Spencer hissed out a breath, his eyes rolling back briefly.

“I can confirm that it does in fact feel amazing.” He groaned, you giggled and threw a flirty glance back over your shoulder at the others. Then leaned forward and sucked Spencer’s bottom lip into your mouth, biting it. He slid his hands down to your thighs squeezing tightly, then over your thighs where he looped his fingers into your stockings and peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Then traced his fingers back up your calves and thighs, back to your hips and you noticed he was avoiding your ass… So did Prentiss.

You felt the heat of her body behind you before you heard her voice, and pulled back to look up at her.

“Don’t be shy Reid…” She purred, her hands landing on his, dragging them back till they rested fully on your ass. “Get a good handful… or two.” She made him squeeze you firmly. You moaned and Emily chuckled. “See… She loves that, don’t you babe?”

“Yes!” You moaned wantonly, and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye. Hotch had moved closer and was perched on the edge of the table next to the seat you and Spencer were in. He was watching with a ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“Put her nipple in your mouth, Reid.” He said after a moment. “Suck on it while circling your tongue around it.”

Emily hummed her approval, they were giving Spencer a veritable textbook for How To Make You Come 101. Spencer listened, of course. He’d just watched Hotch and Emily tag team you into an orgasm, their words were as good as gold.

When his lips closed around your nipple you hissed and whimpered a little, picking up your pace as you bounced up and down on his cock. Hotch chuckled in lust filled amusement, reaching over and stroking your ribs with the back of his hand.

“She makes such beautiful little sounds.” He mused to Emily, who nodded and then grabbed a handful of your hair.

She used it to tip your head back then kissed you thoroughly, her tongue caressing yours and you could still taste your pussy on her lips. You moaned and ground yourself down against Spencer, his cock reaching all the way to your cervix, you felt as though you could feel him in your stomach.

Hotch’s fingers were tracing your ribs, or maybe that was Spencer? No, his hands were still on your ass so it had to be Hotch or Emily. Someone was trailing a hand down your stomach to where your body joined with Spencer’s, this hand was larger and callused while the other was soft and smaller. So Emily was tracing your ribs, while Hotch…

Hotch was on a collision course with your clit. You knew when he made impact, you’d see stars.

Spencer switched nipples, still kneading your ass with firmness and your muscles were starting to ache from pulling yourself up and down his cock at this pace. Emily was still lighting you up with her kiss, her fingers traveling down the line of your rib to the breast that Reid had started with. Hotch’s fingers were getting closer and closer, but they were moving so slowly you knew he was trying to drive you wild with anticipation.

It was working.

Your chest was heaving, you were trembling and your legs were aching deliciously from exertion. Spencer’s cock was hitting you perfectly every time you sank down on it. All the sensations combined were almost too much for your sanity. You were so close, again.

“Look at you, falling apart at the seams… you’re so close aren’t you sweetheart?” Hotch murmured, his voice a lot closer than it had last been. What was he, a mind reader? His nose skimmed your neck up to your ear, which he then bit gently. You moaned into Emily’s mouth, a pitiful little whimper, and you felt her smile softly against your lips. “Does Reid’s cock feel so good? Filling you up like that. Stretching you out. I wonder, can you still taste yourself on Emily’s lips? Do you know how good you taste, pretty girl?”

Fuck, was he trying to kill you?

It was like his voice had gained a solid form and had wrapped itself around your throat, cutting off your oxygen and leaving you completely breathless. Your senses were overwhelmed, in a state of near euphoria, and you knew that once Hotch’s fingers reached their destination—and they would in the next three seconds—that the barest graze of them was going to make you explode.

He stopped just short of his target. You whined against Emily’s lips and he laughed at you softly.

“I think she ought to earn this one… What do you think, Prentiss? Should we make her beg?” Hotch asked the other woman, he didn’t ask Reid because the poor man was barely holding it together and all of his focus was split between the nipple he was currently stimulating and not coming inside you without consent.

Emily—reluctantly—pulled her tongue out of your mouth and smirked down at you.

“Hmm, she was being a little bit of a tease a minute ago wasn’t she?” She made a show of looking very contemplative, all the while she continued toying with your other nipple. “Reid?”

She brought Spencer into the conversation—or she tried to.

“Busy.” He murmured against the skin of your breast as he continued his work there, he would not be distracted. You glanced down and saw that he had started marking your skin with hickeys.

You moaned at the sight and let your head fall back.

“You want me to beg, and I’ll beg. Just please don’t make him stop.” Your voice was heavy, rough and breathless. You were so incredibly close, your body was starting to shake, and you knew you’d come, whether they kept touching you or not.

They knew it too, but they also knew they could make it so much stronger… if you were good for them.

“It feels so good, huh, sweetheart?” Hotch asked, his tone slightly condescending. “If you ask nicely, we’ll give you what you need…”

His hand was still stalled on your lower abdomen less than an inch away from your clit. Emily was just barely teasing your nipple and while it seemed like Spencer was ignoring them, you knew he was giving you just enough to keep you on the edge. Sneaky.

However, you expected no less from him. He was a fast and visual learner, he had been watching closely when Hotch and Emily had been playing you like a fiddle. He could have had you screaming all on his own if he’d wanted to—you had no doubt about that— he’d just needed the confidence to get started.

Hotch and Emily had helped with that.

“I’ll be such a good girl if you let me come, Hotch, please…” You gave him the sexiest pout you could muster. His eyes seemed to darken—his hazel irises almost completely drowned out by his pupils—as they zoned in on your lips. “I’ll mind my manners and be so polite, I promise. Pretty please, make me come.”

Hotch was listening, and he had intended to make you beg more than this, but your lipstick smudged lips were just so alluring that he couldn’t focus on anything else at that moment. Remembering what they’d looked like wrapped around his cock several minutes earlier, he found his will rapidly dissolving, and all he really wanted was to watch the way those lips formed a perfect O when you came.

“I knew you’d sound so sweet begging…” He murmured, and his hand started to move again “Let us hear you, pretty girl. Loud and clear.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured confidently.

Emily chuckled and started sucking on your neck, you moaned… Then Hotch’s fingers—finally—found your clit.

You screamed.

Your vision went fuzzy and then white. Your head was buzzing and your body was nearly numb. You went limp and Spencer took over, fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it. Emily’s hand had begun rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Good girl…” She cooed. “You look so pretty when you come.”

“Yes she does.” Hotch murmured, reaching over to where your head was resting on Spencer’s shoulder and brushing your hair away from your face. “So fucking pretty.”

You whimpered softly at the touch and he smiled tenderly at you. Your chest was heaving with hard-fought, ragged breaths. You were shaking, but your vision was slowly returning to normal.

“Are you alright?” Spencer whispered gently in your ear. His hands on your waist now, thumbs rubbing circles on your hips. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fucking fantastic, Spence…” You murmured in return, shifting your weight slightly to sit up and kiss him. He squeezed your hips tightly.

“Please don’t move.” He hissed, pleadingly. “I can’t… I’m gonna… If you don’t get off it, I’m going to come inside you. I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

You froze, your lips just a centimeter from his.

“It’s okay… Don’t panic… They make pills for that, and I intend to take one anyway… I’m a little stuck at the moment though, my knees are too weak to get up.” You met his eyes, the panic in them was astounding. “Hotch, could you–”

The man's arms were already coming around your waist and he lifted you off of Spencer effortlessly, as the younger man bit his lip and hissed as if pained. Setting you on your feet softly, Hotch held you to his chest to keep you from falling to the floor.

“Didn’t you say you’d mind your manners and be polite if we let you come?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

You looked up at him, searching his eyes for a hint, a clue, anything to tell you what he was up to.

“Mm hmm…” You hummed in response, nodding at him.

“You made a mess Sweetheart…” He told you quietly, then took your chin in his hand and turned your face down to look at Spencer… Who was, in fact, a whimpering mess. “Clean it up.”

You licked your lips and smiled salaciously.

“Yes sir.” You murmured softly and got down on your knees at Spencer’s feet.

Reaching out and taking Spencer’s cock in your hand, you gave him a firm stroke. He moaned and his head fell back against the seat. So he didn’t see you coming when you lowered your head and took him in your mouth, all the way to the base.

“Oh fuck!” He yelped, you hummed in approval at his reaction, then you pulled back so that a manageable length was in your mouth. You put one hand on his thigh to brace yourself and create a little leverage, the other you wrapped around the rest of him. Slowly, you started to bob up and down, moving your hand in time with your head. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Spencer’s hands gripping the arms of the chair, his knuckles were white. That only spurred you on.

The taste of yourself on his cock was tantalizing, the tang of you mingling with the musk of him was something you never thought you would experience. This whole situation was something you never thought you’d experience. You’d considered it of course—more times than you could count— but it was only a fantasy, a daydream. Never had you once thought it might actually happen.

“She’s doing so well… don’t you think Hotch?” Emily’s voice purred on your right.

“Hmmm, I don’t know… she’s capable of more…” He hummed in response from the left, and a hand—that based on the size could only be his—palmed the curve of your ass. He gave it a squeeze and a playful smack and you moaned around Spence's cock. Spencer twitched in response.

“You think she can take more?” Emily asked him, her tone was nothing short of sinful and it made you shiver. Hotch’s following chuckle, however, went straight to your pussy, making you squeeze your thighs together. Suddenly, you were completely desperate again..

“I know she can.” He answered, with a confidence that made your toes curl. His voice tended to do that to you, but when he put that cocky, self assured, arrogant rasp behind it… Goddamn. It was the voice he used when he knew he had the upper hand, when he had an unsub completely caught up in a lie, a trap of their own making. The voice that made your knees weak and your thighs tighten. It went straight to your pussy every time, making it clench around nothing. “Why don’t you help her along?”

“I’d love to.” She purred.

Then Emily’s hand was in your hair, resting firmly on the back of your head.

“You heard him, Gorgeous…” she lilted provocatively as her hand grew heavier on your head, slowly pushing you down the lengthy expanse of Spencer’s cock, until your nose was touching the neat patch of hair at his base.

“Fuck, Angel…” Spencer groaned, his voice husky and strained. “I’m so close…”

You gave him a muffled little hum of approval and that was all he needed to fall over the edge. Spilling down your throat as he moaned loudly, his hands joined Emily’s in your hair and he held you there firmly until he was finished.

You swallowed as much as you could and then—when they released your head—you sucked and licked him clean.

“Thank you, Angel. That was… incredible.” Spencer murmured, reaching up to stroke your cheek tenderly with the back of his forefinger. You leaned into the touch and then gave him a sensuous smile as you climbed back up into his lap. You brought your lips to his before he could say another word and kissed him deeply, letting him taste the mixture of all the flavors that had accumulated on your tongue. It was by far the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted. He moaned into your mouth and you pulled back to smile at him.

“You are very. Very. Welcome.” You purred, punctuating each very with a gentle kiss and biting his bottom lip after welcome. “It was my pleasure…”

Hotch and Emily chuckled softly at your antics and you noticed that Em sounded a bit shaky. Then you realized she was the only one who hadn’t come at least once… you’d have to remedy that.

Hotch—astute as ever—immediately noticed when your eyes locked onto Emily’s form. He chuckled again, looking between you and her, then stood and helped her to her feet as well, guiding her to the space between you and the couch you both had started this whole thing on.

“You want Prentiss again, sweetheart?” He asked, his smirk letting you know he knew exactly what was on your mind. You simply nodded your head, never taking your eyes off her. “Hmm… What do you think, Emily? Has she earned the right to touch you yet?”

She smirked down at you, trying to maintain her slightly condescending attitude… but you could read her like a book, and she was so turned on she was struggling to breathe regularly. You smirked back at her and she raised a brow at you.

“I don’t know, she seems a little too cocky about it to me.” She answered him, only prolonging her own discomfort.

“Am I?” You murmured, giving her a teasing smile. “Take it from the boys, Em. I could rock your world…”

She laughed softly.

“I bet you could, but I wanna hear you beg for it…” She purred, grinning at you. “Tell me how much you want it.”

You started to get up and reach for her, to show her how much you wanted her… but she stepped back, bumping into Hotch’s chest. He steadied her without hesitation, his hands stayed planted firmly on her hips and to your surprise, Spencer gripped your own hips. Tugging you back down into his lap so that you now faced the others, he held you in place.

“She said tell her, Angel…” Spencer murmured, his breath tickling your ear. You were shocked at his sudden burst of dominance. Your eyes widened slightly and your lips parted in surprise.

Hotch chuckled and you studied the three of them carefully… they were all smiling at you, their eyes holding the same teasing light. It was as though they were waiting for you to notice something. You just didn’t know what.

“You don’t get to touch her yet, sweetheart… not until she gives you permission.” Hotch murmured teasingly. “You can look though…”

Then his hands slid around her waist to the front of her pants, and he began to unbuckle her belt.

“Oh fuck…” you whispered on a breathy sigh. This would be the death of you, you were sure. Your head tipped back as you looked to the ceiling, as though praying for patience or guidance—or perhaps salvation because you felt certifiably damned—but Spencer had other ideas.

“Don’t look away.” He instructed you, his voice low and commanding as he gripped your chin and made you look back at them. You’d never heard him speak with so much authority, and yet somehow it was still so soft that it was barely audible. “They’re doing this for you…”

Hotch continued his mission to rid Emily of her slacks by unbuttoning and then unzipping them. Then he slipped them down her legs and held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of them. She kept her heels on, now standing before you in just her button down blouse and undershirt.

Your brain was short circuiting.

“Please, Em… I need to touch you.” You murmured softly and she smirked at you, scarlet lips tipping up to one side.

“Not yet…” She taunted.

Hotch reached around her again and started to unbutton her blouse, his pace was agonizing. You noticed that he was careful not to touch her body at all, now that she was only half clothed, and his eyes were locked on you… not her.

They really were doing this just for you.

How they knew you’d find it hot to watch him undress her, you didn’t know, but it was working. They didn’t seem uncomfortable, no… they were enjoying themselves as they teased you mercilessly.

When he slid the blouse down her shoulders and it fell to the floor, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. She was wearing that one red tank top that always made you drool.

“Emily…” you nearly whimpered. “Please…”

She looked smug as she shook her head, reveling in the shakiness of your voice. She knew what that tank top did to you…

“Do you want to see him take it off me?” She asked, sweet as sugar… in a saccharine kind of way.

“I’d rather do it myself…” you implored, giving her a pouty look.

Her breath hitched and you knew… you were going to win this one.

“But if I’m being totally honest… I have this… fantasy… of you, in this exact outfit. I want you just like this, you’ve always looked so sexy in red, Em.” You purred, and you can tell you’ve surprised her for once. She was speechless for a moment and Hotch smirked at you, his eyes showing his amusement at this little standoff between you and Emily. “You know you want me Emily… just give in.”

You licked your bottom lip subtly, then bit it, trying to tempt her by looking up at her as innocent as a lamb. She had spotted your ploy a mile away, seen it coming from the moment you said she looked sexy in red.

It still worked.

“I will.” She drawled sensually, her eyes tracing your body. “If you get on your hands and knees and crawl to me.”

She stepped away from Hotch and sat on the couch with her legs spread wide, revealing red lace panties that matched her red tank top.

“Fuck…” you breathed. “You win… you win Em… just… God, let me touch you… please.” You pleaded. “I fucking need you.”

“Crawl to me, Gorgeous.” She finally conceded, smiling at you triumphantly.

And you let her think she had the upper hand, as you slipped out of Spencer’s lap and to the floor, but you knew once you got your hands on her—your mouth on her—she’d be putty in them.

Hotch moved to Spencer’s side and leaned against the wall—to watch the show of course—and nodded at you encouragingly.

You took your time, crawling seductively across the cabin to her, using every inch of the space to taunt her. She devoured you with her eyes and when you got to her feet, picked her right one up and propped it on your shoulder. You planted soft kisses on the inside of her ankle, never breaking eye contact.

“I have dreams that start out just like this…” you murmured to her.

“So do I.” She admitted, her voice breathless and shaky.

“Mmm…” you hummed softly, then purred, “Then what happens?”

She laughed softly, trying to seem unaffected again, but it was much too late for that. You knew exactly what you were doing to her.

“What’s the matter, Em?” You teased, beginning to kiss your way up the inside of her leg. “Cat got your tongue?” She seemed to lose all semblance of composure and you giggled softly against her soft skin. “Don’t worry… I can figure it out. I’m very creative.”

The roles had been reversed, and you’d never felt more in control than in that moment, kneeling between her legs. You slid your hands up her thighs and around her hips, gripping her ass firmly and then pulled her to the edge of the couch in one smooth motion.

For better access of course.

She yelped in surprise and you chuckled against her skin, never checking up as you continued kissing your way up her leg. You’d made it to her inner thigh and she was trembling. You looked up at her from under your lashes and smirked.

“I like it when you’re vocal.” You teased her, repeating her words back to her and earning a soft laugh from Hotch in return.

Emily started to say something but you flatten your tongue against her pussy—through her panties—and she moaned instead.

You hummed at the sound, reveling in it and lapped at her clit enthusiastically. Not bothering to tease her at all, just diving right in—to shut her up and wipe the smug smile off her gorgeous lips—and showing her exactly how creative you could be with your tongue.

But that didn’t satisfy your hunger for her at all, no… you needed to taste her, without the lace that was currently barring you from doing it.

You gently moved her panties to the side and took in the sight of her, bare and wet—absolutely soaked—all for you.

“Oh Emily…” You purred. “You’re dripping for me… and such a pretty pussy too. I wonder if it tastes as delicious as it looks?”

You were dying for her to regain a little sentience.

Docile, desperately horny Em was cute… but you wanted her sassy, confident self to come back out to play. You puffed a hot, teasing breath over the supple skin of her pussy and slowly, so slowly, licked her from her slit all the way to her clit. You stopped just short of it though, teasing her entrance with your tongue instead.

“Stop teasing me before I change my mind.” She growled impatiently, her hand tangling in your hair and tipping your head back to make eye contact.

You smirked up at her, a bit defiantly, and said softly, “Ask me nicely…”

Her eyes narrowed slightly and her head tilted to the side just a fraction as she stared you down, she seemed to be contemplating her options here. She could either let you get away with that and actually say please, or she could do whatever just crossed her mind and made those beautiful onyx eyes flicker with heat.

“Please, stop teasing me.” She murmured softly, leaning down so that her lips brushed your cheek as she moved to whisper in your ear. “Or I will take care of this pretty pussy all by myself, and make you watch from Spencer’s lap.”

You chuckled, biting your bottom lip as you turned your head to look at her.

“Mmm, I love it when you’re bossy.” You murmured, your nose less than an inch from hers now.

“Do you?” She purred, leaning closer so her lips are hovering just over yours, sharing your every breath. You nodded, yes, and she grinned salaciously at you, moving closer so she could bite your bottom lip herself. “Then stop talking, and do something useful with that silver tongue instead.”

You felt your cheeks heat, whether it was embarrassment or arousal—or a mix of both—you weren’t certain. But you loved the way it felt.

“Yes ma’am.” You purred, your voice dripping with pure seduction.

You felt her hand vacate your hair and didn’t waste time. Leaning forward, you licked her cunt from bottom to top in one smooth motion. Your tongue—finally—delving in to taste her, before you buried yourself between her thighs and ate her pussy like you were starving. She was delectable. Her arousal like honey on your tongue, and she just kept getting wetter.

The more you explored and experimented with her, the more you learned.

For instance, if you suctioned your lips tightly around her clit and rolled your tongue in circles around it, she couldn’t help but squirm as she let out soft little moans. If you added two fingers, curling just slightly upwards, and used them to massage that spot—just past the ridge of her pubic bone—she bucked against you wildly. So you gripped her by her thighs and hoisted them up onto your shoulders, forcing her to lean back on the couch and spread herself wider for you. The new angle gave you more leverage with your fingers and allowed you to apply firmer pressure with your tongue.

She was putty in your hands, just as you knew she would be. Her ragged breaths and quiet whimpers were growing more and more desperate, her hands grappling for purchase on any part of you she could reach. You were unsurprised when they found your hair, threading into it and taking two fistfuls that had your scalp stinging delightfully. You moaned against her and then felt her walls start to flutter around your fingers.

“Don’t stop, don’t change anything, I’m so close!” She panted, her voice raw with desire.

You suppressed the urge to grin, needing to maintain the seal of your lips around her clit, the pressure of your tongue… but you couldn’t help feeling a little smug. Especially as she clamped down hard on your fingers, her thighs quivering and trying to close around your head. Her entire body went taunt, her back arching and her head falling back against the couch as she cried out, “Oh God!”

Only when her body fully relaxed and her grip loosened in your hair, did you allow yourself to smirk against her pussy and look up at her from under your lashes. She didn’t notice—too busy recovering from the mind blowing head you’d just given her—Hotch, however, did.

“Look at you, being all smug.” His voice ran up your spine like molten lava. You didn’t dare peek over at him, choosing instead to pepper Emily’s fevered skin with soft, barely there kisses. First over her inner thighs, then her lower stomach where her tank had ridden up nearly to her breasts. “Are you proud of yourself, Pretty Girl?”

Hotch’s hand perched softly at the nape of your neck, he squeezed gently but firmly. His hand slid down your back slowly, his finger slipping into your garter belt—the only item of clothing left on you—and snapping the elastic against your spine. You moaned softly at the sting and he chuckled softly. He began to guide the belt down your hips, over your ass and thighs, to your knees. Tapping each in silent command. You complied, lifting them one at a time so he could—finally—strip you completely bare. “Such a good girl…”

His murmured praise had you aching again as you continued your worshipful path of kisses up the plain of Emily’s belly. Not stopping when you reached her tank, instead starting to lift it over her head with her willing assistance. You tossed it to the floor and pushed her gently to her back, so that she was lying along the length of the couch. Climbing to settle between her legs again, you began to kiss her chest. Propping yourself up with one hand, you used the other to free her breasts from the cups of her bra, which—conveniently— clipped in the front. She moaned softly as your lips closed around one nipple and your free hand toyed with the other.

Warm breath on your pussy made it clench around nothing. Which made you keenly aware of the fact that you’d left your ass high in the air—and completely exposed. Strong hands gripped it firmly and tilted it up even further, positioning you exactly how their owner desired. “Stay just like this Sweetheart. I want to taste you while you take care of Emily.”

You moaned wantonly at Hotch’s order, spreading your legs a bit more for him. He smacked your ass, just hard enough to make a point. “I said stay still.”

“Yes sir.” You murmured seductively around Emily’s breast and he soothed the sting with a gentle kiss to the spot, just before he buried his face in your pussy. Groaning as he tasted you first hand, he gripped your ass with bruising strength and made you whine. “Fuck…”

He chuckled quietly to himself, his hand traveling down your ass and in between your legs. It wasted no time in finding its target. Your clit. He circled it so lightly, as though he thought it was delicate enough that any firmer touch would damage it.

The effect was maddening.

Emily’s hands found your breasts, toying with your nipples and bringing your attention partially back to her. You trailed your free hand down her stomach, finding her clit again with ease and began to move your finger over it ever so lightly. She whined quietly, and pressed up into your hand with her hips in a wordless request for more pressure.

“You need more, Em?” You asked softly, teasingly, as you kissed your way across her chest, up her neck, nipping her ear and finally hovered over her lips. “Hmm? Do you wanna taste yourself on my lips?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” She demanded, her hand wrapping around the back of your neck and tangling into your hair as she tugged you down to her lips.

The kiss was rough, frantic and heated. Emily was still grinding up into your hand—desperate for friction—so you had mercy and increased the pressure and speed of your hand.

Hotch’s tongue was still leisurely fucking into your pussy as his finger work your clit with precision. He kept making these self satisfied little groans in the back of his throat that were driving you crazy.

And then two more hands were touching you… Hotch’s hands were still on your ass and clit, Emily’s in your hair and toying with your breast…

But Spencer…

He’d been content to watch for a few minutes, but he couldn’t help himself any longer, he had to touch you.

He was tracing the lines of your ribs with one hand and your spine with the other, his touch light and inquisitive. You’d fantasized about him doing exactly this and you’d been right, it felt amazing. His hands on your skin anywhere would have been heavenly, but the way he was following each rib intentionally—reverently—reminded you of the way he traced each line when he was reading a book, the way his fingers skimmed over each vertebrae was making your back arch.

You pulled away from Emily to look up at him.

There was such adoration in his eyes as he studied the expanse of your skin. The hand at your ribs, going up to your shoulder blades and your collar bones. The one at your spine trailing down to the curve of your hip, over the rise of your ass and down the back of your thigh.

“Focus on Emily, Angel…” He murmured softly. “I just wanna touch you.”

You would do anything to have him keep touching you like that, so you redoubled your efforts on Emily. Sliding your fingers down from her clit to her cunt and slipping the middle two inside of her.

She moaned and you silenced it with a kiss, parting her lips with your tongue.

You rubbed her clit with your thumb while you worked her g-spot with the pads of your fingers and she started to squirm. She tried to close her legs but your knees were in the way and her thighs started to tremble.

“Give it to me, Emily…” You coaxed into her mouth, then bit her lip gently. “Let me have it, you can do it… come for me one more time…”

Her head fell back against the couch, so you dipped yours down and drew her nipple into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue. It was just enough to send her spiraling for the second time. A breathy cry falling from her lips as her pussy spasmed around your fingers.

All the stimulation—Hotch’s tongue and fingers, Emily’s cunt clenching around your fingers and her hands pulling your hair and squeezing your breast, and Spencer’s exploration of everywhere else—was nearly too much.

And then Hotch slipped two fingers inside of you… much thicker than Emily’s slender ones, and when he added a third… It was thicker that Spencer’s cock had been. Not as long, but with what he was doing… length didn’t matter.

You came hard. Your pussy clamping down on Hotch’s fingers so tightly you thought you could feel each knuckle and every callus. Your brain went completely offline and your thighs shook violently as your release ran down them.

Your knees gave out, and you collapsed against Emily with a moan. Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes. You laid there unable to move for several moments. Emily wasn’t moving either–except for her chest, which was heaving as she panted for air—so you were in no hurry to go anywhere. You gently slipped your fingers out of her and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Holy–” She gasped.

“--fuck!” You finished for her on a hard fought breath.

Spencer snickered softly as he stepped back to observe the mess of limbs the two of you were tangled up in.

Hotch chose that moment to pull his fingers out of you—making you flinch and whine—and then he moved to lean against the table adjacent to the couch to watch you and Emily untangle yourselves.

“You good, gorgeous?” Emily murmured after a moment, her hand running through your hair affectionately.

You nuzzled into her neck, nipping at her throat playfully.

“I’m great, Em.” You purred, twirling her hair around your finger and then giggled, “Why? You wanna go again?”

“Do you?” Hotch’s voice pulled your attention from the way the overhead light caught in Emily’s hair.

You looked up at him, and found him staring down at you with heated eyes…

And a bulge in his pants.

You swallowed thickly, the amount of times you’d thought about fucking Aaron Hotchner…

Your mouth was suddenly dry and your tongue felt heavy and you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything if you tried.

So you nodded your head, yes.

“Come here.” He murmured, his voice low and rough.

You gently untangled yourself from Emily—dropping one more kiss to her lips as you went—and she propped herself up on her elbows to watch you go.

The three steps it took for you to reach him were the longest three steps of your life. When you came to stop in front of him he wasted no time.

He held the back of your neck and drew you in, gently but firmly, then kissed you.

You could feel the tension in the plain of his chest, the barely restrained strength of his grip, and the quiet urgency with which he kissed your lips.

He was desperate… but he didn’t want to be rough with you…

Which would have been sweet…

If that wasn’t exactly what you wanted.

You bit his lip, tugging it between your teeth and then licking into his mouth like you needed to taste him as much as you needed oxygen. Then you slipped your hand down and gave his cock a firm squeeze through his slacks.

He groaned and pulled you back to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Fuck me, like you own me.” You murmured, with much more confidence than you felt.

You saw in his eyes the exact moment his restraint snapped. It was like his whole demeanor did an about face.

The soft spoken, gentle—though slightly condescending and bossy—man that had been treating you with such tenderness and care…

He was gone.

You barely registered the movement, one moment you were standing up, asking him to fuck you…

And the next…

You were bent over the table he’d just been leaning on.

The sound of his zipper coming down made you clench around emptiness and then his hand was firmly planted in the center of your back. Holding you down on the table with an easy strength.

You felt the hard warmth of his cock at your entrance as he lined himself up, but he paused.

“You asked me to fuck you like I own you… are you sure you want that?” He asked again for consent. “I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.” You said clearly, with a surety in your tone that he could not mistake for anything but affirmation. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He didn’t answer you verbally.

Just slid his cock inside you, all the way to the base.

You cried out—hands clutching the edges of the table—-at the shock of it. You’d thought—surely—after coming three times, that you would be good and ready for him.

But he was… thick.

You couldn’t breathe, your lungs had ceased to function the moment he slid home.

Thicker than Spencer had been by a bit—though not as long—and you’d known that since you’d had both of them in your mouth. The way he was stretching you out though, it burned, it was a good burn… but you needed a moment to adjust.

He seemed to know that instinctually, and while he said he wouldn’t be gentle, he wasn’t going to hurt you purposefully either.

So as he bottomed out inside you he gave you a moment to sit with it.

“Breathe.” His voice was commanding, but strained.

You took a deep breath and he felt his hand on your back rise as your chest filled with air.

The burning eased, and you relaxed against the table.

“Good girl…” He murmured and then he started to move.

The stretch was amazing, the way he filled you up had your back arching and your hands white knuckling the table. Then he started to pick up the pace, his thrusts long and deep. Pulling almost completely out of you and then going so deep you saw spots.

You pushed back into him, trying to take him deeper—if that was even possible—urging him to go faster, harder. You wanted to feel him in your diaphragm—you knew that wasn’t possible, but you didn’t particularly care—wanted him slamming into you. Over and over and over…

He grabbed your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them in one hand while the other went back to your waist, with a bruising grip. Taking away every bit of leverage you had and giving himself total control of your body.

Then he pounded into you, hard and fast until your hips were bashing up against the table.

You didn’t even notice, because his cock was hitting you so perfectly with every sharp thrust.

“Hotch!” You keened his name, the loudest sound you’d made all night.

“Mmm keep talking to me, pretty girl, I love the way your voice sounds screaming my name.” His own voice sounded different from anything you’d ever heard from him. It was carnal and lust filled, and it had you clenching around him. “Fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that this isn’t gonna last very long, sweetheart.”

You could only moan in response.

There were hands in your hair, gathering it out of your face.

You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes, but when you opened them, Emily and Spencer were sitting side by side at the table you were bent over.

“She’s too quiet…” Emily purred, a truly wicked gleam in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re fucking her hard enough.”

Hotch chuckled, the sound ran up your spine and down your limbs until your whole body tingled.

“You think she can take it?” He asked her in return.

But it was Spencer who leaned down, his lips skimming your cheek as he murmured, “You can take it, can’t you Angel?”

“God yes!” You panted, trying to look back at Hotch, though it was nearly impossible to move at all with the way he was pinning you to the table. “I can take it!”

He pushed you back down flat on the table.

“You want it harder, Pretty Girl?” He asked and there was something in his tone… something lethal.

“Yes! Please!” You sobbed.

“Tell me how bad you want it, make it pretty for me sweetheart… I wanna hear you beg.” His grip on your waist got impossibly tighter.

“I don’t want it, I need it! It feels so good, Hotch, please! I’ll be so good! I’ll lie here and take it like a good girl! Just fuck me harder, please!” You pleaded, your voice cracking as he continued to fuck into you. “I need to feel you deeper!”

He groaned, letting go of your arms and taking ahold of your hair instead.

“God, I love to hear you beg…” He growled, pulling your head back so he could lean forward and whisper in your ear. “Hold on to the table, pretty girl. You’re gonna need it.”

You gripped the sides of the table as hard as you could, bracing yourself against it.

He railed into you so hard you couldn’t remember your own name, your hips slamming into the table. His balls were slapping your clit loud enough to be heard over the sound of your cries, which were spilling from your lips with every thrust.

They were unintelligible.

Not even you knew what you were saying, but it was clear what you meant.

Don’t. Fucking. Stop.

“Fuck, she looks so beautiful like this…” Emily groaned to Spencer. “Look at her.”

“I see her… she’s fucking perfect.” Spencer replied. “Watch, she’s getting close… she makes that face every time, right before she comes.”

You were, you were so wrapped up in the moment you hadn’t even felt it creeping up on you until he brought it to your attention.

“I can feel her pussy fluttering… fuck, she’s getting tighter.” Hotch sounded nearly pained. “Come on, sweetheart, let me have it. I wanna feel you come on my cock.”

Emily reached under the table and pressed on your clit.

Your vision went white, a dull roar—like the ocean—filled your ears, your knees buckled and only the table and Hotch’s grip kept you from hitting the floor.

Your throat burned, and you knew you must’ve screamed, but you couldn’t hear a thing.

Both his hands were on your hips now, squeezing like his life depended on, anchoring you firmly to himself.

And it was a good thing too, because you thought that otherwise you might’ve floated away.

Your body was numb, gravity meant nothing to you, neither did time, or space.

Just his hands on your hips and his cock still slamming into your pussy as he fucked you through it.

Your hearing was the first sense to return to you, and you thanked the universe and every deity you knew of—just to cover all your bases—that it did.

Because the sound of Aaron Hotchner coming was something you wanted branded into your memory.

“Fuck! Such a good girl, just like that baby!” He moaned, “You feel like heaven pretty girl! I’m- God- I’m about to come—“

He pulled out of you so abruptly that you whined at the loss.

But then there were warm, wet ropes landing on your back.

You moaned, you wished you could see it, though feeling it was something you’d never forget.

“Fuck.” Hotch panted, then patted your ass gently. “You did so good for me sweetheart. That was…”

You couldn’t seem to speak yet, and your vision was still fuzzy. Your limbs weren’t yet back under your control either. So you just laid there, panting.

“Angel, are you okay?” You heard Spencer’s sweet voice murmur, you could feel his lips near your ear.

And Emily’s hand in your hair, nails brushing against your scalp soothingly.

Hotch was stroking your thigh tenderly.

Then the strangest thing happened… you started to giggle… you couldn’t help it… nothing was funny.

You were just… happy?

Overwhelmed?

Incandescent?

“Is she laughing?” Hotch asked, confusion evident in his tone.

“It would seem so…” Spencer murmured. “I think—you might have broken her.”

“No…” Emily murmured, stroking your cheek, wiping away an errant tear. “She just needs a minute, she’s euphoric.”

There! That was the word you’d been looking for! Thank you Emily, you beautiful, sexy, sapphic goddess!

“I’m gonna get something to clean her up,” you heard Hotch murmur, “I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps retreated toward the bathroom.

You felt so heavy…

You just wanted to close your eyes and go to sleep.

A warm cloth touched your back, stroking up and down, cleaning up after Hotch’s release.

Voices were murmuring quietly around you, and then you felt someone—probably Hotch—lift you from the table.

You barely got your eyes open, just enough to look around.

Spencer was gathering all your clothes, you were resting on Hotch’s lap, Emily was digging in your go-bag—she pulled from it a pair of sweats and a t-shirt—then she brought them over and started dressing you.

You didn’t know at what point she had put her clothes back on… just that she was dressed.

Spencer put your discarded clothes into your go-bag and then he came back over to sit next to Hotch on the couch. He helped Emily get your arms—which were too heavy to move still—into the sleeves of your shirt.

When they had finished dressing you, Emily sat on Hotch’s other side. He gently lowered your head to her lap, and Spencer pulled your legs up into his.

“Are you sure she’s alright?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Mm hmm…” Emily hummed, stroking your hair tenderly. “She’s just exhausted… four times… is a lot.”

Hotch took your hand in his and kissed the back of it.

That was the last thing you felt before you fell asleep.

*Four Days Later*

You’d thought that it would be awkward…

Coming back to work after fucking three of your coworkers—one of whom is your boss—at the same time.

But it wasn’t.

It was exciting.

The four of you were all smiles when you looked at each other, secret smiles that no one else was aware of, and knowing glances had been passed back and forth all morning.

Hotch had accidentally brushed across your hips with the back of his hand when he’d passed you in the bullpen.

There was a bruise there from the table where he’d fucked you, and he knew it. He was reminding you on purpose.

Spencer had been glancing at your lips all morning, a soft pink flush coloring his cheeks each time. Likely remember how he’d come down your throat.

Now, at the round table, Emily squeezed your thigh once under the table. There was a bite mark there that hadn’t yet faded. One that she’d given you.

All their attention was making you feel a bit overheated, so you pulled your French pin from the pocket of your slacks and pinned your hair into a twist.

You noticed, after you’d done so, that Hotch was giving you a very smug look. You felt like there was something else behind it, other than the obvious, but you couldn’t figure out what.

Everyone was distracted, just waiting on the last of the team—Derek and Garcia—to straggle into the room. They’d made it to the door, but Derek was on crutches so they were taking their time and everyone was fine with that.

But then Derek stopped—right behind you—and laughed.

“You uh— you got a little somethin’ somethin’ on the back of your neck, there Lil’ Mama…” He teased.

You reached up to touch your neck, confused, you looked up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“Looks like somebody had a little fun this weekend.” He joked. “That’s a pretty interesting place for a hickey…”

You paled, then blushed, immediately pulling the pin out of your hair and letting it fall down your back to cover the mark.

“Morgan.” Hotch said quietly—to hide the amusement in his tone—his eyes flicking to you briefly over the top of the file he’d been pretending to read. “Leave her alone.”

Derek threw his hands up in surrender and kept making his way to his seat.

One half of the room moved on, assuming that Hotch had just scolded Morgan out of a need for professionalism, and was choosing to cut you some slack over a mark you clearly hadn’t known existed.

But the other half knew better.

Rossi—who had returned from his book tour just the night before—stood to pull out Derek’s chair for him and took one elbow, while Penelope took the other.

While they helped him get settled, you threw Hotch a scathing look.

Because the only one who had left marks on your neck, had been him.

He was already smirking back at you, smug as shit.

Emily and Spencer were biting their lips to keep from laughing and they didn’t dare make eye contact with each other, or they were going to lose it.

You just stared a hole through the smirking Unit Chief, silently berating him for leaving a mark where you couldn’t see it.

And the bastard winked at you.

Then he cleared his throat and you let your expression go blank as the others all came to attention.

It wobbled, catching on an ashtray on the edge of the space, before it slowed from one face, to another, then—

Jack.

You would’ve thought a gaggle of crows had just found their way into the living room at the sound that erupted from the corner of the room.

Natalie and Toby lost it.

Natalie slapped the back of Jack’s head with a loud smack while Toby howled, kicking his leg higher over Jack’s thigh as if he needed the extra support to keep from falling over laughing. Jack didn’t look the least bit impressed. He sat there between them on the loveseat pushed into the corner, his absent sockets pointed blankly at the bottle, its tip completely motionless and aimed right at him.

You felt a pit form deep in your stomach.

Being locked in a closet with the resident cannibal suddenly felt a lot less like a fun party game and a lot more like a very bad idea.

People started whooping and cheering, especially Toby and Natalie, who were still losing their minds. Jack slowly stood up, shrugging both of them off like they weighed nothing. They tumbled dramatically into the arms of the loveseat, still cracking up and clutching their ribs as they reached for each other.

“Good luck, big guy,” Natalie wheezed, wiping tears from her good eye. “You’re gonna die in there.”

Toby pointed at you with one shaky hand, laughing so hard he could hardly sit up right. “Don’t let him eat you!”

You glanced around the room, hoping for even a scrap of mercy, but everyone else was either grimacing in sympathy or grinning like this was the funniest thing they’d seen all night. Jeff and Ben looked especially pleased with themselves.

Jack rounded the coffee table without so much as a word. His tall frame cast a long shadow over you as he came to a stop right in front, staring down with his blank gaze. The black voids of his eyes seemed to swallow the light from the lights overhead. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Until, “C’mon.”

You nodded quickly and pushed yourself up from the floor, legs a little unsteady. Jack turned without another word and started down the hallway. You followed a few steps behind him, fingers picking nervously at the hem of your shirt. The moment you left the living room, you heard Jeff yell over the noise, “Ben. Music.”

The music rushed in seconds later—loud, gritty rock blasting through the busted speakers twice as loud as before, the bass rattling the old floorboards under your feet.

The walk down the hall felt longer than it should have. Jack’s broad shoulders took up most of the space, his steps quiet and even like a cat. When he reached the closet door, he opened it and stepped aside.

You stopped a few feet away, looking up at him. The overhead light in the hallway cast strange shadows over his face, making the black eyesockets look even deeper.

Jack gave a nod toward the inside of the closet. One of his ears twitched against his head as he spoke, “After you.”

You swallowed, nodded back, and stepped past him. Reaching up, you tugged the pull chain. The bare bulb clicked on overhead with a hum, washing the small space in weak yellow light.

It was smaller than you remembered. Way smaller. The coats hanging on the rod ruffled against your shoulders as soon as you stepped in, and the stacks of old boxes and junk left barely enough room to stand.

Behind you, Jack had to duck. He placed one large hand on the top of the doorframe and bent down to fit through, his frame nearly filling the entire doorway before he stepped fully inside. The door pulled shut behind him.

The music outside dulled to a rumbling, muffled thump.

Now it was just the two of you.

The closet felt even tighter with Jack in it. He had to keep his head slightly lowered so it wouldn’t hit the hanging rod, his shoulders almost touching both walls. You stood with your side pressed against the coats and your back shoved against the wall, your heart beating fast as you looked up at him.

He was tall—always had been—but in the cramped little closet he seemed enormous. The light overhead cast a sickly yellow glow over him, highlighting every unsettling detail. His muted gray skin, almost ashen in places, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw. Pointed ears poked up through messy dark hair, occasionally flicking and twitching once he straightened as much as the low ceiling would allow. You’d occasionally catch the gleam of his sharp teeth between his lips or the flash of his claws when he moved.

He looked… bigger in here. Like the walls had shrunk just to make him seem more imposing.

And then there were his eyes.

Or rather, the places where his eyes should have been. Nothing but deep, endless black voids stared back at you. In the dim light, they looked infinite—like if you leaned in too close, you might fall forever into that darkness and never get out. It was unnerving. And strangely hard to look away from. Like all the awe and horror of a black hole swallowing a planet.

He was dressed simply in baggy black sweatpants and an oversized blue shirt that still somehow looked tight across his broad shoulders and chest. You think he tried to dress as normally as possible to offset everything else that was jarring about him… or maybe this was just all that fit his size.

You swallowed, pressing your back a little more into the adjacent wall.

“…Are you comfortable?” You fished for something to talk about.

Jack grunted, “Mhm.”

That was it.

You racked your brain for something—anything—to say, your fingers twisting together nervously.

“So… uh, how’s your night been going?” you tried.

“Fun.”

You nodded awkwardly. “The party got pretty wild after that fight, huh?”

He gave a nod.

You waited. Nothing else came. You think you could die.

You tried once more, voice a little more chipper. “You, um… you like playing these kinds of parties usually, or…?”

“Sure.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh and looked down at your hands. Talking to Jack had never been easy, but this felt like pulling teeth. The seven minutes had barely started, and the silence already felt suffocating. Jack remained perfectly still, towering over you, content to simply exist while you slowly unraveled under the weight of this encounter.

“So… what have you—”

“Calm down,” Jack cut in.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He let out a chuckle, the sound surprisingly warm. “Your heartbeat. It’s pounding so loud it’s giving me a headache. It’s gonna explode if you keep that up.”

Your face burned. You pressed a hand to your chest without thinking, feeling the frantic thud against your palm. The embarrassment made it worse.

“I—I can’t just make it stop,” you sounded exasperated.

“Yes, you can,” Jack replied simply. “You’re just not trying.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a short laugh. “Fuck off. Quit with the weird body shit.”

Jack tilted his head, looking at your sideways. Then, in a dry, surprisingly sarcastic tone, he said, “Oh, sorry. Didn’t realize the doctor had to cut it with the ‘weird body shit.’ How many times have you come down to my room after a mission asking for painkillers again? Oh yeah… a lot.”

You stared at him, genuinely surprised. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.

“Wait… was that sarcasm? From you?”

Jack’s shoulders moved in a small shrug, the corners of his mouth pushing up just a bit.

“I have layers,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t know you could be funny.”

Jack hummed. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

You shrug, picking at your fingers as you looked at the ground. “Maybe it’s because you’re always so quiet. People can get intimidated.”

“People are usually scared of me. Easier to stay quiet.”

The words were simple, matter-of-fact, but they landed with a strange weight in your chest that made you look back up at him.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said after a beat. It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t entirely false either.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he chuckled.

You laughed despite yourself, the sound a little nervous but genuine. “Okay, maybe a little. But not… not like that. Not the way people usually are.”

He didn’t respond right away. The music outside pulsed dully through the walls, the bass vibrating faintly under your feet. Jack shifted his stance, trying to get a little more comfortable in the tiny space, and ended up closer to you than before. The warmth coming off him was noticeable.

“You’re shaking a bit,” he said quietly.

You hadn’t even noticed. You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to play it off. “It’s cold in here.” But that was a lie. If anything, it was just below sweltering.

“Semantics.” Jack hummed, clearly not believing you. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the wall, giving you a little more room—or at least trying to.

It got quiet again.

For nearly a full minute, the only sounds were the muffled thump of music outside and the occasional creak of the old floorboards whenever one of you shifted. Your mind wandered to the living room—wondering what kind of shit was unfolding now, who was winning at whatever stupid game they’d moved on to, whether Toby and Natalie were still laughing their heads off about you and Jack being stuck in here together or if someone else had voiced their opinions on it.

Then Jack spoke very matter-of-factly. “See? There it goes.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your heart,” he said. “It’s calm now. You did it.”

You let out a small breath, almost laughing. “Ah… I didn’t really try to do it, though. It just… happened on its own.”

Jack huffed, he almost sounded amused. “Semantics.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t just say ‘semantics’ every time I make a point.”

“I can,” he replied, completely deadpan. “And I will.”

“Jack.”

“Semantics.”

“Jack.”

“Semantics.”

“This is very demeaning, y’know.”

“Semantics.”

You laughed at him. You were about to tease him again when Jack suddenly let out a chuckle—wait, a laugh? Not the short, dry sound he usually made with little amusement, but something warmer that bubbled up and out of his chest. His mouth curved into a wide, toothy grin, his sharp teeth gleaming like little pearls. His eyelids squeezed shut over his sockets as he laughed, and you found the sight so odd, like pulling a curtain over some void and trying to pretend it wasn’t there.

The sight caught you completely off guard. You’d never seen him smile like that—so open and genuine, almost boyish. It made something flutter oddly in your chest.

You laughed with him before you could stop yourself, surprised and delighted all at once. “What? What’s so funny?”

Jack just shook his head, still smiling big. “Nothing. You’re just… funny.”

You stared at him for a second, still processing the expression on his face. Then the question slipped out before you could think better of it.

“Jack… are you drunk?”

It was quiet again for a beat, until Jack let out a deep chuckle. The sound started delighted but quickly turned sheepish when you asked.

“No way,” you gawked, eyes wide.

Jack shrugged one broad shoulder. “Is it so obvious?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “No, it’s just… funny. This is probably the most I’ve ever heard you talk. And you’re being sarcastic? I thought, either that or you’re tripping.”

He laughed again and you couldn’t help but laugh with him, a little stunned. You’d never seen him like this.

“I barely even saw you drink tonight,” you added, tilting your head. “How did you manage that?”

Jack didn’t answer right away. Instead, that smile on his face shifted from one cheek to the other as he looked down at you. Something about the way he was watching you made your stomach flip with nerves again.

Then, without a word, he lifted his hands.

You watched, frozen, as his large gray hands curled under the hem of his baggy shirt. He slowly pulled it up, just high enough to expose his midsection. Your eyes widened.

God, he was built. Thick, solid muscle sat under muted gray skin, abs clearly defined and right above a deep v-line etched into his just-visible pelvis. A dark trail of hair disappeared down into the waistband of his sweatpants. You felt a little dizzy just looking at him.

But then your gaze caught on something much brighter.

Tucked neatly into the waistband of his sweatpants, wrapped all the way around his torso like some ridiculous colorful bandolier, were about two handfuls of little 99 brand alcohol shooters. Tiny bottles in every color—cherry red, lime green, coconut, orange, grape—all strapped against his skin, hidden right under his shirt.

You gawked at it.

Jack glanced down at himself, then back at you, still holding his shirt up. He must have noticed you staring at the colorful little bottles strapped around his waist, because he let out a low huff of a laugh and explained, “Toby and Nat ransacked a gas station right before the party started. They stole a whole bunch of these and hid them on me. Said it was the best way to keep them from getting passed around.”

You blinked, connecting the dots. “So that’s why you three have been glued together all night.

Jack gave a small nod. “They keep sneaking me into corners or bedrooms so nobody gets nosy and asks for any. Works pretty well.”

That also explained why Toby and Natalie had been so cuddly and hysterical—they were definitely beyond wasted by now.

“There were a lot more two hours ago,” Jack added, almost wistful.

Your eyes kept drifting between the little shooters and the hard planes of his torso, the contrast between the silly colorful bottles and his gray, muscled skin making your brain fizzle out a little.

Jack huffed. “Your heart’s loud again.”

You startled, pressing a hand to your chest like that would somehow quiet it. “Sorry. I’m trying.”

He reached down and plucked one of the shooters from his waistband—a bright cherry red one. The tiny bottle looked comically small in his large, clawed hand. He held it out toward you.

You waved him off. “I’ve had enough tonight, really.”

Jack’s mouth curved into a small, toothy smile. “As your doctor,” he said, deadpan, “it’s in your best interest that you drink this.”

You let out a surprised laugh. “As my doctor?”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, all gravely, and dark, and way more effective than it had any right to be. Every hair on your body stood on end.

“Drink it,” he said, quieter this time, but no less daunting.

You swallowed, took the little bottle from his hand, and twisted the cap off. It snapped open with a tiny clicks. You brought it to your lips and downed it in one go.

It burned.

God, it burned—like liquid fire sliding down your throat, sharp and sweet and way too strong. You winced, your eyes watering as the intense wave of alcohol hit your system. You hissed sharply as it went down, immediately tossing the empty shooter to the floor. “Jesus Christ, Jack—that tastes like rubbing alcohol.”

Jack laughed, then reached down and plucked a coconut-flavored one from his waistband, twisted the cap off, and downed it in one smooth motion. His pointed ears pressed back against his head as he swallowed, and then—to your viewing pleasure—three slick, dark tongues slipped out from between his sharp teeth. They curled around his lips, cleaning what he missed before disappearing again.

You stared, a little dazed.

The words left your mouth before your brain could convince yourself that you shouldn’t say anything.

“…Do things taste better with three tongues?”

Jack paused, considering the question like it was a serious inquiry. Then he shrugged one broad shoulder.

“It feels more intense,” he said plainly. “Like the taste is tripled. Overwhelms your senses more.”

Your heart skipped a beat in your chest.

Jack’s head tilted, his ears twitching a couple times. He must have heard it, because his gaze stayed fixed on you for a long second.

“…Can I taste yours?” he asked, just barely grumbling.

You blinked. “I already drank it all.”

Jack’s mouth curved into a wonky, toothy grin. The realization hit you just as the alcohol did.

Oh.

The buzz finally crashed over you in a warm, dizzy wave. Your heartbeat suddenly felt loud in your own ears, muffled like the music outside. You wondered if this was what Jack always heard when he was around people—that constant, frantic drumming. It made you wonder what else he could hear.

He shifted his weight onto the leg closest to you, leaning in until the space between you felt almost nonexistent. His shadow fell over you immediately like a stormcloud.

“You can taste mine too,” he purred.

You opened your mouth to say something—“Um—”—but your foot caught the edge of a box next to you. You stumbled, your balance completely gone.

Jack moved faster than you could see.

One strong arm hooked under your side and hauled you upright before you could even gasp, pulling you flush against his chest. Your hands instinctively grabbed onto his arms, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sorry—” you started, breathless.

Jack just grumbled. His hands settled heavy on your hips, holding you steady as he leaned down over you, his face hovering just above yours. The closeness made your heart stutter all over again.

You looked up at him, still gripping his arms. “I’m not a good kisser,” you whispered, pulling uselessly at straws to not make this seem awkward.

Jack’s response was immediate and blunt.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Open your mouth.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine. You tilted your face up obediently, lips parting.

Jack leaned in closer. His own lips parted, and three slick, warm tongues slid out from between his sharp teeth. They brushed your lips first—tasting the area—before one of them pressed forward and licked into your lips and across your tongue.

Then he kissed you.

It was overwhelming.

The three tongues moved with a mind of their own, sliding against yours, curling around it, exploring every inch of  your mouth like they were starving for the taste of you. One licked along the roof of your mouth while another tangled with your tongue, the third teasing the space inbetween. The sensation was too much and not enough all at once, your hands moving up his arms to his shoulders to pull him closer.

A soft, surprised sound escaped you, muffled against his mouth. Jack answered with a low rumble in his chest, one hand sliding up your back to keep you pressed close while the other stayed firm on your hip.

He kissed like he did everything else—completely consuming.

You tasted coconut.

Jack pressed you back until your shoulder blades met the wall, one large hand planting beside your head while the other gripped your hip and pulled your lower body forward. The angle made your back arch slightly toward him. Then his hips rolled forward, and you felt the unmistakable, heavy shape of him pressing against your hip through his sweatpants.

You gasped sharply into his mouth and pushed weakly at his chest. “Sorry—” he slurred through a mouthful of you.

But Jack only tightened his grip on your hip and tugged you closer, grinding you against him with all the lack of resistance he had. His three tongues never stopped moving, overwhelming as they curled around yours and licked along the roof of your mouth, teasing the inside of your cheeks. You tried to kiss him back the best you could, but it was hard to keep up. Your breathing quickly turned shallow, little gasps and whimpers slipping out between the messy slide of tongues.

You’d never seen Jack like this.

He was usually so quiet, so reserved and mysterious. But right now he was surprisingly blunt, almost greedy with the things he was saying. This was probably the most you’d ever heard him talk, and you couldn’t get enough of it. The low growls, the occasional muttered curse, the way his voice dropped when he felt you react to him… it was doing dangerous things to your buzzed head.

You found yourself getting lost in those endless black voids where his eyes should be. The anxiety and embarrassment that had been clawing at your chest slowly melted away, like he was draining it out of you with every pass of his tongues and every roll of his hips.

Jack pulled back just enough to speak against your lips.

“Slow your breathing down,” he murmured, almost teasing you. One of his tongues slid across your bottom lip. “Still nervous?”

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

“A little,” you admitted. Then, quieter, “Don’t stop.”

Jack made a deep, pleased sound in the back of his throat. His hand on your hip squeezed harder as he leaned back in, tongues sliding back into your mouth with renewed hunger. His hips pressed forward again, letting you feel just how hard he was against you. His lips eventually left yours, trailing slowly across your cheek, then down to your jaw. When they reached your neck, he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss there before dragging one of his tongues along your skin. The sensation made you shiver.

His hand left the wall and came up to the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair as he firmly tilted your head to the side, giving himself more room. He licked wet, warm stripes up the side of your neck, then sucked just below your ear.

You gasped, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders. A nervous flutter shot through your chest as the reality of who he was hit you again.

“…Jack,” you breathed, half-joking but not entirely, “are you gonna eat me?”

He paused, his lips still pressed against your neck, before he begins chuckling against you.

“If you’ll let me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath causing goosebumps to rise across your shoulders. Your knees went weak instantly. A rush of heat flooded through you so fast it made you dizzy.

Jack must have felt it, because he straightened up, pulling back just enough to look down at you. One of his hands stayed on your hip, steadying you.

“You have no idea how brilliant your anatomy is,” he said plainly, as if he was just stating a fact. “I don’t mean to be crude… but your structure is perfect. I could map every inch of you with my eyes closed.”

You let out a startled laugh, your cheeks burning. The words were grotesque and strangely flattering at the same time.

“You can’t even see anyway,” you pointed out, still laughing a little. “Doesn’t that already mean you’re doing it with your eyes closed?”

“Kinda. It’s more like I’m looking through layers of thick film. Everything’s… foggy. I don’t understand it any better than you do. I stopped questioning how my body works a long time ago.”

You grinned, feeling bolder. “I don’t think you could actually do it without seeing. So what if you went to Yale, I’m still not that impressed with you.”

Jack’s hand lifted from the wall and reached above his head, his fingers finding the dangling pull chain of the overhead bulb.

You glanced up. “What are you doing?”

“So you know I’m not cheating,” he said simply.

He gave the chain a tug.

Click.

The light went out.

The closet plunged into near-total darkness, save for the thin sliver of hallway light bleeding in from under the door. For a second, your eyes struggled to adjust. And then you saw him.

In the dark, Jack was… horrifying.

The little light from beneath the door only barely outlined his silhouette, but it was enough. He looked like something that had crawled out of the woods at night—like something that you’d see in a horror movie. You understood his reputation, the stories you’ve heard from others about the things they witnessed the demon do, but you’d never faced the reality of it until now—never gotten a full picture of what he really was. His gray skin seemed to drink in what little light there was. The sharp points of his ears angled and swiveled to bumps and creaks all around. His claws curled at his sides, clenching the air as his shoulders slumped to account for the little space, his frame hanging over you. And those empty black sockets… they looked like holes punched straight through the sky. Bottomless. Ancient. You think they’d drop off like a cliff if you leaned any closer.

If you were anyone else, anywhere else—especially in the woods at night—you would’ve screamed and ran.

But you weren’t. Instead, you found yourself leaning closer.

Jack stepped in, pulling you against him with one arm around your waist. His mouth found your neck again, hot and wet as he kissed and licked along the flushed skin.

Then he began to map you. His fingers and lips moved carefully along your skin, until he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear.

“This is your Sternocleidomastoid,” he murmured against your skin, His clawed fingers traced the muscle on the other side of your neck, following the muscles shape. “Runs from here… to here.”

He dragged his mouth lower, his lips peppering your collarbone as his fingers followed.

“Clavicle,” he said, pressing lightly on the bone. “Deltoid…” His hand slid over your shoulder, squeezing the thick muscle there. “You hold so much tension right here.”

You shivered, little gasps and sighs as he massaged and traced areas. He had to maneuver you a bit, tugging you closer to his chest as he leaned down further. His fingers trailed down your side, his digits finding their way under your shirt until you felt them along your goosebumped skin. “External oblique…” His hand slid behind your back. “Latissimus dorsi…” Another kiss, lower this time, his teeth nipping as he moved. “You’re so well-built. Everything fits together so nicely.”

Jack’s hand slid down your arm until he caught your wrist. He lifted it and pressed a kiss to the thin skin on the inside, right where your pulse beat frantically.

“Right here,” he kissed it once more. “This vein runs straight to your heart.”

You thought it embarrassing how much you were shivering.

Then he moved his head lower, trailing his mouth down to your chest. He kissed you through your shirt, before slipping his hand from your back to your abdomen under your shirt. You felt shaky and exposed and way too vulnerable.

Jack’s claws curled and pressed in just a fraction at one specific point on your side, the sharp tips teetering on the idea of pressing further.

“This is your spleen,” he said with a little smile in his voice. “If I pressed any harder… I could puncture it. You’d bleed out quickly internally. It’d be so messy.”

He let the words settle in your head.

“Isn’t that interesting?” he whispered. “One little slip… and it could all be over.”

Anxiety twisted sharply in your stomach. But underneath it, something much darker and hotter stirred. Excitement. A sick, dizzy kind of thrill that made your thighs press together.

Jack noticed, because why-fucking-wouldn’t he? His claws dragged down your skin as his hand dipped lower, slipping toward the waistband of your pants. You grabbed his shoulders tightly.

“Wait—Jack, we don’t have much time,” you warned, looking to the door. “It’s gotta be almost seven minutes.”

He stopped for a second, only to chuckle to himself and lean back in, pushing a kiss against your jaw. Then, “I don’t think you really care,” he smiled. “Your body sure doesn’t.”

You whined as Jack’s hands roamed down your hips and around to your lower back, pulling you closer with a coaxing tug that said ‘I wasn’t really asking’. The heat of his palms bled through your clothes, making your skin prickle and scorch in spots.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, your nerves spiking to an all time high. “We can’t do this here—”

Jack just grinned at you. “It’s not me you’re gonna have to worry about getting us caught.”

You didn’t have time to ask what he meant.

His hands slid down and grabbed your ass, squeezing firmly. You squeaked, your hips jerking forward as you gripped the front of his shirt like a vice. Jack let out a satisfied noise and moved you exactly how he wanted—strong enough that you couldn’t have resisted even if you tried.

He spun you slightly, pressing your back more firmly against the wall as his fingers worked open the button and zipper of your jeans. The fabric gave way easily under his hands, the hem of your underwear peaking through the now-open folds. With one smooth tug, he shoved your jeans down your hips, letting them bunch around your thighs. The cool air hit your exposed skin and you shivered, trying to catch the breath that was so suddenly knocked out of you. Jack stood as straight as he could and examined his meal.

“Ah… fuck—just be fast, please,” you hissed.

Jack stood as tall as the low ceiling would allow, looking down at you by the bridge of his nose. And as if you couldn’t feel any smaller, he chuckled at you.

“You sure did give in quickly,” he hummed with satisfaction.

Embarrassment flooded your face. You squirmed against the wall, refusing to meet the place where his eyes should be. “Shut up and get on with it,” you grumbled, heat crawling up your neck.

Jack leaned in closer, planting one large hand on the wall beside your head. His other hand trailed down your side, then to your hip, before his fingertips drug over your stomach until they pressed firmly just above your pelvis. You tensed. Your hips tilted forward instinctively, fighting against the awkward bunch of your jeans still caught around your thighs.

His hand continued lower, stopping just above your clit, his palm hovering over the damp fabric of your panties. He leaned down until his mouth brushed your ear. “You’re in no place to get bossy right now,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear.

Then he pressed one thick finger between your folds, right over your soaked panties. The fabric clung to you, and the moment his finger slid along your slit, it came away slick with your arousal. Jack kissed the edge of your jaw, peppering your skin, before pulling back just enough to look down between your bodies. A pleased sound escaped him.

“Well… this is a nice surprise,” and you could practically hear how pleased he was with himself.

You groaned in embarrassment and wrapped your arms tightly around his broad shoulders, burying your burning face into the side of his neck instead of letting him see you. His shirt smelled so strongly of his warm, crisp scent that it made you dizzy, but you’d rather hide from his taunting than pretend like it wasn’t turning you on something terrible. He could at least whisper it in your ear seductively, like a gentleman.

Jack’s finger continued rubbing exploratory circles over your clit, testing different pressures and angles to see how your body reacted. Every time he found a spot that made your hips roll or your breath punch out of you, he lingered there.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured, trying to sound plain, but the thrill in his voice gave away how much he was enjoying this. “Look at you… getting even wetter every time I touch you.”

“Shut up,” you whined, the words muffled against his shoulder.

“But I like it,” he hummed softly. “I like how your body tells me what you won’t.”

“Because you’d tease me,” you tried not to sound as pathetic as you felt.

Jack’s voice felt like somebody dragging a hot brand across your skin. “But you’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words got stuck somewhere between your pride and the heat scorching low in your belly.

Jack made a hum of acknowledgement, like he’d expected exactly that. His finger slipped beneath the edge of your panties, tugging the damp fabric to the side and exposing you to the air. You gripped him tighter, fearing if you’d let go you’d fall off the earth somehow.

He teased you—because why-fucking-wouldn’t he—dragging the pad of his finger along your folds, then higher up your inner thigh, then back again. But all so slow. He was enjoying how you tried (and failed) to stay still and not look desperate, your hips following wherever you felt his warm digits.

You pinched his shoulder in frustration.

Jack pinched you back, right on your upper thigh, “Impatient.”

“We don’t have time,” you nearly growled.

“Alright, alright,” he cooed.

Just as Jack’s fingers started honing toward your entrance, right when you thought he was finally going to give you what you wanted, you heard it. Heavy footsteps thumping down the hallway toward the two of you.

Your eyes flew open. Panic shot through you like ice water being poured over your head. You shoved at his chest, stumbling frantically, “Jack— I told you—”

But he didn’t stop.

Jack straightened up slightly, looking down at you like he always fucking did. His face was unreadable, but the corner of his mouth pulled up like he was amused. You tried to push his hand away, but he simply pressed forward, two thick fingers now sliding through your soaked folds and teasing at your entrance again.

“Jack—” you whisper-yelled, thinking maybe he thought you were still playing around, “we’re going to get caught—”

The footsteps grew louder, right outside the door now. Voices and laughter followed. But Jack brought his free hand up to his mouth in a little “shhh” motion, his pointer finger pressing to his lips. Then, without missing a beat, he reached beside him with that same hand and cracked the closet door open just an inch, enough for his face and upper torso to be visible while the rest of you stayed hidden against the wall and him.

Natalie and Toby’s voices burst through immediately.

“J!” Natalie called, clearly still drunk and delighted if the swimminess of her voice was any idea. “Time’s uuuup.”

Toby was laughing so hard he could barely speak, although nothing was really happening at the moment to warrant all the hysterics. “Is the poor thing still—HA—alive?”

But even still, Jack didn’t stop.

The tip of one thick finger pushed against your entrance, and before you could make a move to stop him, it pushed slowly into your aching cunt, stretching you open as you stood there, trapped between the wall and his body. You slapped a hand over your mouth instantly, eyes wide with panic and overwhelming pleasure as he sank the finger deeper, curling it lazily against your walls.

“Yeah,” Jack answered them, his voice back to its monotonous tone. “Alive. Barely.”

You clapped your hand over your mouth as his finger pumped in and out slowly, slick sounds barely masked by the loud music still blasting from the living room and their talking. Your knees trembled. Jack shifted his weight, pressing you harder against the wall to keep you upright while he casually chatted with his friends. You could see him trying to hold back a smile.

You couldn’t see Nat and Toby, but you assumed they were cheesing and standing on their tip-toes to try and get a view over Jack’s shoulder. “You didn’t actually bite ‘em, did you?”

Jack’s thumb found your clit just as a second finger tried to push in to join the first, the large digits catching on your entrance. It took shifting your hips, but they both pushed in. You could feel yourself clenching around him, having to bite down on your own hand to stay quiet.

“Not yet,” Jack finally grinned, his sharp teeth peeking out just as he curled his knuckles and massaged the inner wall of your cunt. “You shouldn’t eat big meals all at once.”

Toby wheezed with laughter. “You’re so w-weird, man. Hurry up and come out, we’re gonna d-do another round soon.”

Jack shifted his arm closer to your pelvis, the palm of his hand finding a home snug against your clit as he rubbed, curling his fingers just enough inside you to make small noises fight to escape.

“We’ll be out in a second,” Jack grinned. “We’re chatting.” The word alone sounded weird coming from his mouth, and Natalie sure didn’t miss it.

Natalie let out a loud, obnoxious laugh and slapped the wall on the other side of your head, making you jump. Jack acted like it was him adjusting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His fingers kept moving between your legs, massaging your soaked cunt as your slick dripped down over his knuckles. Your panties were absolutely ruined and you knew it.

He ignored her hysterics, turning his attention to Toby instead. “Hey. Remember those cases of beer you two stole? They’re still upstairs. Don’t forget them.”

It was like a starter pistol. Toby and Natalie immediately perked up.

“Oh shit, you’re r-right!” Toby shouted, already turning away. “We’re geniuses!”

Natalie cackled. “Jack, you’re a fucking genius. We’ll start another game! Take your time in there, you twoooo.”

Jack gave a small nod. “Start without us. We’ll be there soon.”

You heard their footsteps retreating down the hall, loud and clumsy with excitement, and maybe the sound of them shoving each other against the walls as they left. The second they were far enough away, Jack pulled the closet door shut, plunging you both back into near-darkness.

You immediately yanked your hand off your mouth.

“You asshole,” you hissed, smacking his chest. “I told you—I fucking told you—”

Jack just laughed, punctuating it as he curled his fingers deeper inside you. He bumped them, circling that perfect spot that made the words fizzle from your mouth.

“Did you hear that?” he leaned down next to your ear again. “They said we could take all the time we need.”

You gawked up at him, jaw dropping open in disbelief, but any protest died the moment he thrust his fingers harder, curling them just right until you felt a deep pressure in your gut. Your knees buckled. You tried to cover your mouth again, but the demon pulled your hand away.

“Jack—” you whimpered, pressing your head back against the wall to try and get some air.

He hummed in satisfaction, watching as he pumped his knuckles in and out, and in and out. “That’s what I thought,” he whispered, nipping at your earlobe.

Just when you were about to give in, when your nerves finally melted under the heat of his touch, Jack easily pulled his fingers out of you.

You gawked at him, all breathless and frustrated. “You’re such an asshole.”

He just kept grinning. “For somebody who keeps saying we shouldn’t be doing this… you sure do get upset when I stop giving you what you want.”

Your face burned with embarrassment. Before you could snap back at him, his hands moved to your jeans, still bunched around your thighs. He tugged them down with ease, and you helped him by shimmying and kicking them off when they caught around your sneakers. They landed in a heap somewhere beside you. Then his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your panties. He snapped the thin fabric against your hip, making you hiss, before dragging them down your legs. You started babbling nervously, words tumbling out without thought.

“Jack—wait, this is—this is bad—we’re gonna get caught, someone’s gonna come back and—oh my god—”

Either he didn’t hear you or he didn’t care. Your panties slid down your thighs and pooled at your ankles. You managed to kick one foot free, but the other stayed tangled as Jack placed one large hand on the inside of your thigh and pushed your legs further apart. You tried not to shiver—out of nervousness or excitement, you weren’t sure—but you gripped the bottom of your shirt like it could somehow hide you. You felt so unbearably exposed, just standing there half-naked like there weren’t people just feet away outside.

“You smell so fucking good,” he murmured. “So sweet.”

“Jack…”

“I’ve wanted to taste you for a long time,” he admitted. “Now I finally get to.”

Jack dropped to his knees in front of you.

The floorboards creaked under his weight, and you felt it in your bones—that heavy, solid presence suddenly lower, looking up at you from the most beautiful angle you think you’d ever seen. It was a terrifyingly beautiful sight. He was so tall that even on his knees he took up most of the space, his broad shoulders sitting at your waist-height. His large hands came up to grip your thighs, thumbs rubbing from your hips down toward your knees, coaxing your legs further apart. You felt like you could crawl up the wall from pure nervousness as he leaned in closer.

He started soft.

Warm lips pressed to your hip, then lower to your pelvis, peppering slow, open-mouthed kisses across every inch of soft skin he could reach. His breath was hot against you. When he finally settled fully between your thighs, his face hovered right in front of your cunt. You could feel him grinning—you could feel it.

You reached down with shaky hands, grabbing fistfuls of his messy hair to steady yourself. “Jack… please be easy,” you whispered.

He tilted his head up. “What are you so afraid of?” His lips brushed your inner thigh as he spoke, and you had to swallow your nerves.

“Your teeth…”

Jack pulled back just enough to show them off—the sharp, gleaming points smiling up at you. Then, just to be funny, he snapped his teeth together right in front of your cunt, the clack making you jump.

He chuckled. “You’re alright. I won’t hurt you.”

Before you could say anything else, Jack leaned in fully. He pressed a soft kiss just above your clit, his nose brushing against your skin. Then his mouth disappeared between your legs.

“I won’t hurt you a bit.”

The first touch of his tongue made you melt.

One thick, warm, wet tongue pushed slowly between your folds, dragging up through your slick heat and soaking in the taste. The feeling was overwhelming—hotter and more intense than you expected. He groaned at the first taste, the vibration rolling straight through your core as he licked again, like he was tasting something he’d been starving for.

Your grip tightened in his hair, a broken whimper slipping from your lips as your head fell back against the wall.

Jack’s hands slid around the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he angled your hips forward, opening you up even more for him. He pressed his face deeper between your legs and licked a broad stripe through your folds, dragging the flat of his warm tongue right over your clit.

It felt like a thick, wet tentacle sliding against you, like it had a mind of its own. His spit coated your cunt in a ridiculous amount, dripping down your thighs and making everything messy and obscene. For someone so stoic and quiet in his everyday, Jack was suddenly a mouthful of grunts and hungry groans against your skin. His pointed ears fluttered against the sides of his head with every lick, and his claws tugged and gripped against your thighs like he couldn’t pull you close enough.

You felt your resolve completely dissolve.

Your bones went soft, your legs relaxing as you started grinding against his tongue, chasing the pleasure with desperate rolls of your hips. Jack groaned deeply in response like he was approving the movements.

“Mhhm…” you whimpered, trying to curb your embarrassment to let him hear you. “Feels so good, Jack… feels really good—”

He made an appreciative sound and nudged the tip of his tongue against your entrance. It took some effort, but his fingers had done most of the hard work of stretching you, so your eyes rolled deliciously as his tongue breached your entrance and nudged its way inside your cunt. His tongue was longer and thicker than his fingers had been. It slid into your soaked heat with ease, warm and gummy from how wet you already were, reaching deeper than anything had before. You whined loudly, your hips jerking as he began to fuck you with it with thrusts that curled and stroked inside you.

Jack groaned as your hands gripped his messy hair, his eyelids slowly closing over those dark abysses you keep getting lost in.

But Jack was completely lost in you—eating you like a starving man, grunting and growling against your cunt while his claws dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, holding you open for his mouth. Every time you clenched around his tongue he made a pleased noise and pushed even deeper than before.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words died on your tongue the moment you felt it. A second tongue nudged insistently against your full entrance, probing and pushing alongside the first. It tried to slip in, but the angle was tight. You shifted your hips, trying to help, but Jack made an impatient growl and moved.

One of his large hands slid down the back of your thigh, hooked under your knee, and lifted it smoothly. He pushed your leg up and outward, spreading you open even wider before resting your knee over his shoulder. The new position left you imbalanced, and you had to halfway hold onto the wall and him for support.

But that was all the room he needed.

The second tongue nestled in alongside the first with a lewd plunge. You groaned loudly, your head falling to your shoulder as you felt too dazed to stand up straight. Two thick, warm tongues filled your cunt, pushing and pulling, curling and stroking against your walls in a messy, uncoordinated rhythm that somehow felt even better because of it.

“Fuck—Jack—” you whimpered, your voice breaking on every word.

He groaned in response, letting you know it felt good for him too. His claws dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as he held your leg in place beside his head. The sensation was insane. You felt so impossibly full, every inch of your cunt being claimed by him. Spit and your own wetness dripped down your thighs and his chin as his tongues worked deeper, twisting and exploring like they were trying to map every part of you from the inside.

You felt it before you could even process it—before you’d even had time to process the second one—a third tongue slipped from between his lips, sliding wetly between the other two. It nudged right up against your swollen clit, pressing and rubbing torturously well.

A violent shiver ripped through you. Your hands flew from his hair to his ears, your fingers curling around the pointed tips to get some semblance of stability.

Jack shuddered. His whole body jolted like he’d been shocked. His ears pinned flat against his head for a second before flicking wildly under your touch. The reaction was so sudden and strong that you both froze for half a heartbeat.

Then, cautiously, you started rubbing them.

Your thumbs stroked over the sensitive tips and along the soft lobes, gently feeling his cat-like ears. He tried his best to keep licking you, but kept getting caught on stiff moans.

“Jack…” you gasped. “Umm… Does that feel good?”

He nodded against you, jaw and chin bumping messily into your soaked folds. He was taking deep, loud breaths through his nose, exhaling against you. Then the most unexpected sound rumbled out of his chest.

A low, rumbling purr.

At first you thought it was just your own nerves buzzing in your head, but no—you could feel it. The vibration rolled through his chest and straight into your bones, all warm and constant, making your toes curl and your eyes flutter shut.

“Oh my god—” you moaned, your mouth falling open as the sensations intensified. It felt obscene, like his entire body was vibrating against your most sensitive places and melting your mind.

Jack was losing himself, too. His purring grew louder, deeper, as you kept stroking and rubbing his ears. His tongues moved with renewed hunger—two thrusting and curling inside you while the third flicked and sucked messily at your clit. It seemed as if he was wholly content on drowning himself in you. 

You were babbling now, open-mouthed and shameless. “Fuck—Jack, that feels—hah—oh god—I can’t—please—”

The pressure built fast—too fast. A sudden, overwhelming wave of bliss crashed over you, pulling a sharp gasp from your throat.

“Jack—Jack, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, scrambling to hold him tighter.

His eyelids fluttered open halfway, empty eyesockets staring up at you while you trembled. You got lost staring into them, your head spinning to a heap of mush as you felt pleasure running your veins. That look alone pushed you over the edge.

You came so miserably hard.

Your whole body seized up, thighs shaking violently around his head as pleasure ripped through you in crashing waves. You clenched desperately around his tongues, moaning loud and shamelessly as your orgasm flooded his mouth. Jack groaned at the beginning of the taste, your slick flooding his senses so quickly it made him just as delirious as you.

His tongues stiffened inside you, pressing and nudging firmly against your rapidly clenching walls, milking every last pulse of pleasure as he sucked greedily on your clit. His nose stayed crammed tight against you, his lips sealing around you as he swallowed again and again, drinking everything you so graciously were giving him.

You were loud at first—broken moans and desperate praises spilling from your lips without filter. But as the peak began to fade, it melted into soft, mewled whines and shaky groans. Your orgasm turned into a rippling, lingering current deep in your gut, sending aftershocks through your body that made your legs twitch and your hips jerk weakly against his face.

With some effort, Jack began to tug his tongues from your body one at a time, the thick muscles sliding out of you, and a mess of slick followed. Jack made sure to lick it all up, his tongues running through your folds once more, savoring every twitch and flutter like he couldn’t bear to pull away.

You gasped sharply, everything suddenly feeling way too oversensitive.

“Jack—wait, it’s too much,” your voice was hoarse. “Too sensitive—”

He made a reluctant sound but slowly retreated, his tongues slipping back into his mouth like it pained him to do so. He sat back on his knees, looking up at you. His chin and mouth were glistening with a messy mix of his spit and your slick, and those black voids stared at you with unmistakable longing.

The moment he pulled away, the leg you still had planted on the floor buckled. You slid down the wall with a surprised yelp, landing in a boneless heap in front of him. Your ankle was still hooked over his shoulder, leaving you sprawled and openly exposed across his lap.

Jack caught you instantly though, his strong hands bracing your waist so you didn’t hit the floor too hard. You panted quickly, your chest billowing up and down as you tried to catch your breath. It felt like your whole body was buzzing.

Before you could even try to sit up, Jack gripped the ankle resting on his shoulder and tugged upward. You were pulled further down until your ass rested on top of his knees, your shoulders braced against the baseboards behind you. You felt like you were folded in half. You tried to scramble upright, feeling awkward, but Jack was already catching your other leg—the one with your panties still dangling uselessly from the ankle—and lifted it smoothly onto his opposite shoulder.

“More,” he grumbled.

Your stomach flipped with panic.

“No, no, no—wait, I need a minute,” you babbled through deep breaths of air, throwing your hands up. “I can’t—you’re too much, I need to breathe—just for a second—”

But he wasn’t listening. His focus had narrowed completely. Those endless black sockets were fixed between your legs with single-minded hunger.

“I’m sorry,” was all the response you got.

“Jack—”

He handled you like you weighed nothing.

His hands gripped your hips firmly and pulled your lower half upward in one smooth motion. Your knees hooked over his broad shoulders as your head and shoulder blades slid and landed against the floor. Your body folded almost in half, completely upside down, your shirt riding up to expose your stomach and chest. His large arms wrapped around your torso, strong hands gripping the soft flesh of your sides, holding you securely in place so you couldn’t even squirm out of it if you wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, but there was no real remorse in it. If anything, he just sounded excited. “You just taste so fucking good… I need you to cum again. Just a little more. Then I’ll be done.”

Your head was already spinning from the rush of blood, so you had no fight in your body or your words. You gripped his arms tightly, trying to brace yourself.

“Let’s just go to my room,” you fussed, trying to get him to just take a second. “It’s way too cramped in here, we can’t—”

But every protest died on your tongue the instant you felt it.

A familiar sensation dragged up through your soaked folds in a broad, wet lick. Your legs fell open limply over his shoulders as a broken moan wailed from your throat. The new angle gave him the perfect access, angling you however he wanted.

“Oh god…”

Jack moaned as he licked again, savoring every inch of you like he couldn’t get enough. His arms tightened around your torso, pulling your hips up and against his hungry mouth.

“Fuck…” he rasped against your cunt. “Do you even know… mhnnn… how good you taste?”

Jack’s eyelids fluttered shut again, the black voids disappearing as he focused entirely on you.

Then you saw it—the absolute horror and fascination of his other two tongues slipping out from between his lips to join the one. They were sickly blue-black, glistening and drooling with spit, long and monstrously thick. They dangled for a moment before curling forward, licking up the insides of your thighs until they finally converged, forking together right at your entrance.

Through a mouthful of his own tongues, Jack mumbled against your cunt, “Jus’ hang on to me.”

You dug your nails into his forearms, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps as the three tips pressed against your pulsing entrance at once. Your hips jerked, thighs instinctively trying to clamp shut around his head, but Jack held you firmly in place. It took a little work—a slight shift of your hips, a change of the angle—but eventually, the three tongues wiggled their way inside you together.

The stretch was impossible.

You let out a keening moan as your walls were forced open wider than they’d ever been, the bulbous, wet muscles filling you as completely as they could reach. No inch of room was left untouched. The sensation of burning was so intensely good that your mind went fuzzy at the edges. Your body went limp and mushy in his hold, your legs shaking helplessly over his shoulders as he sank all three tongues as deep as they could go.

Jack groaned loudly into you, the sound vibrating through your core as he began to move them, greedy thrusts and curls that rubbed against every sensitive spot inside you at once. Spit and your own arousal dripped messily down your ass and stomach as he practically fucked you with them. 

You could barely think. All you could do was cling to his arms, your mouth open in a silent cry as he devoured you from the inside out, purring and growling enough to cause concern that he might actually be eating you.

And as if it couldn’t get any worse—or wonderfully better—Jack shifted one of his arms from your torso up to between your legs. His thumb found your throbbing clit and began rubbing slow circles over it, smearing your own wetness across the sensitive bud.

The shock of pleasure was devastating.

Your back arched hard off his lap, spine curving sharply as a silent cry tore through you. Your hands flew up above your head, palms slapping against the wall behind you for any kind of leverage. You tried to speak—tried to moan his name, to beg, to curse—but nothing came out. All the air had been punched out of your lungs. The only sounds your body could produce were the wet, filthy squelches of your cunt accommodating its intruder. You bucked your hips desperately, riding his face as much as your weak, trembling legs would allow. Every thrust of his tongues and stroke of his thumb sent white-hot sparks shooting up your spine. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders, muscles twitching uncontrollably as you ground yourself against his mouth and tongue like you’d lost all semblance of control.

Jack’s purring grew louder, deeper, the constant rumble vibrating straight into your cunt and making your eyes roll back. He was completely lost in you, this newfound, insatiable hunger dampening his mind until all he could do was eat. You couldn’t even form words anymore. Couldn’t even think anymore.

You felt it building again—that familiar coil tightening deep in your core, winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of his tongues and stroke of his thumb.

“Ja… Ja—ck… Jaahh—” you tried to warn him, but your voice was just as useless as the rest of your body. Your hand slapped weakly at his arm, your fingers grappling desperately as panic rose.

But Jack didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. If anything, he doubled down. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, spilling over and running down your flushed cheeks as the pleasure became almost too much. You managed one shaky, broken whimper of his name right before you felt it.

Little sharp pinpricks.

Your eyes flew open through the tears. Jack had pulled back just enough for you to see his face. His lips were pulled back in a growl, sharp teeth fully exposed and pressed right against your slick, sensitive folds. Not breaking skin, not hurting you, but just resting there, a deadly reminder of exactly what he was.

You almost found it shameful how quickly that ruined you.

Your eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering uselessly as your vision blurred. You saw his face, then the ceiling, then the back of your eyelids—and then white.

“I’m cumming—fuck, I’m cumming—” you blabbed, trying ridiculously hard to say nearly nothing. “Jack—I’m—oh god—”

This one slammed into you harder than the last.

Your whole body seized up, back arching violently as you came with a silent, open-mouthed cry. Your cunt clenched hard around his invading tongues, pulsing and gushing around them as wave after wave crashed through you. Tears streamed down your face pathetically.

Jack growled louder against you, the sound feral and satisfied as he drank down every drop you gave him. His tongues kept working you through it, thrusting and curling relentlessly gathering everything they could.

“Jaaaaack—” you mewled.

He finally pulled his tongues out of you with a wet pop sound, leaving you clenching around nothing. He was panting hard against your cunt, his breath hot and ragged as he licked slowly through your folds, then across your trembling thighs, cleaning every trace of your release like he couldn’t help himself.

Your legs slipped weakly from his shoulders, falling limply around his hips. For a long moment, the only sounds in the tiny closet were your shared heavy breathing and the distant thump of music as you tried to calm yourselves. Jack looked down at you, his face glistening with your slick. He stayed quiet, just watching you with those endless black sockets while you tried to remember how to breathe.

When your breathing finally evened out a little, he asked softly, “Are you alright?”

You managed a small, shaky nod.

Jack carefully helped you sit up, guiding your back against the wall. “Can you stand?”

You tried shifting your weight, but your legs felt like jelly. You shook your head, embarrassed.

He let out a low chuckle. “It’s alright.”

Jack moved your legs gently off his lap so he could stand. He turned and rummaged through the hanging coats until he found one that looked soft and long enough. Without an explanation, he draped it over your mostly naked body, wrapping it around you like a blanket. Before you could even thank him, he leaned down and scooped you up into his arms. One arm hooked under your knees, the other supporting your back as he held you securely against his chest. He bent down just enough to snag your discarded jeans off the floor.

You clutched the coat tighter around yourself. “Jack, I can’t go out there like this…”

He chuckled again, the sound warm in his chest. “Toby and Nat have everyone occupied by now. No one’s gonna notice.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Besides… I think a nice bath in my room could do you some good.”

You hesitated for half a second, then nodded, too tired and floaty in the head to argue.

Jack cracked the closet door open, listening for a moment, his ears swiveling around. When the coast seemed clear, he slipped out with you cradled against him, your arms grabbing around his neck. You both moved quickly down the opposite end of the hall, away from the noise of the party. Laughter and shouting echoed from the living room as you snuck up the stairs like two stowaways.

He never let his grip loosen on you for a second.

Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ prologue

๑ back to my masterlists

There are too many questions, none that can be addressed in this room when Damian is staring at you like he used to, completely unguarded and softened into a blurred memory of someone who used to hold your heart delicately.

“Damian.” You mutter briskly, even when the notion of addressing him weakens you. “I need to have a talk with Dick. Outside.”

Damian’s brows furrow. “Why did you call me that?”

Your steps that are halfway turned towards the door falter. “Your name?”

“Yes. You only call me that when you are angry.” He states, trying to lift himself from the bed. The restraints tighten, marking angry red lines over his wrists, but he doesn’t even flinch as he tries to reach for you.

Dick is quick to stop him, pushing him down by the shoulders. “The doctor says no movement.”

“I have given my opinion on the doctor’s expertise repeatedly.” Damian scoffs, irritated—but his gaze is distracted, trying to meet yours past Dick's shoulders. “Beloved, if you’re mad that I endangered myself, I assure you I am in perfect health.”

“That’s not—” You swallow, feeling an awful sink in the pit of your stomach and harshly avert your gaze. “Dick, outside. Now.”

Damian calls out your name, but you’re out the door before he—or whatever version of him was waiting for you in that room, can twist your emotions further.

You hear the door close gently behind you and sense the lingering guilt that hovers in the air.

You stare blankly at the chipped paint of the hospital walls. “You shouldn’t have called me here.”

“I know.” Dick sighs, and only now can you truly hear his distress. “You should’ve seen him. He was convinced you were in danger—that we were hiding something when you didn’t show after the first hour of his consciousness.”

“I can’t—” Your voice breaks. “I can’t go back in there pretending everything’s fine.”

Dick hesitates. There's a reason you were called over—which he purposely excluded in the call. “The doctor said we have to keep his stress to a minimum. We’re worried his condition will be unstable if you’re.. not around.”

You whip your gaze to meet his, but he's looking back at the door, where his youngest brother laid—unaware of the turmoil that was happening outside. You suck in a breath. “It’s not my job to be his keeper.”

“I know. That’s why I’m asking you… as a friend." He pleads, looking back at you. "He’s my brother, and I know something happened between the two of you—and that he’s been stupid, which is why he ended up getting a concussion in the first place.”

His suggestion is loud in the silence, that the possibility of Damian's impulsivity which led to his injury is because of you. It couldn't be true. Not when he made it so evidently clear that you mattered the least to him out of everything in his life's priorities.

“He doesn’t want to admit it.” Dick tries. “He never does when it comes to his emotions, but he needs you. I know you won't believe me, not when he’s the one that should’ve told you, but you saw that look on his face. It’s like he finally allowed himself to breathe when he saw you.”

“So—" Your hands flail, desperate to release some tension. "What do you expect me to do?”

“Just.. be around him, the same way it was before, till he gets his memories back.” He sighs again, running a hand through the mess of his hair, knowing how unfair it sounds. "If anything, it may help speed up his recovery. You won't have to deal with him for long."

Your fingers run over the crescent moons your nails have indented into your palms. The silence drags, and you know there's already a conclusion being made without your consent. “...This is insane.”

—

“Something's wrong.” Damian comments, watching you shuffle around his apartment, well, you had to get used to it being your shared apartment again—when he straight up refused on staying over at his family's manor.

Something doesn't quite cut it. “Nothing's wrong.” Your voice is stiff even to your own ears and as you pull out the kitchen drawers. Your heart squeezes at the sight of your mugs still kept inside, unchanged since you moved out.

It wasn’t just the mugs, but almost everything inside the apartment—as if time has frozen within these walls, because he didn’t throw any of your leftover belongings away.

“I can feel it. There is something you’re hiding.” He pushes.

"Since when were you the empath?" Taking out a dusty mug, you rinse it over the open tap, focusing heavily on the task to avoid his prying stare. “Dick said not to tell you.”

“It doesn’t matter what Grayson said.” Despite obvious instructions from the doctor, Damian disregards them and moves abruptly from the couch, hand still clutching an icepack to the back of his head. “You can tell me anything.”

You slam down the mug with more force than necessary, causing a loud screech through the air. It freezes the atmosphere in the apartment, and you make the mistake of glancing over to see his reaction. Taken aback, the rarest hurt displays itself across his face, forcing you to look back down at the counter. This is going to be impossible.

"Damian, please sit down." You plead, refusing to look at him. "You're not meant to be moving."

His frustration ticks. You can feel it in the barest hunch of his shoulders, because the curse of reading his habits still comes so easily. He rounds the counter, stopping right in front of you. His free hand comes to lift your chin with the intention of forcing you to meet his gaze, but you grab his clothed wrist before he can even come close to contacting your skin.

Shock doesn't come close to describing the parting of his lips, the widening of his pupils. "You are angry." He states, but it comes out in a huff of disbelief.

"Damian." Your voice comes out as a warning. "You should be resting."

"No."

"Why?" You snap.

"The woman I am in love with is clearly upset with me, and I have no recollection of why." He answers briskly. "You’re calling me by my birth name which I have never hated more to hear, because it means I have disappointed you. Forgive me, if I am concerned."

The word 'love' sets off the wrong trigger.

“Love? It didn’t seem like it when you broke up with me.” It spills out before you can stop it. You suck in a breath, already regretting it. There goes your promise to Dick.

You expect his expression to fall into the one you’re familiar with, cold—cutting, but as the seconds pass, the hit doesn’t come like you expect it to. His brows knit together in complete bafflement. “Why would I do such a thing?”

You shrug, an aloof act that fools not even you. You’re the last person who can answer a question that’s been haunting you since he did it. “Beats me.”

“I would never—ever leave you, Beloved.” His voice is strained, as if the mere thought confounds him with disbelief. "If this is your punishment for me going on that mission without your permission, I am sorry. Just—"

His lips purse together, and his hand still caught in yours loosens itself from your grip to grab hold of your fingers, tentatively interlacing them together. "Don't ever say those words again."

Your lips part and close, confusion etched in your features. The Damian in front of you—doesn't coincide with the one in the last memories you have with him at all.

He struggled when you weren't there. Dick's voice rings in your ears, having said that right when you were signing the papers for Damian’s discharge, listing your name to be put as his emergency contact to provide updates on his condition.

"Right, fine." You dismiss, even when you can see how your short response stings him. "If you don't want me to be pissed, please go back to the couch. I will call the hospital on you if you don't listen."

His expression stiffens at the thought of being trapped in that stuffy room flooded with fluorescent lights, of the pushy nurse who demanded he’d get bed rest for at least forty-eight hours as he exited the doors. In restrained obedience, his expression flickers in contemplation. "Then you’ll come with me."

Your lips part to argue, but he's already pulling you along, his hand still intertwined with yours, dragging you along to the couch. He sits, forcing you right into his lap.

"You are to remain here till I am well." He states, his free arm coming to rest on your thighs, trapping you in his hold.

"That is—" You splutter. "I didn't agree to this."

"Call it compromise." He remarks, his scarred fingers squeezing yours. "I will not feel better till you are no longer mad."

You stare at him in disbelief. Had he ever been this clingy before? Your brain has trained so hard on forgetting the details that it's hard to make sense of what's real and what isn't.

"You're unbelievable." You mutter.

"And you're mine still." He responds easily.

It stills your heart, so sudden in tearing open the wreckage that lays hidden that you have to settle on staring at the windows instead, at the row of your wilted plants that he's struggled in keeping alive.

He sets the ice pack on the end table, his freezing hand coming up to caress your chin, sending a shiver down your spine at the cool temperature. "Will you truly not tell me what has displeased you?"

You had. Quite abruptly too with all your honesty. It still shocks you that he rejected the possibility of a break-up so quickly.

"Patients shouldn't speak so much." You mutter, knowing his stubbornness will get you nowhere closer to convincing him.

His lips quirk up into the faintest smile. "You worry."

"Of course, I am worried." When Dick had called you, Damian and emergency room was enough to toss your senses to the wind. Nothing of the past even made its way into consideration when you had rushed over, barring Gotham's traffic laws and all.

"For someone who prides himself on the least concussions among his siblings, you're not doing a very good job in living up to your word."

“But I have lived up to my word.” He answers.

You shift your gaze to him, confused.

“My promises to you mean more than some tally.” He declares. “I gave you my word that I will always make it back home to you, alive.”

His promises mean nothing. They shouldn’t—but the way he looks at you, filled with utter devotion, makes you wonder when he decided this version of him didn’t belong to you anymore.

It’s like you’re tossed into a time loop, forced to experience what you’ve lost over and over with every reminder.

“I should make dinner.” You announce abruptly, desperate to be out of his arms.

He stares at you in surprise, blinking slowly. “Alright, I shall accompany you.”

“What happened to staying on the couch?”

He shrugs. “That was the doctor’s orders, and I don’t recall making any promises to that loon.”

—

Dinner settles as a silent staring competition, tension running thick through the air with only him as the singular active participant, his eyes staring unblinkingly, digging a hole into your very bones as you poke at your plate, long after the meal has finished.

Just when sleep finally arrives, and you think you’re free from your nightmarish duties, caught between torn memories and thin lies, do you realise your mistake. Sleeping arrangements.

Damian pulls at the sheets, clearly expecting you to sleep by his side. Your mind scrambles for an excuse to sleep elsewhere but there is only one bedroom, and sleeping on the couch will only reinforce his suspicions of you being upset.

Just act like normal. Dick had suggested, like it’s that easy to resume being the girlfriend to your ex who doesn’t remember that he is one.

"Beloved?” He calls, snapping you out of your stupor.

You’re truly in for it. Your foolish decision to play pretend has reached its limits, and you’re to bear the consequences.

“Coming.” You respond weakly, making your way over to the bed.

You settle at the very edge, laying down stiffly as you pull the sheets over you. Seconds pass in silence and you think you’ve done it, completed your task without complications, when you hear a sudden displeased grunt.

Large hands wrap around your waist, and tugs you into a broad chest. Your eyes snap open wide, completely frozen as Damian tucks his nose into the crook of your shoulder.

“It is cruel even of you to be so far when I am injured, habibti.” He whispers against your ear.

You can barely breathe, scared he’ll feel the palpitations of your heart hammering against your ribs, right above his hold. He only calls you that when he is desperate, when a single language can’t capture what he wishes to convey.

“You told me yourself.” He grumbles. “Even if it carries to the next morning, we must never go to sleep angry at one another.”

Your lip quivers, and you force your eyes shut. “I am not angry.”

He’s silent, but his grip tightens ever so slightly, as if afraid you’ll drift further away if he doesn’t. “...I choose to believe you.”

—

Desperation is a rare look on Damian, but you think even this is cutting close to your given patience.

“I am unable to feed myself.” He shrugs, hands crossed over in obvious pretence.

“Damian—”

His gaze sharpens.

You resist a sigh. “Dami. I have to head to work, and you’re not starving yourself.”

“Five minutes.” He rebuts. “That is my usual speed for breakfast. You can spare that.”

He is right. You usually get to the office early anyway, but that doesn’t make his weaponised incompetence any easier to swallow—even for five minutes.

“Last I recall, concussions don’t erase your ability to use a spoon.” You retort, grabbing the utensil with more force than necessary. “And you were eating perfectly fine last night.”

“I suppose the doctor is right.” He remarks. “I require bed rest—and last night, I did not sleep well. A certain someone was desperate to escape my hold.”

“Petty.” You mutter, scooping the porridge and blowing on it. He watches you intently, seemingly very pleased with himself.

You lift the spoon to his lips, your lips pursed in impatience. With a deliberate slowness, he leans in, his fingers sneakingly wrapping around your wrist. He brings the spoon to his lips, but his eyes are trained on you.

He takes a bite, and hums. He lets his fingers drum softly against your wrist for a few more seconds before he comments. “My appetite is satiated.”

You scoff, but you can’t help the smile that quirks up involuntarily. “Liar.”

He shakes his head, feigning ignorance. “I suppose for my survival, you will have to feed me every morning."

"Since you clearly need to be babied, why don't I call Dick over to spoon-feed you then?"

His expression sours comically. "That is a horrible suggestion."

"Then, figure out how to use your hands." You mock, forcing the spoon into his fingers. "I'm heading off to work, don't do anything stupid."

"That's reserved for my siblings." He mutters, and his gaze traces over you, searching. Whatever he wants to find, it's not there, hidden by the mask you've put on, and his shoulders droop.

Crossing his arms, he looks at you with a thick expression. "I'll wait for you."

Grabbing your bag, you give him the barest nod as a response and you’re halfway to the door when his throat clears. You resist a sigh, and force yourself to look back at him. "Yes?"

“Aren’t you forgetting something important?” He mutters briskly.

Your brows furrow, thinking. He’s on his prescribed meds, has attempted at breakfast, and is on house arrest till he recovers, barred from all patrols till he’s able to function without an ice pack to his scalp.

His expression contorts briefly in disappointment, before he mutters something incoherently. Walking over to you, he stares at you with a narrowed expression before he leans in—and presses a kiss to your forehead.

You blink rapidly, growing flustered.

“For good luck.” He murmurs. “Since you’re the one leaving earlier this time, I’ll forgive you for forgetting.”

Right, you used to always give him a kiss before you left, till it became a ceremonious habit. He always seemed so undeterred to them, that you assumed he was merely tolerating your teasing by standing as still as a statue.

You never thought he actually waited for them.

Staring at him speechlessly, you find your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. For someone who’s lost his memories, he was strangely hyper-aware of all your previous habits.

“Have a good day, beloved.” He wishes, eyes softening in a cruel, dangerous form of lowering your defences.

Blinking harshly and regaining your senses, you mutter a quick goodbye and leave as quickly as you can. You wish you could tear out the beating organ in your chest that refuses to calm down at his affections.

He is not your Damian and hasn’t been for months. You refuse to fall for him again, not when it meant having your heart broken twice when he wakes from this feverish nightmare and remembers… that he doesn’t love you anymore.

—

Twilight has long settled among the darkened dusky clouds, and your back aches from hunching over your desk for the last couple of hours.

It was a reprieve to be away from Damian, to be sucked into a part of your life where it was constant with your past and present. So much so, you over-did yourself on your workload, starting on more tasks than you were supposed to.

Checking the clock, you wince. Eight p.m.

You were supposed to be home three hours ago. Checking your phone, you’re surprised to find no notifications, asking for updates on your location or the time you’ll reach home. Only to remember you blocked him eight months ago.

You curse, quickly unblocking him. You can only imagine his reaction—of you not coming back home at your usual hour and being unreachable?

Quickly packing your bag, you grab for your coat, stumbling as you tug it on and exit through the revolving doors. One hand haphazardly scrolls through your phone, pressing on his contact, and you’re busy thinking of some flimsy excuse that didn’t involve avoiding his entire existence. Too busy to notice someone approaching you at alarming speed.

The harsh yell of your name, echoed in a deep timbre that could only belong to him, snaps you out of your daze.

You wince, readying yourself before you turn. You expect him to be angry, disappointed. A mirror of the perfect statue you remember in your memories, cold and detached.

You didn’t expect to see him panting, hands on his thighs, hair sticking in all directions, and his eyes—filled with an uncharacteristic panic. Damian Wayne, the epitome of a man carved into a sharpened blade, stands before you as a complete mess.

"You didn't come home." He states, voice barely constrained to be levelled.

"Damian."

"Whatever I have done, forgive me." He exhales, sweat pooling at his forehead, cheeks reddened from running as he lifts himself back up, towering over you. Yet, he has never looked so vulnerable. "I just needed to make sure you were okay."

Damian Wayne never begs, not even when you walked out the door eight months ago.

Yet here he was, one hand coming up to clutch his head, gritting his teeth and trying to conceal his pain. Whatever pretence you held, the cold front you’ve desperately tried to upkeep to distance yourself—completely vanishes as you rush towards him.

“Damian, you’re not supposed to strain your head. Much less run all the way here.” Your stern expression falls short, replaced with worry as your eyes rapidly look him up and down. “It could lead to complications.”

“It felt wrong.”

The crease between your brows deepen. “What felt wrong?”

“Letting you walk away.” He grits. “Seeing you close the door on me. My body exhibited strange symptoms—palpitations, nerves—and somehow, I was convinced if I let you go, you’ll never come back. My head’s been hurting since and I waited. I truly tried.”

"I found notes." He says through the clenching of his jaw. "From the last few months in my phone."

You freeze.

"It contained your routine of how often you water your plants, your favourite recipes, and half-written texts I've never sent." He lists out. "As if I'm afraid I'll forget. Like you weren't there to remind me."

"Just stop. You're hurting yourself." It's hard to see him like this—so unguarded, filled with pain. It's hard to hear his efforts, when neither of you can understand what went through his mind, lost in his scattered memories. "I'll go home with you."

"I can't remember what I've done." Abruptly removing his hand from the back of his head, his fingers come up to caress your cheek. Even distressed, his touch is so soft, so gentle. His eyes search yours, trying to find the answer he seeks. "I don't know if I deserve to ask you to go home. Not when I haven't made it up to you."

"No matter how angry I am, I will never want to see you in pain." You plead. Grabbing onto his fingers, you interlock them with yours and tug him along back to the apartment. "We’re going home."

—

The kitchen counter is filled with your favourite flowers, even when you know he can’t stand the smell of them wilting two days later. An uneaten plate has grown cold on the dining table, evidence of a meal he’s cooked for you.

It's unbearable, because the guilt that drowns your chest, deepens into a painful tug at every controlled breath, pulling at the thought of him waiting for you alone. You drop your bag on the sofa, but the pretense is holding on by a thin thread and when you turn—he's standing there and watching, his gaze locked onto you as if he could look at nothing else.

You haven’t even noticed the tears streaming down your face, but you’re just so tired. Of fighting this obvious battle you were never meant to win.

You still love him. Even if he’s forgotten the fight, and the words he said that tore you apart.

Maybe it's the sight of your tears. He hated it whenever you cried, no matter how bad a fight’s ever gotten—but the distance he maintained out of respect for you vanishes as he moves in an instant, arms wrapping around you. He mutters into your hair, begging. “I’m sorry, hayati. Do not cry because of me.”

“I missed you.” Your voice cracks. “So much. It killed me to be away—but it was what you wanted.”

"Never." His voice lowers, desperate to make you believe, pulling away with his hands still wrapped around you, lowering his head to force you to meet his eyes. "I will never wish for your absence.”

He leans in, forehead pressed against yours. "You are all I could ever want. You're the reason I fought tooth and nail to make it back from that mission. You're what makes sense when everything else crashes. The idiot I was, I rebuke all his decisions because I want you. Now. Forever."

"I don't know if you'll mean it." Your voice comes out hoarse, broken. "When you remember the reason that you pulled away."

"I may have lost my memories." He says sternly. "But I know who I am. That has never changed. Not before, and certainly not now. You’re the only one who’s ever been the keeper to my heart, and it’ll be you till my last breath.”

You want to believe him. So desperately, you want to love him again and not fear that he'll drift away, with the fear of disappointing his father, or letting his never-ending mission break the two of you apart again.

"If losing my memories is what it takes to get you back, I will do it again and more." He says with absolute conviction. "I have never been more sure. This is what I want. You are all I need. So, stay. We'll figure this out together. Even when my memories return."

"Just—don’t leave me." His voice softens, his gaze pooled with a deep-set fear that his body seems to remember, even when his mind is frayed. "I can’t bear it.”

—

His plea follows you into your dreams. This version of him is still hard for your mind to wrap around, that when you wake from a shuffle of movement, it takes you a moment to readjust and recognise your surroundings. Or rather, the arms pulling away from your waist. You force your eyes open, blinking blearily before turning around to face him.

"Dami?" You murmur.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he's looking at you with a sober, dreaded realisation, like—he's woken up from a dream.

It strikes you immediately, the fog in his gaze that has lifted, and you're quick to pull away fully to your side of the bed, the sheets dragging along your legs. "You remember."

"Beloved." His hand reaches out, disbelieving—but it freezes mid-air and pulls back, a quiet guilt filling his gaze. "You're here."

You swallow, pulling your knees under your elbows. "Are you going to kick me out?"

His expression cracks—revealing a cold rage taking over his expression, but it wasn't directed at you. It was for himself.

"No." He answers shortly, disgust creased into the tension between his brows. "I should be the one to leave. I have hurt you, deeply. I took advantage of your kindness while I was unable to recover my memories, and trapped you into being here with me."

His jaw clenches, and he averts his gaze. "I understand if you want to be done with me. Permanently. I will have it all sorted by the morning."

No. That is not what you want. You want him—honest and bearing his heart to you, the way he did earlier. You didn't want kindness, or polite pity, because you still see the man you love under the mask that he's desperately trying to upkeep.

"No." Your voice echoes against the walls, and his gaze snaps to you. "I do not want you to go. I want you to tell me everything. What you were thinking, what you did while I was gone, and what you want from me. I'm not letting you let me go this time, Damian. So, talk."

He inhales, and even as his fists dig into the sheets, there is a quiet, trembling hope you find when his eyes soften, tracing over your features like he's finally able to breathe with you in his vision.

"I lost sight." He speaks, his voice weaker than you've ever heard it. "Of what truly mattered. The mission, the fights with Father—it consumed me as a never-ending battle to prove myself. With every failure, it escaped as a lash, a punishment that slowly began to trick my mind into thinking that I did not deserve life's blessings. That I did not deserve you."

"I thought you were better off without a partner who always came back needing stitches, bleeding across the floorboards." His gaze darkens, and somewhere in him, he sounds as if he still believes it. "That you deserved someone who was stable, warm, kind. Who knew how to use his words instead of wielding them like a dagger. Who could hold your heart without being so afraid of breaking it."

"I was so sure of it." He mocks, a cold dagger dragging over the open wound of his regret. "I made the decision for us without asking."

"I regretted it." He says quickly, gaze flickering with a sudden intensity. "Immediately. On the first sleepless night, when I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the side you always occupied. When the plants started to wilt as if they couldn't bear anyone's hands but yours. When I made two coffees in the morning and had to drain it in the sink."

"I had reserved a space in each part of my life unknowingly, for you." He admits. "When I lost you, I felt it—this unbearable loss—and I knew I’ve made it impossible to live without you.”

"But you did." You mutter. "For eight months."

"Living?" He smiles wryly, and not a hint of it reaches his soulless gaze. "I knew that I had hurt you, and I would’ve been an even more selfish bastard if I asked you to forgive me. But I was not living.”

“I carried on in the only way I knew how before meeting you. By surviving—barely. I grew reckless. Impulsive. Threw myself into mission after mission. By the time I realised how far gone I was, I was bleeding out in an alleyway and Dick was dragging me to the hospital."

You could only let silence answer for you. His honesty, which was all you ever wished for, was simultaneously so much to bear.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?” You ask quietly.

"Every single word." His fingers twitch, a slight tremor he tries to hide by digging deeper into the sheets. "You are all I want. There wasn't a day since you left that I haven't regretted letting you go. I may have survived, but the clock on my life stopped till you came back into it."

A lock that's been trapped in that hollow cavity in your chest, weighing you down since the first time you saw him in the hospital, and maybe even before then—finally breaks. Your hands come up to shield the pain you’ve desperately tried to hide, tears running down to no avail.

Whatever semblance of dignity he was trying to uphold, it completely shatters as he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. He lets out a deep exhale, hands rubbing against your back, comforting and warm.

"I am sorry I hurt you." He mutters into the crown of your head. "I am sorry I've been a fool. No apologies can make up for what I've done to us—only that I regret every moment I wasted, and that it took me this long to tell you what you deserved to hear."

"I don't want you to go away, Damian." It’s the most genuine plea you’ve ever asked of him, bearing your heart so deeply that it terrifies you of its vulnerability. "Don't disappear on me again. Don’t shut me out. I hated not being able to read you, and feeling like I was isolated in what was meant to be a partnership between the two of us."

He shakes his head wordlessly, pulling away slightly to lower his gaze, meeting yours and there’s a raw desperation in the green of his eyes. “I will never leave. Not as long as you’ll have me—I will spend the rest of my life forging myself to be the man you deserve. I will communicate. I will apologise. I will do anything you want, hayati.”

“You have a lot to make up for.” You remind him.

“As long as you’ll give me the time.” He answers. “I will not waste a moment more.”

“I want grovelling.” You go on. “Like—on your knees grovelling.”

“I can do it now.” His response is quicker than sound, and he’s already ready to obey your every command.

“I want you to tell me when you feel something is wrong. When you feel you’re not enough, you have to say it.” You demand.

“Yes, my love.” He answers, a soft nod brushing against your forehead.

“I want you to call the hospital now, because we need to get a scan to make sure everything’s okay.”

His expression falters—a brief hesitation at the thought of the pushy doctor and his accompanying nurse.

“Damian.”

He flinches at the sound of his birth name, stressed in that particular tone that signals you're not joking about your conditions if he wanted to be with you again. Not even his hatred for hospitals will risk him even the slightest chance of losing you.

With or without his memories, he had always known that you're the peace in his life that he thought he didn't deserve, but cherished so deeply that he finds no meaning in the word if it weren't for you.

“I will call the hospital immediately, Beloved.”

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It had been a day. 

The kind of day where it was better to just go to bed and sleep it all away. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day – a fresh slate. 

As Katakuri trudged to his shared bedroom with you, he let out a disgruntled sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Since it was late into the night, he knew you’d be long asleep by now and all he wanted was to crawl into bed beside you.  

Katakuri opened the door and was surprised to find you sitting crossed legged with a book in your lap on top of the large bed the two of you shared.  

And only wearing one of his old shirts. 

The sight almost made him fall to his knees. 

He’d go through a thousand days like today to be able to come home to you like this – safe and sound in the low lighting of your bedroom, cozy on the bed and wearing something of his.  

You lifted your head at the sound of him entering the room and Katakuri could read in your eyes that you could see the exhaustion on his face. 

Without a word, you placed your book aside and opened your arms out to him. A silent invitation that only furthered his love for you. He quickly stripped down to just his underwear and then crawled across the bed into your arms. You laid back onto the pile of pillows at the head of the bed and he carefully laid his large body over you. As he buried his face into your neck, you began to gently run your fingers through his hair.  

Katakuri immediately let out a deep sigh and his body slowly untensed from your gentle affection. This was what it was all for. To be able to be here with you and just breathe. No need to put on a mask, no need to be “perfect”. 

The two of you stayed like that for a while, cuddled together as one.  

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You broke his snuggly stupor when you softly kissed his temple, and Katakuri grumbled something into your neck. 

“What, my love?” You asked him and he lifted himself from you, now hovering above you and looking down at you, his expression tired but still loving. 

“You should’ve been long asleep by now.” He rumbled out and one of his hands lightly cupped your face, thumb caressing your cheek. Even though he could lay like this with you forever – and truly he could, forever – sleep was still something both of you needed.  

You gave him a small smile and shrugged, averting his gaze. 

“I couldn’t sleep earlier.” You muttered and he knew you weren’t being fully honest. Katakuri had always told you that if he was out late busy with his work, that you didn’t have to wait up for him. It was important to him that you stayed well rested. Sometimes you did as he said, and sometimes – like tonight – you purposefully stayed up to greet him when he came home. 

Normally he’d say something around the lines of a light, unserious reprimand but tonight Katakuri was grateful that you had decided to stay up and could be here with him like this. So, he gave you an amused smirk and a small hum in response. 

To get a little more comfortable, he shifted his hips, bringing your thighs up around them even more in the process. The movement made you let out a small gasp and Katakuri stopped dead in his tracks, his cock immediately beginning to harden. 

Okay, maybe the two of you didn’t need to sleep right this second. 

And maybe he could do with letting off a little bit of steam. 

Katakuri leaned down to give you a soft kiss, earning him a happy little moan from you. Your arms hooked around his neck to bring him even closer, deepening the kiss. As the two of you made out, you pushed your hips forward to press your clothed core against his now fully hardened cock. Katakuri started to rock his hips in response and your moan was muffled around his large tongue currently invading your mouth. Still thrusting himself against you, Katakuri broke the kiss to gently kiss your cheek down to your neck, his large teeth brushing against your skin.  

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked between kisses, both of you knowing where this would go if he didn’t stop and have you go to sleep right now. 

“Never.” You replied breathlessly and Katakuri growled, nipping at your neck and getting another light moan from you. 

Using one hand, he pulled the hem of your shirt – his shirt really but he wouldn’t care if you kept it now – up from where it had pooled at your hips all the way up to your collarbone, exposing your bare breasts to him. He craved access to your body but didn’t want you removing this piece of him. To pleasure and fuck you while you were in something of his was so sexy he almost couldn’t take it. 

Katakuri kissed his way down from your neck to one of your breasts, stopping to lap at and suck on your nipple. A loud, choked cry came from you as you writhed beneath him, gripping his hair tightly. After giving some attention to your other nipple, Katakuri continued his descent down your body. He kissed his way from your stomach to your still clothed pussy. 

Over the fabric, he kissed and mouthed at your clit, and it sent you into a frenzy. Your moans filled the room, and your toes curled as he went to town on you. It drove you crazy for him to go down on you like this and Katakuri thrived off it, grinding himself against the bed. 

The look of you with your head thrown back against the pillows, mouth open and panting, back arched and your breasts heaving with every breath made him close to finishing right there. 

You were his goddess, his love, his life. 

Nothing from the day mattered when he had you like this. 

As he applied more pressure to your clit, one of his hands came back up to paw at your breast. His rough hand squeezed the soft flesh as his thumb rubbed at your nipple. He could tell by the way your thighs braced around his head and how high pitched your moans were becoming that any second now you’d be riding the waves of an orgasm. Katakuri didn’t let up until you cried his name and were a panting mess, your body untensing and becoming almost like jelly.  

After your panties had become absolutely soaked from both yourself and his unrelenting mouth, Katakuri slowly removed them and casted them off to a corner of the bedroom. You had barely caught your breath when his mouth returned to your dripping pussy. As he began to lap at you, your fingers returned to his hair, and he growled in return.  

Your grip only tightened once his tongue went from lightly licking at your clit to dipping into your entrance. Another cry burst from you as he started to fuck you with his tongue.  

It was like ecstasy for Katakuri.  

You were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, and he could feast on you for hours. Add your beautiful moans to mix and it was all over for him. The idea of sleep at this point was completely wiped from his mind, his body invigorated at the way your own pleasurably writhed under his touch. 

He now had one hand on your hip and the other on the outer side of your thigh, pinning you down to the bed. All you could do was moan and attempt to shift your hips, trying to get your pussy as close as it could get to his face while he continued to tongue-fuck you. His fingers dug into your thigh as he watched your eyes roll back, moan after moan just spilling from your lips. 

You were getting close again and Katakuri moved his hand from your hip more inward to start pressing against your clit in circles with his thumb.  

“Oh my god!” You cried out, hands now helplessly grabbing at the sheets and pillows of your bed while your head thrashed side to side. Katakuri didn’t stop his onslaught of pleasure until he felt that tensing of your body again, yet another cry of his name – something he’d never, ever tire of – and then that slow relaxation of all your limbs.  

As he pulled his tongue out of you, he lapped at your pussy a few more times, earning breathless whines from you. Slowly, Katakuri rose up from his position and retook his previous one while slipping off his own underwear. You gave him a sleepy smile and looked at him with half-lidded eyes while he hovered over you again.  

With gentle hands, he grabbed your legs and lifted them to start pressing them against your chest, making your eyes go wide. 

“Are you still okay to keep going?” He asked you, voice husky and near breathless. You replied with a soft yes and biting your lip, eyes now filled with lust, and he continued with positioning you.  

With your knees now pressed against your chest and your lower body angled slightly upwards, Katakuri positioned himself on his knees and caged his huge form around you. Giving you a gentle kiss, he started to enter you slowly and you gasped against his lips. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock before relaxing slightly, allowing him to enter you further. With enough practice over the course of your marriage, your body was now used to taking his huge cock for the most part.  

Soon he was fully seated inside you, his thighs pressing against your own upper thighs where they met your ass. At this angle, he was so deep inside you that you could barely speak, the pleasure immeasurable.  

Katakuri looked down at you, waiting for your signal that you were okay for him to start moving. After giving him a small nod, he began thrusting into you.  

It felt too good. 

In this position, it didn’t take long for you to become a babbling, moaning mess again and Katakuri groaned deeply, his thrusts getting harder. The sound of skin against skin slapping together filled the room.  

One of Katakuri’s large hands was laced together with one of yours, pressing down against the bed, while the other came to grip around your calf.  

“Yes, yes, fuck me!” You wailed as he somehow went even deeper into you. His grip on you tightened as his thrusts became shallower and quicker, leaving you breathless. Your free hand clawed at his arm that was holding onto your calf, trying to find a way to anchor yourself.  

Katakuri loved seeing you like this; eyes desperate, eyebrows furrowed, sweat glistening on your body, your mouth slightly hung open with your tongue sweeping out periodically. What a way to forget all about the stress of the day when he had you pinned under his body like this, clenching around his cock and moaning for it. 

“Cum for me, baby.” He whispered to you between groans. “I need it. I need to feel you cum around my cock.”  

It didn’t take long for you to fulfill his request, squeezing your walls around his cock and whipping your head back, near hoarse moans ripping up from your throat. It sent a ripple of pleasure down his own spine, and he could feel his balls tightening. He’d be ready to go at any moment now. 

You lolled your head to the side and looked up at him with those half-lidded eyes again.  

“Please. Cum in me.” You near whispered and Katakuri lost it. Pupils dilated in a feral like state, he thrusted faster into you and the sound of skin slapping together became even louder. That sound mixed with your high-pitched moans and the way you had asked him to cum inside you made Katakuri go flying over the edge. 

With a deep moan, he spilled his seed into you, and it filled you so much you could both feel it beginning to drip out of you. That made him release another growl and you whined lightly under him. If it wasn’t so late and the two of you weren’t so exhausted – especially now – that would’ve been enough to kick start another round. With a shuddering breath, Katakuri released his hold on you and slowly pulled back.  

It had been an awful, terrible day.  

But now he had you, safe in his arms, thoroughly pleasured and smiling up at him with that sexed out look on your face.