doomed historical yaoi

ℍ𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕪 ℍ𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤

“Oh… fuck” He growled, sitting back slowly, his cock already straining painfully. His eyes burned into yours, wild and dark, blown wide with desire. He licked his lips, chest rising and falling with sharp, restrained breaths.

“You want that?” He asked, voice rough, almost disbelieving—with an edge of possessiveness.

“You want me to grab your hair… shove your sweet little mouth down on my cock and just… take it?” He growled, hands trembling slightly as they moved up your thighs. “Want me to ruin that pretty throat until you’re droolin', dizzy and soaked?”

He leaned in again, dragging his tongue along your jaw, breathing hard against your skin.

"You want me? Say it."  He whispered, fangs lightly brushing against the curve of your neck.

"Please...fuck my mouth, Remmick." Your voice is soft, trembling, and on the edge of submission and desire, almost begging.

His hips bucked against you instinctively. Now you could feel how much you affected him as his cock pressed directly against your flushed cheek. The heat between your legs grew more intense as you locked eyes.

The fabric of the boxers he wore was the only thing separating you both.

A low, guttural sound escaped from his chest.

His hand slid beneath your head, cradling it, while the other came to rest over your throat. He feels the thrum of your pulse. Your breath quickened as you trembled.

“You don’t get to say shit like that,” he murmured darkly, eyes boring into yours. “Not unless you mean them. Because I will take you at your word.”

He brushed his thumb over your parted lips, slow and deliberate, watching them intensely.

"You're blushin'," He whispered, almost tenderly. “But you’re still askin' for it. Good girl.”

The praise made your thighs clench. He saw it and felt it.

In a split second, he effortlessly tore away his boxers, allowing you to feel him fully now—hard, hot, and ready. His hand moved from your throat to your jaw, guiding your mouth open again with a gentle pressure. You obeyed without hesitation, eyes still locked onto his, your tongue flicking out.

“You wanna serve me, darlin'?” He asked, voice husky, reverent. “Then don’t look away. I want to see those pretty eyes when I give you what you begged for.”

And slowly he guided himself to your lips, taunting, teasing, brushing the tip against your tongue but not yet giving you everything.

Not until you looked him in the eyes and said it again. “Tell me one more time,” he growled. “Tell me what you want your mouth used for.”

You could smell the scent of his arousal heavy in the air as a breathy sigh left you. Your hot breath fanned over his cock, it twitched, and he exhaled sharply.

"Please use my throat." Your voice was clear and filled with want.

A sharp, deep growl tore from his chest as he twitched again against your lips. His fingers gripped the side of your jaw, not rough—but firm, possessive.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Fuckin' perfect.”

His hips gave another slow thrust, this time guiding just the head past your lips. The heat of your mouth engulfed his swollen tip, and he groaned. His head tipped back briefly, eyes fluttering closed.

The combined scent of arousal was thick in the air now.

Your tongue curled along him instinctively, and he looked down just in time to catch your eyes—soft, submissive—locked onto his. He gripped your hair, holding you gently in place, thumb brushing your cheek.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he said. “You look so fuckin' beautiful like this.”

Another slow push forward. Not too deep. He was letting you adjust.

You moaned softly around him, and he nearly lost it. His hips flexed, and he felt your throat begin to relax. Letting him in.

His voice dropped to a whisper, tight with control. “Breathe through your nose… Let me in. I’ll be gentle… unless you tell me not to be.”

And with that, he sank deeper into your mouth, watching every flutter of your lashes, every shift of your breath, every inch of your throat that opened for him willingly.

He'd never looked more ravenous.

You took him deeper, breathing steady through your nose like he told you. Your throat tightened around him as he pressed further in, slow and controlled.

You noticed that his jaw was clenched, but only for a moment.

Both of your hands gripped his thighs—fingertips pressing in, nails threatening to dig into his skin.

He reached down and brushed your hair back, away from your face, so he could see all of you. Lips stretched around him, spit gathering at the corners of your mouth, throat trembling as you took more with every slow push of his hips.

“You’re doin' so well,” he murmured, thumb stroking your jaw. “So good for me. Lettin' me in. Lettin' me use you.”

You moaned around him, it was soft but desperate, and the vibration sent a jolt of pleasure through him. His hand tightened in your hair as he began to roll his hips in a steady rhythm that wasn't brutal, but deliberate. Deep.

Your throat flexed, adjusting to every movement.

He growled low, his voice rough with restraint. “Fuck, you really enjoy this, don’t you? Like you were made for it.”

Your eyes flickered up at him again. They were wet, glassy, and so full of need, and from the look on his face, you could tell he was barely holding back.

He held still for a moment, buried halfway, brushing your cheek softly with his knuckles. “Tap my thigh if you need to stop,” he whispered. “But if you don’t…”

He smiled darkly, adoration and hunger tangled in his expression.

“…then I’m not stoppin' until you’ve swallowed every drop I give you.”

You felt his cock throb, and he groaned, long and guttural.

Then he shifted, bracing one hand behind him as the other stayed wrapped in your hair. Holding your mouth steady as he began to push deeper again. Slowly. Deliberately.

And that’s when he saw it, and you felt it.

The outline of himself—thick and obscene—bulging faintly in your throat. You heard his breath catch as his hips froze.

“Holy fuck…” Remmick let's out a soft whimper.

A string of Irish slipped from his mouth as he stared at the vision of you taking him so deep, your body displaying it like a prize.

“You’re unreal…” he whispered, chest heaving. “Perfect.”

He didn’t move for a second—just watched that stretch, the way your throat trembled around him, how you handled it like you were born to serve him this way. No gag. No fear. Just submission and want.

He leaned forward, his voice guttural and rough:

“Keep swallowin' me like that, and I will give you every drop. As many times as your little throat can handle. You want that?”

His hips rolled forward again, deeper this time, slow enough to feel every part of your throat wrapped around him.

“Want me to fuck you ‘til I’ve marked your stomach from the inside out?”

He growled. Another twitch. Another inch.

“Then be a good girl and don’t stop. I’ll fill you up...”

You moaned again in response to his words, your thighs clenched together. Desperate for friction.

He choked on a gasp, hips locking, your body's reactions struck him like you were begging for it.

You wanted it. All of it. Every inch, every drop, every filthy promise.

“Jesus—fuck,” he growled, his voice cracking low in his throat. He muttered an Irish phrase under his breath.

The tip of him throbbed deep inside your throat, right as your lips sealed flush to the base. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t tap out.

Instead, you moaned again, like you welcomed the stretch. And you definitely did.

His grip in your hair tightened with a sharp tug, forcing your throat to take the full length of him as your neck bulged again. You felt the slight twitch.

You were milking him. Willingly.

And you could tell it was taking everything in him not to finish down your throat right now.

“You want to take it all? I’ll give it to you…” He growled, hips trembling, resisting the urge to thrust. “You’ll feel it shoot down your throat before you even tasted it.”

He shifted slightly, angling his hips and grinding forward as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“Don’t swallow yet.” His voice dropped. “I want to see it… pool on your tongue. So when I finally pull out—you’ll be leakin' with me.”

Your eyes held his the entire time.

His fingers pressed into the bulge at your neck like he was claiming it. Like he needed proof you could take every inch—and you had. He slowly withdrew until the tip rested on your tongue.

The moment your tongue moved to tease the sensitive underside, eager to feel every throb as he spilled into your mouth, he snapped. Your name left his throat in garbled moans.

He growled loudly, a sound that echoed through the walls. A primal, corrupted worship. His hips bucked forward on instinct one final time as he finished hard inside your mouth. You collected every drop.

“Fuuuuck… look at you,” he hissed, head thrown back, then immediately snapping forward again to watch. “So damn pretty like this…”

When the last pulse faded, he let out a breath that was nearly a snarl. His hand loosened in your hair, his body twitching with the final shiver of release.

He pulled out slowly. A thick trail of saliva mixed with his cum clung from your lips to his tip; the sight made his cock twitch again.

“Don’t move.” His voice was hoarse now—still heavy, still dark. “Stay just like that. Mouth open.”

He reached down and ran his thumb along your bottom lip, collecting a bit of himself mixed with your spit. He painted it across your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, then held your chin between his fingers.

“Now swallow,” he whispered. “Show me.”

You could feel your arousal coating your inner thighs beneath the dress you wore. Your eyes were half open and glazed over with lust as you tried to maintain eye contact.

His eyes flickered down to watch your open mouth, a pool of his cum mixed with your saliva resting there. You slightly tilted your head back.

He watched it all disappear down your throat and groaned loudly. You could suddenly feel the heat of his cock against your cheek. He was ready to go again.

He groaned low and deep, the sound guttural and unrestrained, hips twitching just inches from your cheek. His cock throbbed again—harder this time, already begging for another round like he hadn’t just emptied himself inside your throat.

“You’re gonna kill me, woman…” he muttered, almost in disbelief, his voice rough and ragged as he stared down at you. “No goddamn idea what you do to me…”

He trailed his fingers along your throat again, over the spot where he had just watched himself move inside you. It was definitely imprinted in his mind now—there forever.

He leaned down, brushing his mouth against the shell of your ear, and whispered, “I should lay you back and taste you now. See how sweet all that desperation made you.” His fangs brushed your skin. “But I know you’re achin'. So maybe I'll let you ride it out first. Put you on top of me and see how long you can behave…”

Then, his hand slid under your dress, slow and shameless.

“Tell me how wet you are,” he breathed, voice thick with lust. “Or should I find out with my fingers?”

You felt his hand barely slide under your dress. Fingers teasing along your inner thighs. You were panting heavily as you tried resisting the urge to move your hips.

“Holy...fuckin' hell…” he hissed through his teeth. His fingers hadn’t even touched you fully, and yet the heat radiating off you soaked through the thin fabric of your dress like a fever—your body begging to be touched.

“Chroí geal… tá tú ag dó trína chéile.”

(My bright heart… you're burning alive.)

You whimpered, thighs trembling slightly under his touch, and you felt a shudder ripple up your spine. His fingers reached the wetness between your thighs, and the moment he touched the drenched fabric—

He nearly lost control again.

"You're soaked," he growled, voice low and hungry. “You’d soak my face if I let you sit on my tongue. That what you want? Or…” His lips brushed your cheek, hot breath flooding your ear as his fingers gently pressed against your folds through the fabric of your dress. “You want to ride me like you’re tryin' to make me finish inside you again?"

You still hadn't found your voice, but your hips twitched—tiny, involuntary—and that told him everything he needed to know.

“Can’t even speak, hmm?” He purred, tongue flicking just beneath your earlobe. “Then I’ll decide…”

Without another word, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and sat you on his lap, your back to his chest. His hand stayed beneath your dress, now slipping past the fabric entirely to feel how swollen and needy you were for him.

He hissed when his fingers made contact with bare skin.

"No panties? Fuckin' hell, you planned this…" He chuckled darkly, brushing his lips across your temple. “What a filthy thing I’ve made. Proud of you, mo chroí.”

Then he slipped two fingers inside, slow and deep, while his other hand gripped your thigh to hold you open. His voice, low and velvet-rich, poured into your ear.

“Let me hear what this pretty cunt has to say... and then I’ll let you ride me.”

"I'll ruin the couch." You panted out.

He laughed darkly against your ear, "How awful... I can get another, just do as you're told."

You shivered at his command and bit your lip. Then placed both hands on the couch to brace yourself. So you wouldn't be tempted to push his hand away.

“Oh, fuck, that’s right…” He muttered with a grin against your ear, voice heavy with arousal and pride as his fingers disappeared inside you again—this time deeper, firmer. Your walls clenched and fluttered around his digits, already so desperate. So responsive. You gripped him like you didn’t want to let go, and truthfully you didn't.

“You’re gonna ruin it anyway, darlin'…” He growled, dragging his lips down your neck as he curled his fingers just right, angling to hit that spot he knew would make your legs weak. “You think I care about a piece of furniture? You think I won’t fuck you into the floor if I have to?”

You whimpered, clenching harder as your hips jerked helplessly against his hand. He felt the fight in you—your trembling thighs trying to behave, your hands bracing against the arms of the couch like he knew the moment you gave in, you'd fall apart completely.

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

He reached up with his free hand, grabbed your chin and tilted your head so your cheek met his. His fangs grazed your jaw but he didn’t bite. Not yet.

“Say it,” He whispered, voice dark and commanding. “Tell me whose fingers are inside you. Tell me whose name you’ll scream when you fall apart all over this goddamn couch.”

He curled his fingers again, slower this time. Crueler. Deliberate. "Now, darlin'. Before I make a mess of you so loud the woods hear you."

"Remmick!" You whimpered as your hips moved on their own. His pace increased, and you felt the coil in your belly tightening as your climax quickly approached. The sensation was accompanied by a familiar deep pressure.

You could feel both rapidly building from within. It was inevitable, you couldn't stop it. Suddenly, you felt his thumb on your sensitive clit. Moving in a circular motion in sync with his fingers.

“That’s it… fuckin’ soak me,” He growled, voice thick with possession as he held you there, trembling and helpless on his lap while your intense orgasm tore through you. “Look at the mess you’re makin’, my filthy fuckin' girl.”

Your slick gushed over his hand and soaked his thighs. The sound of it, combined with the feel of you fluttering and spasming around his fingers as you completely unraveled—it made his cock ache, twitching and leaking against your back, still hard and desperate to be buried inside you.

Your body thrashed, overstimulated, but he didn’t let you move. Didn’t let you go.

He kept his fingers deep inside, not moving now, just feeling. Feeling every aftershock ripple through your body while he whispered filth and sweetness into your ear like a man possessed.

“That's my good girl… makin’ such a pretty mess for me,” He said lowly, lips brushing your earlobe. “You think I’ll ever get enough of you like this? Cryin’ my name, drippin’ all over me like your body knows who it belongs to.”

He slowly slipped his soaked fingers free, watching them glisten in the dim light. Then he brought them to your lips from behind, nudging against them.

“Open, love. Taste what you do to yourself when you let go for me.”

You sucked his fingers clean, moaning softly as you tasted yourself. He lifted your hips so you were straddling him more, then quickly aligned himself against your entrance. You couldn't move even if you wanted to.

His grip was firm enough to keep you still, but still gentle. You felt your arousal leak onto him as you shivered in anticipation.

Your hips trembled in his hands, so close to sinking down onto him, so ready—yet held there deliberately.

You whimpered and felt him smirk against your neck.

"You're drippin' for me," He murmured, tongue tracing just beneath your ear. "And I haven’t even given you what you're beggin' for yet.”

He dragged the tip of his cock against your entrance again—slow, hot, pulsing—and you shivered in his lap.

His other hand gripped the back of your thigh as he slowly rocked you forward—just enough for your slick to coat him again—then pulled you back to feel the drag, the resistance, the denial.

“Say it,” He whispered against my neck. “Say what you want…”

"I need you...inside. Please!" You pleaded lustfully. He slowly pulled you down onto his cock. You moaned quietly, the feeling of being stretched by the thick tip made your eyes flutter closed.

“Fuck—yes—” He growled as he buried every thick inch inside your soaked, aching cunt, your walls clenching around him like they were starved for it. Your body welcomed him, sucking him in.

The wet sound of your bodies meeting was loud, obscene, and it drove you both mad.

“So fuckin' tight,” He snarled, his pace brutal from the start. “You begged for this—this—” He slammed deeper, grinding hard at the end of the thrust so you felt him press against your cervix, “—and now you’re gonna take all of it.”

Your moans rose in pitch with every thrust, your legs and body completely helpless above him. He nipped at your jaw, kissed down your throat, and left dark marks across your shoulder.

His cock drove in deep again and again, your arousal coating him, dripping between your thighs, pooling beneath you and onto his lap.

He buried himself to the hilt again, grinding, staying there, deep inside as you clenched around him like your body needed to remember the shape of him.

“Gonna put it deep,” he growled, hips rolling slow and devastating. “Right where it belongs… so you’ll feel me every time you move.”

His hand moved to your stomach, pressing down gently where he was stretching you, making you feel how deep he was.

“You feel that? That’s me. Only me.”

He started to move again, faster now, pace brutal and unrelenting. Every thrust slapped into you with wet, messy sounds, your arousal coating his thighs, your walls pulsing tighter with every moan you tried to suppress.

With a feral snarl, his cock pulsed rhythmically as he came deep inside you. His pace momentarily faltered.

“Begged me to fuck you, and now you’re shakin' like you can’t take it,” He hissed against your throat. “But you will. You’ll take every drop I give you.”

You whimpered softly in response as another intense orgasm crashed through you. As you came he didn't stop, he only slowed down. His thrusts were deep but rough, continuously hitting your cervix. Like he wanted inside. You trembled around him and groaned loudly. Your hips bucked against him, and you squeezed so hard that you almost forgot to breathe.

Each thrust crashed into your cervix with a wet slap and a low grunt from him, as if he could somehow push his seed deeper.

“You feel that?” He growled, voice ragged and low. “That’s me…fillin' you. Markin' you. Claimin' you.”

Your body trembled violently above him, bucking to meet his taunting rhythm. You involuntarily clenched down so hard around him that he groaned deep, fingers gripping your hips.

“Fuck…” He gasped, watching as your body tried to milk him. “You’re so fuckin' tight—squeezin' like your cunt doesn’t wanna let me go…”

He leaned forward, mouth on your neck, tongue flicking over the skin before he let his fangs drag gently, threatening.

“You want me to keep goin', don’t you? Want to be bred again... until you’re too full to move. Until there’s no part of you I haven’t claimed.”

Another thrust, sharp and deep. Another low, feral growl in your ear.

His eyes flashed crimson again, wide and wild, and you let out a sharp, broken groan from deep in your chest.

His hips slammed into you—deep, merciless, burying himself in your needy cunt as he throbbed inside, already full, already leaking, but now desperate to flood you again. His cock was still rock hard, sliding through his own cum with every thrust, making everything louder, sloppier, filthier.

His hips bucked in reflex, pressing deeper until he felt your walls clamp and quake around him.

“Cum for me,” he snarled, voice thick with hunger.

With a final, savage pulse, your body convulsed—hot, wet spasms racing through you as you screamed, walls fluttering around him in release. He buried himself in your depths again, riding out your orgasm, then with both hands gripping your hips, lifting and slamming into you one last time as he let go of everything inside. He came hard, spilling deep, coating your walls with every pulse of his cock.

With a final grunt, he placed a soft kiss over your hammering pulse and whispered, "Happy Holidays, love."