Rada Rada

“You’re really cut from a different cloth…”

Enjin’s voice redirects your focus from rolling the lipstick between your fingers onto him. Lazily draped over the common room’s sofa, legs crossed as if you are ready to conquer more than just the makeup you surely tricked some bastard into getting for you — that stuff isn’t easy to find. You're smart enough to use a few words to have a guy whipping out his wallet. And he likes smart chicks — until they’re annoying like you’re easily earning the title.

In any case, he despises the fact some dude is getting what he can only dream of, no matter how much he’s sweating blood for the cause of earning your favor.

“What could you possibly mean, Enjin?” you answer casually, serving him a disinterested look already. No one should be fooled by it, as he knows it’s just a deceiving calm before the storm. What has begun as him chasing a pretty lady, initially unaware of her viciousness, has been turned — involuntarily to him— into the game of push and pull.

Involuntarily, if he weren’t giving you advantage voluntarily, unable to stay away from the source of excitement you bring. Flaunting yourself when you can, but withdrawing yourself away from him the second he think he’s about to get it. Entertaining his flirting attempts, but never turning them into more. Not to mention, teasing him so relentlessly he could believe you’ve been sent to punish and humiliate him; especially when it’s his honorary job to be a jerk.

Yup, so far you’ve been exceeding anyone else about being a pain in his ass. And Enjin — he is constantly forced to question what he could be possibly lacking, if you’re not falling straight into his arms… or lap. He’s handsome, tall, funny, charming, knows how to make someone feel special, and is definitely capable of appreciating a good woman.

“I see you put your claws on another guy. Is it a nice shade, at least?” Speaking condescendingly, he plops himself next to you and throws a casual arm across the space behind your head. Your eyes narrow, knowing he’s playing it cool as his shoulder brushes yours and there’s no apologies.

Inwardly, he’s already locating a shop that would sell better lipstick he could get for you.

“It’s decent,” you smile, turning your head to be gazing at him with slow blinks. Fluttering your lashes so he’s not able to look away, right before you’d throw him into another spiral of restlessness. He digs in, eyeing your pretty features up and down. Would you notice if he moved his face an inch closer? “Why, you jealous?” you taunt.

He snickers, as if unable to find such notion possible. Jealousy implies some sort of care about a chosen person. It’s not that he likes more than your body… even if he vies for your attention, trying to prove what a better guy he’d be. Not could — would be. Just ridiculous of him, who’s anxious at the though of lying his heart in someone else’s hands, or who thinks he’s stronger than a petty emotion envy is. It must have been that masculine need to compete, not a crush or anything…

He’s literally twenty-eight!

“Sweetheart, I could be many things you want me to be, but jealous ain’t one of them,” he grins, trying to sell you his confidence.

You don’t buy it. “Possessive, then?” It’s you who moves closer first, until he has to press his head really snugly to the furniture’s back. He tries his best to look at your lips, as if reciprocating the flirt and not getting all sweaty with a stressed heart. How does one woman make him fumble this much?

“Nope,” he pops his lips at the p letter to accentuate his conviction. “Though, I could see why some folk would be mad over you…” he says lowly. He winks and draws away.

You relax in your seat too. You’ll have to see if someone can repair the common room’s couch again. It’s nice, if you ignore the holes in the green fabric. Many things around are falling apart in general, and they barely fill any space of the yellow-wallled room as well; but it’s home sweet home. “Glad to know you don’t mind me seeing other men…” here you go, provoking him properly and swiftly.

As suspected, his head yanks up with offense, staring at you with “don’t you dare”, thinking he’d hate the idea; he puts on another nonchalant mask when he realizes he exposed himself a second later. “Wipe that smirk off. I don’t care what you’re doing with other guys. I have plenty of eyes on me too, you know.” He puffs out his chest a little.

“Oh, I know,” you flirt, not meaning it much, even if he gives you a look of interest at your sweet tone. However, you still didn’t expect him to last so long. Most men become aggressive or leave after you’ve kept them hanging in suspense for months. But Enjin? He’s damn hooked, desperate to finally lay his hands on you, he just keeps playing your game like moth drawn to the flame you are. At this point, he might even attempt to kiss you all softly until you’re swooning for him too — gross romanticism, if he must.

One thing is sure in his horny brain: you know how to frustrate the man. He can never tell if you're playing hard to get or are hard to get. You certainly enjoy spilling cruelties on his emotions and ego for your own enjoyment, as if you’re some sort of sadist.

“Good. Keep it mind. Maybe you’ll be the one to be jealous the next time you see me with some hot lady in the nearest settlement,” he says proudly, tapping his fingers behind your head.

“We should get a double date while we’re at that, cause I’d probably be with some hunk myself,” your smirk widens, with you enjoying the way his mouth open in protest too fast to call it nonchalance.

Enjin groans and hits the couch with his head dramatically.

“Must you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” You pop the lipstick open and close it to make him more agitated with the sound of plastic. His eyelid twitches.

“Not letting the man have even a tiny bit of you and all.” He’s the man in question. Talking about himself in the third person makes things less embarrassing. “It makes me wonder, what do I have to do to earn a chance with you?”

What does the mantra go like? Enjin doesn't chase — he attracts. Well, he always chased women, but they also have been coming to him on their own! With you, he does the chase solely himself; probably until his poor body will collapse from exhaustion, apparently. He wants to believe it makes him a virile guy who knows what he wants, who will be this lion king to pull the best woman around and crow about it, but who is he kidding…

You’ve been the one throwing curveballs. And it’s not some longlasting banter, if it’s an entire war on his pride, sanity, and confidence — or even masculinity.

“You were trying to earn a chance with me?” Your obviously feigned innocence pulls an even louder groan out of him, making you laugh.

It’s fun to tease people, see them stress over his words or get shy, but when he’s being subjected to it, especially by you… he just wants to strangle you. He almost pities everyone else he had ever taunted, finding himself in their shoes. Or rather, he has it much worse than they had it with him — you’re this spider crushing a cheap player’s ego. He’s supposed to be the one beguiling the other side, like he used to do so with women.

“Come on. I’ve heard that juicy gossip in the Canvas Town. Apparently, you putting men to their knees is every Friday’s special,” his tone turns more serious, which to you, is rather theatrical when you can’t care much. He hates both you chasing other men — it is jealousy like you said — and being another one on your list to check and abandon.

Demanding some payoff, he finally allows himself to play with your hair, gathering it to the side. When you let him expose your neck (surely a deliberate and well-thought move from your side), seeing your skin has his mouth water at the idea of putting his lips here. Staring intensely, he imagines leaving a nasty hickey on there, one that would deter other men away from approaching you until it healed.

“Being a cleaner is stressful. A girl must relax somehow. You do something about that too, I’ve been told by Semiu,” you reply apathetically to his possessiveness. Men use women all the time — you cannot be much worse. No one gets genuinely hurt, at least.

He snickers dryly, puffing out an air of astonishment. It’s nearly amusement by how ridiculous you sound to him. “You find using men relaxing?”

When you shrug, he’s reminded that he is still there, regardless of your misbehavior towards his gender. He’s just another fool for you to play with, but, fit for a fool, he likes to believe he’s doing better than the rest and there’s something awaiting him at the end of the rainbow. He’s still there, so isn’t that a sign he’s keeping you interested? You didn’t get bored so far, which counts for something — he has to be a worthy opponent.

“I guess it’s fair. Men do that with women all the time,” he comes up with the answer he’d expect to hear from you. Earning some brownie points, right as he drapes some of your hair further down your neck, almost cupping your entire throat with his hand.

Your pulse is steady under his fingertips. He hates that.

“Oh? So you are agreeing with me, not defending your sex? Or are you just trying to flatter me?” your inquiry is uttered with a lilted sound — you would have seen through him. Enjin is a tougher opponent in comparison to other men in your long past with them, yet you know how to disarm him nonetheless.

“Would that even change things for you,” he deflects brusquely. He’s finally acting on those impulsive demands of his body, unnerved — pressing his lips on your nape, spreading a kinder type of kiss first to see some shivers such delicate touch would have caused.

“Mm… eager,” you murmur, tilting your head back. No shivers.

Even though you’re letting him smooch you, he’s not sure if he’s doing you good — you giggle and shit, but it’s more you having fun than arousal. You might as well getting him hopeful for no reason, knowing you.

He looks up at you, still attached to your neck. You’re grinning down at him, not much rattled by his skilled mouth.

He doesn’t even bother to try again and takes some distance; he dramatically slumps his body until his head is hanging off the couch, and rubs his face. Good luck there’s no one in the room to witness his loss. “You’re so cold. Are you really into men?” he speaks more into the air, refusing to face you again. He doesn't need to hear your victory. Or entertaining the paranoia he’s not your type. That would be tragic.

“I am. I just am not sure I should let you get this ahead. You're trying to fuck me,” you say in a clipped voice. “I’m not interested in becoming a bed warmer for you.”

Which is hypocritical, considering you do fuck men for pleasure, often having him willing to do anything for more promised. However, you have a good reason to avoid hitting his bed specifically — sleeping between Cleaners sounds like a terrible idea. Besides, you think Enjin has enough ego without being able to touch you, one you don’t wish to reward. Secretly, or not so secretly, you hate men like him — all suave. You only respect him for who he is as a Cleaner and a friend, recognizing his importance to the symbiosis of everyone around.

He pouts, moving his lower lip to the front, again looking at you with something naughty. “Ah, but how do you know I don't want a date instead?”

“A date that would serve as a foreplay, you mean?” you chuckle.

He grumbles about you being coy under his nose and pulls you close, squeezing you so close to his big chest you feel your bones creaking. You make a sour face at his cologne overwhelming your nostrils. “Oh, come on, don’t be shy! You’ll have plenty of fun with me!” he laughs wolfishly, the sound’s vibrations purring between your huddled bodies.

Struggling to breathe and free yourself from the boa arms, you defend yourself verbally, “I’m pretty sure I’m not being shy.” You finally place enough strength on his shoulders to push yourself away, until you can inhale and fix your tousled hair. “You don’t know what I could do to you,” you tease too, still breathlessly. You smile; in that enticing way where your eyes sparkle, your eyelids lower into the bedroom look, and you’re meeting him from below your lashes. Once again, providing material for his mind to imagine beautiful things, but not being willing to materialize any of his dirty fantasies.

He spreads his legs wider to get more comfortable, needing to adjust himself. He imagines you on your knees between them, licking him up — oh, but you probably wouldn’t go there, and if you would, it’d be to pull out the most mortifying and slutty reactions from him. If anything, it’d be him being used by you. He doesn’t even go down there, being submissive or whatever, and yet…

As embarrassing he finds it, he probably would grant you some space for becoming your toy. Screw it, at this point, he’d take anything that’s equivalent to sexual. “Well, you can always fuck me instead. You probably would call it as that anyway, yeah? Taking charge and all?” He mocks, more self-deprecatingly about that he’s actually acknowledging the possibility. “So I guess this dick is all yours.” He motions his hand over his crotch.

“You mean the one between your legs, or yourself?” you grin slyly.

Not you calling him dick too. “Ugh, smartass woman… I guess both.”

This is what liking women smarter than him costs him.

One of the innumerable issues with you is that you wear work clothes that refuse to pronounce your real body shape. Yeah, your skin catching dust from the polluted zone is definitely yucky, but you’re going to get yourself washed after anyway. He’s seen you with your bust and ass out only once, in a tiny neon-pink dress reserved for going out to the colorful Canvas Town — unfortunately, as hard the sight had gotten him, it was as quickly ruined with you hanging on some man’s shoulder.

Enjin, regardless of his discontentment with your long jeans skirt and trashy-cheetah-print hoodie, is still a horny prick. You covering yourself only gets him excited about there has to be underneath — his mind tries to come up with the idea of what you could look like bare and on your fours, drawing the hottest visions to his mind.

Where he’d like to lay his hands on the most. How your body curves and fills the contours. Where his hands would rest the most comfortably when fucking you. What’s slappable, what’s grippable. Anything x you naked.

Of course, the fate had it that he are to be paired with you for the next cleaning. In fact, you make quite a good duo when you place your tension aside — not that you need to hear that from his lips.

It’s you you walking side by side by him through the trash-desert, whistling to yourself and swinging your vital instrument back and forth, while he tries to not side-ogle your body like a creep. As long as he doesn't angle his head excessively, the gas mask shall expose none… “So, you had a good sleep today?” he asks with a yawn.

You look up at him, already forming a taunting smile. Naturally, your face is covered by the mask, but he can gauge that expression with the expertise that was forced into him for the sake of surviving this one special woman. “Are you trying a new pickup line? It’s quite lame, to be honest.”

He shakes his head with exasperation. He’ll go gray prematurely because of you. Is chasing you even worth it at this point? Maybe he's just stubborn; no, he has to be. He hates annoying women, and yet, here he is. “No, I actually care about you being rested. Insane, I know. A man who’s into you also wants you rested.”

“So I can keep up with him in bed?”

“No!” he raises his voice out of frustration, then curses under his nose at the blunder — he’s ought to alert some beasts if he’s loud. It’s a loss of cool aura in front of you too. You just know how to provoke him, more than the brats around the HQ do. It's straight eight in the morning, too early to be baited by you. “No,” he tries again, quiet this time. “Because he’s being nice.” He forces a smile underneath his mask, barely keeping his sanity.

As your eye wrinkles keep up in mischief, he thinks that maybe you’re not done playing with his nerves. Thankfully, your answer comes out relatively normal. “Oh, then, it was good. Thanks for asking. You slept well too?”

“Yeah,” he throws casually, scratching the back of his head. Yeah, if he were to exclude the vivid dreams about you, or waking up with a boner in the middle of the night, lamenting you’re not there to take care of it. But you definitely shouldn’t know that — that’s giving you a loaded gun for free. “As much as those tiny beds allow. I’m a big guy, vertically and horizontally.” He flexes his arm under his trench coat, hoping to impress you.

You’re better than being bought by muscles, and worse as a human being. “I’ve seen taller,” you just had to drop the bomb, stopping him in tracks amid the sandy storm.

Enjin tries to keep his cool. He tells himself to remain calm, staring at his shoes. He acknowledges the fact there’s always a taller man; obviously, that’s logical. However, you didn’t need to make him sound short, especially when he takes pride in his broadness — playing the role of a peacock flaunting and spreading his feathers for you, his potential mate. He’s been hoping you find him tall enough!

“Excuse me?! If I’m barely fitting a standard bed, I think that’s tall enough!” he throws his hands and Umbreaker into the air dramatically, until the latter opens as dramatically. Forget being nonchalant. He gets efficient enough excuses to be emotional around you.

You stop your stroll, turning around to meet him with innocence. “Oh, but I didn’t say you’re not tall enough. Just stating the fact there are men taller than you, to highlight you still have it light compared to their struggle…” you chide him, smirking sideways.

He realizes how he allowed you to provoke him again. You didn’t even call him short directly; he fell for that because you know where to dig at his ego’s spectrum. “But… that logic applies to everything…” he says quietly to himself, itching to yell at you until you say sorry.

You’re stealing his job. He’s supposed to be taunting people. He’s supposed to be flirting with you, and you are supposed to be giggling all prettily at him, saying how great Enjin is.

You’re making him lose his mind instead. The worst gamble he took in his entire life is trying to win you over.

He makes a decision in order to save his mental health. “Wait here. I need a cigarette,” he grumbles.

You hit the sand with your instrument. “Huh? You crazy? You can’t take your mask off here.” He won’t kick the bucket if he will be fast enough with smoking, although, ending up with a sick lung isn’t a fun idea to spend your free time with.

“Oh, you’re worrying about me all of a sudden?” he scoffs. “I’ll smoke in the car. Put the filter on.”

“Must you? I just wanna get done with our job!” You give him pleading eyes through the windows of your mask — in the soft way he knows other men would fold under. It gets his knees weak also.

Fortunately, he’s still capable of recognizing his own shortcomings. There’s leftover crumbs of this quality, ones he plans to use when he’s being violently abused by your mindgames.

“Well, your fault, darling. You pissed me off again,” he says almost cockily, unable to believe he didn't give in under pressure.

Until you take on revenge, fussy that you were denied for once by him. “Tsk. Then go on, leave me waiting. Though let me tell you — you smoking is funny. Cigarettes already are a poison, but smoking them when you're already being slowly poisoned by trash… it’s just you giving a helping hand to the process of killing yourself.”

His umbrella almost snaps under the grip on the handle.

“No, you’ve got this, Enjin. She’s just showing she’s mad at you,” he thinks.

“The doll is being worried about my health. I’m charmed,” he exaggerates with a hand on his chest. “Yeah, I guess you need to pick your vice. And some damn cigarette is the least I deserve for risking my life everyday. Or for dealing with annoying kids… or women,” he says the last in a petty way, and turns his back around to walk away back to the car.

“Whatever. I’ll stay here and try to not be eaten by a trash beast,” you bark back at him, grumpily. Your eyes scavenge for any moving things in the dusty, beige-rock horizon.

“You do you!” he calls chirpily from behind his shoulder. Hearing you complain a bit has him feeling smug, tasting the victory on his tongue. Finally, for once in his predicament, you’re not having things go your ways. His walk is full of swagger, with Enjin thinking about how one cigarette might turn into two or three. He’s eager to keep you waiting and all; he’s resting easy at the notion you can defend yourself until he’s back.

Though, he’s worried he might start missing you again, and stuck with his thoughts alone, he’ll think about you bouncing on his dick in the car, the car bumping along the rhythm of you two, and—

He hears your scream, right as he’s about to climb the mound the car was parked on for a better chance to find it later amid the storm. “Enjin, help me!”

One thing about you is that you don’t ever have it bad enough with trash beasts to be screaming so helplessly — it’s only in his head, when he pretends you’re creaming on his cock.

Wielding his umbrella, he quickly turns around, forgetting about the smoke break, as he’s ready to protect his object of desire — a precious Cleaner companion too, he’d dare say. “Girl, what’s wrong?!”

He scans the area, looking for the source of danger. It’s weird, he didn’t hear any rustle of beasts… and now, he sees nothing. No you or the beast. “Huh? What the hell…”

You take advantage of his distraction to sneak into your car and hide the cigarettes, in order to frustrate him some more. You don't plan to spend entire day here because an emotional dude wants his cigs. You open the door, hoping to work in earned time.

In the same moment, he turns around towards the car again with lingering confusion, searching for something in another direction.

With the height the door is placed at, you end up hitting something.

Then you hear a thump, something heavy falling on the sand moving under its weight. Your eyes widen in terror when you see him knocked out.

“Enjin, no!” you jump off the mound, crouching down next to the unconscious man. “Why were you just standing there!”

As he doesn't wake up, you shake on his shoulder. Sure, you hit him pretty hard, you carry some strength, but you would have thought he’s more sturdy. “Enjin, you frog-looking bastard!” There is no bleeding or crack in his skull under the mask you momentarily remove to inspect him, so he must have been hit with the force of your swing instead. You sit down on the sand next to him, all resigned.

The beasts that soon finds you, you have to defeat on your own. Then drag this big inconvenience to the car and drive back to the headquarters on your own.

You didn’t expect Enjin to ever be capable of causing you to feel something like honest guilt. Really, everything that has taken place in the zone was no more than an accident, as even your cigarette thievery wasn’t meant to hurt him. The fuel is added when you think about how he was ready to protect you, with no hesitation to jump in to help you.

You added to poor Eishia’s worries too. She thought you killed the man everyone depends on.

You’ve been out of his space ever since bringing him back, and now are standing in front of the hospital room, trying to cherry-pick any anger in Enjin’s voice after he finally woke up.

“Ouch, ow, can't you be more careful, kiddo…” he’s complaining about something to Rudo already foaming in his mouth.

“I brought you food! I’m adjusting your pillow too! You asked me to! That’s just ungrateful!”

“Hey, I was just saying—”

You knock on the open door, willing to interrupt a possible volcano eruption. “Hey, Enjin. I’m glad you’re awake,” you greet humbly for yourself.

To your surprise, or lack thereof when you know him well, he’s immediately quieter, straightening his body on the bed too, as if no pain was ever bothering him. Wearing on nonchalance to not lose your respect. A head concussion? Nah, he had it worse in the past. It's merely a bit of headache. He might be butthurt about you trying to deprive him of his cigarettes, though. “Yeah, yea. You can go, Rudo. I’ll be fine, kiddo.”

“Hey! You told me you want me to—” Rudo’s mouth is being covered, not letting the boy take away his chance of being with you alone.

“I did. But the new help’s here, exempting you of work,” he nods over at you. Rudo makes a disgruntled noise and leaves, not without spilling few insults. Enjin has wasted his time, but at least he doesn’t have to look after the older guy.

“How are you feeling?” you ask placidly, no tease or hidden intention for the sake of your regret. When he eyes you with suspicion, you move closer and sit on the edge of his bed, conceiving the need for an earnest talk.

His pupils dilate at the sight of you, regardless of him having been a bit mad at you. He tries to express his dissatisfaction at what happened with pursed lips, only to feel more like a child desperate for attention. Eishia filled him on why was his head brutalized by you, but somehow, he’s feeling petty about the idea of being mad at you. Special treatment he’s been brewing from his little crush.

“As good as a man with a head concussion can feel. All of this because you tried to hide my cigarettes. And here I thought you were in genuine danger…” he sounds whiny already. Not without giving you tiny glances about whether his trick works on you. You just look so caring and it gets to his head, and he’ll be lying to say he’s not irritated by being defeated by something as stupid as you hitting him with a car door, enough to need some TLC.

Except, you're not that easy. “What happened to your bravado?”

Right. He’s supposed to be tough in front of you, not a spineless loser. Even if you have made your point a long time ago — usual tactics do nothing to impress you, especially if it’s forced masculinity or platitudes. “It’s right there alright. I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” he shrugs his shoulders too insistently on being chill, only to wince at his headache going down his spine under the movement.

“Oh ho,” you shake your head with pitying smile. You shouldn’t be so soft, in his opinion — he doesn’t like his feelings being touched. “You can tell me if something is wrong, you know. It’s my fault you’re here. I didn’t mean to have you injured, but…” you speak in a tone meant to be comforting. You even place your hand on his bicep, rubbing his instantly tightening muscles.

Only exciting him. Fantasizing about your hands on him is one thing. It’s a minuscule part of the issue, when your rare softness is working its way into his heart.

Oh no. You’re going to be all sentimental — you looking at him with worry and regret of a puppy, as if aware you did something wrong is the manifestation of it — and he won't know how to deal with that.

He quickly opens his mouth, also adjusting his body after it tingled from your touch. “Don’t try to apolo—” “I’m sorry,” you interrupt, solemnly. “Seriously. That was stupid of me.”

“You just had to…” he sighs deeply, rubbing his temple. Now that you two are here, he’ll have to be frank with you just to move on. “I know you didn’t want to hurt me. I'm just a bit pissed at you, but I doubt you’re that cruel to hit me deliberately, despite what you’re doing to me.”

Your tense shoulders relax, relieved he’s not considering killing you for your prank went wrong. “Oh? And what am I doing to you?” you tease, more so to lift his spirits than irritate.

“Don’t get me started,” he laughs off nervously, peeking at your hand on him.

Right as it moves up to his shoulder. You scooch closer to begin massaging him, the least you can do — as if able to tell he needs it. It feels so good on his stressed body, a groan leaves his lips and he wants to close his eyes. “Chin up. At least I won’t find the strength in me to torment you when you’re in this state,” you remark humorously.

He’d disagree. Not with the way your hands skillfully knead his muscles and make him further descend into being your fool. Your attention is on him, you smell nice with whatever perfume you were gifted, and your pretty face is right there for his tired eyes — literally a sight for sore eyes. But he’ll digress — you’re actually being innocent with your touch for once. It’s only the body knows what it wants.

“Yeah? You’ll hand-feed me too?” he mocks with a small grin.

“I just might. Whatever the patient needs,” you mention, digging your fingertips into his muscles until he winces at the knot being undone.

He gets hit with the realization you mean your words, feeling responsible for him. “… Don’t. I need to maintain my reputation.”

“Suit yourself.”

Eventually, he relaxes his heart tremors enough to close his eyes and submit himself to your soothing touch. He even manages to not make it weird, just therapeutic for his body and soul.

Then he suddenly remembers, his eyes snapping open, directed with accusation at you. “You called me a frog looking bastard!”

“Huh?” you play dumb. You didn’t know he was still lingering in consciousness when you said that at the time. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did!” He sits up straight, stopping your motion. He gives you a stink eye. Your insults was so abysmal, of course he memorized it even through the fog of his mind.

“Enjin, you must have been hallucinating after you hit your head,” you pat his shoulder patronizingly.

There's no way he’ll settle at that version. He has to defend his handsome looks. “Is it my big, tired eyes? Because women love it—”

You laugh, then switch to scolding when he visibly winces from pain. “Calm your tits. Let’s focus on you getting better first. Eishia might have fixed most of your head trouble, but you still need a good day of rest.”

“Great, now you’re being maternal,” he grumbles. He’d like to prove you wrong, but in battle of wits, you’ll dim his enthusiasm anyway — so he turns on his side, away from you, sulky.

Silence follows. Regardless of his mood, you place your hand on his shoulder again. “Seriously, Enjin, is there something I can do to make up for almost cracking your skull?”

He perks up, looking at you over his shoulder with interest. Oh, there’s many things he’d love to receive. Being cracked instead of his skull, for example. But he has enough decorum and decency to refuse to be the nasty man who uses your body by weaponizing your guilt. “Nah. Don’t mention it.” He lies down again, wrapping himself snugly in a blanket.

But you see it; the way he tenses under your touch and it definitely isn’t discomfort. You have always noticed his desperation and thirst for you, you simply didn’t act on that need of his.

Today, feeling guilty and mostly worried, you actually feel like doing something about it… although, it’s not really the sense of being indebted that has you considering doing more. It’s an excuse to have some fun, on another level of tormenting him for your indulgence. You’ve been worried about crossing the lines your job would have drawn; except, they were long tarnished when you didn’t put a clear stop to his chase months ago.

You’ve been craving him for quite a while now. So you ask again, implying your true intention with a lower tone. “Are you sure?”

His head whips up immediately, turning to look at you. “Huh? Yeah.” He nods rapidly, more so to ground himself in his certainty.

“Hm…” your hand wanders up his tattooed neck and he gulps, eyes full of surprise at your unexpected eagerness. Every nerve awakens with your touch, sending pleasure coding to his brain. “But I can make you feel better.”

He’s sitting up fully, glad his blanket pools around his growing need. “WHA— no, no, wait. I don’t want you to forcing yourself for my sake. I’m not that much of a bastard to take advantage of you,” his protest is anxious, coming from the need to protect you. He scratches the back of his head, observing your hand for any more suspicious move, wondering why you don’t seem uncomfortable — are you seriously being into the perks of doing more with him, or are being a good actress? He would have though all that happened for the past months was no more than a game to you.

“Who said you’d be taking advantage of me?” you purr. When he looks at you as if you just have told him cigarettes were banned, unable to comprehend the idea of you finally doing something to him V O L U N T A R I L Y, you roll your eyes with a mocking disappointment. Wanting to light up the bulb in his head, you add, “What if I want you too?”

“You- you do?” he forces out with gaping eyes. Perhaps, you’re leading him on again. Why the change? Although, he doubts you’re gullible enough to offer yourself out of pity — you must want him somewhere. No forgiving type you are.

You click your tongue at his slowness. “Well, of course, I wouldn’t let you sleep with me or anything.” No, that would be allowing him to win a jackpot. “But, hopefully the sight of my body should make you feel better?” You play with a Choker around his neck, slipping your fingers under until you hit the dip between his collarbones. He gulps.

Enjin of course would have preferred if he could outright fuck you, further motivated by your ongoing touch. But at this stage of your game, he’d take anything and it’d still be much more than he ever could have bargained for.

The sole obstacle in his way is his pride. It’s not as if you don’t know how desperate he is, but he still wants to maintain some illusion of control in front of you two. Besides, he remembers how you reacted to him denying you your request in the desert — your frustration was delightful to witness. “I don’t need that. I can ask any woman to do that for me. There’s like ten of them in my Choker.”

But you don’t play bullshit, challenging him with suddenly cutting his supply of your touch. You stand up from his bed. “Should we call them now? I can speak with one for you. Tell her poor Enjin needs to see some nice tits to get better.”

“I—” his face flushes. What you describe sounds on brand for character; he’s simply not used to women putting his lust bluntly. Nor does he want to lose the chance to see you naked FOR ONCE.

Who is he trying to fool, playing coy and unavailable? He’s conscious about the fact he’d regret saying no. “How much?” he mumbles through his lips.

“Hm?” You raise your brow.

“How much would you let me get away with?” he repeats, louder.

“You can look… you can touch… just no trying to shove your dick in me,” you bat your lashes at him.

As expected. He rubs his brow, foggily calculating the consequences of lying in bed with you. There’s many coming to his mind, actually, but he’s thinking with his dick. “Well, the least we can do is move over to my room…” He looks around. The ugly hospital hall’s beds are empty, thought you never know when someone might storm in.

Not to mention, he’d be revolved and angry in case someone sees what’s meant for his eyes only — in his non-humble opinion.

“Go on. I allowed you that much, didn’t I?” you smile coquettishly under him. You’ve been ready to be on top and give him a little show, but he insisted on being above you, promising his head will be fine as long as he’s not too vigorous. Though with the music he decided to blast in another bland and empty bedroom of the headquarters, supposedly to set a good mood, a headache is promised.

His big arms are trapping you by the sides of your head, on his own bed. Your legs rest on the side of his as he’s kneeling between yours, getting him horny at how close your groins are.

Although, staring at you, your body spread for him like a gift and beautifying his plain bedsheets, being allowed to finally have some taste… he’s nervous, not dominating you with his energy or any of such. It’s too good to be true to have you here, nor does he need to fall even more fixated with you. For a man with some buildup experience, he’s not sure where he should begin with ‘unwrapping’ you. Any move could be read as wrong by you.

It’s too hot in this room.

“I know… I’m just… not taking your reward for granted.” His spacious palms hesitantly move to the button of your jeans skirt, unzipping it after — he manages to do it last second before you’d have to help him, shunning the same. You watching out for any slip up definitely didn’t make it easier.

He sees the black lacy panties peeking underneath the zipline and his cock throbs in his pants. To get such nice ones, a small bow to make it pretty and all, he doesn’t doubt your ability you encouraged some man in the town to buy them for you. Just this layer between him and your pussy, he’s already panting like a desperate dog. “Okay, now…”

You’re being nice to him, lifting your hips for him, silently observing his actions. The lower the skirt leaves, the more it opens the view on your thighs and hips. The moment the clothing is gone, he’s immediately gripping them — fuck him, they rest so good in his hands. “You might just be a goddess, sent to torment me…” he remarks quietly, pitying himself. You're soft too, using whatever lotion bottle you found after people from the above dropped it down still half-filled.

He ogles you shamelessly, burning the image of you, as well as the palpable feeling, on his mind. He omits your pussy, wanting to leave the dessert for the end.

“I take it you like it?” you chuckle, wiggling your body a bit on purpose.

“That’s an understatement…” he pinches your thigh a little to see your flesh plumped, until you're serving him a pout from the tiny pain he springs into life.

“Be gentle with me. That body is important,” you tease.

He scoffs. “Wouldn’t I know that...” You and your hunt on men… “Lift your arms for me, darling.”

You obey. The moment your hoodie is paired with the skirt on the floor, he inhales sharply through his teeth.

There was no bra all along, so he’s drooling at the sight of your breasts hitting his vision immediately. His eyes could fall out of his sockets. “Really?”

“I’m comfy.” You just don’t like wearing one around the headquarters, finding it bothersome to cage your breasts for the majority of work already.

He’s on you immediately, fondling the jiggly between his fingers, cupping them entirely. Gawking at them, all starved and willing to pounce on you the millisecond you allow.

You'd love to bully him over that, but his fingers roll your nipples between them, the honey in his eyes darkening when your buds poke back at him. You shiver, annoyed when he grins at your sensitive vulnerability shown. “Finally something else than leading me on, huh?” he taunts smugly.

“I can feel your boner against my leg, Enjin,” you bite back, grinning as he scrunches his nose in irritation — of course, you’re terribly right. You still can't believe you’re letting him this far, so some taunting is due.

Deciding he wants to explore more possibilities of your reaction, and most importantly, needing your pussy for dear life, he grabs the band of your panties. There’s an itch to be a brute and rip off your panties, something he knows other women would find hot, and then… but you’d hate him for that. No waste is allowed and that jazz. “Screw that, you’re right. I’m hopeless with you and you feast on that shit. Satisfied?” he sighs.

So to calm himself, he glides your underwear down your legs, on a slower side to see if you’ll collect some anticipation in you as well.

You both fix your gazes at each other, not willing to break the condensing tension with divided eye-contact. You’re watching him intensely, noting every desperation for your enjoyment. He’s throbbing harder under being scrutinized, and yet, he can still your breath hitch to have some power over you. Good — you’re not immune to his touch.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this…” Of course you do. You made the wait happen. He needs for it to be said for the sake of releasing the intoxication you’ve been inculcating in his mind and loins. It’s invigorating.

“Only you get the pain of it, huh?” you rest your hands over his knees twitching occasionally.

Once your panties are good and your pussy is there for his display, he stops moving to take a deep breath in, shiver spreading down his whole body at this visage finally given to him. You’re the vision to haunt him forever especially down here.

He doesn't miss the way your thighs tremble over his, as if waiting for something or someone to sink their fangs into you properly. He has to oblige.

Your hand trails his knee, brushing over his pants to let him know it’s all very much real.

He prays for himself. “And I really can…?” Getting hurt by you was definitely worth it, considering everything that’s playing out right now. Wet dreams coming true. You’re naked as the way you were born like you’re some nymph, while he’s still fully in his clothes and it doesn’t even feel like having control over you.

“Yeah, Enjin, you can.” He doesn’t waste time after the reminder still keeping him on the Ground. His fingers brush between your folds, zeroing in on the way they part for him. What he’d do to be able to rub his cock here, surely big enough to be taking up all the space here.

You squirm from the inevitable pleasure, angling your hips into a better position.

“Mm, how’s the view?”

Enjin doesn’t look away from your cunt for even a second. He taps his finger on your clit next, watching as it twitches, as if he’s some expert on your body. Sparking small sensitivity in you, you’re suddenly acutely aware of the ache growing in your groin. You whimper, drawing out a satisfied sigh from him. “She’s pretty. You’re pretty…” he comments dreamily.

“Thank you— she?” you ask with both sense of being flattered and amusement.

“Your pussy. I bet she tastes sweet too,” he groans at the thought.

That man. It’s amazing his dirty tongue doesn’t turn off when he’s anxious; though, that’s what the horny does. Now your head is filled with thoughts of what destruction he’d bring with his tongue once you let him between your legs. Perhaps that’s the plan for another day…

“I do. I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to pull you away from me,” you tease.

“And I bet you're right on the money,” he smiles knowingly at you in the peripheral vision.

Your body tremors when he then spits on your hole to see it glisten, before he’s spreading your vulva with two fingers. “Damn…” he could taste how tightly you’d wrap around him. How much you’d soak his cock. “I know you said no fucking… but I can use my finger, right? Just to see what you feel like…” he pleads, eyes darting at you with a need.

You weight your option, staring at his huge hand fitting well between your legs. Those fingers would fill you so nicely, wouldn’t they? It’s no more than your feeding curiosity, you try to tell yourself. You end up nodding, not without your stomach clenching at the thought of him breaching your hole beyond previously highlighted line.

“Bless you,” he says with gratitude. He pushes his index finger inside along with his saliva, feeling the way your walls immediately trap around him in a suffocating fashion. He can tell you’ve been wet already, and he’s right, as his spit fuses with your slick into juices being rushed back and forth. Enjin memorizes the grip of your hole to replay in his head later; your tiny gasp at the stretch as well. “Ugh, so tight too… can’t even hate you properly with a body like this.

Can’t even imagine what it’d be like to have you warming my cock instead.”

He feels it — you instantly clamping on his digit shallowly thrusting. You moan too, unable to repel the dizzying thought of being split by him. His throat tightens, as he’s half-considering asking you for more. You haven’t pushed him away so far, and your pussy cooperates with his strokes.

He feels like a jerk asking for it, yet no guilt hits him when his bulge pulses and demands in his boxers. “Aren’t you curious too…?” he suggest lowly. He curls his finger, wiggling around to find some nice spot that would have you reconsider every limitations you have placed on him.

“E-Enjin…” you whine a little, puffing out air at the small sparks of pleasure he’s stirring. “You know we shouldn’t…”

Oh, he knows it for sure — Cleaners’ conflict of interests and all. But just a small dip inside shouldn’t hurt, right? “We don’t have to fuck. Simply check our compatibility,” he jokes, regardless of staring at you with what he’d consider way outside what his pride would allow. Any traces of nonchalance are entirely wiped. “Just the tip, I promise.”

Your mind conjectures the image in your head, ghosts your hole with it too — you believe just the tip would be a lot with what he’s hiding in his pants. And you find yourself drooling at the fantasy, any inhibitions are being spontaneously thaw out. “But really just the tip?” the hesitation in your voice is just a decoration.

“Really,” he says, biting his lip until it goes white. Now more confident, he moves his hip to the front so he can grind his bulge against you and coax you into agreeing. The friction has you moaning, not to mention the size, with you crumpling his bedsheets under your hands. “You see what you’re doing to me?”

You certainly feel it. You nod.

Then he takes it one step further, moving his red shirt over his head, which soon joins your clothes. Your mouth goes dry at the image of his muscular torso, painted in black and red lines of his tattoo. He has you right there, feeling good about himself in front of you for once.

“Alright, alright…” The sparkle in his eyes at your yes has you bout to regret your choice.

The coil snaps. Wasting no time, he’s shoving his pants and boxers down with nearly an inhuman speed, revealing anything you have ever dreamed of in the man.

He is huge. His clothes often turn his body shapeless, and while he has some nice waist on him, his cock remains big. Standing up and resting against his abdomen, leaking fat beads of pre-cum from the furious red of the tip about to grace your body. He tries not to smile at your stare.

“Scared?”

“You think I can’t take it?” You want to take every inch, no drama or complaining.

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, hoping for a bit of struggle for the ego stroking value.

Back between your legs, he spreads them with those also huge hands, before pushing a finger into you again.

“You said just the tip,” you whine at the repeated stretch, holding onto his thigh. Your long nails scratch him on purpose, watching goosebumps awake.

“I know I did, pretty girl. But I have to stretch you a bit or you might get hurt.” This one is not an excuse served by him; though it does give him a perfect opportunity to fondle you for extended period of time, by other hand over your hips.

Though you foolishly want to challenge yourself and prove him wrong, you still appreciate him being considerate. You’re certainly not complaining, as just his hand on you is wonderful. You let a pretty mewl pass your lips. Those he wanted to kiss forever.

Hoping asking for a kiss is no worse than anything else happening at the moment, he lowers his face until his forehead and nose bump yours. There’s no stopping, but adding another finger inside — you want to cry from how full it has you already. You both gasp at his cock laying itself over your thigh in this angle — you almost from the terror, he from the contact.

He’s pretty in this proximity; he thinks you’re even prettier. He doesn't look away, nor do you, ghosting his face by ventilating breath in an upbeat manner. It’s you who kisses first, softly at the start, then twisting it into heated after the months of denial of your own desire for him.

Both of you bite at each other's lips, shoving your tongues in as far as they can go. He overwhelms you a bit more, pressing your head into the pillow with his lips moving to the sides as if to swallow you entirely, leaving the track of saliva all over your face. He's skillful, having you whimper into his mouth; you’re delicious, you have him groaning for more, especially when he grinds himself into your leg.

But on the other sides of things, he remains mindful with you, not jamming his digit like a brute who thinks it’ll have you screaming in anything else other than pain. It’s hard to stay indifferent, nor do you want to be ungrateful when he’s working hard for your pleasure.

Resurfacing for breath, he keeps his forehead while fucking you on his fingers, with a deep stare. You’re licking your swollen lips and he think he’s the luckiest man alive, as he is the stupidest to be here.

“No complaints for once, vixen?” he laughs lightly, handsomely raspy.

“Well, yeah… you're being tender and that’s already something.” You smile and tilt your head, comfortably dizzy at the tingles between your thighs.

His brows furrow in worry at what you’re implying. “You’re saying other men are being too rough with you?”

You tense up a little. “I mean, some think just pounding a woman away is a way to go. Rough is nice, but not when they lack any sensuality or carefulness.”

He closes his eyes, trying to not let irritation get to him in the best moment of his life. The idea of some douchebag being inconsiderate with you or other ladies is disgusting. He’s not saying he’s a saint and perfect guy — by any chance — and likes being surrounded by hot chicks a whole bunch, while also being emotionally repressed, but he does try to make everyone’s experience worth the attention they give him.

Seeing the dilemma, you soothe it. “Don't worry. This is why I don't let most men do more than buy me a drink. Despite what you think, I don't sleep around that much. And if I do and something goes wrong, most men don’t see my fist coming.”

He raises his brow. A femme fatale and… although, he assumes it's mostly about playing men, not fucking them unless you think they are tasty enough. You enjoy the psychological aspects of things first and foremost, and you don’t lack in intelligence to gain something without having to let some man into your pants’ way.

You’re not totally fair towards these folks, though it’s now evident some for sure deserve it. And in times like this, you have to survive somehow.

Then, among his judgments of you, it’s this selfish relief painting itself. That not many men can touch you in general is great, but especially when this neatly like he does is rare.

“That’s good to know. If you need any man beaten up, you know where to find me.”

You laugh, dispersing any heavy energy, and raising his heart with a cute melody. When he places his thumb on your clit with enough pressure, it’s rewarded with a highest moan so far. You’re gorgeous when you're relaxed like this, it has him warm in a lightness he doesn't like.

“Thanks. Still, I can show you how to please me,” you tease to raise a reaction, rolling your hips under his fingers hastening their thrusts. They're so deep into your guts.

“Huh? But I know how to touch a woman?” he scoffs.

“But do you know how to touch me?”

“Why? You come with some sort of manufacture instructions or som—”

When your knee kicks at his thigh, he winces and shuts up about trying to one up you. “Anything you say. I know, I’m being pathetic, but at this point, I’ll take anything you’re willing to give.” He speaks in that “what’s even my life?” tone. He pulls out his fingers, despite wanting to redo his work at your disappointed noise, looking at the wetness coating it. Without much hesitation, he puts them in his mouth and licks, looking you straight in the eye.

Your stomach twists, enamored with his handsomeness being amplified by that dirty move. You throw in a disgusted look to be yourself.

“I was right.”

“Huh?”

“You’re delicious,” he grins at you and leans away slightly. “You ready for more? I feel like you barely survived my fingers,” he moves his hands down to stroke himself, sighing — he’s grown so neglected, the sensitivity is a bitch.

“As if.”

“Mhm, I guess you do have to stay alive to take my cock...”

“So foul-mouthed for what…”

“No more back talk,” Enjin, holding himself, pushes your legs apart some more with his other hand. None of you is able to hide your anticipation, breathing heavily in the room drowned in fast music beat.

Able to admit it to himself, he’s scared of what he’s about to do — of how good it'll feel, as once he gets the taste of you on him, he might never experience something akin to that bliss again. If you’ll ruin other women for him, he’ll blame you for the rest of his life.

“You better hold tight, sweetheart…” he warns, not knowing what’s about to hit him.

“Hold?” You’re suddenly pushing him onto his back, drawing out a surprised gasp from him.

“So that’s how you’re playing. I didn’t expect any less from you,” he smiles wryly, immediately landing his hands on your hips after you straddle his lap, frozen in the air. Another loss for him, but at least the view is out of this world — he’ll jerk off to your body memory for days after.

“Can’t have you thinking you’ll get more than this…” you mock, grabbing his leaking dick; he hisses. Even your hand on him feels phenomenal.

Fixing your form above him, you lower your body until it’s his blunt head at your entrance. You mewl quietly, as it's still pulling you apart no matter how prepped you might be.

And Enjin is losing his mind already. His tip is most sensitive, so just the shallow depth is killing him when you're squeezing him as if begging to push in further. He strangles your hips. “Fuck…!” his curse comes out thickly.

He’s girthy, and now that you experienced it first hand, you can engrave that fact into your mind. “You don't deserve all that…” you whine.

“D-don’t deserve what?” he asks pussy-dumbly. His legs start to shake more than yours are from the strain of hanging above him.

“Being so big. You're too egotistical for that,” your own voice falters too. You should be now removing yourself from his body, but the need to sink down onto him fully keeps you in place.

“Hm, that’s the closest to a compliment from you, so I’ll take it…” he laughs through you squeezing the soul out of him. Before you’d decide to pull away, he navigates his hand to your back, playing with your ass, weighing it in his grip — he loves it too.

You stay like this for a few seconds, before you offer him a communicative look. “We should…” you start quietly, but don’t move.

“Yeah, you should,” he agrees with disappointment, even if he’s staring at you with all the hope he could muster.

As if you could stop now. Too late, and none of you is thinking straight. Knowing what the both of you need, you're shoving your hips down.

When Enjin notices the slight movement at first, he tries to stop in yours and his name. “Wait—”, but he’s already deep in your guts before he could throw you off. His head throws back so hard it sends a spell of pain, quickly forgotten by focusing his senses on you warming his cock entirely. “Holy fuck… that’s a murder attempt…”

You’re barely holding up on top of him, hanging with your mouth open in a silent shock — there’s nasty sting on your hole, after you overestimated taking his size. Right as he think he accidentally broke you, or that you broke yourself on him, you raise your hips and lower them again, too aroused to let some pain stop you. “I really hate you, Enjin,” you finally say, all high-pitched. “You think too highly of yourself to my tastes.”

The words barely translate themselves in his pussy-addled head, but once he remembers to breathe again, he’s helping you to fuck yourself on him, making indents on your ass. He needs that fast and rough desperately. “Yeah? Imagine what I had to go through because of you. All these months of torture…”

You circle your hips, angling his cock in you that he almost bites his tongue off. There’s no way in hell you’d let him do as he pleases, and he begrudgingly has to admit he loves it.

He finishes his thought. “I guess they were worth it, in the end. Though, you better ruin me properly while you're at it…” he mocks, just to provoke you, despite the fact he’s seeing stars and his cock wants to spill inside you already.

You pull out entirely he nearly makes a shameful whine at the loss, then moans like a whore when you take him back entirely in one, sharp thrust. You're no better, crying out as he hits your cervix.

It’s a whole fight at this point — him trying to control the pace, while you're torturing him with different types of tactics. Then you put your hands on your breasts, fondling them and pulling on your nipples with coos of breath at the sensation.

“H-hey, go easy on this guy…” he lets go of your hips to hold at the bars of his bed, basically shaking under you. He should be scared of you and your pussy, in fact.

“You told me to show you all I have,” you laugh breathlessly through the way he’s stretching you, keeping up a faster tempo now that you’ve adjusted to his size. You cry out as you occasionally graze your sweet post, one hand falling down to hold yourself with his thigh.

“I bit more than I could chew, sweetie. Spare me,” he complains at himself, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Has there been something he didn’t know about himself? He’s not fussy about being below you as much as he’d have assumed he would.

For a moment, he lets you do everything on your own. It’s no break just because he’s lying and taking it — the friction is unbearable, you’re sucking him inside with every thrust, and you're so wet it tickles at his sensitivity. He tries to enjoy the view of your tits bouncing, your ass bracketing his hips, and the most beautiful look of your face both having fun and being lost in pleasure with lips gasping for air. Your eye-contact doesn’t falter, pulling him in with obsessive need to make sure those sweet meetings will keep happening, as long as he keeps letting you use him.

The sound of your song itself could make him burst right here.

That would be the course of action if you don’t then throw the line reminding him of his lame position, so in character for you but clearly digging at him, “I expected a little more from you, Enjin,” you pout.

He’s moving despite his legs have been growing limp.

You feel the shift in his energy the moment the groans he leaves is far more aggressive than you have ever heard from him, but then you're made to feel it when he’s shoving you face down into the mattress, knocking your legs apart too.

“You had your fun. Now it’s time to settle a score. And yes, it is very personal.”

You feebly turn your head to the side, watching as he lays his tattooed body over yours entirely, squashing you down and putting faith in your Cleaner’s strength to handle him.

“What the fuck, Enjin…” you flail your legs under him. You try to push him away from you so you can reestablish your prior command, but he’s leashing his arms under you to lock you in place. With his cock nestled between your asscheeks and grazing your sensitive slit, one goes under your tits, the other one under your neck and Choker till you have to lift your head, locking you in his grip entirely.

“You bitch—”

“You’ll take it anyway,” he says cockily, on a sterner note, and shuts you up by thrusting back into you in one, wet glide.

Taking matters into his own hands, everything is made much more intense in this position. His weight is stealing your breath, his dick is reaching everywhere, especially with the gravity shoving him inside; every push is met with his balls grinding and slapping at your clit. Enjin is being brisk from the start, hitting your thighs with his every half-second.

Your throat is turning sore from how loud he’s turning you. “What the…” your lashes catch moisture. “Enjin… you’re gonna kill me…” you say desperately through the loop on your neck restricting your talk. Your Choker is digging into your throat additionally.

“Not gonna kill...” he groans, tortured by the way you're even tighter in this position. He laps at your shoulder, leaving an ugly hickey for another man to see and turn away his head from you. “But I will leave you in pieces for sure.”

The promise goes straight to your pussy, having it squeezing harder at him ruining you from the inside. “Fuck… you’re annoying even when I’m fucking you…” he growls in his throat.

Your legs kick at him again, as your hands scratch ahead of you. Enjin clutches your breast, before rubbing your nipple between his thick fingers. Your head slumps over his forearm, unable to take more of stimulation with this level of fight. His cock and hips are relentless, quickly pushing you into something that will leave your muscles weak for a week straight, regardless of his own legs trembling on yours.

“Just like that… finally being a good girl for me…” he mutters a praise into nape he hides his face into. Still, his fingers pry at your mouth, pushing a finger inside you mindlessly begin sucking at. So hot you are.

Enjin picks up his pace into a merciless one, creating a loud echo in the room and drawing your orgasm closer and closer by hitting your clit with his heavy balls; loosening the screws in his poor bed rattling under you and he hitting a tempo of the lively beat he put on in the background. There’s no space not being stretched back and forth inside of you, and you’re crying into the pillow, staying close to the edge of him turning pounding you into painful. The soreness building up is not wasted, as what he’s doing to you is ecstatic to feel.

His own moans are falling straight into your ear, driving you even more mad. “Mercy, Enjin… I’m gonna…”

“You think you can?” he taunts and lifts his head to bite your ear point, tickling the piercing there. He’s about to fill you up nicely himself, feeling himself twitch inside your heat, but he’d like to upkeep some control he established over you.

Still finding some defiance and will in yourself, you make a threat he knows to not downplay. “Deny me and you’re never touching me again,” you mumble into the pillow, snarlingly.

“Can't win against you…” he clicks his tongue, tightening his arm below your neck until your vision is swimming in lightheadness. It’s not as if he could have handled denying himself by doing that to you in the first place, so he submits to the pleasure you're forcing.

“But you’re still gonna take all that I will give you, won’t you, sweetheart? Be nice to me?” he says softly to your ear, soothing your anger.

You nod, desperately. You’ll think about taking something after — as for now, you can’t end your recompensing session without him creaming your pussy. “Please, Enjin, I need it…” you angle your hand awkwardly to the back to pull on his hair like a leash, drawing out a wince.

“Dammit…” he curses quietly at your wanton utterance of his name, hiding his face in you again. He’s glad you can’t see it — you wouldn't let his promiscuous look live down after. “Come on, cum on me, pretty girl. I’ll give it to you.”

One, two, three thrusts later and you're screaming into the pillow, feeling your muscles tighten and throb around him. “Fuck, fuck, Enjin, Enjin, don't stop—” your entire body shaking.

Music to his ears.

“Shh, I’ve got you, lovely. Just ride it out, I’ll help you…” he whispers into your skin, not letting on his grip over you; he only slows down, aiding you in coming down.

“Just a bit more… just a bit…” he grunts. You’re spent and sweaty under him your bodies almost separate, and he feels like he should hurry — not that he can last much longer, his legs turning jelly. He lifts his head from your shoulder and licks at your tears with weird fascination at your rare vulnerability, before kissing you with your salty taste, chasing his climax until he’s bursting his load into you.

His vessels threaten to pop from how enormously his high hits him, emptying everything from his balls with the meanest of peaks. His moans are barely muffled, but you can’t hear much post-orgasm anyway, lazily following his lips, hazy-eyed.

His head collapses on the side of yours, with him relaxing his grip too, desperately trying to circle some air back into his lungs. Enjin groans inwardly at the thought of letting his load spill out, so keeps crushing you. “I think you did it…”

“Hm…?” you barely make a sound, incoherent.

“Ruined me for other women. Ruined women for me. How will I fuck others after that?”

Your vein pulses in annoyance already. “Get off me, you heavy man,” you mumble, regaining blood back in its rightful place.

Enjin sticks his tongue at you, before he’s rolling to the side and forming a starfish from how fucked out he feels — he, the man who fucks. He wasn’t aware a strong orgasm can leave a man unable to walk too — he can't move. “Man…”

“Man indeed…” you agree, turning your sore body onto your back, shivering when his cum runs down your thigh. “I think you made me overdid the thank you part,” you grumble, as if it was his fault.

“I did?” he takes offense, somehow managing to prop himself on his side. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. You did this all with malice and being insufferable.”

“Oh, I can be much more insufferable. Just wait ten minutes,” you smirk.

His eyes widen. “Really?” He’s getting another round with you? Although, maybe he should be worried…

“Why? Was I that bad?” you prod.

“Nah. Best pussy I ever had. Ten out of ten. Type of pussy that—”

You throw a pillow at him. He ruffles your hair, before pulling you close with a content smile.

It doesn’t last long.

“Oh, fuck me!” he suddenly winces. Both of you totally forgot about his injury, and now its debilitating pain was returning with twice strength. You’re sitting up, worried you might have fucked his brains out literally.

The evening after, he’s found walking into the hospital room with a limp in his legs and exhaustion painted all over his face. If Eishia’s temper was different, she’d be screaming at him instead of panicking for him being that careless with a head concussion.

Gris visits him soon post hearing from Eishia, concerned by the sudden degradation in his state. “Woah! Are you doing good, man? Do you need anything?” he asks with worry shortly into entering the room, unaware of the truth.

“Nah. Don’t save me. I'm where I want to be,” Enjin snickers to himself.

After all, he has a date with you this Friday. For the excruciating presence he tends to be in your life, he earned the chance to prove he could be more than your fuck-and-cuddle buddy. Womanizer and maneater is a duo no one has seen coming.