mine.

and......now im thinkin....if you have a deadbeat boyfriend.....god help you. blake doesn't consider himself a traditional man by any means, he doesn't want a partner who's totally dumb and submissive to whatever he wants just cause he's a man. he likes it when you resist him a little, actually. but seeing you with some cheap, ugly, unkempt asshole will absolutely have him playing the father figure card when he gets the chance.

"does he treat you well? does he cook? can he clean? what do you mean he doesn't work? how is he gonna take care of you? what, he expects to live off you like a fucking leech?" blake has plenty of opinions and will struggle to keep them to himself. especially if there's an age gap and you're younger than him. he wouldn't have to ban your boyfriend from his home because you're too smart for that, you would never bring a stranger to meet siri in his own sanctuary, which is one of a thousand reasons why he loves you so much--he can trust you. but when your boyfriend picks you up and drops you off blake is hardcore glaring at him from the front lobby where he walked you down to hold open the door. and if you have a fight over text and he refuses to pick you up, telling you you're gonna have to walk, blake drives you with a death grip on the steering wheel as he forces a smile and pretends he's not seething at the audacity of such a pathetic man.

"Shut up, just shut up," he huffs in your ear. he says it like he's not half the problem; like the squeaking of the dense bedframe and the sloppy shluck shluck shluck shluck of his hips wetly kissing your ass isn't as noisy as you are. your plump lips swollen from hungry kisses and nips that aren't playful anymore, but possessive--they quiver between Ilya's fingers as his grip loosens somewhat, but when he forces his hand back hard over your mouth the cycle repeats all over again.

his eyes are redder than usual today. a rosy scarlet dyed to a crimson hue. they're dark and angry and they scare you but only a little bit, just a little, cause that pinprick of fear makes you clench harder around him when he bears down on you with that solemn glare. you're a pain in his ass.

so he wants to be a pain in yours.

"you're going to lick it when I'm done here," a growl rumbles through his pale throat, doused in scratches and bite marks. not from you, not today, but from the last inmate on death row who gave him more problems than satisfaction at execution. some of them can be wily, but few ever really manage to retaliate. "no teeth this time."

maybe he had his mind occupied by the stunt you'd pulled the night before. pretending to orgasm, in the hopes he wouldn't drag it out as long as usual? it was a new low for you. it pissed him off. but not quite as much as you biting his finger when he tries to grab your jaw open.

"ah-!" a gasp rips out of him, secondary only to the harsh, echoing smack of his open palm coming down on your cheek. you can barely get a squeak of breath out as his other hand clamps around your throat, which makes the sound of his next slap with a backhand ring torturously in your ears. "don't you ever pull that again!" Ilya yanks you up by the throat no more than an inch from his nose, seething. "you little shit."

still buried within you, he can no doubt feel the distant pulse of your heartbeat through his groin. it gets thicker when he sees blood, tastes it--there's beads of it bubbling at the teeth marks on his finger. Ilya sighs, groans quietly in the interim of silence. the blood smudges his lips as he sucks on the pulsing wound. something twitches inside you. when his smirk stretches wide and slow across his face, it's obvious that you're in for an even rougher time.

Ilya throws you over on your stomach, cock swollen and aching when he drags it out with a vile squelch. you can't quite see what he's doing from over your shoulder, you're so tuckered out, but you can hear it. the gradual slice of a blade across flesh, the soft hah, ah of pain as Ilya grits his teeth. the wet sliding of flesh on flesh when he brings his hand down and it's sticky, warm with fresh blood that he soaks his stiff length in before fingering into you as if he's performing some kind of demonic sacrifice. the knife clatters to the floor behind him like a ritualistic drumbeat.

"use your teeth if you want." he mutters against your ear as his lithe body slots up against your back, knees poised by your thighs for him to settle his weight down on top of you. no escape. his toned arm comes around and his bicep halts in front of your face--but the grip of his long fingers tightening in your hair is in no way comforting. it isn't a cushion, his body, but a barrier. a wall between you and escape. "you'll want more lube in a little bit anyways."

“Yes you can.” He huffed softly into your ear as he shifted around, finally pulling his head up to reach it so you could hear his sweet, hoarse voice, and feel his chapped lips press kisses to your jaw. You both were a bit raspy from the night before, but from the way your boyfriend had exerted himself he was a lot worse off than you were. Your scalp was sore, your back ached, but aside from that and a smattering of bruises all across your body you at least had some energy to spare. Morgan might as well have been dead weight on top of you–well, except for one not-so-small part that was a bit more excited.

“Morgan.” You warned with a stern tone. He rubbed lazy circles into your hip, the spot where your underwear didn't quite reach and it was just bare, smooth skin.

“‘m not doing anything.” He shifted his hips, but the distinct stiffness digging into your thigh didn't let up. It only moved to align more with your cheeks as he ground it gently against you.

“Yes you are.”

“No ‘m not.”

“Yes you are, Morgan Lane.”

“Can't help it.” Morgan finally moaned, his breath a flutter of air as his hips stuttered. As much as you used it to be firm with him, you knew good and well how much he liked it when you pulled out the “government name” as he called it. Probably just because he really liked bugging you. “Feels so nice…I bet you look so pretty.”

“I need to go to work.”

“Work can go to hell,” He panted, moving up all of a sudden to sit up on his knees. “I'm sick of missing time with you.” The calluses on his huge, warm hands rubbed against your skin as he lifted your shirt up, and squeezed soft handfuls of your ass in his palms as he started playing with it. Your butt had such a hold on him that it drove you crazy, you'd rarely seen such an ass man in your life–although maybe that was in part because he had to feel it to see it, or maybe just because your boyfriend was a deplorable freak in bed.

“Morgan-”

“Pleeeease,” He begged selfishly. “Please, baby, I'll be so good if you give it to me. Promise! I want you so bad…I can't survive the day without a part of you with me..” He put on that false, whiney tone while his whimpers hit your ears like a weak spot and the low, soft rasp of his voice sent tingles down your spine. Morgan knew exactly what he was doing as he groped you, there was no playing innocent with him.

You felt him tug on the waist of your underwear–not enough to yank it down, just to plead silently with you for permission–and just like you always ended up doing, you let out a sigh and a “be quick, then” and he grinned into a kiss on the back of your neck.

“Ultra-speed service, I promise.” He chuckled, tugging the fabric down to your knees.

“That's not something to brag about.” You rolled your eyes, but Morgan had his tongue on your thigh in seconds and you just sort of forgot about it. He liked the tease of inching up closer and closer to your sex, sometimes he'd start at your knees or he'd even kiss his way up from your calves if he had the time. This morning it was quick though, and he spread your cheeks apart with little ceremony as he sucked his two fingers into his mouth. Slowly, he eased the tips of them against your tight rim, but chuckled hoarsely when he felt them wiggle in with more immediate acceptance than he anticipated.

“You like it, huh?”

“Don't start.” You warned, but your tone was undeniably cheeky. You could only hide your small, prideful smile by burying your face in his pillow.

Morgan inched his fingers deeper, taking time not to strain you but keeping a steady pace to make sure he didn't make you too late. You'd already be limping into work anyways with how hard his cock was as it stirred in his boxers.

“Always knew you were fuckin’ dirty.” He murmured under his breath, and when he took that tone with you your legs buckled and started shaking with the intensity of your moans. Morgan liked talking dirty but he always had some anxiety that you didn't, so it was rare that he'd let it go completely and just say whatever came to mind. But he had no idea just how hot it was and how good he was at it, especially with his voice all low and raspy from a night of sleep. God knows how you did any work around him when he was sick. “You like it back here, huh? You like getting your ass played with?”

“Morgan-” You cried out, but only finished with a squeal as he brought his palm down on your behind. He could leave welts if he really tried, but usually some swelling and a bit of soreness was the norm. If you were good, that was.

“Want your coworkers to find out you like this?” He muttered as he straddled himself over you, your thighs pinned to the bed as you listened to the shlick of him freeing his cock and stroking it into readiness. He spit into his palm to work some slickness into it, but obviously realized that wasn't enough as you caught his hand in your peripheral reaching to the nightstand to crack open your bottle of lube. A bit of patting around led him right to it. “Bet they'd think you're a whore. Wouldn't they?” You listened to the squirt of fluid splashing into his hand. With your nails digging into the sheets and gripping them shakily, you nodded into the pillow.

“Good.” He huffed, guiding his sticky, slick tip between your cheeks to nestle in against that tight, rough spot. “Then they'll know I fuck you too good to take you away from me.”

“Morgan–nngh-!” A squeal erupted from your lips, not quite caught by your hands as you clapped them over your mouth, as the bed suddenly dipped and pressure spread you open in an instant. Morgan gasped himself as he slid in too quickly and paused with just the tip inside, his hands planted on either side of your head to grip the sheets in earnest.

“Oh my god, oh my…fffuuck sorry, shit, didn’ mean to–” Your walls pulsed around him and he froze, but his lungs seized to push out an airy moan that was so high you weren't sure he could ever copy it. “Ooohh, honey, are you looking at me? No, right?” He gasped out like he'd just been holding his breath. His hand slid over to thread through your hair, and he felt you shake your head with your face in the pillows. “Mmnh…okay, I got a good picture in my head. Jesus-” Morgan thrusted forwards, burying himself entirely in that impossibly tight space, and his grip on your hair jolted pain through you as he yanked it back. “-fucking christ! Shh-hit-”

It wasn't abnormal for Morgan to get a little lost in the thick of it when he was getting off, but things only grew more intense the longer you spent together. Somehow the honeymoon phase wasn't just a phase, but more like a transitional period; with every mundane effort Morgan got more sensitive to you, he liked you more, he was satisfied easier. You weren't sure what it was about him or you or both of you as a couple, but it seemed like every time you came together your boyfriend grew more attached to you. In fact, it felt like he nearly wanted to be a part of you–especially once he hit a good rhythm, and bucked his hips down with the aim of getting as deep into you as he could possibly manage.

“Feel it in your belly? Yeah?” He moaned from behind, lips flush to the back of your neck. “Ohhh, fuck, fuck–”

“M-Morgan-!” You spluttered out, having finally found your voice. You hissed at him to quiet down, to not wake up your neighbours so early in the morning, but he only bit down on your shoulder and his cries still thrummed muffledly throughout the apartment. You'd just have to accept your fate at this point. Morgan snaked a hand around your waist and pressed his huge, warm palm to your belly. The sensation of him sheathed inside you, whether imagined or really felt, had his hips pinned to your backside as he barely pulled back out to thrust. Every shlick, shluck, shluck vibrated through your body as he let your sweet walls suck him in closer.

His fingertips grazed your scalp to remind you he was there, to ensure his grip on you wasn't forgotten as he rutted against you with moans wasted against your skin. I love you, I love you, I love you. Those words would be his if his teeth weren't sunk into your flesh as he grunted them, humping feverishly to claim that end he wanted so badly. Morgan pitched you forward further into the blankets, weight pinning you completely under him; and with your nails dug into the crisp sheets you'd just washed this week, you felt a cord inside you snap with need that awashed you, suddenly, with an all-encompassing sense of bliss to block out the ache of Morgan's depth. He shuddered, stilled, and your woeful spasming rendered him utterly speechless–he stiffened and blew out each burst of love he'd kept locked up, and only as he did so did he finally melt into your sweat-soaked back like his bones had turned to jelly. His teeth finally unlatched as he shivered out a deep sigh, a kiss placed to your broken skin before he laid his cheek to your spine and puffed out each low, laborious breath in time with your heartbeat.

As the peace slowly returned, your high coming down with relative ease, you shifted slightly only to feel a dribble of hot, sticky warmth pulse downwards. Like glue, it stuck the two of you together, but you nudged at Morgan to move himself apart so you could clean up from the aftermath. For once, he agreed without complaint and slid off of your tired body to roll over on his back beside you. The expression on his face could be described as nothing less than complete, serene bliss as he caught his breath, one of those huge hands perched on his chest.

“See?” He panted, eyes blankly staring up at the ceiling. “Super…fast.”

“You made a mess,” You hushed dryly, slipping out of his loose grip on your thigh to head into his bathroom. You wobbled, caught yourself on the nightstand, and although he called out in worry if you were okay, you certainly were. A bit of stumbling was nothing new when Morgan and the bedroom were involved. “I'm taking a shower.”