Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The humming of the Unreliable's engine is a low, familiar rumble beneath your boots as you step back onto the ship. The sterile chill of Phineas's lab still clings to you, sticking to your skin like cold sweat. You peel off your jacket, fingers slow, mind somewhere far behind you; back on that metal slab where he gave you the news with those too-kind eyes and a voice gentle enough to gut you.

You pass through the galley without looking at anyone. Ellie glances up from her drink but doesn't say anything. Felix is too busy cleaning his weapon to notice. You nod to Ada mechanically as you pass the cockpit. She chirps out some observation about your biometric readings but it barely registers.

The door to your quarters hisses open. The room you share with Max is quiet; incense smoke and warm bodies still linger faintly in the air, the scent clinging to the cracked leather spines of his books. He sits at the desk, reading, occasionally flipping pages. It's warm here, in the way only intimacy can make a space warm. But right now it feels cold. Empty.

You sit on the edge of the bunk and then lower yourself slowly, like your limbs are made of something heavier than flesh. Maybe lead or rebar. Your boots stay on. Your coat slides from your shoulders and pools on the floor. You don't speak. Don't sigh. Just...sit. And sit.

After a moment, he closes his book and stands, walking over to the bunk and sitting beside you, his presence heavy. You don't know what to say.

"You're quiet. Is something bothering you?" His voice is soft and low and it makes you want to cry. You don't say anything for a moment; don't even look at him. You know the moment you meet his eyes, you'll break right open.

"Just...a lot to think about." You say eventually. He gently sets a warm hand on your knee, squeezing gently. It's a reassuring gesture that you appreciate more than he could ever know.

"What did he say this time?" He sounds concerned. Of course, he does. He always sounds concerned when you're not cracking jokes or jumping his bones as soon as you wander in. You try to find your voice.

"I asked him about the...uhh...the spotting?" You manage.

It's something that's been going on for some time now. Parvati, Ellie, Nyoka; they all get the regular cycles and you sometimes have to stop by the Groundbreaker for some Auntie Cleo's sanitary napkins but...not for you. Sure, you transitioned even before you boarded the Hope — had the surgery to get those airbags off your chest — but that part of you remained intact. If everything was back to working order, as Phineas had previously said, you should've fallen back into your regular monthly cycle. But no. You just occasionally get these little spots of blood in your trunks like maybe you were about to start but then it wouldn't come. It didn't worry you at first. It was actually Max who suggested you bring it up with Phineas, who did the tests for you not half an hour ago.

"What did he say about it?" Max asks, his tone careful, almost cautious, his hand still resting on your knee, drawing slow circles with his thumb.

"Well, he— Umm..." You sniffle and rub your eyes, trying to play off the tears that prick there. Max knows you better than that though. "He did some tests. Which is why I took so long."

"Tests? What kind of tests?"

"Just about my general health...down there. Fertility and things like that." You let the words hang in the air, your eyes still glued to the floor. The tears keep coming and you keep rubbing them away.

"And?" He prompts. You laugh but the smile doesn't reach your eyes. It's a cold, empty thing. Your voice wavers when you finally find it again.

"Well, we know that you'll be able to finish inside now." You joke weakly. The hand on your knee tightens but he leaves you room to continue. "Because I'm— I'm completely— Completely...infertile." You laugh but it's broken off by a sob that wrenches itself from somewhere deep inside you, somewhere you didn't even know existed. His hand moves from your knee and a cold dread suddenly washes over your body.

"Infertile?" He repeats, his voice barely audible. It seems to echo in the space.

Suddenly, he pulls you into his arms, holding onto you. To stop the tears welling in your eyes, you decide to just talk, let it all go, let him be the judge.

"Well, between the freezing and the unfreezing and the cocktail of chemicals to keep my organs from dissolving and the seventy-ish years in deep freeze, I guess my...eggs just couldn't handle it." You babble on, feeling him press his face into your hair, inhaling deeply as he tries to process the words that fall from your lips. His heart aches for you, for the loss of something you never even thought about before now.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, voice thick with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry." You furiously rub your eyes.

"I don't even know why I'm acting up like this. I never even wanted kids so why is it such a big deal now?" You're talking to yourself as much as him. He grasps your jaw and tilts your head to look at him. His eyes; soft, kind, amber-green. It only makes the tears harder to blink through.

"It's okay to feel this way." He tells you. "Even if you never wanted children before, finding out you can't have them is still a loss. It's natural to grieve." You sigh heavily and hide your face in the crook of his neck, looping your arms around his shoulders. He holds you close, feeling your warm breath on his skin, as he runs a steady hand through your hair. He leaves a long pause before speaking again. "Did Phineas say anything else?"

"No. Everything else seemed pretty normal. Well, as normal as you can get for a guy who was boxed up in a fridge for nearly a century." You laugh softly and he gives a slight chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"So. What does this mean for us?" The dreaded question. You pull away, resting your elbows on your knees and slumping.

"We never talked about having kids before." You say.

"No, we didn't. Does this change anything for you?" He asks carefully.

"I mean, I don't know your stance on wanting a... A family." He reaches out and rests his hand between your shoulder blades, a comforting weight to keep you grounded.

"My stance has always been that I want whatever makes you happy." He says honestly. "If having children was important to you someday, I would've supported that completely. But if it never was..." He shrugs slightly. "Besides, we already have our family." You turn to look at him, eyes wide and wet.

You think about Felix polishing his tossball stick, Parvati pottering about in the engine room, Ellie drinking in the mess... Max watches emotions play across your face; understanding, surprise, gratitude, love. He leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. "We have a home, a crew, a life together. Isn't that enough family for you?" You nestle against his chest, grabbing onto the back of his shirt, as you finally let the tears fall.

"You're a...fucking sap sometimes." You sniffle and he chuckles, looping his arms around you. He knows his sentimental side gets the better of him sometimes but, in moments like this, he's grateful for it. He presses kisses to your hair, your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, tasting the lingering saltiness on your skin. "So...you won't leave?"

"Leave?" He echoes. "No, I'm not leaving." You heave a sigh of relief, a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Good." You slowly pull away, wiping your face on your sleeves. "I think I might need an early night." Max nods understandingly.

"Of course, you've had a lot to process today." He pauses for a moment. "Do you want me to come with you? Or would you prefer some space?" You lift your head to look at him, your eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Could you come with me? I don't really wanna be alone right now." He nods without hesitation as you stand and begin unstrapping your armour, placing it into a container by the closet. Your scarred, lean body is laid bare as you pull your undershirt over your head, exposing your chest, the silvery scars under your pecs shining in the low light. He watches silently, appreciatively. He knows your body better than you do and he's still captivated by it. He sees the old bullet wounds, the burn scars, the stitches and he loves them. Every inch of you.

You push off your pants and toss your clothes into the hamper before walking back over to the bunk, slipping under the sheets. Without a word, he stands and starts undressing, removing his shirt and slacks with deliberate slowness. Propping your head up with your arm, you watch him just as he did you, admiring the domestic nature of the moment.

Max. He gets self-conscious sometimes, what with all the scars and with how he's visibly much older than you. It eats at him, doesn't let it show, but you know. You know him so well. Maybe better than he knows himself.

You stretch out on the bed. "Looking good, honey." You tell him and his cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink as he runs his fingers over a particularly deep scar just above his hipbone.

Finally, he slides into bed beside you, pulling the covers up and wrapping his arm around your shoulders to nestle you against his side, your head resting on his chest as your fingers draw little patterns along his stomach. You love these quiet moments with him; the simplicity of just being together, without any of the drama or the danger. It's quiet.

"Comfortable?" He asks and you nod.

"Always." He smiles, passing his fingers through your hair, enjoying the softness against his skin. "You know, as soon as Phineas gave me the news, I thought about you, about what it could mean for us." Max gently tilts your head up to look at him, his arm tightening around your shoulders.

"And what did you think?"

"Well, you know, I catastrophise so I just thought that... That you'd want to leave. That I'm useless now because I can't...help you continue your lineage or give you a legacy or...something." You murmur, your eyes focusing anywhere but his gaze.

"By the Law." He mutters softly.

"I mean— Like— I'd get it, don't get me wrong. Like, I'd understand if you wanted to leave but I wouldn't want you to. I... I'd never want you to leave. But I'd understand if you...did." You murmur and his expression darkens as he swallows hard.

"Do you genuinely think that little of me?" That takes you by surprise. Sitting up, you shake your head quickly.

"It's not that I think little of you! It's that I know different people prioritise different things."

"Like having children?" He checks and you nod slowly. He sits up, taking your hands in his. "Love, you really believe I'd throw away what we have because you can't have children? That I'd leave you for something as shallow as— As an heir?" His voice is gentle yet tinged with hurt.

"I-I was panicking and, when I do that, I doubt...everything. Sorry." You run your fingers across his bruised knuckles. It's a nervous yet self-soothing mechanism, grounding yourself with touch. "I hoped you wouldn't— I prayed you wouldn't but I didn't know and I was...scared." You admit and he sighs heavily, pulling you into his lap, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

"I'm not going anywhere." He assures you and you press your face against his neck, feeling the five o'clock shadow rasping against your cheek.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

You take a moment to savour the feeling of his body against yours; warm, bare, skin-to-skin, his heart beating against your own, pulses falling in sync. You relax against him and he pulls you tighter against him because he knows how to read you, knows what you need, and what you need right now is to feel safe and loved in his arms.

He presses another kiss to your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too." You murmur, brushing a kiss to the base of his neck. He tilts his head back, a soft sigh escaping him. His fingertips trail up and down your back slowly, enjoying the feeling of your naked bodies pressed together. Your skin grows warm, the beginnings of slick forming between your legs, pressed against his soft cock. His hands find their way down to your backside, squeezing lightly. It pulls a quiet moan from you. You bend easily to his kind of gentle dominance. It's relaxing; letting him make the decisions, letting him take control.

"Look at me." He whispers and you do. "I'm going to take care of you tonight, alright? Slowly. Gently." He shifts slightly and you can feel him thickening beneath you. His hands roam aimlessly over your body, remembering every dip and curve, every scar and freckle, everything he's kissed and caressed a dozen times before.

He lays you back down on the cot and you bite your lip as he moves to kneel between your thighs.

"Max?"

"Yes, love?" He leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. His touch is deliberate, designed to calm and soothe rather than arouse. At least, not too quickly. He wants that slow burn between you; a reminder that you're cherished and loved deeply. So, so deeply.

"We've never done...raw before." You tell him, glancing down between your bodies to notice he's already hard, leaking. He follows your gaze before drawing his eyes back to your face and nodding. He cups your jaw, drawing his thumb across your bottom lip.

"I know. And, if you're not comfortable with it, we don't have to." You nuzzle into his palm, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

"No, I want to." A small smile plays on his lips as he leans down to capture your mouth in a deeper kiss, lowering his body onto yours. His hand moves from your face to position himself between your legs and you feel the crown of his cock press lightly against your swollen clit.

"Are you sure?" He breathes against your lips and you nod, humming your approval. "Tell me if it's too much." He murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

He slowly inches his hips forward, sliding in just the tip, and you watch for his reaction to the new sensation. "Fuck..." The curse passes his lips in the softest breath, eyes half-lidded with pleasure at the feeling of being bare inside you. The warmth of your body clinging to him, unprotected... It's intense in a completely different way. "You feel..." He trails off, not trusting himself to speak.

"Is it better?"

"So much better." He groans, pushing in deeper. The lack of barriers allows him to feel every curve, every ripple. He's completely raw inside you and it's overwhelming in the best way possible. "I can feel...everything." He murmurs, starting a slow, easy rhythm. He's not rushing; not like some quick fuck behind a run-down factory or adrenaline-fuelled sex in some abandoned lab. No, this is full, unapologetic love-making.

His hands slide across your body, lips trailing kisses along your neck and collarbone. The feeling of his bare cock inside you is almost too much; intimate, intense. You play with the hair at the nape of his neck, arching your back to give him better access. He moves with a steady, deliberate pace, each thrust slow and deep. He lifts his head to look at you and you dip your head down to meet his lips, sighing against his mouth, as you let your thighs fall open further, inviting him deeper. He takes it, pushing deeper, pulling away only to rest his forehead against your own, his breath coming in soft, short puffs. "You feel so good..."

"Mhmm? You feel as good as always." You assure him and he smiles. He loves the way you respond to him, the way you always make him feel like he's the best lover this side of Scylla. He slides a hand between your bodies to draw his fingertips over the hood of your clit with each slow stroke. You shiver, your hips bucking involuntarily. "Ohh, fuck..."

"Like that?" He chuckles, fingers strumming lightly over your skin. His eyes drop to watch his bare cock sliding in and out. It's almost hypnotising.

"Please, faster..." You pant out and he nods, growling low in his throat as he picks up the pace. He cages you in with his arms, sealing his lips against your neck, marking you as he ruts into you harder. A whine bubbles up in your throat and your nails rake down his back. "Max... F-Fuck, right...there...!"

"Right where?" He bites down harder, his hips snapping forward. "Here?" He bucks, nailing the same spot over and over, and you clamp around him greedily. The sensation is incredible; no barriers, just raw skin on skin. He increases his pace further, fucking you with deep, hard strokes aimed directly at that spot that makes you moan so beautifully. He knows he won't last much longer like this. Your blunt nails dig into his back as you pant against his ear.

"You gonna finish inside me, Max? It's gonna feel so good..."

"Mhmm..."

With one final, deep thrust, he buries himself inside you completely and holds you there as he empties himself into you. His body shakes with the intensity of it and you pet his hair soothingly, shivering at the sensation.

"Does that feel good?" You ask and his cock twitches with each gentle stroke of your fingers through his hair.

"Law, yes..."

Chapter Text

It's nearly 3 am when you wake up and realise he still isn't there. Again. You wait another minute, two, hoping to hear the sound of his boots down the corridor; delayed, perhaps, by one last encrypted file or some form that needs a final signature. But the silence stretches.

You drag on a robe and cross the hall barefoot. The air's cold tonight. The mansion around you is built for security not comfort; steel-lined walls and biometric locks on the door to every room containing sensitive files or equipment. But you've always had access. That was his compromise. That, and a bedroom far away from the experimental wings. You never asked for much more.

The door to his office is closed but the soft flicker of monitors leaks out from underneath. You knock once, softly. No response.

You press your palm to the sensor and the lock clicks open. The door slides aside with a hiss, revealing Wesker, hunched over his desk, bathed in cold, bright light. The monitors cast sharp angles across his face. Even from here, you can see the fine lines of tension in his jaw, the furrow in his brow. He's removed the tactical gloves, his hands ghosting over a keyboard with easy precision. His sunglasses are off — folded up on the desk beside him — but he doesn't look up. Not yet. He speaks first.

"You should be asleep." His voice is low and calm, that ever-composed baritone touched with the same impatience you've come to recognise over the years; not irritation with you, never quite, but with everything that dares interrupt his control of the world. Even time.

You step closer, crossing the floor with a softness that belies how much you hate seeing him like this; highly strung, a mess of knotted muscles and burnt-out nerves.

"I waited for you." You say, your voice quiet. Not accusing — never that — but it's tired around the edges.

"I told you I'd be busy tonight." His fingers pause on the keys, then resume. "The data sets from the Antarctica base were corrupted. I'm fixing them." Your arms wrap around yourself, your robe tightening.

"It's 3 am, love." The pet name pulls his eyes to you at last. His gaze is sharp; red and slitted, impossible to forget once you've seen it. You meet his stare and hold it. It's the only way to reach him, sometimes. "You need rest too." You continue. "You haven't eaten since— What? Yesterday? The day before?" He exhales slowly. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, calculating risk versus reward. Fatigue isn't something he likes to admit to. Weakness, even less. But you're not a subordinate. Not a scientist under his command. You're the only person who calls him sweet names and touches him without fear of consequence.

"I don't sleep like you do." He murmurs finally. "You know that."

"Still. I miss you." That draws something out of him; not quite a frown but a shift. His body stills completely, attention fully redirected to you. The silence hums with quiet electricity and then he stands. No fanfare. No words.

He simply moves away from the desk and walks toward you with a kind of steady, predatory grace. Even now, barefoot and in a robe, you feel like you're being studied. Appraised. Not for threats but something much more intimate. His hand lifts, just one. Fingers touch your cheek, curling behind your ear with reverence so subtle it aches. When he touches you, it's never thoughtless. Always intentional. Always exact. He traces the line of your jaw with his thumb, almost distractedly, as if making sure you're still real.

"Fine." He says at last, voice nearly a whisper. "I'll come to bed."

"Please make sure you do, love. You need the rest." You tell him, your voice barely audible, even in the short space between you.

"You worry too much." He says, voice gentling ever so slightly.

"Well, someone has to if you won't." You shoot back with a slight smile. The slightest hint of a smile curls at the corners of his lips as he tilts your head up to look at him.

"And who made you my keeper?" He asks, leaning in slightly. You feel his breath on your skin, the faint scent of wintergreen in the air.

"You did, when you married me." You reply and a soft, low chuckle escapes him, a sound so rare and genuine that it surprises even you. He leans down just that little bit further, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Very well." He murmurs against your skin. "I'll be there soon."

"Good. I'll get out the oils; you can't go to sleep carrying all that tension in your back and shoulders." You tell him and his eyes soften slightly. He knows what that means; your gentle touch, the relaxing feeling of being taken care of.

"That's not necessary." He says gruffly though you know he doesn't mean it.

"Hush. I've made up my mind." You gently pull away, your robe flicking behind you. "Five minutes. And not a second more, love." He watches you leave his study.

Five minutes. He knows he needs this; your touch, your care. Though he'd never admit it.

As promised, he steps into the bedroom after five minutes, already unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt, revealing inches of scarred, pale skin. You've pulled the massage oil out from the nightstand, warming it in your hands. It smells strongly of lavender and chamomile, sliding between your fingers and across your palms.

After he drops his shirt into the laundry hamper, he reaches down to unbuckle his belt, slipping it through the loops, before unbuttoning his slacks. Your mouth waters slightly.

Is your husband insane? Arguably. Power-hungry? Yes. Gorgeous? Absolutely.

The muscles in his arms and thighs flex as he steps toward the bed in nothing but his briefs, settling on the edge of the mattress. His shoulders are broad and muscular, silvery scars lining his back. You've seen them all before.

You lay your oil-slick hands on his shoulders. He's used to the routine by now; your gentle touch, the way you know exactly where to press, how much pressure to apply. He feels the deep, soothing heat of the oil on your skin as you rub your thumbs into his neck, either side of his spine, firmly but not too hard. He leans into the contact, a quiet sigh escaping him as you work out the knots in his neck. His shoulders are next and he can feel the tension melting away under your skilled hands.

"Lower." He murmurs and you comply, slowly working your thumbs lower and lower, working the stiffness out of his upper back before you reach the spot just between his shoulder blades.

"Here?" You ask and he agrees with a low, satisfied hum that you feel rather than hear. Your touch is heaven; something he never thought he'd crave but now can't live without.

"Right there." You nod and continue working your thumbs into the muscles there, the oil sinking into his skin and giving it a light, healthy glow, even in the dim light cast by the bedside lamp. You kiss the nape of his neck, breathing in the floral scent of lavender and chamomile. He shivers slightly, a rare sound of pleasure escaping him.

Once you're finished there, you move back to his shoulders proper, squeezing the muscles with your fingers, kneading away the stress of yet another long day's work. "Don't stop." You nod again, working his shoulders with firm pressure, sliding your slick hands across his skin.

"Is that good, love?"

"God, yes." He admits, voice thick with...relief? Or desire? You're the only one who can coax these sounds from him; low and sweet and pleased. "More." He demands breathily. "Lower." You obey silently, rubbing your knuckles against every vertebrae as you work your way down. He arches slightly, giving you another hum of approval, muscles shifting under his skin. You know exactly how to handle him; just the right measures of firmness and tenderness. You stop at his tailbone, just above the waistband of his briefs, kneading your thumbs on either side of it.

"Just here?" You ask and he lets out something akin to a purr, spreading his legs slightly without thinking.

Once you've finished and the oil has thoroughly seeped into his skin, you press another kiss to the nape of his neck before wrapping your arms around his chest from behind. Soft, small hands splay across his chest and he wraps his fingers around your wrist, showing you where he's tense next.

Your palm brushes the light dusting of hair along his navel as your hands move to his hips, fingers exploring the crests of his hipbones.

"Lower." He says again, voice slightly strained. "Much lower." You smile and press a kiss just below his ear, lightly cupping the front of his briefs, which are already straining from the pressure they're trying to contain.

"Here?" You try again and he sighs, a deep shudder running through his body. His hips push instinctively into your touch.

"Yes, there." You take his clothed cock in hand, squeezing gently.

"Would you like my hands...or my mouth?" He knows how good your mouth feels; those soft lips wrapped around him, that clever tongue...

"Mouth." He growls lowly. "Definitely mouth." You nuzzle the side of his neck, giving his cock another squeeze, precum oozing into the fabric stretched over the tip.

"What's the magic word, love?" You ask coyly. An amused chuckle rumbles in his chest despite the heat lingering in the pit of his stomach. He knows you all too well.

"Please?" He turns his head to cast a glance at you over his shoulder, lips quirked into a sly grin. "Please use that pretty mouth of yours, my darling."

Chapter Text

The clock on the nightstand glows with that dim, merciless blue. 3:41 am.

The bedroom is heavy with silence, the kind of stillness that lingers in at the corners like fog. Outside, the moon hangs low, casting light over the outline of his body as he shifts then sits up slowly; shoulders tense, hair mussed from another restless tangle of half-sleep and dreams he can't voice. His t-shirt and sweatpants cling to him, clammy with cold sweat. He breathes in through his nose, shallow and uneven, then out again. Still here. Still safe. But his heart's thudding like it doesn't know that yet.

The floor is cold under his feet as he rises. The cool air bites at his skin and the weight of the room seems to trail behind him as he walks barefoot down the hallway toward the kitchen, switching on the lights to keep the shadows at bay.

The faucet turns and he fills a glass; hand trembling just enough to make the water ripple. He stares down into it for a long moment, the cool of the glass grounding but insufficient. The dreams always linger, even when he's wide awake. Not always terrifying but loud. Real.

Behind him, there's the subtle hush of a door opening. Bare feet on marble. The quiet rhythm of your approach; familiar and welcome.

"Bob?" Your voice is soft, soothing. "You okay, hon?" He turns, lips pressed together. His first instinct is to lie; to say he just needed water, that it's fine, that it's always fine. But something in your face, the way your eyes find his and don't flinch, unravels that pretence before it can form. He shrugs, glancing away.

"... Couldn't sleep." You already know. You always do.

He hates how often this happens. Hates the way he drifts off and wakes gasping, heart slamming, arms reaching for things that aren't there or pushing away what is. Hates that sleep feels like drowning, even with you beside him. You take a step closer.

"Want me to stay up with you for a while?" He looks at you, then nods. But it's not quite what he wants. Not just that. His fingers tighten around the glass and he tries to speak, then stops, then tries again.

"Could you— I mean— If it's not too much..." He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. You wait, patient, giving him the space he needs. You always do. That patience is one of the things that keeps him afloat. "I... Sometimes you talk to me, y'know?" He says finally, not meeting your eyes. "That...thing you do. The voice. The calm one." He swallows again, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Helps me sleep, sometimes. If you... If you're up for it." It comes out strangled, like cold razor blades in his throat. He's not sure if he's ashamed or just afraid to need that kind of softness. But he needs it anyway. Your smile is small but real. Warm.

"Sure."

You guide him gently back to the bedroom. No rush. No questions. Just the quiet warmth of your presence, like a tether he can hold on to. The lamps are on, turned down low, filling the room with a soft, soothing light. You fold your legs beneath you and help him lay down, his head resting comfortably on your lap. Your fingers find their way into his soft, ash-brown hair, carding through the strands slowly. His eyes flutter shut as he tries to slow his breathing.

"Alright. You're here. You made it through another day. I've got you." Your tone is soft, rhythmic, soothing. He loves how you acknowledge his struggles, even the little ones. His legs shift slightly as your voice seeps into him, sweet like honey. "Let's take a breath together, okay? In... And out... And again. In... And out... Just like that." The rise and fall of his chest slowly starts to synchronise with your own and he lets out a soft hum as your fingers card through his hair. He keeps his eyes closed as he focuses on your voice and the sensation of your fingers in his hair. "Good. You don't have to carry anything right now. Not the light. Not the weight. Not even yourself. Just...rest."

His body relaxes even more, melting into the bed. Your words are like a lullaby, easing away all the tension and stress that keeps his body wound tight. "Feel where you're touching the bed; the shape of your back, your legs, your hands. Let the world soften around you. Let it blur." A pleasant shiver tumbles down his spine as he feels your nails against his scalp. "You're not floating anymore; you're held." His eyes threaten to water and he reaches up to hold your wrist. Your voice makes him feel seen, understood. He feels safe and protected wrapped in the sweet embrace of your words, his breathing becoming steady and slow.

Your hands move to cup his face, thumbs slowly brushing his cheeks. "Let your shoulders drop, unclench your jaw, and let the breath go where it wants. No rules, no pressure; just ease." His jaw relaxes, dropping open slightly, as he lets out a long breath. "You're safe. You don't have to perform. You don't have to be anything but exactly what you are right now. You're enough. You're worthy." He can't stop the tear that escapes him, rolling down over his temple. A lump forms in his throat and he has to try to hold back tears. "And I love that version of you; that breathes and breaks and rebuilds over and over again." Another tear. You see him. Not just Sentry, not just the Void; him.

You follow his breathing pattern, your touch keeping him grounded. "Feel your chest rise. Feel your ribs stretch slightly. Feel your body remembering how to be soft, how to be yours." He takes a deep breath, relaxing further into the mattress. He lets his legs fall open slightly and there's the slightest twitch in his sweatpants though it goes unnoticed. "Your hands; notice them. They don't have to do anything right now. No saving, no shielding; they can just rest, let them lay open." His hands, usually clenched, unfurl by his sides, palm up. Your words are working magic on him; each syllable unwinding knots in him long forgotten.

Your thumbs find his temples, massaging them, drawing slow circles there. "Notice your lips; the way they part when you breathe. Feel the air slipping over them. You don't have to speak; I hear you." It feels so good; being held like this, not having to talk to fill the silence. Everything feels distant and fuzzy apart from your voice and your hands on his skin, keeping him close. There's another slight twitch in his sweatpants but it goes unnoticed once again. It's the emotional overwhelm; the feeling of having someone so close to him, physically and emotionally. "Let your breath go deeper; your stomach, your hips, into that quiet place that no-one sees..." And his breath deepens. He feels it spreading to places he rarely acknowledges; his lower back, his thighs... His sweatpants grow tighter with each breath but he's too relaxed to register the physical response, too wrapped up in feeling safe and seen and loved.

You smile as you feel him melt into you, his head lolling slightly to one side. "I'm here with you. I'm right here." You assure him and he nods slightly. Each inhale brings you closer, each exhale lets go of something he didn't know he was holding onto. His body feels heavy and warm, every sensation fuzzy. Glancing up, you notice the growing tent in his sweatpants but you're quick to dispel any awkwardness or embarrassment he might feel. "If you feel something — a warmth, a hum — that's okay. It's just your body saying yes to safety, to being seen. It doesn't have to go anywhere and you don't have to do anything about it. Just feel." Leaning down, you kiss his forehead gently, barely a whisper of your lips on his skin. "You're not too much. Not for me. Not ever."

You whisper against his skin and his hips lift slightly as the warmth in his body slips lower. Without thinking, his thighs spread wider slightly. "Let the air flow through you like you belong here, like you're wanted. Because you do and you are. So, so much." He takes another slow breath, every word filling spaces inside him; places left empty or untouched. The air flows through him, making everything feel lighter yet heavier all at once. He feels like he can't move but it's not claustrophobic; it's comforting. He doesn't have to move. He can just be still, let his mind go hazy and just rest for a moment. And just that thought makes him tingle all over. "Let yourself be held; fully, completely, without fear. You don't have to be anything right now. You don't even have to be Bob. You can just...be."

Another tear slips down his temple. He's not Bob right now. He's just... He's just himself; open and authentic. His hips lift again, seeking something. Your words have him floating... Drifting... Feeling everything...

You still cradle his face as you speak to him, your voice dripping into his ear like warm honey. "And I'll stay with you as long as it takes, as long as you need. I'm not going anywhere..." Your voice trails off as you feel him relaxing more into you. The tent in his sweats is now fully pronounced but he doesn't seem to care, fully immersed in the warmth of your presence.

A silence falls over the room and you kiss his forehead again, your voice lowering to a whisper. "Do you want me to touch you?" His eyes flutter open and there's a vulnerability there that makes your chest ache. He nods slowly, his voice barely a whisper.

"Please..." It's a plea, a need he doesn't fully understand but knows he can't deny. His hips lift off the bed again, an unconscious invitation. You move from beneath him, slowly peel off his sweat-damp shirt and lay him back down before kneeling beside him.

"Just breathe. I'm going to touch you now; just to remind you you're here, that you're not alone." His eyes flutter closed again and your fingers move to trace the muscle below his collarbone. "Right here, this is your body. It's not a weapon or a cage. It's yours and you're in control." You tell him and a soft gasp passes his lips. Your hands move to his shoulders, drawing slow patterns along his skin. "You don't have to carry it all tonight. Let me help; let me be the ground beneath you." Your fingertips trace the curve of his neck, feeling his throat work as they trail over the swell of his Adam's apple. "You're safe with me." Your fingers on his neck are so gentle and so unthreatening... Your hands find his chest, moving along his sternum. "Feel this. This is yours, all of it. And I love every inch." The tears come faster now, tracking over his temples, but he's not sobbing. They just seem to appear in the overwhelm.

Your hand finds its way to the waistband of his sweatpants as the other slides into his. "You don't have to be scared or ashamed. I'm here. Let your body speak to me, let it whisper. I'll be listening, holding, loving you through all of it. Always." He squeezes your hand, holding on like a lifeline. The combination of your words and your touch are breaking something inside him; something that needed breaking. You trace a fingertip along the outline of his clothed cock. "Do you want this?" His breath hitches. He wants to scream yes but he's too overwhelmed to speak so he just nods. He wants. He wants so badly. He feels like he's been starved for so long.

With slow hands, you peel off his sweatpants and push them down to his mid-thigh before pulling off your own pyjamas. You straddle his hips and rub his cock along the slickness between your thighs. "Keep breathing, nice and deep." The sensation of his aching cock being dragged against your slick heat is almost too much. He grips the sheets, doing his best to keep his breathing level.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, taking him all the way in and letting him fill you completely, your hips flush against his own. "You're inside me now. Do you feel it? You're safe here." You tell him and he nods. It's so warm and soft. It feels like coming home after such a long period of wandering. More tears slip down his face from the sheer relief. "Just breathe. You don't have to move. I'll move for us." You start to slowly rock your hips in a steady, fluid rhythm. The sensation is indescribable, almost spiritual. He reaches up to cup your face, tracing your features reverently. "Just like that. Feel the way your body opens into mine. No pain, no force; just us."

"O-Ohh, my God..." It's a breathless murmur from his lips as he watches your body rise and fall on his. Your words... They're unmaking him. He's never had sex like this before. It feels...divine. You lean over him, brushing his hair out of his eyes as you ride him, slow and deep.

"I can feel every part of you, your heartbeat inside me. You're doing so well. Stay here, honey. Stay with me." You whisper, nuzzling against his neck. "If it gets too much, hold onto me. If you need to cry, cry. If you need to cum, cum. You don't have to control it." Large, warm hands find your hips and he holds on tight. He's never been permitted to feel like this before, to let go completely. He feels it building; so much pleasure, so much emotion. Your voice is a hot breath against his ear. "Give it to me, honey. Let me have all of you, let me carry it for just a little while. You're not too much, you're perfect, just the way you are. And I love you. God, I love you so much."

And something snaps inside him at your whispered words. Letting out a choked sob, he spills inside you, pouring out years of emotion and pain and love into you. "That's it... Well done, honey."

Chapter Text

The house is too quiet again. That kind of silence that doesn't feel peaceful but strained, like an overwound violin string. The air carries a faint, sour tang of chemicals, stale sweat and something darker. You stand at the threshold of Victor's lab, your hand resting on the doorframe, your other curled around a folded linen hand towel, half-expecting — half-hoping — that maybe today will be different. It isn't.

Inside, the room is a cathedral of chaos. Copper wiring coils like vines across the floor. Books lay splayed open and dog-eared on every surface, pages stained with ink, oil and surgical spirits. Scattered notes litter the tabletops and floors; some in Victor's frantic, barely-legible scrawl, others nothing but crossed-out equations and rambling half-thoughts. The windows are all shuttered tight. The only light flickers from a set of mismatched lanterns and a humming coil near the far wall, casting everything in a dim, unnatural glow.

And there he is — hunched over his workbench like he's sewn himself into it, long fingers twitching over instruments with feverish precision. His dark hair is a wild mane, hanging lank around his face. His clothes — the same threadbare shirt and soot-darkened trousers he's worn for days — cling to him like a second skin, stiff with sweat and grime. He smells, unmistakably, of decay. You inhale instinctively and regret it immediately. He smells like he's been excavating graves with his bare hands. He may very well have been, knowing him.

"Victor." You say softly, almost afraid to break the air. "You need to rest." He doesn't look up. You might as well be the draft slipping under the door. You take a step forward. Then another. "Victor." You say again, firmer this time.

"I'm on the edge." He mutters, so low it's nearly inaudible. "I'm so close I can taste it. The ligature points are wrong. Or perhaps it's the fusion timing. I must—" You walk past the strange construction under the tarpaulin — something vaguely human-shaped, which you've tried not to look at — and go straight to the window. With a firm shove, you crack open the shutters. Sunlight stabs into the gloom like a blade, slicing across the dust motes and making Victor wince. He flinches, shielding his eyes as if you'd just thrown boiling water on him.

You throw open another window. The lab groans around you like it's protesting the intrusion. The air shifts. Warmer. Cleaner. Alive.

"For God's sake, Victor. You smell like the bottom of a tomb. When was the last time you ate something? Or slept?" Your nose wrinkles slightly. "Or bathed?"

"I don't— I can't—" He whirls on you, eyes wild and red-rimmed, voice ragged with exhaustion. "You don't understand. If I stop now, it all unravels. I'm close. I'm so damn close."

"You've been close for a week." You say gently, approaching him. "And every day, you vanish a little more. You don't just shut yourself away from the world, my darling; you shut me out, too." That lands. You see it flicker behind his eyes; that spark of guilt, of awareness, maybe even shame. But he turns away again, shoulders curling inward. His hands tremble as they hover above the tools. You step closer still, placing a hand softly against his back. He's burning hot to the touch. You can feel the tension wound up beneath his skin, muscles locked and fraying.

"I fell for a man." You tell him. "Not a ghost." His shoulders sag. He lets out a long, shuddering breath and, for a moment, you think he might finally collapse into your arms. Instead, he sinks onto the stool, head in his hands.

"My work isn't complete."

"And you won't live to see the fruits of your labour if you continue as you are. Spending hours in such a dark and festering environment will take years off your life." You tell him pointedly and he hesitates. Finally, he sighs, defeated.

"Alright." He relents, standing from his stool with a groan, his joints popping and clicking, resisting after so long in that particular posture. "What would you have me do instead?"

"Preferably? Bathe, eat and then sleep." He lets out a soft chuckle at your reply, running a hand self-consciously through his unkempt hair.

"You make it sound as though I'm some wild animal." He murmurs with a hint of amusement and you cup his cheek, regarding him with a warm, loving smile.

"You certainly smell like one as well." That draws another, warmer, laugh from him as he leans exhaustedly into your touch. He wipes his hands on his apron before untying it and placing it on the stool.

"Very well. Then I suppose a bath is in order."

Easily, you lead him from his laboratory, up the stairs and into the bathroom. Turning on the taps, you watch as the bathtub fills with steaming hot water, fogging up the windows and casting the whole room in a gauzy, dreamy glow. You make sure to drop some rosemary oil into the water, filling the air with sweet-smelling steam, before turning your attention back to your husband, who frankly seems quite at odds with the soothing environment.

Victor's tugging at the buttons of his loose shirt and you decide to help him, kneeling to help him with his shoes and socks before rising, pushing off his suspenders and shirt. With every discarded item, he seems to unwind just that little bit further. With deft hands, you unbutton his trousers and push them down along with his underthings, leaving him gloriously nude. It's always a wonder to you how, even in such a state, he captures your heart anew.

"How I've missed the sight of you, my darling..." You sigh and he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"As I have missed your tender touch." Side-stepping you, he makes his way to the tub and steps in, sinking down into the hot water with a sigh of relief before twisting off the water taps and laying back. You collect his clothes from the floor and place them in a pile by the door before unlacing your waistcoat, slowly undressing yourself and exposing yourself to the warm, moist air of the bathroom. Victor's eyes, dark and tired, flicker open and he watches you undress, a glint of a familiar hunger behind his eyes.

Once you're fully nude, you slip into the tub behind him, your thighs framing either side of his waist and his head laying back on your chest. Your fingers card through his hair; it's dry and much in need of a wash, though that doesn't stop you from kissing just behind his ear. Your hands move along his neck, across his shoulders and then down to his chest, feeling the tension still present just beneath the skin.

"I worry for you." You tell him simply.

"I know. My work consumes me." He sighs, watching as your wet fingers leave shining trails along his skin. "You always take such good care of me, don't you?" Smiling, you kiss the side of his neck and then his earlobe.

"I try my best." He turns his head to press a kiss to your jaw.

"And I am grateful for it." He murmurs, his voice filled with affection and exhaustion. He settles back, eyes drifting closed, as he allows himself to be held and soothed by your presence.

Your hands move down his chest and then to his stomach before you begin slowly massaging his thighs, fingers kneading the knotted muscles there and drawing a soft groan from him. His legs fall open, giving you better access, and you move further to massage his inner thighs, your lips just by his ear.

"Shhh... Just relax, darling." You whisper and he spreads his legs just that little bit wider, your fingers crawling higher and higher.

"You have no idea how good this feels..." He mumbles, his voice lower and slower than before.

Gently, you slide your fingertip against his opening, rubbing slow circles into the sensitive skin, and he sucks in a sharp breath though he doesn't move to pull away. In fact, he falls into you, practically begging for more touch. He relaxes further as you slide your finger around his hole. He's done this to you countless times before and, perhaps, he will find it just as pleasurable, particularly in his wound-up state.

"Is that good?" You ask softly and he nods, his breath coming out shaky, as his hips shift, seeking more contact. He's completely at your mercy, his usual intensity and focus replaced with a rare vulnerability. Your thumb slides along the soft stretch of flesh between his entrance and his sac, pressing firmly though not too hard.

"Dear God..." He whispers breathlessly, hips moving in small circles, aching for more stimulation. You give it to him, applying the slightest bit of pressure to his opening, as you use your free hand to tilt his head, his eyes meeting your own.

"Look at me, darling. Look at me and just let your mind wander." You encourage him. His eyes, usually so intense and piercing, are soft and glassy as they find yours. A small, helpless whine escapes his lips as he relaxes and opens up to you.

Ever so slowly, you slide your finger inside him up to the first knuckle, your free hand moving around his shoulder to circle his pert nipple with a finger. "There you are. Just relax. I've got you." You sigh, sweet breath washing over his face, as he lets out a sound akin to a gentle purr. Your finger slides in further as his body encourages you in, sliding deeper and deeper, until you can curl the digit upward. His breath hitches sharply and his body tenses for a moment before he goes almost completely lax.

"Ohh... Oh, God..." Beneath the water, your finger curls deep inside him, his toes curling as his hips flex. "It feels... It feels like... Like electricity...running through me..." His words come in rushed, breathy bursts. "Like every nerve-ending is alive..." You brush a kiss to his brow as you roll one of his nipples between your fingertips, playing his body like a well-tuned instrument, knowing precisely which strings to pluck. His mouth falls open in a silent O-shape. "Too much... It's too much..." His hands move to grip the sides of the tub, knuckles paling. "I can't think... Can't focus... All I can do...is feel you..."

"Then just feel me, Victor. Don't think for once. Just feel." You cur your finger a little further, pressing just that little bit harder against his prostate, drawing slow circles around it. "Just close your eyes, darling." His eyes drift closed almost immediately, dark lashes fanning across his cheekbones. He lets out a deep, throaty moan as you increase the pressure, the sensation becoming almost unbearably intense.

"Dear God..." Craning your neck slightly, you brush your lips against his, your tongue tracing the seam of his mouth, silently requesting entry. He parts his lips without hesitation, granting you access to his mouth, and he kisses you back hungrily, drowning himself in sensation as the bathwater laps at his skin. You begin slowly thrusting your finger in and out, the water easing the slide, and his hips move in tandem. He breaks the kiss to gasp for air and you press your forehead to his.

"I'm here, darling. You're safe." You pair the slow, deep thrusts with deep strokes to his prostate. "You're safe and warm. Relaxed. Happy." You breathe and he lets out a soft, needy whine, brows knitting. "And I love you. I love you so very much, my darling." Your voice is soft, almost hypnotic, and he shivers.

"I-I love you too..." He whispers in reply. With a sudden gasp, his body tenses, muscles locking up as he nears his peak. "I-I'm... I'm going to—"

"It's alright. Let it happen." You encourage him and, with a quiet cry of your name, he tosses his head back against your shoulder as he comes undone in your arms. Waves of pleasure wash over him, his body convulsing. He clings onto the tub tightly, his only anchor in this storm of sensation that overtakes his mind and body. You keep on with your ministrations, murmuring praises into his ear and leaving kisses all over his face and neck. You draw out his orgasm, making his legs go weak, as his body becomes incredibly sensitive, small aftershocks wracking his frame with each slow slide of your finger inside him.

There are small, wordless sounds of pleasure as he passes through into the afterglow and you finally slide your finger from inside him, rubbing the remaining tension from his thighs. "There. How do you feel?" You ask and he takes a moment to catch his breath, his body still trembling.

"Incredible... Incredible, love..." He breathes and you smile, nuzzling your nose against his.

"Good. Now, when you can move again, I'll wash your hair but take your time, darling. The world can wait."

Chapter Text

The sun hangs low, casting long shadows over the diamond. You're sitting in the bleachers, legs folded up under you, a half-empty cherry ICEE sweating in your hand. Around you, the crowd's already in celebration mode; classmates shouting and rattling the fences, someone's portable speaker thumping out some early-2000s playlist.

Luke's team just won the last game of senior year.

He was good tonight; great, actually. Hit a double in the sixth that brought two runners in and pretty much sealed the win. His teammates are still slapping him on the back, tossing their gloves in the air, riding the adrenaline.

You smile, watching him laugh with his cap backwards and his cheeks flushed. He's sweaty, dirt-smudged, bright-eyed. Your boyfriend. Yours. And, God, you love him.

Not in the careless way most high-school couples do. Not just for prom photos and hallway hand-holding. It's the quieter things; the way he holds your hand when you're anxious, the way he calls your mom ma'am without rolling his eyes, the way he keeps your spare chapstick in his backpack. You've known each other too long and you've been in love just long enough that it all aches a little now, here on the brink of everything changing.

You set your cup down and climb down off the bleachers as Luke starts heading your way, his eyes already scanning the crowd for you. He locks eyes with you, his smile growing wider as he jogs toward the stands.

"Hey, beautiful."  He says, leaning down for a kiss and you wrap your arms around his neck, practically buzzing, as you press your lips to his.

"Well done, honey."

"Thanks, babe. Couldn't have done it without my good luck charm." He teases. Releasing you, he grabs his gym bag from under the lowest bench and slings it over his shoulder. Your hand finds his as you slowly walk back toward the campus. Everyone's heading home now but there's something that's been bugging you, something that you haven't had a chance to talk to him about, and now your brain is screaming at you to just let it out.

"Umm... Hey, hon?" You ask and he lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles. His shirt is still dirty and sweat-damp from the game, his hair mussed and his cheeks flushed. He's honestly the best-looking guy you've ever seen.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I was thinking about something..." You trail off, cheeks flushing slightly as you look away. You take a breath. "It's just... We've been together a while, right?" He nods slowly.

"Yeah. Almost two years."

"And we're both...eighteen. Like, we're adults now." Luke blinks.

"Yeah."

"And— Um... I know this is kinda out of nowhere but..." He's watching you now, completely still, still holding your hand as you stand on the grass leading back in the direction of the gym. "I've just been thinking... Everyone I know talks about how they've already, y'know, done it. Since, like, sophomore year. And I don't wanna rush anything, I don't. But...we're heading into summer and college and life and..." You trail off, suddenly very aware of how warm your face feels. Luke's expression doesn't change right away. He just blinks again.

"You wanna...?"

"Not because of them." You add quickly. "Not because I feel pressured or anything. I just— Want to. With you. Because I trust you. And I love you. And...I guess I just think it'd be the best time; before I don't get to see you for a while." Silence stretches between you. You're afraid for half a second you've misread everything. That he's going to laugh. Or freeze. Or say he's not ready. But then he squeezes your hand, gentle as ever.

"I've not done it yet either." He says. You blink.

"You haven't?" He shrugs.

"I guess I figured you knew."

"I thought maybe you had, like... Before me."

"No." He says. "I didn't want to. Not until it felt right." You both fall quiet again. "And this? With you? It feels right." Your throat tightens.

"Are you nervous?" You ask.

"A little." He says, then cracks a smile. "But not in a bad way." You squeeze his hand.

"Me too." You tell him and he smiles, reaching out to gently cradle your cheek.

"I've been thinking about it for a little while." He pauses for a second. "Are you sure?" You bite your lip and reach into your pocket, pulling something out just enough for him to catch a glimpse of it; a shiny, square foil wrapper. He knows exactly what it is. His eyes widen.

"You bought—" He swallows hard. "When did you even...?" Your face flushes as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

"I actually took it from my mom's room. I tried to buy some on my own but I... I chickened out." You laugh softly and he reaches out to gently tug the wrapper from the pocket of your shorts, shoving it into the pocket of his sweatpants. His hand in yours squeezes your fingers.

"C'mon." He gently tugs you in the direction of the gym.

Everyone's already changed and left by the time you reach the gym. It's quiet and smells like sweat and Axe body spray. Luke looks around before pulling you into the men's locker room. It's dark; the only light coming from the small windows, high up on the wall.

As the door clicks shut, he turns to face you, warm hands finding your hips. You lift your hands to his chest, feeling the strong thumping of his heart through the damp material of his t-shirt. Pulling you flush against him, he seals his lips over yours, the kiss hungry and desperate, unlike the long, sweet kisses he usually gives you. It takes you by surprise and you gasp against his lips as he presses you back against the row of sinks. He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your jaw and neck, hands roaming under your shirt to touch the bare skin of your lower back, just above the waistband of your shorts. There's a twitch against your hip and your heart kicks against your ribs, anxiety and excitement warring in your chest. He pulls back just enough to catch your eye, breathless and uncertain. You're blushing like crazy, overwhelmed by the anticipation of the moment and the scent of him; sweat and grass and dirt and that cologne his mom got him for his birthday. You struggle to find your voice, let alone spit the words out.

"M-Maybe we should— I-In the shower maybe?" You ask and he nods quickly.

"Yeah, shower's a good idea." He pulls off his shirt and tosses it onto the benches. You've seen him shirtless before — like at that barbecue at his folks' place — but you still appreciate the sight of him. He's not skinny, not muscular; just this nice in-between. Lean, maybe? You reach out and lay a hand on his bare chest and his breath catches. His lips meet yours again as his fingers reach for the hem of your shirt. He pulls away just long enough to pull it over your head before tossing it aside. Kissing you again, his fingers dip down to the waistband of your shorts, silently testing if you're okay with him taking them off. You nod and kick off your sneakers and socks as his fingers fumble with the button of your shorts, sliding them down your hips to pool around your ankles. He pulls away again, tugging at the drawstring of his sweats and shoving them down, leaving the both of you in your underwear. He ducks for a moment to grab the condom from his pocket before gently pulling you in the direction of the showers.

You're pressed against the cool tile as he pulls you in for another kiss, placing the condom on top of the wall-mounted soap dispenser. His boxers are tenting obviously now as he presses himself against your thigh, his hands drifting up your back, toward the fastenings of your bra.

"Luke, honey..." You manage as he pants against your lips.

"Can I?" He asks, fingers hovering just shy of your bra clasp. He's hard and needy but he's trying his best to be patient and respectful and that means the world to you. You know plenty of guys in your class who would've just shoved you up against the wall and had their way with you. But not Luke. Not your Luke.

You pause before nodding and he unhooks your bra after a few attempts, sliding the straps down your shoulders. He lets it fall to the floor, his breath catching at the sight of your bare chest. You're sure he's seen his fair share online but this seems different; this is real and it's you, not some random porn-star on some seedy website.

His lips find yours again and you feel his hand creep slowly up your ribs before cupping your chest, squeezing lightly and drawing a moan from your throat. His thumb and forefinger find your nipple — already stiff and flushed a pretty shade of pink — rolling gently. A hand slides down to your hip, fingertips dipping just under the waistband of your underwear. You follow his lead, lightly cupping him through his boxers.

"O-Oh, wow... Are you big? Like is that— Is that big? It feels big." You ask breathily as he bites back a groan.

"I... I don't know." He admits, his hand moving from your hip to guide your hand along the outline through his boxers.

"I mean, I've not...seen a real one before. I don't really know what big is, you know?" You pass your hand over him experimentally and he sucks in a breath.

"You— You can see it, if you want." He offers and, with shaking hands, you slide your fingers under the elastic waistband of his boxers, struggling slightly to pull it down his thighs. He steps out of them, leaving him completely naked and in close quarters...

He's hard and thick, his cock curving upward slightly. You take a moment to just look at it before tentatively wrapping your fingers around it.

"Like this?" You ask and he shivers, eyes falling shut. "It's kind of pretty. Can— Can they be pretty?" Your cheeks flush a darker shade of pink. "O-Or am I being weird?" He laughs softly and kisses your temple, watching as you slowly stroke him from root to tip.

"No... No, you're so cute, baby." He murmurs, his hands moving down, fingertips brushing the waistband of your panties. You peek at him through your lashes and he looks so full of longing but so patient, giving you all the time in the world to say no if you want to. But you don't. You nod and he pushes your underwear down and you kick it away, leaving the both of you warm and naked in the shower block.

"Am I...okay?" You ask, a pang of self-consciousness drawing your ribs tight around your lungs.

"You're perfect." His fingers skate along your stomach and then down further, sliding between your thighs and pressing lightly against the thatch of hair there. He can feel how warm you are, how wet, and it's already driving him crazy. "Fuck... You're so pretty."

"You really think?"

"Mhm." He gently parts your lips, his finger sliding over your clit and making you shiver, your hands flying to his shoulders for support. He's careful not to push inside; very content to watch you purr and moan. "You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen... You're not shaved down here." He says quietly, fingertips running over the hair covering your mons.

"No, sorry. Is it freaking you out or—"

"No. God, no. It's...really, really sexy." Heat creeps up your neck as you look away, smiling sweetly. You reach up for the soap dispenser, your fingers curling around the condom, and he takes it from you. "Let me do it." He presses a kiss to your forehead before tearing open the packet and carefully pulling out the condom, his fingers shaking slightly. He takes his time rolling it down his cock; smooth latex sliding down the shaft. You bite your lip, unable to look away, even when his hands move to cradle your hips. It's silent save for the slow drip drip drip of a broken shower-head and your laboured breaths. "You okay?"

"Y-Yeah." He pulls away slightly and moves to sit on the floor, his back resting against the cool tile. He pats his thigh invitingly and you follow him down, straddling his lap. "Like this?"

"Yeah." One large, warm hand moves to your hip, gently guiding you, as the other finds your face. He slides his cock between your thighs and you suck in a breath between your teeth. "You're so pretty..."

"Stop saying that." You laugh softly and he chuckles, kissing your nose.

"Nope." You rest your forehead against his, draping your arms around his shoulders, and he swallows hard. His eyes meet yours; sweet, honest, clear ocean-blue. "Ready?"

"I think so." He kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips again before slowly guiding your hips down. He pushes in slightly, just an inch; testing the waters.

"Okay?"

"That's... That's good." You sigh and he pushes in another inch, rocking his hips up gently. He sinks in slowly, guiding you down, down, down... It feels perfect; like he belongs inside you. "Ohhh..." He stills.

"You okay?" He checks in and you nod quickly.

"Mhmm... Feels really good." And he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist, as you slide down further, taking more of him in. Finally, your hips meet his and he groans, stilling for a moment to let you adjust before he starts guiding your hips in a slow, rolling motion. "Feels so..."

"Feels good, right?" He asks and you nod.

"Yeah... Is it good for you too?"

"Mhm..." But he doesn't sound convinced. He watches where your bodies join, a guilty look passing across his features as his brows knit. It's not really the mind-blown reaction you hoped him to have, almost as if he didn't expect it to be just okay. You notice the lack of enthusiasm and you slow your movements to a stop.

"Honey?" His head snaps up as he meets your worried gaze, eyes wide. "Is it not good?"

"Hey, hey..." He tries to placate you, running a hand slowly through your hair. "Is it good for you?" He asks and you nod.

"Y-Yeah but this is your first time too. It's not just about me, right?" You tell him and his brows furrow slightly.

"It just feels...a little different than I thought it would." He admits quietly and you nod, lifting your hips until his cock bobs up from between your thighs.

"Maybe it's this?" You ask, beginning to roll the condom off carefully. He watches you toss it to one side, before wrapping your hand around his cock. His head falls back against the tile as you touch his bare skin and he curses under his breath. "Is that better?"

"Yeah, that's— That's way better." And you smile, positioning him again.

"Take two?" You ask.

"Fuck, yeah."

This time, as you slowly slide down onto him bare, he seems to feel the difference; the slick heat, the silkiness of your body wrapped tight around him. His fingers sink into the meat of your hips as he tries to stop himself from bucking up.

"How's that?"

"Holy shit... So much better... Christ, babe..." He groans, his hands roaming your body aimlessly, as you start to rock your hips against his. "So fucking good... Can feel everything..." He leans in to kiss you again, pulling you against him as you ride him, slow and deep. Every time you take him in, your ass meets his thighs with a gentle slap, the sound echoing in the shower block. You reach down between your bodies, circling your clit with your finger, falling in sync with the slow roll of your hips. Your body draws tight around him, slick pooling at the base of his cock. His heavy breaths and eager groans have you riding him faster. Neither of you can last long like this; desperate, needy, raw, exposed for the very first time.

Luke passes a hand through his hair, watching your hand move between your legs as you ride him. "Babe... You're gonna...make me cum..." He manages between breathless groans.

"Inside me?"

"Mhmm... U-Unless you want me not to?" He quickly corrects himself.

"I mean... I'm on the pill? Do you think that'll be okay?" You ask and he nods eagerly.

"Yeah... Yeah, I think it'll be okay." He wraps his arms around your waist, kissing you deeply, murmuring against your lips. "Wanna cum inside you so bad..." His hips buck up against yours. "A-Ahh, fuck..." His hands grab at your backside, holding you against him as his hips jerk up to meet yours. Your fingers tangle into his messy, sweat-damp hair as you moan, your hips bucking as you keep your fingers working over the hood of your clit. "I'm gonna cum... Gonna cum inside you... Ohh, fuck...!" He's completely lost, fucking you hard and fast from below as he chases his climax.

"I-I'm close..." You manage to pant out and he nods.

"Yeah... Cum with me... Please, babe..." He groans, burying his face against the crook of your neck, littering kisses along your shoulder. Your breath catches and your thighs tremble as you clench down around his cock. There's a sudden burst of heat between your thighs and you press your face against his hair as you cum on his cock, whimpering softly as he keeps fucking you from below. The sound coming from between you is wetter now and your fingers are drenched as your eyes roll.

"O-Ohh, God..." It's enough to send him over the edge and he presses his mouth to your skin as he groans, pulling you down onto him one last time before going completely still.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Going limp on top of him, you rest your head on his shoulder, just feeling him burst inside you with deep, warm pulses. You've never felt closer to him — physically or emotionally — and you hang on tight. "That was...amazing..." He murmurs softly, laying more kisses across your face. He starts to slowly soften inside you but he doesn't pull out just yet.

"Mhmm... I think we just found something you're better at than baseball." And he laughs softly, squeezing your backside before slowly pulling free, looking down to watch his load slowly seep out of you and onto the floor of the shower block. You pause, pulling back to look at him, your hair messy and your face flushed. "Hey, I almost forgot to tell you..."

"What?"

"My folks said you could come with us to Vegas for the Summer, if you want." You tell him and his eyes widen as you kiss the corner of his jaw.

"Wait, what? You mean, like, on vacation? With your family? And they're good with me staying in the same room as you?" He asks and you nod.

"Mhm. As long as we don't get too loud, they said they wouldn't either." You laugh softly before sobering, pushing his hair away from his face. "I just know you were a little bummed that your folks wouldn't let you stay back while they took your sister to her new school."

"That's...really nice of them." He leans in to kiss your forehead sweetly. "I'd love to come with." You grin and squeeze your arms around him.

"Then we should probably make a move and call your mom."

"Yeah. But first..." He catches your lips in a slow, deep kiss. "Quick shower? We're both kinda..." He gestures vaguely at your bodies and you nod, giggling.

"Yeah, true. Shower first."

Chapter Text

The candlelight flickers across the damp walls as you wander down the corridor, the hem of your nightgown whispering against the cold floorboards. The house is still, only the sounds of wood shifting, but you can tell he's awake.

He's always awake.

Ink and smouldering tallow fill your nostrils as you approach his study. The door is ajar and, through the gap, you glimpse Victor — your beloved husband — leaning over his desk, his dark, uncombed curls casting wild shadows on the parchment before him. His quill scratches wildly, his lips moving as though he talking aloud the words he inscribes. His waistcoat is thrown over the chair, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his stained hands grip the paper as if it should escape him were he to release it.

You hesitate, not knowing whether to go in. He doesn't notice you. He never does, not at first. His mind is elsewhere — always elsewhere — tangled in knots, concerned with whatever horrific work has him in its hold night after night.

"Victor?" You breathe, voice barely more than a whisper. He doesn't look up. You step closer, cradling a glass of brandy. The amber liquid radiates in the glow of the candles, lending him the warmth he so frequently refuses to accept. "Victor." You say again, louder this time. He startles, his head snapping up to you as if emerging from deep water. His eyes — those dark, tired eyes — lock on you and, for a moment, something uncoils in them. Then, just as quickly, tension takes them back, the burden of his work pressing down on him again.

"My love." He croaks, his voice grating with disuse. "What're you doing awake?" You step inside, close the door, stride over to his desk and extend the glass.

"You've been working too long, my darling. Drink." He sighs, combing his hand through his hair before reaching for the brandy. His fingers brush against yours and, for the first time in days, he's here, properly here, touching you, feeling you. You move behind his desk, placing your hands on his shoulders, fingers working into the tired muscle there. "You've done enough work for today." He leans into the touch with a soft sigh, setting down his quill.

"You're too kind to me." He says, turning his head slightly to offer you a weary smile. "I lost track of time again, I suppose." You stoop slightly to brush a kiss against his temple.

"Yes, darling." With a groan, he stretches his arms above his head and you can hear the joints popping after hours of unmoving concentration.

"Perhaps you're right. A moment's respite couldn't hurt."

"Take a break and stretch your legs. Your circulation must be lagging terribly." You murmur, watching as he downs half the glass of brandy, his eyes watering slightly.

You wish you didn't have to mother him like this. Sometimes you wish he could take care of himself yet you'd never change him for the world; the way he looks at you when you care for him... It's truly like he sees an angel.

"God, my legs are numb." He mutters, standing up and wandering around his lab in an attempt to get his blood flowing again. As he does, a thought occurs. Your fingers drift over trays of surgical tools, nails tapping on glass specimen jars that line the shelves on the walls.

"Victor, I wanted to ask you something..." Your voice has that syrupy-sweet purr to it and you watch as he leans against the front of his desk, dark eyes trained solely on you. It's been so very long since you've caught his attention and managed to get him to take a break. Perhaps some...cardiovascular exercise would do the both of you some good.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering if I could help you with your work." You state and you don't need to look at him to know his brows shoot up in surprise.

"'Help with my work'?" He repeats as if testing the words on his tongue. A small, pensive frown creases his brow as he considers the offer. "It's not exactly...suitable for a lady." He replies and you cross the room to his dissection table, a slab of steel in the centre of his laboratory, clean and sterile, shining in the candlelight.

"Oh, but I already know a place where my expertise could be used." You inform him, fingertips lightly drifting over the cold surface of the table.

"And where might that be?" You reach up to unbutton your nightgown and push it from your shoulders, letting it pool around your feet and leaving you completely nude. You turn to him, your body comprised of soft, flowing curves and soft, warm flesh.

"How about anatomical studies?" You suggest, wetting your lips, and his eyes widen before darkening, raking over your figure. He doesn't look at you like he does his books or his specimens; not like a scientist. He regards you in the same way you imagine a Neanderthal might; with wanton hunger and possession, with barely an intelligent thought, as his eyes drink in your bare visage.

After a moment, he swallows hard, looking as if he may cast you from his laboratory for besmirching these hallowed grounds with your nakedness, injecting your sordid desires into his head, trying to distract him. You grow slightly self-conscious. "I realise I'm not the most perfect specimen but...perhaps I may be of use." You avert your gaze anxiously and he quickly closes the distance between you.

"No, no, you misunderstand me." He says, voice hoarse as he attempts to rein in his baser urges. "You are exquisite, my love. Perfect for a detailed study of the human form."

"Then perhaps you might teach me as you study?" You ask as you move onto his examination table, lying down and shivering at the sensation of the cold steel against your bare flesh. He clears his throat and nods.

"Very well." His tone shifts to that of a professor addressing a student. "Let me have a look at you."

Rough fingertips thread through your hair, gliding along your scalp and following the hinge of your jaw. He looms over you from behind, gaze following his fingers as he studies you. He traces your facial structure with gentle precision, his touch equally clinical and tender. "The skull, perfectly formed." A large, warm hand cradles your jaw, feeling the craftsmanship of the bone beneath the flesh.

Next, he follows a fingertip down the gentle slope of your nose, admiring the delicate cartilage. "A fine example of nasal structure." He murmurs, almost to himself, before his fingers pause at your lips, his thumb gently touching the softness there. "The mouth..." He pauses. "So perfectly formed. The upper lip is slightly fuller than the lower lip; a classic example of aesthetic harmony." He leans in slightly, being careful not to block the light as he studies your eyes in the candlelight. "And your eyes..."

"What about my eyes, darling?" You prompt, studying his in turn; a deep, umber colour, bordering on black.

"They are a work of art. The colour, the shape... The way they gaze at me." He reaches out to gently tilt your chin, noting the way your irises catch the light.

Once he's finished examining your face, his fingers follow the line of your neck, feeling your pulse throb beneath his touch. "The carotid arteries, strong and healthy." He states before the pads of his fingers follow the curve of your collarbone, pausing at the hollow of your throat, once again feeling your pulse as it flutters. "Your bone structure is simply perfect."

Rounding the table, his hands find your chest. Thanks to the chill of his laboratory and the slow, sensual nature of his touch, your nipples have pebbled and tightened. "The areolae are slightly raised." He observes. "A natural response to temperature change." Hands, warm and rough, cup your breasts feeling the weight and the shape in his palms. A sigh escapes your lips as you bite back a moan. "Your breasts are nicely sized." He squeezes slightly. "Not too large, not too small. And the nipples are a healthy colour. Now, your arms."

Slowly, Victor takes in the build of your shoulders, taking the time to draw his fingers over any raised scars or freckles. "Such delicate structure." He murmurs, tracing the curve of your upper arm, feeling the muscles beneath. "Your skin is smooth, soft, almost translucent in places." His touch becomes lighter as he reaches your wrist. "And such fine bones here." His thumb strokes along the pulse point on your inner wrist before he takes your hand between his own, studying your fingers. "The fingers are long and slender. Like those of a pianist." His hand dwarfs yours, fingertips following the lines across your palm. "Mine are larger, more suited to manual labour." He states before you reach up to cup his face. He closes his eyes briefly as your fingers thread through his curls, making him shudder slightly. He catches your wrist suddenly, bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing your palm before laying it back down on the slab.

Next, his hands find the bottom of your ribcage. "Narrow." He states softly, fingers splaying out beneath your breasts as he counts each individual rib. "Twelve pairs, all intact and healthy." A shiver rushes down your spine as his fingers curl around your waist. "Admirably slender." He comments before his thumbs trace the curve of your hips. "But your pelvis is wide..."

"I-Is that a bad thing?" You interject and he shakes his head.

"No, not at all." He reassures you quickly. "A wide pelvis indicates excellent childbearing potential." He coughs, clearing his throat, as a light flush spreads across his cheekbones. "In fact, your proportions are very favourable from a scientific standpoint." He takes a step further down the table as his hands drift down to your legs. "The thighs are strong and well-shaped, a testament to overall health and vitality." He gives them a light squeeze before running his hands down to your knees and then back up to your hips, taking in the full shape of your legs. He lets out a shaky exhale, the next words muttered under his breath, barely audible. "The figure of a goddess..." The compliment brings a bright blush to your cheeks.

"Victor, please. Continue..." You encourage him and his hands slowly slide down the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart gently.

"Lift your knees." He instructs softly and you do as he asks, letting your legs fall open and exposing yourself. Your mons and lower lips are covered in a soft dusting of hair, curls that are already wet with slick arousal. "God..." Pushing your knees back further, he takes a good, long while looking at you.

"Is everything alright?" You ask hesitantly and he shakes his head.

"No. No, it's not alright. You are...simply divine..." Reaching out, he slowly spreads you open with his fingers, baring you completely to his gaze. "And so responsive." A fingertip traces along the opening of your cunt, relishing the soft warmth and wetness gathered there. "Your — uhh... — labia is quite...plump and your clitoris... It's already engorged and sensitive." You feel the knot of nerves there twitch as he slowly pushes back the hood to reveal the shaft of it. "The clitoris is highly concentrated with nerve endings, which explains its sensitivity." He continues, his voice slightly shaky, drawing slow, circles around it with a fingertip. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you stifle another moan, watching how enraptured he is by simply touching you as he is, explaining how perfect of a specimen you are, laid out on his dissection table for his perusal.

"My darling..." You manage between little, wavering breaths.

"Hush, my love..." He whispers, his professional tone momentarily breaking. "Your... God... Your vulva is quite... Quite lovely. Perfectly formed. And it seems your body is already producing significant amounts of vaginal lubrication. It indicates high arousal and sexual excitement."

"O-Oh?"

"Yes, the body produces this to aid in intercourse. The more aroused a woman is, the more lubricant her body produces." He explains, collecting some on his fingers and testing the viscosity, thin trails of slick stringing between the pads of his fingers. Your head falls to one side and, despite the flicker of candlelight, you can see the straining at the front of his trousers.

"And...is your own body not indicating 'high arousal and sexual excitement'?" You ask and he follows your gaze to his groin, trying to ignore the insistent throbbing there.

"My body's physical responses aren't relevant to this...examination." He says, his voice tight, and you sit up, running your fingers through his wild curls.

"Show me, darling, Let me see what my body does to you."

With an almost defeated sigh, Victor toes off his shoes and lifts himself onto the slab between your outstretched thighs, unbuttoning his trousers and hitching them down with his underthings to reveal the hard length of his cock, already leaking.

"See what you do to me, my love?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper. You pull him down slightly to kiss him, your lips meeting his almost chastely.

"Tell me about your anatomy, Victor." You sigh against his lips and he nods.

"Well, as you can see..." He begins, voice low and breathy. "When a man is aroused, blood flows into the penile tissues, causing an erection. The shaft becomes firm and sensitive." With a fingertip, you slowly circle the head as he previously did to the bundle of nerves between your legs.

"Tell me more, darling." You prompt him as he sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering closed at the touch.

"The glans — the head — is the most sensitive part. There are nerve endings concentrated there, much like in the clitoris of the female..." You draw your finger away for a moment, pre-ejaculate creating a slick string between the slit and your fingertip before you continue your gentle ministrations. Your free hand lowers between his legs to cup his sac, squeezing slightly.

"And these?" A shudder runs down his spine and his breath comes in short, quick bursts.

"Th-They produce sperm and they're — ohh... — quite delicate..." He manages before you claim his lips again, wrapping your hand around the shaft and stroking slowly. Pre gathers, slicking your fingers.

When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, his breath hot on your face.

"Perhaps you could demonstrate how the anatomy fits together, hm?" You ask coyly and his eyes widen slightly.

"'Demonstrate'?" He echoes and you lay back on the slab, spreading your thighs a little. He understands the implications. "O-Of course..." He takes himself in hand and shuffles closer. "The male anatomy is designed to fit inside the female..." He presses the tip against your entrance and pushes gently. Due to the sheer amount of slick, your flesh yields easily, accepting him inside your warm, welcoming body.

Victor sinks deeper and deeper until the tip of his cock kisses your cervix and he's seated fully inside you. He inhales sharply and his brow furrows with interest as lust grips him. "The cervix — the entrance to your womb — feels remarkably high and soft." He murmurs and you glance up at him, genuinely interested. The rest of his ramblings during this session have been pretty standard — arousing, yes, but standard nonetheless — but this is new to you.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're likely in a phase of high fertility." He explains. "When a woman is ovulating, the cervix becomes softer and higher to facilitate the passage of ejaculate." Your face flushes as you understand.

"Oh, so we shouldn't be doing this right now?" You ask and his expression darkens with a combination of longing and frustration.

"No, we probably shouldn't." He admits, voice rough. "The risk of conception is significantly higher during this time but..." As he trails off, his hips give a slight, involuntary thrust.

"A-Ahh... Victor, darling..."

"Forgive me..." He groans, his control slipping. "But the allure of potentially fathering a life with you is intoxicating. I fear I can't resist the temptation..." Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you pull him down over you, you unbutton the offending garment and run your hands over his chest.

"That's a very clinical way of saying you'd like a family with me." You laugh softly and he lets out a low chuckle, his body relaxing into your touch.

"It is." He relents, his voice softening. "But you must understand; the scientist in me finds this moment extraordinarily fascinating."

"And the man in you? The husband?"

"The man in me is consumed by love and devotion to you." He murmurs, his head dropping to kiss your brow. "And the husband in me yearns for a family, a legacy, with you."

"Then perhaps we can satisfy all three?" You tilt your head to kiss him and his hands explore your body with growing ardour as he returns the kiss.

"Yes... A most pleasing proposal..." He breathes against your lips, his touch becoming reverent, tracing every curve as if memorising them anew. "My love..." He breaks the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses down the line of your neck, his large, warm hands roaming freely. "Tell me again."

"What...?" You manage.

"How you want all of me; the man, the scientist, the husband... The lover who adores you utterly." You thread your fingers into his hair, carding through his curls as you have a million times before.

"Every part of you, darling. I married you as an entire person, not a singular identity." You tell him and his hand slips down to rest on your lower abdomen, where your womb lies beneath layers of skin, muscle and fatty tissue.

"And what of the father?" He presses and you lay your free hand over his on your stomach.

"I've not encountered him yet." You reply and a low chuckle rumbles through his chest.

"Not yet." He agrees, pressing his forehead to yours. "But soon, I hope. Very soon." His hips rock against yours; slow, lazy, loving. He fills you perfectly, your bodies fitting together seamlessly, as his hands wander restlessly over your naked body.

"A father, yes..." His head bows into the crook of your neck, his voice low as he whispers.

"A father who cannot wait to see the beauty of his own creation, who longs to hold our little one in his arms." He kisses your pulse point before laving his tongue over it, feeling it flutter under the contact. "And who wants to watch you grow heavy with his heir." Your arms loop around his shoulders as your eyes fall closed.

"Faster, darling... Please..." You plead and he indulges you, lifting his arms to grasp the edge of the table, moving against you quicker, the sound of your bodies bouncing off the walls of his laboratory. He lets out groans and sighs against your ear as he moves inside you, hot breath ghosting over the curve of your shoulder.

"My love... My wife..." He nuzzles your jaw with his nose, enjoying the closeness, the primality of the act between you. His thrusts grow deeper, slower. "My beloved..." He captures your lips again, the kiss possessive and almost desperate. "Do you have any idea how much I love you? How..." He sucks in a breath as he feels himself getting closer and closer. "How I worship you..." You silence him with a kiss and his body shudders in pleasure as he finally lets go, his release intense and overwhelming. He continues to move slowly against you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure, his lips skimming along your jawline. "A goddess..."

"Victor..." His name falls from your lips as a whimper as he spills deep within you.

"God, hearing you say my name like that..." His voice is pure sex and reverence, completely undone. "Are you alright, love?"

"Yes, darling. More than alright..." You reply and he nods, his hips moving slowly, lazy. He pulls out almost completely before pushing back in deep, making you whine. "Now, would you come to bed tonight? Sleep with your arms around me?" You ask softly.

"Of course. I'll sleep wrapped around you like ivy, keeping you safe and warm." He drops a kiss on your forehead, gazing down at you like you hung the stars for him. You brush a stray curl from his eyes.

"Come then. Your dissection table isn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world." You joke softly and he laughs.

"It isn't designed for comfort, my love. Let's retire."

Chapter Text

Lucien leans back in his chair, fingers linked, gazing at the whiskey glass abandoned by his elbow. The study is dark, the amber desk lamp casting long shadows on the panelled walls. His pen rests across an open ledger, ink dried, abandoned hours before when his mind wandered — once more — to you.

Italy.

You hadn't told him why you were leaving, hadn't given him details beyond vague promises that you'd be back soon. You hadn't even asked him to accompany you. That was a bit of a blow but he hadn't grumbled. Not out loud anyway. He knew better than to push where he wasn't wanted. He trusted you.

Or, at least, he was trying to.

But there's insecurity gnawing inside him; a bitter, persistent one, squeezing in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. His mind's too active, too smart for its own good; racing through options, doubting them, thinking up every worst-case scenario. Are you dating someone? Are you there on business? On pleasure? What was it that you didn't want him to know?

He heaves a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders back, trying to calm himself.

It's alright; you always come back.

The fire crackles in the hearth, casting a golden glow across the bookshelves that line the walls. The wind outside rushes against the windows, a high whine that can't substitute for the quiet ache of your absence. The house isn't the same without you; too quiet, too still, too empty.

Lucien's always taken pride in control, in keeping things planned and calculated, but tonight his fingers drum restlessly against his desk, betraying his irritability. He shouldn't mind this so much. He shouldn't allow something so small as your little solo trip to bother him.

And yet, he waits; listening to the groan of the front door, the sound of your feet in the hallway.

Then. At last.

The door opens. Then closes.

He tenses, his heart racing. He listens to the sound of clothes, the shifting of weight, the quiet sigh of someone stepping into the warmth of the house.

Then your footsteps; slow, measured, deliberate.

When the door to the study opens, his dark eyes grab you instantly, drinking in the view of you like a man who has been in the desert, parched. You're different, not noticeably really, but in the slant of your shoulders, in the way your eyes meet his with an unspoken energy that wasn't there when you said you were leaving.

"Buonasera, amore mio.¹" You greet him and his expression softens with affection.

"Buonasera, cara mia.²" He replies, standing and moving from behind his desk to wrap his arms tight around you, inhaling the familiar scent of you. "Did you miss me while you were away?" He asks before you press your lips against his own.

"Of course. Every minute of every day." You assure him and his hold on you tightens.

"Say it again." He murmurs against your lips. "In Italian. You have no idea how lovely it sounds." You lean in so he can feel the warmth of your breath washing over his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

"Mi sei mancato ogni minuto di ogni giorno, amore mio.³" You whisper and he bites his lip, adoring how the words sound tumbling from your lips. He also can't help but notice how wonderful you look after your trip, the Italian sun apparently agreeing with you. Perhaps next time you'd let him accompany you to lounge with you on some veranda in Venice or a secluded beach near Gallipoli. You bring him back to the present with a gentle call of his name and a little tug on the short hair at the nape of his neck. "Luci?"

"Yes, tesoro⁴?" His voice is low, breathy. The way you play with his hair always does something to him. "I missed having you here. Especially at night..." He sighs, tracing a finger along your jawline. You press a kiss to the pad of his finger and smile.

"Did you have to use your special magazine again?" You tease. Oh, yes. The special one.

Lucien, ever since you met him, has always had some special interest in vintage gentleman's magazines. In fact, there's a wide range of issues, from Chic and High Society to Modern Man and, of course, Playboy. You always wondered why he had such a large collection until one day, not long after you got married, when you just decided to ask him. He'd told you unapologetically that it wasn't really a conscious decision to collect the magazines until he was in his early thirties. Until then he just seemed to hoard them without thinking.

He then went on to tell you a story about when he was in his early teens and he came into his father's office — this very office — late at night. He'd seen his father with some kind of magazine which he quickly hid away whenever anyone entered the room. What only piqued his interest was the way his mother would argue with his father for having such magazines. He was young. And he was curious. So, one night, he snuck down into his father's study and opened the drawer where he saw his father slip the magazine away one afternoon. It was a '70s issue of Playboy, which he flipped through. One particular double-page spread caught his eye. It was a revelation, an epiphany. This pretty brunette gazed back at him with this come-hither look, her body wrapped in this sheer, lacy, black lingerie. Though her breasts were technically obscured from view, he could see the outlines of her nipples; pink and pert. He fell in love with her and with the thought of titillation in print then and there.

Since you married, he hasn't needed to look at them — her — as much but you know he does from time to time.

"Honey, you know full well what I do when you're not here." He laughs softly, a soft flush dusting his cheeks. "It's been my best friend for the last two weeks."

"Well..." You run your fingers through his dark curls. "I think I might have something to replace it." His brows lift in curiosity.

"Mm? And what makes you think I'd prefer your 'something' over ol' reliable, hm?" He teases and you reach into your suitcase, pulling out an envelope and offering it to him.

"Why don't you have a look?"

He takes the envelope, slices it open with the letter opener and pulls out the folded contents. Unfolding the paper, his eyes scan over it and then he looks up at you, his expression unreadable. The paper is an A3 poster print of that favourite spread of his, exactly the same; same pose, same expression, same lingerie, same fuzzy vintage filter, even the same glossy paper. However, one thing is different... It's clearly your face and body.

"Tesoro mio...⁵" He breathes out and you grin.

"Mhm? Maybe it could replace 'old reliable', hm?" You ask and he swallows hard, his mind racing with thoughts of having this gorgeous print replace the worn-out, semen-stained pages of his favourite magazine. He runs his fingers along the glossy paper, tracing the curves of your body in the print.

"You did this...?"

"Yep. Professionally shot and everything." You assure him and he suddenly grabs onto the back of your neck and kisses you, deep and passionate.

"You have no idea how much this means to me. I'm gonna frame it and put it over my desk." He grins, holding up the paper again. As he admires it, you move behind him, whispering in his ear.

"You wanna hear a fun fact about that print though?" You ask and he tenses slightly in anticipation.

"Tell me, amore⁶..."

"That's the original lingerie set I'm wearing."

His breath catches in his chest. The original lingerie set, the one he fantasised about for years. You wore it just to get this picture for him? "It's soft and lacy and it fit in all the right places." You purr and he lets out a shaky breath, his mind reeling at the thought of you wearing the exact set, the one he'd poured over in the magazine a thousand times before. He doesn't even ask why. But he knows it's true; he's memorised every stitch of that lingerie set over the years.

"You wore the actual set?" He turns his head to look at you and sets the print on his desk, his eyes filled with unspoken questions and raw desire.

"Mhm. Happy anniversary, amore mio." He turns in your arms, pulling you into a deep, searing kiss.

"Borrowing priceless vintage lingerie and recreating my favourite spread just to give me the perfect anniversary gift." He murmurs against your lips and you hum in approval. "Do you have any idea how I'm going to worship you tonight?" He murmurs between kisses, running his hands along your curves. "I just wish I could've touched you in them."

"Well..." You trail off and Lucien just looks at you questioningly, silently begging you to explain yourself. You don't continue. Instead, you reach for the buttons of your shirt, revealing your breasts perfectly pushed up and displayed in the familiar lace of that infamous lingerie set. His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

"Oh..." He goes still for a moment before reaching out a trembling hand, brushing the lace that his eyes must've caressed thousands of times.

"They were up for auction." You finally say.

"You mean... You didn't just borrow them?" He can't take his eyes off you. "You bought them?"

"Mhm. Just for you."

"You bid on them and won? You own them now?" He reaches out again, brushing the outline of your nipple through the sheer, black lace.

"I know what that spread meant to you, amore. I wanted you to have it." You explain and he just looks at you as you unbutton your pants and let them drop to the floor, letting him take in the visage of you standing there, looking like a Goddamn wet dream. You turn around to give him a full view of you in it and you can tell just how much he's holding back, his cock aching in his pants. The lacy cups push up your chest perfectly, the panties hugging your hips in a way that makes him want to drop to his knees. You run your hands down your sides as you turn back to face him. "What do you think?" You ask and he wets his lips, his mouth suddenly watering.

"Turn around and bend over."

Chapter Text

The front door gives a soft thud as it clicks shut. Herb exhales a long breath as he finally trudges back into the apartment. His shoulders sag under the weight of the day; the relentless pressure, the lights, cameras and the expectation that he be something, someone, larger than life when all he's ever wanted is to serve his city and not perform for it.

Now, it's been some weeks coming up to the interview and he's been chewing his nerves and knotting his stomach into a tight, twisted ball. Every moment building to the moment has been filled with doubt; would he stutter? Would he fumble his words? Would people see right through him? It was supposed to be a relieving feeling after all this but, instead, the same worry creeps in about having said the wrong thing or looking awkward or that somebody, somewhere, at this very moment is shredding him to pieces in a headline.

But before he can spiral even further downward, he hears your voice.

"Oh my God, Herb, you were amazing." You're already up from the couch, crossing the room toward him, and, before he can even manage a response, your hands are in his hair, fingers sliding through the slightly damp strands where sweat still lingers from the studio lights. You're already nice and comfy in your pyjamas; a t-shirt and a pair of soft, baggy sweatpants. His breath catches. He didn't realise how much he needed this, needed you. "I just saw the interview." You continue, voice warm, firm. "You were amazing, honey. You looked confident, you sounded smart and you didn't let that smug host trip you up once." He lets out a weak laugh. His body's already leaning into you, seeking you, needing you.

"Didn't feel like that on my end." He admits, voice quieter than before. "Felt like I was shaking the whole damn time. Just...thank God, it's over."

"If you were, no one could tell. I promise." You murmur against his temple, rubbing your fingers through his hair again. He lets his eyes fall shut for a moment as he simply allows himself to be held. His hands come up to rest on your waist, anchoring him to you, to this; your warmth, your assurance. "You've been dreading this for weeks." You murmur, tone soft, knowing. "But you did it. And you did it well. You should be proud." He sighs a little deeper this time, some of that awful, lingering tension finally beginning to uncoil from his spine.

"I don't know how you always know exactly what to say." He mumbles. You smile, brushing your thumb gently over the nape of his neck.

"Because I know you." You reply and he exhales a shaky breath and finally — finally — allows himself to relax in your arms. "And I'll tell you what might just help." You say, your voice dropping to a low purr. Pulling away, you help him out of his suit jacket, your eyes drinking in the sight of him.

"What's that?" He asks and you lean in, lips just grazing his ear.

"How about I take you for a little ride on your favourite toy, hm?" You whisper and a shiver runs up his spine, his breath catching in his throat.

"You're really offering to...?"

"Peg you to help you calm down? Get rid of allll that built-up tension?" You tell him and he lets out a shaky breath, feeling his blood rush south. His hand moves down to your thigh, squeezing gently.

"I love how you're not making me ask for it..." He sighs and you smile, brushing your lips against his.

"Honey, you're an open book to me; you barely have to say a word."

"That's why I love you." He murmurs. "You always just get it." He pulls off his tie and starts on the buttons of his shirt. "You gonna...bend me over the bed or...?" Biting his lip, you can tell he's trying not to sound too needy but you don't mind in the slightest.

"I figured doggy? But we can do whatever." You reply offhandedly. He kicks off his shoes and socks, leaving his clothes in a scattered trail behind him as you lead him to the bedroom.

You close the bedroom door behind you as Herb struggles with his pants. Moving behind him, you run your hands over his bare chest, his stomach and his love handles, kissing the back of his neck.

"You know, I get worried about you when you get all nervous, honey. It's like you're gonna blow a gasket one of these days." You say softly and he lets out a frustrated sigh, his hands still fumbling with his pants as your hands trail over his torso.

"I know, I know..." He mutters, his head bowed. "It's just... Today was a nightmare and... God, I was so stressed out."

"Here, let me." Your hands slip down to help him unbutton his pants, pushing them down over his hips with his briefs. They pool around his ankles as you kiss behind his ear, taking him in hand and stroking him slowly. "So proud of you, honey. You did so good." You assure him and he turns around to face you, eyes wide and hopeful.

"You really think so?" He asks, his voice muffled as he turns his face into your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Because I feel like I bombed it." You run your fingers through his hair and press a kiss to his lips.

"I thought you did great." You tell him again and his body seems to almost melt into yours.

"Thanks, baby." He murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw. "I needed to hear that." He turns slightly to grab the lube from the nightstand before pressing it into your palm insistently. Nodding, you curl your fingers around the tube.

"Do you wanna do it in doggy or do you wanna be on your back or...? What's best for you, hm?" You ask and he hesitates for a moment.

"Actually, can I be on my back? Please?" He asks, voice soft, vulnerable. "I just... I need to see you while you're doing it, okay?" And you nod, gently scratching your nails along the nape of his neck, sending little shivers up and down his spine.

"Of course you can, honey. You get nice and comfy while I get everything ready, okay?" Giving him an encouraging smile, you part from him to get the supplies you'll need. As you do, he lays back on the bed, looking up at you with trusting, loving eyes as you prepare. It's true; you always know just what he needs and he'd never change you for the world.

"Love you so much." He murmurs as you settle between his splayed legs, laying out the lube, the harness and his favourite dildo; 8.5 inches, black, firm but flexible and covered in snaking veins that feel just perfect when they slide on inside him. You gently part his legs, lowering yourself onto your belly and pressing kisses to his inner thighs.

"I love you too, honey." You reply and he shivers and moans softly, his breath hitching in his chest.

"P-Please..." His voice trembles slightly. "I need you inside me, baby. Please fuck me." He wants you inside him right now but, the first time you did that, all it did was hurt so you know you have to take things nice and slow, even when he's needy, like this.

"I will, honey. Just relax, yeah? I've got you..." You slowly push his thighs back against his stomach so he's nice and open for you, his rim already beginning to relax at the sheer thought of having you inside him. He's shaking. The position is so incredibly vulnerable but he trusts you implicitly. Your lips brush against the sensitive skin of his taint, leaving a slow path down toward where he so desperately needs you. He smells so good; like the sophisticated, woody scent of his cologne mixed with the sweetness of his flesh. "Mmm... Just relax now..." You drag the flat of your tongue over his hole and his hips buck slightly, his fingers tightening in the sheets.

"Ahh... Oh, my God...!" He cries out before biting his lip, his cock throbbing as you lick and kiss around his rim, encouraging him to relax.

"You did so good today... My special boy needs a treat, doesn't he? He deserves this..." You murmur between little licks and his voice wavers as he pushes back against your face, his cheeks flaming as he watches you work, your face framed by his thighs.

"Y-Yeah, I need it... Please... Need it so bad..." He's starting to relax now, really let himself get into the headspace where he's safe and loved and cared for. "Treat me, baby... Make me feel good... Love you..."

Once he's barely a puddle on the bed, you pop the cap on the lube and spread some onto your fingers, warming it up before slathering it over the pink, puckered skin. With your free hand, you massage the back of his thigh, squeezing firmly.

"Ready?"

"Mhmm..." He nods quickly, spreading his legs wider and biting his lip, his body already aching in anticipation. Nodding, you circle his rim with a fingertip before pushing in with a single digit to slick up his inner walls.

"There we go."

"O-Ohh, fuck..." He whines loudly, the plaintive sounds echoing in the room as you slip your finger in. "More... Please..." He manages between breathy pants, dark eyes rolling slightly. You slowly press in another finger, scissoring them nice and slow. He doesn't need it necessarily but you still like to be absolutely sure. You lean over his body, kissing him sweetly, as your fingers probe around inside him, rubbing slowly and slicking him up thoroughly.

"Such a good boy..." You purr against his lips before kissing him again. "Does that feel good?"

"Mmmph... Feels amazing..." He sighs, arching his back and spreading his legs wider. Shivering with delight, he wraps his arms around your neck possessively. "Add another, baby. Please..." He nuzzles your nose with his own. With a nod, you slide in another finger, expertly pressing it against his prostate, and he yelps, toes curling as you hit his sweet spot. "Too much...! Too much! Pull them out or... F-Fuck... Or I'm gonna cum...!" Slowly, you pull your fingers free, rubbing the flat of your hand over his rim to soothe it.

"Good boy. So sensitive, hm?" You ask and he whines and trembles, his whole body shaking.

"Y-Yeah, too sensitive..." He pants, his eyes squeezed shut. "Please, baby... Your cock... I need your cock..." He reaches out, blindly patting the bed for the harness and dildo. "Now, please..." Your eyes soften and you kiss his forehead before straightening up.

"Alright, honey." You slide on the harness and secure the toy onto it before making sure it's liberally slicked with lube. Finally, you kneel between his legs again and tease his rim with the head of the toy, making him moan and whine, pawing at your hips to grab onto the straps of the harness and pull you closer. He's getting needy now, fully in that space where he can just want and need.

"Fuck me, baby! Fuck me with your big, thick cock! Please!" He presses back against you, desperate to be filled.

"Okay, honey, deep breath..." You coo and he inhales sharply, holding his breath as he feels the thick head pressing against his rim. "And breathe out..." As he exhales, his body relaxes and you slowly push in, his body nice and loose from the preparation as well as the practice from taking this toy countless times before.

He'd obviously be mortified if it got out that Councilman Herb Tangier takes it up the ass but, anyone that's seen him, talked to him, can probably piece it together that he's a bottom in bed. It doesn't take a genius to suss that out.

"Mmmph... More... Deeper..." He whimpers, spreading his thighs wide and taking almost the entire thing without much resistance at all. He pushes back against you. "Ohhh, baby..." You massage the back of his thighs as your hips press flush against his ass, the length of silicone fully sheathed inside him. "F-Fuck... It's...hitting everything just right..." He rolls his hips, grinding against you. "Please, start moving..." He begs, fingers grabbing onto the sheets with white-knuckled enthusiasm.

"How do you want it? Fast or slow?" You ask, leaning down to brush your lips against his.

"Slow... Slow and deep... Like you're really...making love to me... Not just filling me up..." His eyes are lidded and dark as he searches your face. "Can you..."

"Mm?"

"Can you...look at me while you fuck me? Wanna see your face... The way you look when you're giving me what I need..." He props himself up on his elbows to get a better view. "And kiss me... Please kiss me while you're fucking me..." He pleads and your heart melts. Smiling softly, you nod and pull your hips back before pushing forward, the head of the dildo sliding perfectly against his prostate.

"Whatever you need, honey." With one hand on the back of his thigh and the other at the nape of his neck, you kiss him deeply as you start to rock your hips. He moans against your mouth, his heart pounding in his chest as his eyes flick between your face and the sight of the toy sinking into him over and over.

"Aaahh... Baby... Ohh, my God... You're so perfect... Love you so...so much..." Laying back, he wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close as you give him precisely what he needs after weeks of worry and stress and tension. You wrap your lube-slick hand around his cock, stroking in time with the slow rhythm of your hips.

"Who's my special boy, hm?" You whisper in his ear as you press kisses to his face. He gasps and trembles, a shuddering moan escaping his lips as you stroke him in sync with your deep, loving thrusts.

"Ohhh... I-I'm your special boy..." He whimpers, hips bucking involuntarily into your hand. "Only yours... H-Hahh... Gonna cum... Please, can I... Can I cum...?" And you nuzzle against the crook of his neck.

"You can cum, honey. You did so good today, you deserve it." You assure him and he whines again at the praise, his hips meeting your thrusts.

"Too much... Too good... I'm gonna... Gonna..." He manages and you seal your lips over his as you pump his cock, thrusting your hips shallowly, the head of the dildo pushing hard against his prostate.

"Cum for me, honey." You tell him and that's all he needs. He whimpers loudly against your lips, body convulsing as he reaches his peak. Thick, warm ropes of cum spurt out from between your fingers, coating your hand and his stomach as he rides out the high.

"Ahhhnn... Baby... Love you..." He murmurs, spacey and light-headed, as you keep rocking your hips and milking his cock, making sure to draw out every last ounce of pleasure.

"Such a good boy. I love you too, Herbie. I bet that felt so good, hm?" You coo and he shivers through the aftershocks, his breath catching and his eyes going glassy.

"Y-Yeah... Mmm... You always take such good care of me..."

Slowly, you pull your hips back, watching as the thick shaft of the dildo pops free, leaving his hole loose and used. Using the flat of your hand, slick with lube and cum, you soothe his rim as it slowly starts to close up.

"That's just what you needed, hm?" You ask, leaning down to kiss him sweetly, and he preens at your loving kisses, still trembling slightly as pleasure echoes through his limbs.

"Mmhmmm... You always know just what I need..." He whispers, voice hoarse from crying out. "Can we... Can we cuddle now? Pleeease?" You loosen and take off the harness, tossing it toward the door of the ensuite to be cleaned.

"Why don't you go and take a shower and we'll get an early night? And, if you're a good boy, I might even let you spoon me from behind with your dick inside me. How does that sound?" And his eyes light up with excitement.

"Really? You'd let me?" He bounces slightly on the bed, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "I'll be the best boy ever!" He assures you and you kiss his forehead lovingly.

"You already are, Herbie."

Chapter Text

The Watchtower is unusually quiet. Just the low hum of the evening systems and the hiss of your own exhale as you step out of the elevator and shoulder off your gear bag.

The mission wrapped up earlier than expected. Clean extraction. Minimal damage. No press. You left Yelena still debriefing with the others in the living room, knowing full well where you wanted to be; home.

Well, not home exactly. The Watchtower isn't home the way a childhood bedroom or your first apartment was. But the room you share with Bob? That space; full of dim lights, soft blankets and Pokémon card albums left open mid-page? That's home.

You rub the ache from your neck and push open the bedroom door.

At first, everything looks normal; the lights are low — Bob prefers it that way in the evening — and the curtains are half-drawn, letting in a sliver of dying light. One bedside lamp glows amber. The room smells faintly of cedar and the cologne he wears sometimes, which drives you out of your mind. And Bob, himself, is in bed.

And also clearly mid-something.

He's under the covers, laptop open beside him — you half-register some groaning coming from the speakers — and his hand is slipped under the blanket.

Your brain short-circuits for half a second. His eyes go wide and he fumbles, like a teenager caught sneaking snacks after midnight. The laptop claps shut with a snap. The blanket is yanked up like it's a riot shield. And Bob is flushed all the way to his ears, trying to wrestle his sweatpants back up with one hand while using the other to smooth down his hair like that might distract from the rest of the situation. You blink. He stares.

"I'm— Fuck— I'm sorry." He mumbles and your eyes soften as you walk over to the bed and sit down, pressing a hand lightly to his chest.

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing to be sorry about." You tell him and he swallows thickly. He's still half-hard under the sheets, tenting them.

"You're not mad?" He asks and you lean down to press a kiss to his temple.

"Why would I be mad?"

"Because I was..." He trails off, his body tensing. "Y'know..." He waves a hand vaguely in the direction of his crotch. "Jacking off." You give him a look.

"Bobby, I'm not gonna get mad at you for jerking off." You tell him, almost incredulous, and he exhales sharply, relief washing over him.

It's been a steep learning curve with Bob; he's very sensitive to the way people perceive him, almost paranoid in a way. One wrong look — or, in this case, one look at the wrong time — can lead to a lot of anxiety and a few long hours convincing him that he did nothing wrong and that you aren't angry.

"I just missed you today." He admits and you run a hand through his hair before pressing a soft kiss to his lips, your eyes drifting down to the tented blanket.

"Do you want me to leave you to finish or do you want me to stick around?" You ask and his pupils dilate slightly, a shiver running down his spine.

"Could you stay?" You nod, standing to pull off your clothes before settling back down beside him. Once you've done away with your clothes, you help him out of his own, the two of you collapsing back on the bed, now more comfortable. This is familiar territory now.

Your eyes drift over to his laptop, still lying on the bed, closed. You bite your lip, your curiosity getting the better of you.

"Can I see what you were watching?" You ask and he freezes at the question, his cheeks flushing again. After a moment of deliberation, he nods and reaches for his laptop, opening it up. You curl up against his side, resting your head on his chest as your fingers draw slow circles on his hipbone. He taps the space bar and the video starts playing again.

On-screen, two men are clearly enjoying themselves; one on top, deep-throating the other while receiving enthusiastic oral in return. Bob's breath catches as he reaches down slowly, his fingers wrapping around his cock. Noticing this, you lay your hand over his wrist, stilling the movement, and he stiffens again, his eyes flicking between you and the video. Making sure to keep your expression soft and open, you press a kiss to his shoulder. "Let me."

You replace his hand with your own, squeezing the base and drawing a low groan from him. Picking up a comfortable, familiar pace, you leave a series of kisses on his neck and chest, the both of you watching the video, listening to the men on-screen moan their praises to each other. "You like this kind of stuff, honey?" You ask him and he nods.

"Mhm. I like watching guys...y'know." He swallows hard, hips bucking slightly.

"What else do you like watching?"

"I like — umm... — watching guys fuck." He admits, a light pink colour flushing across his chest. "And... And stuff like rimming... F-Fisting..." That takes you slightly by surprise. It's not as if Bob is completely vanilla — far from it — but you never expected that to be a kink of his.

"Fisting?" You encourage him to continue, circling the crown of his cock with your thumb, spreading precum over the tender skin there.

"Yeah... Y'know, when someone shoves like... Like four or five fingers in." He manages, his attention split between the video, your hand on his dick and your soft words in his ear.

"Do you watch any stuff with trans guys?" You ask and he nods. "What do you like watching with them?"

"I like watching them...get fucked." He admits, hips flexing up toward your hand as you keep a steady pace. "Or when they're on top, riding another guy's dick. And sometimes..."

"Mhm?"

"I watch them suck dick or... Or getting rimmed..." He manages through heavy breaths.

"You imagine it's us?" You ask and he nods quickly, his breath coming in short gasps.

"Yeah, I imagine it's you." His hips buck up at your encouragement, allowing him to be more open and honest. "Imagine you on your knees, sucking me off... Or bent over the couch, me eating you out..." You pick up the pace a little, your voice dropping to a low purr.

"Or me rimming you? Pegging you maybe?" That seems to pull something out of him.

"Fuck, yes. Jesus, don't stop. Please, don't stop." He's barely paying attention to the video anymore. It becomes a backdrop of low groans and panting breaths as his mind races. "Yeah, fuck... Peg me."

"You like that idea?"

"Mhmm... Fuck, yes. I'd love you to fuck me. God, I'd love it so much." He catches his lip between his teeth, brows drawn up as his eyes flutter shut. Your breath is warm on his neck, sweet filth pouring into his ear like warm honey.

"You want me to shove you on your knees and peg you, Bobby?" You purr and he's panting now, hands curling tight into the sheets.

"Yeah... Fuck, so close... Keep talking like that..."

"Then, if you're good, maybe I'll let you fuck me." You tell him and his hips are bucking up pretty consistently now, precum leaking down his shaft and coating your fingers.

"Fuck, yes. Please." He whines, sweat beading along his brow. "I'll be so good, I promise."

"I'll even let you cum inside after you've bounced that pretty ass on my dick. Would you like that, honey?" You tease him and he nods desperately at the mental images you're implanting.

"Fuck...! Mhmm... Yeah, I'd love that. Love cumming inside you so much. God, yes..."

"You want that? After we've stretched you open nice and wide, you can pump your load in me?" You leave kisses all along the curve of his jaw and that seems to break him open.

"Want it so bad...!" His hips buck up against your hand as he finishes, thick ropes of white coating his abdomen and oozing down over your fingers. You encourage him, whispering little praises in his ear. He's trembling, panting, sweating. "Fuck... Fuck... Holy shit..."

Bob lets his head fall to the side, looking down at you with a glazed, sated expression, a small smile quirking the corner of his lips. Neither of you noticed the video finishing, leaving the two of you in that comfortable silence you love so much. "That was... Fuck, that was amazing." You reach over with your clean hand to close his laptop before sealing your lips over his, kissing him slow and soft.

"I didn't know you liked that kind of stuff." You tell him and he shrugs.

"I dunno. We never talked about it before. But hearing you say those things..." He passes a hand through your hair and you lean into the touch. "Really liked it. I liked hearing you dirty talk like that and the idea of you pegging me. And I'd love to fuck you afterwards." You laugh softly and kiss the corner of his mouth.

"I know you love fucking me, honey." You chuckle and he nods, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

"I do. Love being inside you. But hearing you talk about pegging me? God, that was...hot." He sighs, looking down at your hand, still wet with cum and loosely wrapped around the base of his cock.

"You wanna try it out sometime?"

"I'd be so down." He pauses for a moment. "Would you...really be comfortable pegging me? Like you weren't just saying that to get me off?"

"No, I'd love to, hon." You pull your hand away, drawing a little heart on his hipbone with your cum-slick thumb. "You know I'd do anything to make you happy. And to make you cum that hard again. Just...try not to accidentally shit on me like my ex did?" His eyes go wide before he tries to bite back a laugh.

"That's not an image I needed." He shakes his head and sobers slightly. "Don't worry, though; I'll make sure to clean out real good before you stick anything in there."

"That's not just for a strap; that's for fingers, tongues, anything. Got it?" You tell him sternly and he nods.

"Yes, sir." He replies with a playful salute. "I'll be the most well-prepped bottom you've ever had."

Chapter Text

It took a little while for Marco to get his promotion back up to detective and he worked damn hard to get there. But now he doesn't have to put on the uniform and he's back to wearing his suits with the incredibly ugly neckties and the both of you couldn't be happier. As a little reward for him, you booked a week at an Airbnb up North. A little cabin in the woods with a nice varnished deck and a hot tub. He earned it after all.

It's a nice night; the sun going down over the ridge, string lights twinkling above you, a cold beer in hand, sat in the hot tub with your favourite guy, just laughing and chatting shit. Marco sighs contentedly, sat beside you with his head resting against your shoulder.

"Man, this is the life..." He murmurs, feeling the warmth of your body in the hot water contrasting with the cool night air. He takes a sip of his beer, eyes drifting lazily up to the stars as they come out. You wrap an arm around his shoulders and kiss the crown of his head.

"Mhm. I think it's been really good for us, getting away for a little bit." And he hums in agreement, leaning into the touch.

"Yeah, no shit. Between work and life, we needed this bad." He chuckles lightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your thigh under the water. "But I gotta say, seeing you relaxed like this? Sexiest thing ever." You let out an amused huff at that.

"Last time I checked, seeing me in uniform was apparently the sexiest thing ever." You quip and he scoffs playfully, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Pfft. Yeah, well, that's 'cause you fill out that uniform damn fine, officer." He elbows you in the side before his eyes soften. "But this? Seeing you chilled out with a beer, under the stars?" You take a sip from your bottle as he pauses, looking up at you with a soft, adoring gaze he reserves only for you. "It's a good look for you. Like really, really good." He squeezes your thigh. "Makes me wanna..." He trails off, biting his lip, and you place your beer on the side of the hot tub, pulling him into your lap so he's facing you and straddling your thighs.

He yelps in surprise, nearly dropping his beer, but he quickly recovers, placing his bottle next to yours before wrapping his arms around your neck, a light flush spreading across his cheeks and creeping down his neck. "Fuck..." He huffs, his face barely an inch from yours. "Can't just do that without warning me, man."

"What were you gonna say?" You ask, your hands dipping beneath the water to find his hips, kneading the soft love handles just above his speedos. He swallows hard and his breath catches, a choked-back whimper escaping his throat as you manhandle him.

"Was gonna say...it makes me wanna kiss you." He admits and you grin knowingly.

"Just kiss me, huh?" You tease, your hand straying to the front of his speedos, where you can feel his cock starting to thicken. "Because it feels like you wanna do a whole lot more than that." You circle the tip of his clothed cock with a fingertip and he sucks in a breath. His hips buck into your touch involuntarily.

"Fuck, that's not helping." He pants out, his cock twitching eagerly under your expert teasing. Leaning in, you press little kisses down the side of his neck, feeling his pulse throbbing under your lips.

"You're so cute, Marco; the little noises you make..." And he shudders, a soft groan bubbling up from his throat.

"Gee, way to make a guy feel emasculated, huh?" He grumbles despite tilting his head to the side to give you better access. You nip at the sweet spot just below his ear.

"Don't you start getting sassy with me, mister~" You purr and he laughs breathlessly, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"Make me." He challenges boldly, though his voice comes out as more of a whimper than anything else. You can feel his cock throbbing against your fingers, begging for more attention. "Asshole..." You smirk before looking coy and pulling away.

"And here I was, about to suck you off but why would I do that if I'm such an asshole, huh?"

"What? No! Wait, fuck, I was just kidding!" He squirms in your lap, a desperate whine escaping him as he paws at your chest. "Baby, come on. You know I love it when you talk shit, especially when you're touching me like that..." You wrap your arms around the small of his back and pull him closer, your breath warm on his face.

"You're so easy to fuck with, y'know that?" You lean in and press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, and he melts into you, moaning against your open mouth. Your kisses always make him stupid; when his brain short-circuits and his body goes pliant.

"Mmph... You're an ass." He mumbles against your lips, his hips rolling subconsciously.

"Yeah, I know." You lift him out of your lap and set him down on the edge of the tub, his legs still in the warm water to stave off the chill of the night air. You tug down his speedos, pulling them over his hips, down his thighs and then off, leaving him bare under your appreciative gaze.

"Dammit. You're the worst..." He sighs and you lean between his legs, leaving little, open-mouthed kisses down his body, particularly around his pebbling nipples, as you make your way down to his cock.

"Hey... Do you want me to...suck you off...or not...?" You murmur between kisses and he huffs out a laugh as his fingers tangle into your hair.

"You know I do, jackass." His hips jerk again as you kiss lower on his body. "You're trying to make me say 'please', aren't you?"

"It is the magic word for a reason..." You purr, continuing to trail kisses down the softness of his belly and lower down on his abdomen, careful to avoid his cock, which is already leaking generously. He groans frustratedly, a pretty pink colouring his cheeks, as he wiggles uncomfortably.

"Fuck you." He mutters but there's no real heat behind it. You kiss around the base of his cock and leave teasing pecks on his inner thighs and his sac but it's never quite enough. Much to his dismay, you know just the right buttons to press to get him to do what you want. "Shit..." He shifts his hips, trying desperately to get you to touch his dick but failing miserably. "Ohh, baby... Please... Fuck, please, just suck me off..." You peer up at him innocently.

"Was that so hard?"

"Fuck off." He tries to say firmly but it comes out breathy and wanton. "You're such a dick." Despite his words, his hand slides to the back of your head, guiding you closer to his aching cock. "God, would you just..."

You part your lips and take him down to the root with practised ease, your lips sealed around the base of his cock. His world narrows to the feeling of your mouth on him and his fingers tighten in your hair, his hips rocking gently as he tries to push deeper, but you hold onto his thighs and keep him still, bobbing your head at your own pace and massaging his soft, pillowy thighs. You already know he won't last long, especially with how you've teased him already.

He whines around a mouthful of curses, thighs trembling under your fingers. "Dammit... Deeper, please..." He's reduced to begging, his hips trying to buck up into your throat. But you pull back, until it's just the tip resting on your tongue, and take a deep breath. Then you sink down until you take him all the way in and his eyes roll, hips witching eagerly. "Holy shit... Baby... Wait..." He spreads his legs wider, trying to give you better access though you don't need it. "Are you... God, are you gonna swallow?" You bob your head before taking him down again.

"Mmhmmm..." He shivers at the feeling of your hum around him, his fingers twisting almost painfully in your hair.

"Fuck, you're so good at this..." He groans, tossing his head back and letting his eyes drift shut as he basks in the feeling. "Gonna cum... Gonna cum..." You keep bobbing your head and sucking hard, taking him deep and peering up at him through your lashes. He lets his head fall forward as he meets your gaze with hooded eyes. "Christ... Don't look at me like that... Fuck..."

His cock jerks and, with a ragged cry, he cums hard, pulsing down your throat, his thighs shaking and his fingers digging into your scalp. Greedily, you swallow down every spurt he gives you, making sure you've got every drop.

He sags, panting heavily, as he comes down from his high. With a little tug on your hair, you pull away, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with spit and cum. He looks down at you with a lazy grin, his eyes soft. "C'mere..." You lift your head and wrap your arms around him, kissing him deeply and letting him taste himself on your tongue. He loves kissing you after you blow him; it makes him feel so delightfully dirty.

Eventually, he pulls back. "Y'know what I love?"

"Mm?"

"That you swallow like every time." He sighs, his arms looped around your neck. "Most guys won't; they'll pull back or spit or something." He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. "But you just swallow like it's your favourite thing and that's... That's really hot." You smile and rub your nose against his in a gesture that feels far too innocent after what you just did.

"Well, 'most guys' don't know what they're missing." You quip back and he laughs breathily.

"Damn right. You've got like no gag reflex either. You suck dick so good." He adds crudely and you let out a chuckle.

"I love how you act like the last time someone went went down on you before me wasn't a girl at your high-school prom." You comment.

"Hey, I was a hormonal 18-year-old!" He says defensively, still grinning. "But seriously no-one's ever made me feel like you do." You ruffle his hair and rise to your full height, the outline of your dick clearly visible through your wet trunks.

"C'mon, tough guy. My turn next." You purr and his eyes darken as he wets his lips. Marco slips back into the hot tub, moving closer and running his hands along your bare chest.

"You think you can handle my mouth?" He challenges playfully and you cock a brow.

"Who said anything about your mouth?"

Chapter Text

The house is silent. Not quiet; silent. No lullaby mobile jingling from down the hall. No cries crackling from the baby monitor. No squeaky plastic swing clicking from the living room. Just the hush of afternoon breeze filtering in through the blinds.

It's been six weeks. Six weeks of milk-soaked shirts and half-hour naps. Of bleeding nipples and witching hours and hushed, frenzied pacing in the dark. And through it all, Bob — your Bob — has been there, soft-spoken and steady-handed. Up at 3 am, bottle-warming, back-patting, baby-rocking with dark circles under his eyes, glasses askew.

You didn't realise how frayed you both were until the twins left with his parents this morning. You didn't even cry; just stood at the doorway, stunned, fingers laced with his, wondering what silence even felt like anymore. Now you do. And it's almost too much.

You find him in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed in a threadbare Naval Academy t-shirt and sweats, hair still damp from the shower. He looks so young like this. Not the exhausted father or the laser-focused WSO but your Bobby. The one who took you to IHOP on your second date and kissed you in the parking lot with the taste of maple syrup on his tongue.

You walk toward him slowly, your own oversized shirt brushing the tops of your thighs, and Bob looks up with a softness in his eyes that almost knocks the breath from your lungs.

"Hey." He says, voice barely above a whisper, like he's afraid the screaming and crying will start again if he's too loud. You nod.

"Can't believe they're gone. And for two whole days." You reply and he sighs heavily.

"Feels illegal." You smile but your heart pounds. Because you want him. Have wanted him. But your body hasn't been your own for nearly a year — not really — and the last six weeks especially have made you feel like a stranger in your own skin. Heavy, leaking, torn, raw. Loved, always. But touched only in service of necessity. You ache for more than necessity.

He stands, hands finding your hips gently. "You look exhausted. Can I get you anything? Water? Painkillers?" He asks and you shake your head.

"Thanks, honey, but I'm on enough paracetamol right now to kill a small rhinoceros." You laugh softly and he gives you a small smile, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, holding you against his chest.

"Then how about I just hold you?" You couldn't have gotten this far without him; taking shifts during the night and sneaking little, reassuring kisses between feedings.

But something has been eating at you. He used to be crazy about your body, hands always itching to touch you, never too far, always eager to pull you close and kiss and love you. That changed when you started showing. He was still amazing; taking care of you wonderfully, but he seemed tentative to touch you. And, as you got bigger and bigger, rounder and rounder, that only seemed to become more apparent. He was never rough, per se, but now, when he does touch you, it's like you're made of glass.

You lift your head slightly.

"... Hey, Bob?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you still...y'know...like my body?" You ask and he reaches out to cup your face, his palm warm against your cheek.

"You have no idea how much I love this body. It's perfect." He replies, leaning down slightly to kiss you, soft and sweet. You kiss him back eagerly, almost like you're trying to get a rise out of him. You want him to touch you again, make him feel less like your caretaker and more like your husband. He seems to sense it in you, hands sliding down along your curves. "Missed you so much." He murmurs against your lips. His hands feel so good on your body, steady and sure, anchoring you to him.

Slowly and carefully, he pulls you down onto the bed, laying you back against the pillows. "You have any idea how sexy you are right now? Your boobs are bigger, your hips are rounder. You're like... Like a goddess." He sighs, eyes drifting over your body. A warmth roots itself in your chest and crawls up your neck to settle across your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

"I don't know if goddesses have leaky tits or a uterus that falls out when they sneeze, honey." You laugh softly and he lets out a soft chuckle.

"Well, my goddess does."

It's so simple. So genuine. So him. It catches you off-guard. Your eyes suddenly well with tears.

"Bobby..." His brows knit as he runs a hand through your hair.

"Hey, hey. What's up?" His hands halt in their exploration as he gives you his full attention. You sniffle. It's stupid, really. Just hormones run amok but you can't stop it.

"You're just... Just really sweet." And a warm smile spreads across his face as he takes you in his arms.

"I love you. So much. More than anything." He whispers against your neck, hands slowly inching up your t-shirt, lifting it over your hips and stomach. Silvery stretch marks shine in the low light and he leans down to press a kiss to each one. "You're perfect." You go to wriggle out of your shirt but, as you pull it up, you notice the stains on your bra, damp and sticky. You thought you'd get used to it but it still carries that little bit of embarrassment whenever it happens.

He lifts his head, noticing the stains as well as your averted eyes. "Hey. You're amazing, okay? God, you're so strong, baby. I'm so proud of you." And tears stand in your eyes again as he helps you out of your dirty bra and underwear, getting you comfortable, laid out on the bed. "You're a new mom. Your body's still recovering. It'll take time." He assures you, gently wiping the milk that drips down from your nipple with a tissue. "Now, why don't you get some rest, huh? You deserve it."

But, before he can stand up, your hand shoots out to grab his wrist, guiding his hand between your legs. His eyes widen behind his glasses and he makes that face he always does, like he's just confused about everything ever. "No, no. We can't, remember?"

"Not for six weeks. It's been six weeks and I want it. I want you, honey." You tell him but he still looks unsure.

"I just...don't want to hurt you."

"You won't, I promise. Just please. Please..." You let your thighs fall open, pushing his fingers against your pussy. You're unbearably wet; your unpredictable hormones once again making their presence known. His breath catches as he tentatively slides just the tip of his finger inside you. You're loose around his fingers, clenching around him weakly. "B-Bobby..." He swallows hard at your pleading tone.

"You're sure?" He asks and you nod.

"Need you inside me."

And that breaks him.

Pulling off his t-shirt and sweats, he carefully spreads your thighs and fits his hips between them. You draw your hands across his chest. He hasn't changed in the slightest; still firm and strong and gazing down at you with that expression that tells you that you're the centre of his world. "You haven't changed." You tell him with a soft laugh and he smiles.

"You have." He reaches down, grasping the base of his cock to rub himself against you, biting his lip at the sensation. "But I love it. I love every inch of your new body." He pushes his hips forward slowly, tentatively, watching for any sign of discomfort. You gasp, wrapping your fingers around his biceps. There's a slight soreness but it's overwhelmed by the fact that he's here and he's holding you and it feels like home.

He leans down, careful not to put too much of his weight on you. "Does it hurt?" You shake your head.

He doesn't even have to move; just the feeling of him inside you is enough, having him close and all to yourself without the fear of being interrupted. He nods and wraps you up in his arms, the sheer skin-to-skin contact making tears prick the corners of your eyes. They finally fall down your temples as he whispers in your ear; those three magic words. "I love you." You wrap yourself around him.

He's your husband and the father of your children and so much more but, most of all, he's yours. And that's all that matters.

Chapter Text

The house has gone quiet in that particular way it only does when everyone's finally gone to bed; when the floorboards stop creaking, when the wind against the windows seems to hush out of courtesy and the whole Abbott ranch sighs into its nightly stillness. The living room glows, the overhead lights long turned off, leaving only the slight flicker of the old lamp in the corner and the dim, shifting light from the TV screen casting lazy shadows across the room.

You're stretched out on the couch, legs draped across Rhett's lap, the scent of cedar and dust lingering in the air. One of your feet rests against his thigh, the other tucked at the crook of his elbow. He's sitting low, shoulders relaxed, fingers kneading slow circles into your calves like he's got nowhere to be and no one else in the world to think about but you.

Some old western plays quietly on the screen; one of those grainy classics Royal keeps on VHS in the cabinet, half-dialogue, half-silence, the kind of film that exists more for atmosphere than plot. Not that either of you are really watching. It's just background now. A soft noise to wrap the quiet in something warmer.

Rhett's thumb sweeps over the tendon behind your knee, slow and careful. His hands are rough — calloused from saddle work, fencing, all the little everyday violences that come with ranch life — but the way he handles you, you'd think his fingers were made of velvet. Reaching down, you place your hand over his before linking your fingers together and he squeezes your hand gently, looking over you with those sweet, ocean-blue eyes of his, his expression softening even more. You release his hand to run your fingers through his hair, cupping his face and brushing your thumb over the roughness of his stubble. Finally, you break the near-silence.

"Hey."

"Hey." He replies softly, his voice low and warm and sweet, like honey dripping from his lips.

"Feels like we haven't had a moment to ourselves in...ages." You say and he nods in agreement.

"I know. Feels like everything's been so busy lately." He leans into your touch, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. Your fingers brush a couple of soft locks out of his face.

"Mhm. I've missed you." He presses another kiss to your palm and then one to the inside of your wrist, breath warm on your skin.

"Missed you too, baby." His voice is barely a whisper and, when his eyes meet yours again, they're dark and lidded with desire in the flickering light of the TV, long forgotten. A soft laugh bubbles up in your throat.

"Don't give me those eyes now." You warn playfully and he chuckles, a sound that rumbles from deep in his chest.

"What eyes?"

"Those 'fuck me' eyes." You clarify, keeping your voice down so as not to wake anyone.

"Baby, you can't say stuff like that." He grins though he keeps his gaze trained on you, dark and tempting, ocean-blue.

"Then stop giving me those eyes!" You insist quietly and he leans over, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Make me." There's a challenge in his voice but you know you've already lost, your lips parting as you feel the warmth of his breath on your face. You turn your face away, looking around the living room, and lowering your voice even further. You need to put the brakes on quick.

"Hon, we can't. Not in here, anyone could walk in."

"Mhmm... I know." He purrs, not moving away. Instead, he moves closer, his lips barely touching yours as he speaks. "But that's what makes it excitin', right?" The low, husky timbre of his voice sends shivers racing down your spine.

You give in. You always do.

With a playfully resigned sigh, you crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs.

"You're being awful." You complain and he lets out another low, warm chuckle, large, warm hands naturally finding their way to your hips.

"Am I?" He knows he's pushing your buttons just right, especially as one of his hands slips under the elastic waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers slowly inching lower down the small of your back.

"Rhett..." It's half-warning half-breath.

"What?"

"Don't. Somebody's gonna come in." You warn him again but his hand on your hip only tightens, his breath deepening as he rolls his hips against your own, letting you feel the thickness already apparent in his jeans.

"Then tell me to stop." You both know you won't. You never do. "Nobody's gonna come in. We just gotta be quiet." You have to bite back a moan as his hand slides fully into your shorts, fingers curling around the cheek of your bare ass. He squeezes harder, pulling you closer to him. "That's my girl." His other hand moves to your lower back, pressing you against his growing arousal, his lips just by your ear, breath warm on your neck. "Just a little taste..."

You love it when he manhandles you, especially when his fingers slip between your thighs, testing how warm and wet you are already. "We gotta keep quiet..." He reminds you — but mainly himself — voice strained, and you squirm slightly in his lap as rough fingertips lightly graze along the plumpness of your lower lips, already wet with slick.

"I'm trying..."

"You're doing so good, sweetheart." He whispers soft praise in your ear as he parts your lips, circling your clit with a fingertip and feeling it swell under his touch. The hand on your lower back slides up to cover your mouth, muffling any potential sounds that could slip out, and you moan against his palm as your body presses urgently against his fingers.

Before you can find any real relief, he pulls his hand out from between your legs and uncovers your mouth, offering you his fingers, damp with your slick. "Suck." You part your lips and let him slide his fingers along your tongue as you lick them clean. His eyes are lidded and dark as they watch you, clearly imagining your lips around his cock, your tongue dragging along the underside, drool gathering at the base...

He throbs painfully in his jeans and he can't stand it anymore, pushing down your shorts with his free hand and pulling his fingers from your mouth. "Need to be inside you, baby." He whispers hoarsely and all you can do is nod as he covers your mouth again, working at his belt.

With a little manoeuvring, he manages to free himself from his jeans, lifting you slightly so the tip of his cock brushes against your aching pussy. "Ready?" Again, you nod and, without another word, he guides you down, sliding inside you in one, long stroke. Your eyes roll and you whine against his palm as he groans, seated fully inside you. The pace he sets is low and slow, hips rolling languidly against your own, filling you perfectly with every stroke. "Goddamn, you feel so fuckin' good..."

He tightens his hand over your mouth as you huff and whimper, trying to stay quiet but almost unable to. "If you get too loud, people're gonna hear." He warns softly despite slowly picking up the pace, helping you bounce in his lap, the couch creaking slightly beneath you. You move his hand from your mouth and loop your arms around his broad shoulders, muffling your sounds in the crook of his neck.

Both hands find your hips now as he rocks against you, slow and deep, making sure to get the angle just right so he grinds against your clit. "Fuck, baby..." He mutters under heavy breaths, and you seal your lips at the curve of his neck, huffing through your nose as you meet each other halfway.

There's something thrilling about it; having to keep quiet just in case Royal has one of his paranoid episodes again or Amy gets up for a glass of water and decides to wander in to say 'hi' to Uncle Rhett. It's not likely but the chances are never zero and it sends a little shudder through you.

He must feel it too as one hand slips down to grab your ass as the other finds the back of your neck, holding you firm against him as he starts pounding into you, muffling your whimpers against his neck. "Shhh... Fuck..." The house is quiet, barely stirring, as he turns his head, catching your earlobe between his teeth. Your voice comes out in a shaky, breathless whisper as he winds you with every deep thrust.

"I'm g-gonna... Gonna cum..." You manage and he growls in response, maintaining his pace, arms coiling around you tighter.

"Quiet, baby. Quiet..." He warns, voice strained, as he feels you tightening around him, pulsing and throbbing, on the edge.

You sink your teeth into his shoulder as you finish, your hips bucking as you milk his cock, huffing breaths through your nose, desperate to keep quiet. He seems to lose some of his rhythm, thrusting harder and deeper as he chases his climax, grunting and cursing as he buries his face in your hair. "Fuck, yeah... Shit, shit, take it..."

He's so close; your sweet, overstimulated whimpers and the tight grip of your cunt around him just too much for him to handle. He hooks an arm under your thigh, pounding into you deeper and faster. "Gonna cum, baby..." You bite the palm of your hand as your eyes roll and, with one deep, conclusive stroke, he buries himself to the hilt and freezes as he empties himself inside you with a low, guttural groan.

Your body tingles, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, panting as you collapse against him. You vaguely register him pressing soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, his cock still throbbing inside you, seemingly refusing to soften completely. "Mine." He murmurs possessively against your skin. "All fucking mine."

"All yours, honey..." You pant out and he pulls away just enough to look at you, a lazy, satisfied grin playing on his lips.

"Damn right you are."

Chapter Text

He's not proud of it. It's a shameful thing. But he does it, all the same.

Miles only has one hit left, in the baggie he keeps by his bed. It's the kind of thing that fills him with dread, this cold dread in the pit of his stomach. He needs to score but that means money and money means extra work. He usually gets a free hand-out from the guys who own the El Royale, just to keep his mouth shut, but they never give him enough to see him through to the end of the month so he has to fill the gaps between. Maybe they get some sick enjoyment out of watching him, all strung out with the shakes and nausea of withdrawal.

Men. Women. Older people. Younger people. Gentle. Rough. Top. Bottom. On his front. On his back. In his uniform. In stockings and heels... He's whored himself out for years now in all manner of ways. The customer's always right as long as they give him a few bucks to go toward his next fix.

He needs to get ready. Same old, same old; baggie, spoon, lighter, needle, belt and rush.

Time to go to work.

It's you again. He likes you. Well, as much as you can like someone who fucks you for money, he supposes.

Same time, same room, every week, like clockwork. You're not the worst of them but they all start to blur into one after so long. Miles staggers out of the lobby and down to room 8. He knows what to expect, at least.

Using the master key, he slips inside, a slight sway in his step. His usually bright, blue eyes are glassy and unfocused as they flicker over the room. He closes the door and locks it.

"Oh, hey. Wasn't expecting you so early." You tell him as you stand up from the bed. You're handsome, at least. That should count for something, right?

His hands tremble as he props himself up against the wall.

"Ten bucks, right? Same as always?" He asks, voice soft and distant, the words slurring together slightly. "Whatever you want, I don't care." And you nod, gathering him up into your arms with that hungry grin of yours.

"Mm... Don't say dangerous things like that, baby. Some guys aren't as nice as I am." You tell him as he goes limp and pliant in your arms. His arms weakly wrap around your neck as he buries his face in your shoulder. He's already getting hard in his slacks, knowing what's coming. Some twisted part of him likes being used like this. He's come to terms with it but he still doesn't like it. Maybe he was born to be an obedient pup. Or maybe that was just the military training.

You strip him down piece by piece, stopping occasionally to kiss him, pushing your tongue into his mouth and growling against his lips. You're honest, at least. You don't lure him in with promises of tenderness and affection, like some. He knows what you want and it's manageable that way, predictable. He's used to it; being manhandled, being used.

His cardigan and shirt hit the floor. Scars of war and addiction line his chest and arms but you pay them no mind as you grope his chest and thumb at his nipples until they pebble. Your teeth find his neck, scraping along the pale, tender skin. He whimpers as you husk in his ear, your erection pressing shamelessly against his hip. "Fuck, Miles... You got me so hard, baby." It's crude, yes, but he's used to it. He's heard worse. Much worse.

Next go his shoes, pants and underwear, leaving him in just his socks, as you prop him up on his hands and knees, on the bed. His body is lithe, pale and shaky but Miles, bless him, was blessed with this beautiful, round ass. If you pay attention, you can usually find most guests sneaking a peak when he walks by.

Your hands find the soft globes of his backside, groping and squeezing roughly. "Mmmnn... Look at that." He arches his back, leaning into your touch. He's completely out of it, drifting high, his only thought being to get fucked and get his money. That's what this is all about, after all. He spreads his knees wider and pitches his shoulders down, tilting his hips up, presenting himself to you. He knows what he is; he doesn't pretend to be anything else.

Your hands squeeze the soft meat of his backside. "That feel good?" It doesn't matter if it does — not really — but he nods, his cock aching against the cheap, scratchy sheets. You spread him open and his rim is pink and puckered and loose; well-fucked, like a whore should be.

Then there's your warm, wet tongue, dragging over the sensitive skin, and a high moan bubbles up in his throat. A shiver runs through him, legs shaking, as pleasure shoots through him. You don't skimp on this. A lot of guys might use lube, some go in raw, but you at least take the time to do this for him. Though he suspects you like doing it as well; getting your tongue between his cheeks and hearing him whine like a bitch in heat. His cock is dripping onto the sheets now, leaking uncontrollably. There's no coherent thought; just need.

Finally, when he's generously slicked up, his hole pulsing and twitching, you pull away, drinking in the sight of his swollen, clenching rim. "Fuck, that's perfect." He knows how whorish he looks right now; his pink, puffy hole winking at you, thighs spread obscenely. He's a cheap rent-boy; shameless and high, his usually tame hair sticking up in all directions as he buries his face in his arms.

You spit a generous amount on his rim, watching it slide over the tender flesh, as you straighten up behind him. "You want something to fill this slutty, little fuck-hole, Miles?" You ask and he nods, in a daze.

"Mmmhmm... Fuck me." He slurs, voice thick with lust and drugs. His hole clenches around nothing, just begging to be filled. And he doesn't have to worry his pretty, little head about it; you'll fill him good.

"Attaboy." You praise as you unbuckle your belt and shove your pants and briefs down just enough to free your cock. Precum beads at the tip, smearing over the head, as you lean forward, extending a hand toward his face. "Spit." He lifts his head and turns it, casting a glance over his shoulder, before spitting a large glob of saliva into your palm. "Good boy." You wrap your slick hand around your cock, coating it as you give yourself a few, slow strokes.

You won't last long, both of you know that. It isn't supposed to be long and drawn out. Just like all the others, this is just a physical thing; sex between stressful times at work, a quick poke when the wife at home won't put out, a fuck just because. It isn't supposed to be deep and loving and meaningful. There's something primal about it, base, like man never learnt to walk upright, like we're all still animals deep down and, despite his past, despite how dangerous he can be, Miles is a prey animal; rolling onto his belly, spread open to get what he needs. It doesn't matter.

Your hands find his hips steady as you line yourself up. "Alright, here we go." And with one easy thrust, you're seated inside him, warm and wet and loose. There's no resistance, just smooth, slick heat. You curse under your breath as he lets out a loud moan, too out of it to muffle the sound. The smack has him lost in sensation; your rough hands on him, the fullness, the way your heavy balls slap against his taint.

You start to rock your hips, your body meeting his with a rhythmic slap. You're groaning about how good he feels, about how he's such a good boy, punctuated by light slaps to his ass. His dick grinds against the bed, leaving wet streaks against the cheap fabric. It's filthy and it feels so fucking good.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, you lift his head from his arms. "How's that feel, Miles?" You ask and his breath catches in his throat, your fingers in his hair making his spine tingle.

"Feels good..." He pushes back against you. "Harder..." He whines, his voice dreamy and high. You grin wolfishly.

"Sure thing, baby." You grip his waist and lift your leg onto the bed, shifting the angle and driving your hips against his, grinding your cock against his prostate relentlessly. He cries out loudly, his moans becoming more desperate and slurred. Between the dope and your dick in his ass, he can't think straight.

As expected, you don't last long, sweat beading on your brow, breaths coming in quick huffs, as you fuck him, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. "That's a good boy, Miles... You want me to cum in your ass or on your face?" You already know the answer though; facials are easier to clean up.

"On... On my face..." He breathes and you pull out, leaving him gaping and needy.

"Alright, turn over." And he does, like an obedient, little puppy.

You help him up, threading your fingers into his hair to hold him steady. Your free hand wraps around your cock jerking quickly as precum drips onto his lips. "Fuck... Beg me for it..." He licks his lips, hooded eyes flicking between your hand working your shaft and your face.

"Please, cum on my face..." He knows just what you like to hear. "Make a mess of my pretty-boy face..."

"Ohh, yeah... Only pretty boys get fucked as good as you, huh? F-Fuck—" You grit your teeth, eyes squeezed shut, as you reach your peak. Hot streaks of white paint his face, drenching his brow, his nose, his cheeks and his lips, oozing down his jaw and neck. "Fuck, yes..." His own cock is still aching, leaking between his thighs. Your fingers loosen in his hair as you squeeze out the last few drops, letting them drip onto his lips. "Good boy... You earned all that." You tell him before you untangle your fingers from his hair and let him fall back on the bed, his body limp and shivery and flushed.

Tucking yourself away, you pull out your wallet, tug out a $10 bill and toss it, watching as it flutters down onto his chest. He doesn't move, just letting his breath even out as semen rolls down his face. "Same time next week?"

"Mhmm."

And, without another word, you slip out the door.

Once the door closes, he slowly sits up, wiping some of the mess from his face with trembling hands. He grabs the $10, holding onto it like a lifeline, crumpled in his fist. He's got enough money now, stuffed into a jar beside his bed. He'll call his dealer in the morning.

Chapter Text

It's early morning on a Sunday, in a quiet suburb of Watertown, Massachusetts. Warm light barely filters through the curtains of your and your husband's bedroom. Sleeping peacefully, you feel the security of his arms around you, his chest pressed against your back, soft breaths lightly breezing through your hair. Beneath the covers, it's pleasantly warm, skin-to-skin. Your lace and silk nightgown has ridden up past your hips so your bare thighs are pressed against his pelvis, though thankfully the thin fabric of his underwear separates the two of you from being possibly uncomfortably close.

Mikael's arms tighten around you as he stirs, savouring the warmth of your body in his arms. A soft sigh ghosts across the back of your neck, his face buried in your hair. A hand, warm but dry and weathered from copious uses of disinfectants, slides down your side, tracing the curve of your hip before coming to rest on the outside of your bare thigh. The skin is soft and silky-smooth, especially when compared to the callouses that line his palm and fingertips after long hours of handling scalpels and forceps. You sigh at the gentle touch but don't wake. Not yet.

He can feel the warmth radiating from your body against his own, making him shift slightly beneath the covers. His hand trails around to the front of your thigh, drawing light circles into the skin with his thumb. Taking a sharp breath, Mikael feels the familiar rush of blood from his head, warmth pooling in his lower belly, as his underwear grows tighter and tighter against his skin. He silently curses himself, trying to control the reaction to your warmth and softness pressed against him. He knows he shouldn't wake you, not on a Sunday, but he aches and he knows you're usually more than happy to help when this kind of thing happens.

"Sirelis..." He whispers softly, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Mm...?" His hand moves back up to your waist, holding you closer as he feels you stir from sleep.

"Good morning." He whispers and you stretch languidly, letting out a pleased sigh at the sweet pet name.

"Mmm... Good morning..." He watches you stretch, the motion causing your nightgown to ride up further, exposing more of your soft, sun-kissed skin to his gaze.

"Sleep well?" He asks, his voice low and breathy from sleep. You hum and snuggle back down against the warmth of his body.

"You know I did." His arms wrap around you possessively as he chuckles, a sound you feel more than hear.

"Always." He murmurs, his hand slowly creeping up your midsection, the silk of your nightgown slipping across his knuckles. You feel a twitch against the curve of your backside, pressed snugly against you. You know exactly what it is.

"Mikael..."

"Hmm?" The sound is muffled against your hair as his hand slips under the hem of your nightgown, fingers splaying out against your bare stomach. You feel the twitch again, sandwiched between the swell of your backside and his belly. You wriggle slightly and he sucks in a breath.

"Are you struggling this morning, love?" Your voice is coy because you damn well know the answer. He lets out a low chuckle, his hand sliding further up to rest just beneath your breasts.

"Maybe." His hips shift subtly. "You know exactly what you're doing, don’t you?" You chew your bottom lip for a moment, thinking, before you speak again.

"Take it out." And he swallows hard, fingers curling against your stomach before he moves his hand, hooking his thumb into the waistband of his underwear and dragging them down, just enough to relieve some of the pressure there, his cock pressing against your backside, throbbing and leaking. Slowly, you manoeuvre yourself, guiding his erection between your warm, pillowy thighs. He hisses, his hips jerking slightly.

"O-Ohh..." The feeling of your thighs enveloping him is almost overwhelming, letting him feel the warmth and the wetness of your core without actually being inside you.

"That should help." You reach back to find his hand, pulling his arm around your waist again as you begin rocking your hips, encouraging him. The space between your thighs grows slick with precum, easing the slide.

"Love..." He groans softly, his hips starting to rock against yours in a slow, gentle rhythm, the sheets rustling as he moves. This is new but Mikael has never had any issues with trying anything out of the ordinary. The feeling of your soft thighs squeezing around him is incredible and you feel his pulse aching between your legs. "You're so warm... Soft..." In retaliation, you gently lift one of his hands to your face, pressing little kisses to the rough skin of his fingertips, his palm and the inside of his wrist.

"And you're so gentle." You reply and a soft, airy moan escapes his lips at the tender contact, his cock still sliding easily between your thighs.

"Only for you, sirelis..." He murmurs, nuzzling the side of your neck affectionately, warm breaths brushing across the soft, sensitive skin there. You reach behind you to run your fingers through his dark curls, nails lightly raking against his scalp and drawing another low groan from his lips.

"I love when you get like this; it's like you can never get enough of me."

"Because I can't." He whispers softly, voice low and husky as he focuses on the feeling of his erection sliding between the slick, warm space between your thighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck and he takes in your scent, nuzzling closer. His hips roll against yours insistently, his cock aching between your thighs. "I always want you..." A pleasant shiver rolls down your spine at the admission, feeling heat coiling low in your belly from the sheer devotion in the way he speaks, in the way he holds you.

"Always...?"

"Forever." He assures you, his movements more deliberate now, his cock sliding slickly between your thighs. Gently, his fingers find your jaw, his thumb tracing along your bottom lip. "Even in my dreams, I'm making love to you, sirelis..." Kissing the pad of his thumb, you part your lips and accept it into your mouth, sighing at the musky taste of his skin.

"Tell me more, love..."

"You drive me mad." He chuckles breathlessly, his hips jerking again as he feels your lips around his thumb. "Like this, without even trying. And at night... My God..." He swallows thickly and you press your knees together, making the space between your legs tighter, your soft, warm thighs hugging his cock perfectly.

"At night...?" You prompt him.

"I dream of you, sirelis..." He's moving urgently now and you can tell he's in the home stretch, his leaking erection trapped between your thighs. "Of waking up with you in my arms, like this... Of loving you until we both fall asleep again." He husks against your ear and you press kisses all across his palm.

"You're so sweet, Mikael. Always so gentle with me." You coo softly and his fingers curl around your jaw.

"Only you. Only you make me want to be gentle, to worship you, to love you slowly and endlessly..." He pants softly, his hips rolling more insistently against the back of your legs. "Ohh, yes..." You press your face against his palm, leaning into his touch like a contented house cat.

"Are you getting close, love?"

"Yes..." His breath catches as the slick sound of skin against skin bounces off the walls. "I can't... I can't hold back much longer... I'm so close..." Reaching down, you peel back the covers to watch the flushed crown of his cock peek out from between your thighs before disappearing again.

"Go ahead, love." You encourage him and he buries his face against your shoulder, taking in a sharp breath.

"Sirelis...!" He cries out softly, his hips jerking forward as he spills over the edge. His cock pulses and twitches between your thighs, warm, sticky spurts coating your skin and dripping down onto the sheets. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, panting heavily, as his arms wrap tight around your midsection.

"Is that better?" You purr softly.

"Mhm... So much better..." He murmurs weakly, still catching his breath. His cock begins to soften between your thighs as he peppers loving kisses along the side of your neck. "You're perfect..." A finger traces a path through one of the wet streaks on your thigh, holding it up to the low light. Turning your head, you glance over your shoulder at him, his stubble rasping against your cheek.

"What day is it today, love?" You ask and he sighs contentedly.

"It's Saturday, I think." He murmurs, eyes drifting shut as he rests his head back against the pillow. "Or maybe Sunday... I lose track after waking up next to you."

"Mm... Well maybe we could just keep sleeping and making love all day, hm?" You ask with a mischievous grin, licking the stickiness from his fingertip. He hums softly, considering.

"We could... But what about food? Water?" He counters and you turn over and rub your nose against his before finally pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I'm sure we could take breaks, yes?" You suggest and he chuckles lowly, cupping a hand around the back of your head before sliding it along your back to cup your backside, giving it an appreciative squeeze. "My perfect Sunday..."

"And mine..." He sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Or whatever day it is." His hand kneads the soft flesh of your hips adoringly. "As long as you're here, in my arms, that's all that matters."

Chapter Text

The apartment's quiet when the lock clicks and the door creaks open, carrying with it the scent of cheap cigarettes, engine oil and Moscow's cold, grimy air. You glance up from where you sit curled on the threadbare sofa, a blanket draped around your legs, a battered paperback open but barely read. The air inside is warm; warm because you keep it that way for him. The radiator wheezes in protest but it does its job. Just barely.

Shiv steps in like he's dragging half the city behind him. He closes the door with a soft grunt, shoulders hunched in that way he gets when the weight of the day is too much to shake off. Even from here, you can tell, he's exhausted. His red leather jacket hangs heavy on him, dusted with snow. There's a bruise darkening under one eye and a smear of something — not blood, not quite — along his jaw. He stands there for a moment, unmoving. The silence feels thick.

You set the book aside and rise slowly, the blanket sliding from your legs as you pad across the floor. No words yet; he's not ready for them. You've learned the rhythm of Shiv's returns, the rituals that smooth the jagged edges he brings back with him. You reach up and take his jacket, peeling it from his body like you're unwrapping something fragile. He doesn't resist. Just exhales — slow and long — like he's been holding his breath all day and only now remembers how to exhale.

"I'm not dead." He mutters, his voice rough. "In case you were worried."

"Good." You murmur, hanging the jacket on its crooked hook. "Better stay that way, dorogoy." There's a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He toes off his sneakers while you tug at the collar of his shirt, fingers brushing over the grit and grime clinging to the fabric. It smells like metal and smoke. He's trembling slightly but not from cold; from the kind of fatigue that sinks into the bone.

You lead him to the sofa. He lets you.

You settle back down on the sofa and he sinks in beside you, his arm instantly wrapping around your shoulders. He leans his head on your shoulder with a groan.

"Long fucking day." He sighs and you snake an arm around his back, resting your hand on his waist.

"Yeah? What happened?"

"Usual bullshit." He mutters, nuzzling into your neck and inhaling your scent. It's soothing after the chaotic day he's had. You turn your head to catch his lips in a gentle kiss and his arm tightens around you possessively. He deepens the kiss before pulling back with another sigh. "Missed you today." He breathes against your mouth before pressing another kiss there.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." He stays like that for a moment before pulling back slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "What did you do today?" And you chuckle.

"Usual bullshit." You tell him. "Always better when you get home though." He can't help but smile at that, leaning in to lay a series of kisses along your jawline, murmuring between each one.

"You're the only good thing in my life, you know that?" His voice is small, barely audible.

"Hey, now, baby. That's not true." You scold him gently, pulling him into your lap, his knees planting either side of your hips. "There's Andrei as well. He's at your mother's, by the way." His arms wind around your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, heat blooming in his chest. You've taken so well to Andrei and he likes you a whole lot as well. That's really all he could ask for.

"Thanks for taking care of him." You card your fingers through his hair.

"All part of the job, dorogoy." You reply and he hums contentedly.

"Love you." He whispers, his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of your neck. Your hands inch under his t-shirt, trailing your fingertips up and down his back soothingly. His breath hitches at the gentle touch, his body arching into yours.

"Love you too, baby." He bites his lip to hold back a soft moan, his hands gripping your shirt tightly.

"I'm tired." He complains.

"Early night?" You ask and he nods weakly, his eyes already starting to droop.

"Please." He turns his head to capture your lips in a slow, sleepy kiss. "Bed." He sighs against your lips before kissing you again. "With you."

You smile, keeping his thighs wrapped around your hips, lifting him and carrying him to the bedroom as he clings to you. He's already half-asleep, his breaths coming in soft, even puffs against your skin. You set him down on the edge of the bed and he whines at the loss of your body heat.

"C'mon, clothes off." He lifts his arms obediently as you pull his shirt off before his hands move to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. He pushes them down along with his underwear, kicking them off. In the low light of the bedroom, the silver gleam of silver around his neck matches the glint of stainless steel on his chest; the little barbells in his nipples catching the light. They were his choice, of course. You were just very supportive of them.

You follow suit; stripping out of your clothes before crawling into bed with him, the setting sunlight just about passing through the old curtains.

He scoots over to make room for you though his body is already seeking out your warmth. He curls up against you under the covers, head resting on your chest as he lets out yet another sigh. His legs tangle with yours and he throws an arm over your waist, holding you close. Not many people get to see him like this and it's a privilege that you do. "You're so precious like this, dorogoy." You smile, running your fingers through his dark hair and dropping a kiss on his forehead. He burrows even closer with a hum.

"Shut up..." He mumbles sleepily. Slowly, you tilt his head up, meeting his exhausted gaze before brushing your lips over his, soft and sweet. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, parting his lips slightly, his body relaxing into your own. He loves these peaceful moments with you, where he's not a wannabe thug. He's just a man. Just a man in love.

You pull his body on top of your own, feeling the comfort of skin-on-skin as his body moulds to yours perfectly. There are little kisses along your jaw, hands resting on your chest, feeling the rise and fall of it, as he relaxes into the embrace. You tilt your head back to give him better access. As you do, your hands find his chest, thumbs lightly circling his pierced nipples, knowing how much he likes the slow, gentle stimulation.

His breath catches in his throat as his nipples stiffen instantly. Biting his lip to hold back a moan, his body presses more firmly against your own, kisses becoming more insistent, trailing down your neck as his hips start rolling slowly against yours. Your cock twitches against his as you strum your fingers over the barbells, careful not to pull or twist too hard. Not yet.

He lets out a soft whimper, hips bucking against yours in sync with the rhythm of your fingers. The stimulation sends shocks of pleasure straight between his thighs, his cock now rock hard and leaking against the crook of your thigh. Dipping your head, you run your tongue along his collarbone before taking one of his nipples into your mouth, playing with the piercing with your tongue and suckling gently. That draws a soft cry from him, spine arching. The sensation is overwhelming and he curls his fingers into your hair, holding you against him as he ruts against you, desperate for release already.

Lightly, you bite down before moving to the other side of his chest, repeating the process; licking, sucking, biting. He's a mess of moans and whimpers, hips moving erratically as he tries to get enough stimulation to let him cum. His nipples are swollen and puffy from your attention and he's so close already, balls tightening as the pressure builds and builds...

You keep lavishing attention on his chest, reaching down between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his cock, stroking at a familiar pace; not too fast, not too slow. His eyes roll slightly, the dual sensation of your mouth and your hand almost too much for him to bear. He's leaking into your hand, slicking your fingers with precum as he bucks into your hand desperately. You let your mouth come away from his skin with a wet pop, the fingers of your free hand still plucking and flicking the barbells as you whisper in his ear.

"It's okay, baby. You can cum." You tell him and he lets out a choked sob at your gentle permission, his body tensing before relinquishing control completely.

Shiv finishes in your hand, back arching as thick ropes of cum paint your fingers and stomach. You keep working him through it, breathing words of love and praise into his ear. "That's it, dorogoy. You're so perfect. So handsome. Love you." You tell him as he rides it out, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your face and neck, mumbling incoherent words of thanks between breathless whines.

Finally, you wrap your arms as he comes down from it all, holding him against you securely. "You okay, baby?" He nods weakly; completely spent.

Slowly, you lower him onto the bed and mop up the mess with some tissues before turning him over onto his side so you can spoon him from behind, taking up the usual position the two of you sleep in. He scoots back against your body, fitting himself perfectly against you and letting out a happy sigh as his eyes drift shut. "Get some rest." You tell him, kissing the nape of your neck as your fingers draw idle patterns on his stomach.

Chapter Text

You're supposed to be paying attention. Vice Admiral Simpson is speaking at the front of the room, marker in hand, running through the data from the morning's training flight; energy retention curves, target lock consistency, weapons load performance. You're usually locked in during debriefs, scribbling notes in your journal and analysing flight footage. But today?

Today you are thoroughly, hopelessly, wildly distracted.

By Bob, of course. Your boyfriend. Your teammate. Your problem.

He's sitting one seat away — Rooster in between you, thankfully oblivious — and looking criminally good in his flight suit. That crisp 'LT. ROBERT FLOYD' patch. That familiar scent of soap and engine grease. That short crop of perfectly-styled hair and those endearingly dorky glasses. And below the belt. Well... That's the problem that's been haunting you all damn day.

You know what he's working with. You've been very thoroughly acquainted, more than once. But somehow your brain hasn't gotten used to it; hasn't learned to compartmentalise it the way it probably should. Because even now, seated in the harsh fluorescents of the briefing room, you're hyper-aware of the way his thighs spread slightly when he leans back. The way the zipper of his flight suit draws your eye downward. The way nothing about his posture is helping you focus.

Your own posture is suffering. You're squirming in your seat, trying not to make it obvious. You cross your legs. Uncross them. Shift your weight. Swallow. Shift again. You glance over, out of pure instinct and catch a glimpse of Bob's lap.

Mistake. A big one.

Your breath catches. Your thighs press together automatically.

And Bob notices. He blinks. Then tilts his head slightly, studying you like he's picking up radar interference. His eyes drop to your legs. Then back to your face.

You look away. Pretend to study the whiteboard. Try to remember what Cyclone just said about missile deviation.

Bob leans forward, elbows on his knees now, and turns just enough that his shoulder brushes Rooster's. Just enough to get a clearer look at you. His expression is unreadable to everyone else but you know him. You see the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. The slightly lifted brow. The flicker of recognition in his eyes.

He knows. God, he knows exactly what's on your mind.

You glance at him again, heart pounding. Your lips part slightly. And that's all it takes; Bob gives you the faintest, most deliberate nod toward the hallway door. 'Meet me there.'

You straighten up a little too fast. You tap your pen anxiously against your notebook. One minute. Two. Cyclone's wrapping up. You're trying to pretend your palms aren't sweaty.

And then; finally—

"Alright. Dismissed." You're out of your seat in record time, not running exactly, but walking fast enough to raise Phoenix's eyebrows.

Down a couple of corridors and you pull Bob into the — thankfully empty — men's bathroom. As soon as the door closes, his hands are on your hips and he pushes you against the sink counter, glasses pressing against your face as he pulls you in for a hungry kiss. He can't stand when you look at him like you were during the debrief; like you need to have him in your mouth just to keep yourself sane. You kiss him back but push him into a stall to keep some modicum of privacy, flicking the lock before letting him press you up against the divider.

His breath comes out in a huff as he pins you against the side of the stall. One hand tangles in your hair as the other grips your hip tight. You can feel him through his flight suit, already half-hard, pressing against your stomach. It always surprises you how rough he can be sometimes. Those cute, shy smiles and those wide, blue eyes behind thick lenses can be horribly deceiving when he gets like this; needy and wanting.

You pant against his lips, your breath warm on his face.

"I need it, Bobby..." You reach down to grope him through his flight suit. "I need it inside me. Anywhere." And he groans as his hips push forward into your hand. He reaches up and fumbles with the zipper for a moment before managing to pull it down, unbuckling his belt and pushing down his pants with his trunks. You only catch a glimpse of it before he spins you around so you're facing the divider, reaching round to unzip your own flight suit, pull it over your shoulders, unbutton your pants and shove them down with your underwear.

You reach up to grab the top of the stall-divider, purring contentedly as you feel his hands — soft, warm, big — grab at your ass, squeezing appreciatively. "Please, honey. Need it. Need it so bad. Please, fuck me." That pulls a choked groan from him as he spits in his palm to slick himself up. He doesn't need to; you're already soaking.

One hand wraps around your mouth to muffle any noises as the other slides to your waist, steadying you. In one smooth thrust, he pushes inside, bottoming out completely, and you let out a muffled whine of blessed relief.

He's ruined you for every other man in every sense of the word. His kindness. His honesty. His care. His generosity. And, of course, his sheer size. It might not be conscious but every day you thank God Bob found his way into your life. And into your bed.

"Ohh, God..." He manages, breath hitching as you grind back against him. You feel so full, almost overwhelmed, but he's taken care to stretch you open for him previously so now it's not even an issue; your body eagerly accepting the intrusion like it belongs there.

He starts moving, slowly at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. "You feel so good." He murmurs quietly against your ear, voice strained. You reach down to guide the hand on your waist to your abdomen. As he pushes in and out, he can feel just the slightest bulge from the inside and it takes him a moment to realise it's the feeling of him moving inside you, filling you, with every slow roll of his hips. He swallows in a dry throat, pressing his palm more firmly against your lower stomach, adoring the feeling of him inside you. "Baby..." You turn your head so his other hand isn't over your mouth.

"You feel that?" You ask, breathless and flushed. He picks up the pace slightly.

"Yeah. I feel it." His breath is coming hot and fast, fanning against the back of your neck. You can feel him slowly dialling up the speed, working up to this wonderful pace that isn't too rushed but doesn't leave you wanting.

"O-Ohhh, fuck..." It's perfect. Just what you needed after torturing yourself all day, sneaking glances in the mess and watching him climb out of the cockpit of his jet.

"Shhh..." He hushes you softly, moving his hand back over your mouth. You have to remind yourself that you're technically in public, even if you want to whine and moan and cry and beg him for more until he cums just from the love of being so wanted by you. His thrusts become deeper, more urgent. The sound of his hips meeting yours fills the small bathroom stall, mixed with muffled whimpers from you and low groans from him—

Suddenly, you hear the bathroom door open and he freezes, mid-stroke, behind you. His body goes rigid and he presses himself flush against you, completely still and silent. His cock stays buried deep inside you, not daring to move another inch. You try your best to slow your frantic breathing as you hear the clink of the stranger's belt buckle, the zipper of their pants and a soft, familiar hiss.

Bob presses his forehead against the back of your neck, muffling his breaths against your sweat-damp shirt, and you feel him throb inside you, the tension of possibly being caught sending waves of red-hot arousal over the both of you. You can't help but imagine the stranger finding you like this; with Bob balls-deep inside you, both of you covered in sweat and horny as Hell. His hips make a small, involuntary thrust and your breath hitches. He bites his lip, trying to suppress a groan, as he feels your body tighten around him.

The stranger finishes, zips up and buckles his belt before you hear him walk over to the sinks and turn on the faucet to wash his hands. As the sound of water on the steel sinks fills the bathroom, Bob's grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging into the meat there, as he starts to move slowly, gentle thrusts that make no noise but send shocks of pleasure through both of your bodies.

The stranger runs his hands under the dryer and it's almost deafening. Bob takes advantage, his hips picking up speed and force. He fucks into you with abandon now, knowing the sound of the dryer will cover up any sounds you might make. Your body bounces back against his with each thrust, muffled moans escaping despite his hand over your mouth.

You hear the door open and close again before the dryer stops and you arch back into him, a mix of slick and precum running down your thighs. He's getting aggressive now, arms wrapped around your midsection as he bucks into you. His breath comes in ragged pants, his hips slamming into yours with increasing urgency. The risk of being caught has pushed him over the edge and he needs this now, finding a desperate rhythm designed purely for pleasure rather than discretion. You turn your head to uncover your mouth, catching a glimpse of him over your shoulder; his cheeks are pink and his eyes are lidded, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose.

"Bobby... Don't stop... Fuck, you're so big, honey..." You pant out and he nuzzles his face against the crook of your neck. Hearing you call him 'honey' while he fucks you in a bathroom stall at work has him completely broken. "B-Bobby...!"

"Shhh..." He hisses, arms locking around your waist as he loses himself completely, fucking you with rough, deep strokes that lift you onto your toes with each thrust. His lips find your neck, sucking bruises into your skin. "Getting close..." He groans against your skin, his pace stuttering as he gets closer and closer to the edge. You feel his hair brush your ear as it falls in front of his face. "Gonna...pull out. Don't worry, I'll— I'll pull out..." You grind back against him as he fixes his hands on your hips.

Finally, you feel his body tense up behind you before he pulls out abruptly.

Instinctively, you turn on your heel and drop to your knees, mouth open. He doesn't hesitate; giving himself a few rough pumps before guiding your head and pushing into your mouth. He finishes then and there, biting his knuckles, as he cums down your throat. Thick, hot pulses burst in the back of your throat and his knees almost buckle, his free hand going to grip the hook on the back of the stall door. You swallow down everything he gives you, gulping audibly, as you reach up to gently rub and squeeze his full, heavy balls. "Shit, shit, shit..."

He pulls his hips back and collapses back against the stall divider, spent and breathing heavy. "Oh, my God, baby..." You lean forward to lick the head of his cock to collect any stray drops and he shudders, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Eventually, he helps you back to your feet, pulling you into his arms and holding you against his chest. "You're so good to me." He murmurs and you smile, tilting your head up to kiss him sweetly.

"C'mon, the others'll be wondering where we got to."

You and Bob wander back into the break-room, having fixed yourselves up as well as you can. Little bruises are still blooming above the collar of your flight suit and his face is still a little flushed but you try your best to play it off. Still, as soon as you step in, all eyes fall on you.

"... What?" You ask and Hangman gives you a knowing glance, smirking.

"Took you two long enough to use the bathroom, huh?" He jokes and your face turns a bright shade of red.

"Shut it, Bagman." You mutter as Bob's ears turn pink. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure.

"Takes as long as it takes..." He mumbles, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, adjusting his glasses again. The others share knowing looks, laughing and teasing, but it's not mean-spirited, just friendly squad banter.

You reach over and take Bob's hand in yours, giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. He squeezes back, warmth spreading through his chest at your touch. His heart races as he sneaks a glance at you from the corner of his eye. The room resumes its regular, upbeat rhythm but, in this moment, he only has eyes for you.

Chapter Text

You're waiting up for him. Of course, you are. Draped in your favourite pyjamas; a pair of his boxers and one of his old academy tees, you're snuggled up on the couch, reading. It's just past 11 pm.

You don't hear the car. You never do when he's being careful. But you do hear the low click of the lock, the soft creak of the door swinging open, and your body reacts before your mind catches up. You're already getting up from the couch, your bare feet padding softly across the floor.

He steps inside like a shadow; dusty with sand, heavy with exhaustion. Sam.

He looks up and, for just a second, the grim lines of war peel away from his face. His mouth twitches toward something softer. You see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. You.

"Baby." He manages, voice low and raspy. You nod, a little breathless. He drops his duffel by the door with a dull thud. He's already dressed down; black undershirt clinging to the shape of him; broad shoulders, thick forearms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, breathing him in. He smells like dust, blood and fire; a scent that never seems to really leave him.

Strong arms fold around you, holding you against him, calloused hands cradling your hips. He loves it when you wear his clothes. "Missed you so fucking much." He murmurs against your temple, pressing his lips there.

"Me too." You pull back slightly. "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, don't worry. Swung by McDonald's on the way home." He chuckles softly and you nod. You didn't really want to start cooking this late.

"So what? Shower then bed?" You ask and he nods, strong hands still resting on your hips.

"Shower sounds perfect." He leans in to kiss you, his lips lingering on your face for a moment before he pulls back. "You gonna join me?" His voice is low and hopeful, filled with want and longing after months apart.

"If you want me to." You reply and his lips curl up into a tired smile.

"I always want you to."

You both make your way to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes as you go. His shirt ends up in a small pile just outside the bathroom and his belt falls with a heavy thud as you turn on the shower, letting it warm up. Glancing over at him, you noticed he's gained a few more scars for you to touch and kiss. He seems self-conscious of them sometimes but you never stop telling him how amazing he is, how brave.

Once you've both stripped down and the water's warm, Sam steps into the shower and pulls you under the spray with him. His hands find your waist immediately, like he's trying to make sure you're really here. His skin is warm against yours, slick from the water. You rest your head on his chest, sighing softly as you listen to the hiss of the water and the thump of his heart against your ear. He presses his lips to the top of your head and you feel a twitch against your thigh but he makes no effort to move yet, just enjoying the moment with you, finally having you back in his arms again.

Lifting your head, you gaze up at him, his dark eyes boring into yours. He looks so tired. Without saying anything, he captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. Rough hands roam your back possessively as the water pours down over you, washing away the months of separation and stress.

Finally, he pushes you up against the shower wall, trailing his lips down your neck and sucking at the tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder. His fingers tighten around your hips as he rolls his hips against yours, sandwiching his thickening cock between your bodies. "Missed you so fucking much." He says again and you run your hand over his buzzcut as he lifts his head, lips finding yours hungrily.

As he's distracted, parting your lips with his tongue, you slide a hand down to cup his full, heavy sac, fingers gently massaging. He groans against your mouth, pulling away to press his face into your neck as his breath comes in thick, heavy pants. "Fuck, baby..."

"Let me take a look at you." You whisper and he nods, stepping back slightly to let you kneel in front of him.

Carefully, you wrap your fingers around the shaft and he swallows hard. With one smooth motion, you pull back his foreskin to reveal the crown, flushed a deep pink. Leaning forward, you flick your tongue over the slit, swirling it around the head before taking it into your mouth.

"Shit..." He braces a hand against the shower wall, trying desperately to keep himself from thrusting into your mouth. After months without you, it feels amazing just to see you on your knees for him again, never mind having his cock in your mouth. He can already feel himself getting closer than he should be this early. "Baby— Baby, wait..." He pants out. You pause and flick your eyes up to his, already halfway down, taking him in.

"Mm?"

"Fucking...close already." He admits through gritted teeth. "Been too long..." His free hand moves down to cup your face, his thumb following the curve of your cheekbone. You pull away.

"You don't wanna cum already?" You ask and he laughs softly, a sound you feel more than hear.

"Yeah. No. God, I feel like a teenager again; a few seconds in and I'm ready to explode." He spreads his legs a little wider. You smile and press a kiss to the crest of his pelvis.

"Well, sounds like you need it. Tell you what; you finish as quick as you need and we can take it slow later, okay?" You offer and he nods.

"Fuck... Yeah, okay." You nod in agreement before setting your sights on your prize again.

Leaning back in, you run your tongue over the swell of his sac, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking at a familiar, steady pace. "Holy shit..." His thighs tremble as his free hand tangles into your hair, his hips bucking forward unconsciously. You tease his slit with your thumb as you suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth. You occasionally switch sides, making sure both get equal attention.

His thighs tense as he realises he's not going to last long at all. "Baby..." He warns softly and you pull away only to run the flat of your tongue along the underside of his cock, taking him down to the root. He grits his teeth and slams his fist against the shower wall as you swallow him down. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." His hips are moving quicker now, sliding his cock along your tongue. He's needy; you let him. "Gonna fucking cum..."

His fingers snarl into your hair, holding your head against the shower wall, as his hips snap forward, his cock hitting the back of your throat. "Look at me." He huffs. "Lemme see those pretty eyes." You peer up at him, eyes wide and watery and full of affection, as he fucks your mouth.

That seems to push him over the edge.

With a loud groan, he cums hard in your mouth. His cock pulses as he shoots spurt after spurt down your throat. He holds your head in place firmly, still bucking his hips through his climax. "Swallow it..." He demands between shallow breaths. You do; gulping it down audibly, and, just when you think he's finished, there's more, shooting thick and fast across your tongue.

His brows knit as he presses his forehead to the shower wall. Your eagerness only serves to prolong his orgasm, warm water sliding down his back. "Holy fuck..."

Finally, the last few weak spurts ooze down the back of your throat and you apply just a little suction as his fingers loosen on your hair. You lick away any residuals. He's panting heavily, legs shaking as he tries to stay standing. He gazes down at you, eyes tired and lidded. "Christ... Oh, my..." He starts before trailing off, at a loss for words.

He slowly pulls his hips back, his softening cock slipping from your mouth with a quiet pop. You smile up at him, nuzzling his thigh.

"Better?" You ask.

"Baby..." His hand cups your cheek as the other still clings desperately to the wall for support. "How... How the fuck do you..." He laughs weakly, completely drained. "Fuck me." He leans down to press a wet kiss to your forehead. "C'mere."

Standing, you wrap your arms around him, feeling the shudders still running through his body. His arms coil around you, holding onto you for support as much as affection. His heart is still running a hundred miles an hour as he clings on. "Love you." He mutters breathlessly.

"Love you too, honey." You turn your head to press a kiss just under his ear. "Now let's get you cleaned up and into bed, yeah? It's late." He nods against your shoulder, still struggling to catch his breath.

"Yeah... Yeah."

Chapter Text

The night in 'Salem's Lot stretches wide and dark, bathed in moonlight and punctuated by the occasional flicker of far-off porch lights. It's the kind of autumn evening that smells like pine needles, old wood and distant bonfire smoke; mild enough that you don't need a jacket but cool enough to stave off uncomfortable heat.

Ben's driving with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on your thigh; fingers curled, warm, thumb tracing idle circles just below the hem of your skirt. His eyes stay on the road but his mouth lifts now and then, soft at the corners like he's been holding onto a private smile all evening.

You're heading toward the old drive-in just outside of town; the one that still shows double features on the weekend, where the gravel crunches under the tyres and teenagers sneak beer in paper bags and the air always smells like cheap popcorn.

You glance over at him, his profile silhouetted in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. He looks better tonight; more rested, though not quite. There are still smudges under his eyes, shadows that speak to too many nights hunched over his typewriter, chasing ghosts on the page. But this? This little drive in the dark? It's the first time in weeks he's let himself step away.

"Thanks." You murmur, voice soft. He glances at you, brow lifting.

"For what?"

"For taking me out." You pause. "You've been somewhere else lately." He doesn't deny it. Just nods slightly, gaze turning back to the winding road ahead.

"Yeah. Guess I needed someone to pull me back." You don't say anything else. You don't need to.

The drive-in glows faintly ahead, nestled in a clearing surrounded by trees tall enough to block out the world. The screen looms, slightly weather-worn, and the speaker poles stand crooked in their rows. You pull into a spot near the back; not too crowded, not too empty. Just right.

Ben kills the engine and the car settles with a soft sigh. For a moment, neither of you move. The only sound is the tinny hum of the pre-show radio broadcast filtering in through the speakers. Somewhere nearby, a kid laughs. A bottle cap pings against asphalt.

He leans back in his seat and stretches, arm sliding behind you as he turns, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Comfy?" You nod, already shifting in your seat, curling one leg beneath you and leaning against his side. He adjusts with you, the two of you falling into the kind of quiet closeness that only comes from time and trust; shoulders touching, breaths in sync, the kind of silence that says I know you.

The movie starts; a slow crawl of title credits glowing white against the pale blue wash of the screen. Some old horror flick, grainy and charming in its melodrama. You shuffle closer, resting your head on his shoulder, his hair lightly tickling your brow. He smells different; woody and musky and perfect.

"Mm... You smell good." You sigh and he leans into you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "New cologne?"

"Mhm." His arm around you slips from the backrest to curl around your shoulders, his thumb rubbing your upper arm absentmindedly. "Picked it up last week. You like it?" You nuzzle the curve of his jaw with your nose, taking in another lungful of his scent.

"Mhmm... It's really good." His breath hitches slightly, the sensation of your skin against his electric in the stillness of the car. The film fades into the background as you pepper kisses along the bend of his neck. "There's something about you tonight. Or maybe it's just the fact that you've been working hard these last few days and ignoring me." You tease him and his resolve weakens, tilting his head slightly to give you better access to his neck.

"Yeah, I've been neglecting you, huh?" His hand slides from your arm to your hip, squeezing lightly. "Get in the back." Biting your lip, you let out a little giggle before climbing into the backseat. He locks the doors and follows, the dim light of the screen casting flickering shadows across his face.

Once he's settled, you gently cup a hand around his jaw. There's something about tonight; how the air's warm but not close, the fact that anyone could look in through the windows but won't, the days prior which have left you wanting and needy. It makes you want to be honest.

"You just...do things to me, honey." You tell him and he leans into your touch.

"Like what?"

"You awaken something in me I never really knew was there. Something...I don't really know if I like." You admit and his gaze softens as he leans in close, lips brushing yours in a gentle, familiar kiss. "You make me feel small but safe."

"Like a damsel in distress?" He half-jokes, his hands going to your waist as he pulls you into his lap. He likes the feeling of you on top of him, the way your smaller frame fits so perfectly against his own.

"No, no. I can't really explain it."

"Try." He urges softly, hands gliding up and down your sides through your shirt. He wants to know what he awakens in you, even if you can't put your finger on the pulse of it.

"If I say something, can you promise you won't laugh? Or freak out?" You ask, taking a deep breath as you press your body against his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his neck, drinking in the scent of him, of his closeness.

"I promise." His arms wrap around your waist, keeping you pressed against him. He's intrigued now, wondering what could possibly make you burrow into him like this.

Your voice falls to barely a whisper, his soft, brown locks brushing the tip of your nose as you breathe softly against his ear.

"Daddy..."

The temperature in the car suddenly seems to spike and he freezes, his heart thudding against his ribs. He processes the word, feeling a surge of something primal and protective. Possessive, even. "You make me feel safe and cared for and wanted." You whisper.

"Christ." One hand moves slowly up and down your back, the other firmly steadying you against him. "Sweetheart, you don't need to explain why..."

"And I love you so much." His grip tightens on you slightly and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply as if trying to absorb every part of you.

"I love you too." He says softly, the words coming easily, and you nestle in closer, seeming even smaller in his lap. You rub your hand along the centre of his chest, fingers brushing over the buttons of his shirt, feeling his heart knocking against his ribcage.

"Daddy..." You whisper again and his breath catches. He knows now that this isn't just an innocent slip of the tongue; it's a deep-seated need within you. "Please..."

"Please what?" He's ready to give you anything right now if it means keeping that vulnerable plea in your voice satisfied.

"I need you."

"Baby..." His voice is low, dangerous, almost a warning.

"I want you so bad." And a growl rumbles from deep in his chest. He turns his head to look out of the window, already half-fogged from the heat building inside the car. The drive-in is packed but no one's paying attention to the two of you; too busy either drinking themselves blind or doing something similar. Still, it sends a thrill through him.

You slowly hike up your skirt so he can feel your heat pressed against the front of his slacks, your panties already wet with slick. "Please..." You breathe against the side of his neck and he swallows hard, his slacks tightening painfully.

"Jesus." He hisses. Large, warm hands spread your thighs wider and he can't help himself from grinding against you, inhaling the sweet scent of sex that now permeates the air.

"Daddy, I'm so wet..." You whine and he snaps, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his slacks and pushing down his briefs, pressing himself against you through your soaked panties. Hooking a finger into the gusset, he tugs them aside, rubbing himself against you slowly, coating the underside of his cock with your slick.

"You want me inside you, sweetheart?" He asks and you nod, biting your lip.

"Yes, please." The plea in your voice is still there and he groans deeply as he pushes into you, feeling your body yield easily. He rocks his hips slow and steady, careful not to make the movement too obvious as the windows steam up. You gasp softly and he turns his head, swallowing your whimpers as he thrusts gently into you.

The car around you provides surprisingly effective cover; the movements subtle enough not to draw attention amidst the laughter of the other patrons.

You slide a hand into his hair, feeling the soft strands slip through your fingers, as he grips your backside through your panties, your skirt bunching up around his wrists.

"Shhh..." He breathes softly before sealing his lips over yours, silencing any loud moans as he starts to move just that little bit faster. You whine against his lips, the creaking of the car and the sound of skin on skin punctuating every slow stroke. He feels you clenching around him and he knows you won't last long, worked up as you are. He shifts the angle slightly, hitting the spot inside you that makes your breath hitch sharply against his neck. "Right there, sweetheart?"

"M-Mhmm..." He smiles against your neck, his pace quickening but still careful. One of his hands moves to your chest, squeezing, and you mewl, lifting your shirt so he can slip his hand under to grope you through your bra. His thumb flicks over your nipple through the lace, pinching lightly, and he presses his mouth to your shoulder to muffle his own growing moans. "D-Daddy..." The pet name sends a jolt of pleasure through him and he kisses you deeply as he starts to lose his rhythm.

"I'm gonna cum soon, sweetheart... Gonna fill you up so full..." He pants, holding you tight against his body. You nod eagerly, curling your arms tighter around his neck.

"Please..." And that's all the permission he needs.

With a final thrust, he hilts himself deep inside you, the light from the screen flashing across his face as he fills you to the brim. You hold onto him, fingers curled tight in the back of his shirt, as his head falls back against the headrest, his chest heaving as he pants heavily. You feel his load oozing out, coating your thighs. "Thank you, daddy." You sigh and he hums contentedly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

"Such a good girl." He pulls back to look at you; your cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, hair mussed. You purr happily, nuzzling his collarbone.

"Love you... Can we stay like this until the movie finishes?" You ask and he smiles, adjusting himself slightly to make sure it's comfortable but he stays buried inside you.

"Sure." His arms tighten around you as you rest your head on his chest. You don't need to see the movie. You're content exactly where you are.

Chapter Text

It's been a long, tough day and things are finally winding down. You've gotten back to the flat with Blue and you're getting ready for bed but...there's something you need to talk to him about, something that's been bothering you for the last few hours.

As Blue starts to get undressed, you carry in his jackets, shirts and pants, all hung neatly on coat hangers. You hang them all up in the wardrobe.

"Picked these up from the dry cleaners today, hon." You tell him.

"Thanks, doll." You hear him unbuckling his belt, curling it around his knuckles before placing it on the dresser. "Y'know, you're the best, always taking care of my shit." He unbuttons his shirt and drops it in the laundry hamper, his skin glowing with a soft warmth in the low lamplight. You pause, still facing the wardrobe.

"Though the girl at the dry-cleaners said she found something a little weird..." He pauses mid-motion, his hands on the button of his pants.

"Weird? Like what?" He asks, curiosity piqued. He sits down on the edge of the bed, dark eyes locked on yours. You turn around, a pair of your underwear in hand.

"She said she found these in your pocket." You say easily and he freezes.

"And?" His voice lowers as he watches you intently, trying to gauge your reaction. "Maybe they fell in there by accident." He adds, hoping the lilt in his voice doesn't give him away. It does. You cross your arms and raise a brow.

"I know I put them in the hamper a week ago and I've not found them until now, even though I've emptied the laundry. How could they have fallen in your pocket when I distinctly remember putting them in the hamper?" You challenge him and he rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting nervously.

"Shit. Okay, you got me." He admits with a sheepish grin, realising there's no way out of this and you won't just drop it. "Alright, alright. I took 'em, okay? I've got a bit of a...habit." Your eyes widen slightly as you look down at the pair of clean underwear in your hands. They were dirty when he had them in his jacket pocket.

"So this isn't the first time?"

"No. I love the way you smell, baby. It drives me crazy. I take a pair here and there just to have something of yours with me." You wind the lace panties between your fingers, your heels clicking on the floor as you step toward him.

"Do you jerk off with them too?" He looks up, pupils going wide at the blunt question and the way the lace sounds as it slides between your fingers. He swallows hard, his voice coming out husky.

"Yeah, I do... Fuck, baby, you're making me hard right now..." He reaches down to adjust himself through his pants but, before he can get there, you reach out with your free hand, your fingers digging into his trachea just enough to restrict his breathing, your nails biting into the skin, just the way he likes.

"You're a damn pervert." You purr and he sucks in a shaky breath, eyes glazing over with lust.

"Yeah, I'm a pervert." He manages to gasp out, his voice strained. "I love it when you play rough like this."

You release his throat and grab his wrists, hoisting them up and securing them to the cuffs at the head of the bed, restraining him with minimal effort. After all, not much is needed once you've established dominance over him.

"Dirty, Goddamn degenerate..." You hiss and he growls low in his throat, his back arching slightly off the bed.

"You love it though." He grins. "You get off on knowing your husband's a dirty pervert who jacks off with his face buried in your dirty underwear." He watches you through lowered lashes as you reach out, raking your long nails down his chest and stomach. Once you're satisfied with the red stripes that appear down his torso, you unbutton and slip out of your tailored suit.

"No wonder you've been slacking on the finance books." You sigh and he laughs, watching as you slip out of your clothes.

"Damn right. I spend more time sniffing your underwear than doing math." He bites his lip, a dark flush colouring his cheeks. "You know what else I do?"

"What else do you do?" You ask, pulling off your turtleneck sweater, leaving you in nothing but your lingerie set and platform boots.

"I fantasise about you, baby. About bending you over my desk, hiking up that tight skirt of yours and fucking you senseless while you lecture me about work." You pout and shake your head, clearly enjoying this unexpected — though not completely unwelcome — turn of events.

"Such a dirty boy..." You purr and he watches hungrily as you prowl toward the bed, his bound wrists twisting instinctively.

"Fuck yeah, I'm dirty for you, baby. Now get over here and straddle me, you slut." He demands and you slap a hand across his face before wrapping your fingers around his throat again.

"Don't you start getting feisty now." You warn him and he gasps, his cock throbbing as you handle him.

"Jesus... Fuck... Love it when you get dominant..." He chokes out, tilting his head to give you better access. "Just fucking use me, would you?"

Much to his dismay, you release his neck and move away, turning around to give him a perfect view of your ass as you slowly lower your panties, stepping out of them before straightening again, the soiled lace feeling warm and damp in your palm. "Sweetheart, that's cruel." He groans, straining against the cuffs to get a better view of your full, round rear. "Showing off that perfect ass... You know I'm aching over here." He shifts uncomfortably, his erection pressing against the zipper of his pants. "Turn around." You trail your fingertips over his clothed cock, your used panties hanging from a finger on your free hand.

"You're not in any place to be dishing out orders right now, Blue." You purr coyly and he hisses in frustration, eyes burning with want.

"Fuck you... Fuck you so hard for teasing me like this." He growls, his voice strained with need. "Please... Just sit on my face already." Stepping closer to the side of the bed, you press the damp gusset of your panties over his mouth and nose.

"Deep breaths now, honey. These are still nice and warm." You coo and he inhales deeply, his face pressing into the warm, damp fabric of your panties. The scent of your slick and the warmth of your skin overwhelm his senses, making his head spin. He breathes in deeply, over and over, his nose and mouth buried in your used panties.

"Fuck..." The scent almost makes him dizzy with all the blood rushing to his cock.

"And you're gonna cum in your pants like a virgin just from sniffing my underwear. God, you're pathetic~" You tease, raking your free hand through his hair, tousling it.

"Shut up... Shut up..." He mumbles as he shudders, his cock throbbing painfully in his slacks. You slide your fingers into his dark hair and give it a rough tug.

"No, you're gonna cum and you're gonna love it." You lower your voice so you're whispering in his ear. He tenses up, hips bucking as if he's already being touched despite the lack of contact. The rough handling and the scent of your used underwear send electric shocks down his spine and he lets out a shaky groan.

"God... Fuck..." His muscles grow taut as his briefs dampen with precum. Your long nails bite into his scalp and he sucks in a breath.

"You cum, right now, or you don't cum at all." You tell him and he yelps, his body convulsing as your command shoves him easily over the edge.

Within seconds, he's cumming embarrassingly hard, staining his briefs like a pre-teen boy who just can't control himself, humping the empty air desperately. Throughout it, your demeanour softens and you stroke his hair away from his face soothingly, watching him jerk and shiver. "Good boy..."

"Fuck..." He whines pathetically, still shaking from the touchless climax. Still, even though he just came, your praise makes him melt. "God... I messed myself, huh?" His face is still buried in the gusset of your panties, embarrassed but also oddly satisfied. You pull them away from his face and toss them into the laundry hamper.

"Yeah but don't worry, the dry-cleaners won't ask questions." You kiss his forehead and uncuff his wrists, dropping the dominant act. He sits up, rubbing his wrists before running his hands through his messy hair, still panting slightly.

"Jesus, you really know how to wreck a guy." He manages, half amused, half exhausted. "And, fuck... You didn't even touch my dick." You work on stripping off his stained pants and underwear before you unhook your bra and unlace your boots, climbing up onto the bed.

"Mhm. I'd be dangerous if you actually rented me out like the other girls, huh?" You tease and he chuckles weakly.

"Dangerous doesn't even begin to cover it. But no way in Hell I'd let any of those limp-dicked Johns anywhere near you." You climb into his lap, your warm, bare body pressed against his as you kiss him, deep and slow.

"I don't want any of them anyway. I've got all I need right here." You assure him, your voice low and full of sincerity. His arms coil around your waist possessively.

"Good thing." He murmurs against your lips. "Because I'd kill any man who put a hand on you." He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "God, baby..."

"Mhm?"

"Love you." He says softly. "So fucking much it scares me sometimes. I can't imagine living without you." His arms wrap tighter around your midsection, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. "You're my everything, y'know?" You nuzzle your face into his hair, kissing the crown of his head.

"I love you too, honey. It's why I married you after all, right?" You reply and he nods.

"Yeah, I married you because I knew you were the only one who could put up with my bullshit and still love me." You pause, lingering in the tender moment, rubbing along the centre of his chest, your lips pressed to his temple.

Eventually, you lean in, your lips brushing his as you whisper against his mouth.

"Can you get it up again, honey? I need you inside me." You sigh breathily and you feel him twitch beneath you.

"Jesus... God, yes..." His hands anchor themselves to your hips as he positions you over his cock. "You always know just what to say to get me going again..." You sink down, guiding his thickening cock inside yourself, moaning softly at the familiar sensation of him stretching you open perfectly.

"Mmm... There we go." You whisper to yourself and he groans, fingers tightening around your hips.

"Fuck... So tight..." He slowly starts to guide your pace, guiding your hips up and down as he thrusts his hips up to meet yours. "You feel so good." Leaning in, Blue captures your lips in a hungry kiss and you moan against his open mouth as you ride him, your fingers tugging at his hair and your nails digging into his shoulders. "Baby...!" He breaks the kiss to bury his face in your neck, panting and growling as he fucks you hard. "God, I love watching you ride me... So fucking pretty..." He nuzzles close and you feel the pressure of his teeth against your shoulder, marking you as his. "Mine..." You toss your head back at the sensation.

"A-Ahh...! God, honey..."

"Yeah? You like when I mark you up?" He husks against your skin as he sucks another vibrant bruise into your neck, loving the way you react to him showing ownership. He lifts a hand to your chest, squeezing and pinching one of your nipples as he thrusts up harder. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth as he drives up, hard, against your sweet spot.

"F-Fuck...!" And he grins up at you.

"Right there, huh?" One hand moves down between your thighs, his thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit as the two of you crawl closer and closer to the peak. "Jesus Christ, baby... You're gonna make me cum again..." Your hips buck as he strums his fingers over your clit.

"Y-Yeah... Gonna make me cum too..." You manage between gasps.

"Cum for me, baby... Cum all over my dick..." He pinches your clit hard and thrusts up one last time, making your jaw drop open in bliss as you both reach a blinding climax. "Fuck! Ohh, my God..." He calls out and you hide your face in his neck as your eyes roll back and you whine softly. You clench tight around him, milking him for all he has, and he wraps his arms tight around you, shuddering through his orgasm as he pumps his load into you.

After a long moment, he loosens his grip slightly, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. "Holy shit... That was amazing... You've ruined me for any other person, you know that, right?" He huffs and you laugh breathlessly, feeling his load slowly seep out of you and down the shaft of his cock. "I mean it." He says seriously. "You're the one I want, the only one. You're my everything, baby." He rubs his nose over the spot where your heart lies, letting out a long sigh. "Never change, okay? Never leave me." You feel his cock starting to soften inside you as you loop your arms around his neck, snuggling close.

"I won't, honey. You know I won't."

"Good... Because, I swear to God, I'd burn the world down if anyone tried to take you away."

Chapter Text

Bud pulls into the driveway, the low rumble of the car's engine cutting out as he shifts it into park. The heat of the evening wraps around him as he steps out onto the dry pavement, loosening his tie with one hand. The summer sun still hangs in the sky, casting a honey-gold glow over his little house on the outskirts of town; the kind of place where nothing ever really changes. It's quiet, predictable; just the way he likes it.

Normally, he would be greeted by the hum of a radio in the background, the aroma of something simmering on the stove and a glimpse of you — his loving spouse — moving around the living room, dusting, tidying, making sure everything is in its place. Today, it's different.

The house is oppressively quiet when he steps inside. No clang of dishes, no little spritzes of window-cleaner, no gentle humming. The sitting room is neat; not a single pillow out of place nor the slightest film of dust on any tabletop. Dinner, it seems, has already been prepared; vegetables chopped and meat marinating, the table neatly laid, waiting for plates and glinting glass in the soft light of late afternoon.

Bud frowns slightly, kicking off his shoes and socks and peeling off his jacket, laying it over the back of a chair.

"Baby? Where've you got to?" He calls out, his voice carrying through the house. No answer. He walks further in, glancing down the hallway, checking the bedroom. The bed is untouched, the curtains barely stirring in the soft breeze. His brow furrows. Where the Hell are you?

It's only when he steps into the kitchen, glancing out the backdoor, that he sees you. And his mind stutters to a stop. The sight before him is so unexpected, so entirely unlike you, that for a moment he's convinced he's imagining it; sunstroke finally getting to him after a long day's work.

You're laid out on a picnic blanket in the middle of the backyard. The wireless radio crackles softly beside you, playing something orchestral, the kind of elegant, swirling classical music that belongs in some grand ballroom, not here, not in this quiet, little suburban backyard.

And you... You're completely naked. Completely, gloriously, shamelessly nude.

His eyes trace along the languid rise and fall of your chest, the slow shift of your breath as you bask in the sunlight. Slick skin glistens from the sheen of sweat, of glistening suntan lotion, as every stretch of skin catches the light in an almost ethereal veneer.

His pulse kicks up. Something in his gut tightens in a spurt of reaction as he takes the sight of you like this; thoroughly indulgent with your own pleasure. It disarms him somehow. It provokes him further. Bud's never seen you like this before. Never known you to do such a thing previously.

He swallows in a dry throat, watching as he moves to grip the doorframe with white-knuckled force, his gaze tracing the relaxed line of your limbs, the soft twitch of fingers as if in a dream. Sleeping? The sunglasses perched on your nose obscure your eyes so he can't tell. He shifts, feels the weight of the day settle heavier against his skin. He really ought to call your name, wake you, ask you what brought this on. But instead, he lingers there in the doorway, watching and wanting and wondering.

Because all of a sudden, coming home to a tidy house and a prepared meal just isn't the most interesting thing about today. Not by a long shot.

Blinking rapidly, he steps outside, closing the backdoor quietly behind him. His dress shoes are soft on the grass as he moves closer and closer to the picnic blanket, his eyes roving over your naked body appreciatively. Classical music floats lazily through the air, mingling with the distant chirping of birds. Your skin glitters in the sun as you lazily roll over onto your front, cushioning your head with your arms, your rear — blessedly soft and round — jiggling slightly as you settle.

He's seen your body a thousand times before — you've been married for how long now, for crying out loud? — but somehow, in the sunlight, completely relaxed and naked, it's like seeing a stranger. You look frankly gorgeous; little moles and freckles dotting your shoulder blades like constellations, your skin creamy and silky-soft. "Jesus Christ..." He mutters, unbuttoning his shirt collar. From this angle, he can see just about everything; your chest pressed against the blanket, the curve of your hips, the way your thighs spread just enough to hint at what lies between them. He can't tear his eyes away, blood rushing south as he drinks in your peaceful, sun-kissed form.

Finally, he reaches out a hand, hesitating for a moment, before gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. You stir slightly.

"... Mm...?" You murmur and he leans down, lips brushing your temple.

"Baby..."

"... Bud...?" Slowly, your eyes open, looking up at him with dazed, sleepy eyes, from behind your sunglasses. For a moment, you just stare at him, not fully awake.

"Hey, sleepyhead." He says quietly and you suddenly remember where you were when you fell asleep. You shake the haze of sleep from your head and sit up, crossing your legs and hiding your chest with your hands.

"L-Listen, I can explain!" You stammer, your cheeks turning pink. He raises an eyebrow.

"Explain what? Why you're naked in our backyard? Or that you look like a damn wet dream, spread out on that blanket?" His voice is lower than he intended and your face flushes a bright shade of red.

"I-I finished in the house and...it was such a nice day and... I just figured I...deserved a bit of a break, you know?" You manage finally.

"So you decided to sunbathe just...completely naked?"

"Y-Yeah... Like I said, it seemed like a nice day..."

"It is a nice day." He agrees. "Too nice for you to be hiding away inside." He reaches out and gently pulls your hands away from your chest. "God, you're gorgeous, you know that?"

"You're not...angry?"

"Why would I be angry?" He smiles and completely pulls off his tie. "You're just enjoying the sun. It's not like you went into town to pick up the dry-cleaning like this." He pauses for a moment, a sly grin curving at his lips. "Though God knows you have the body for it." You run a hand through your hair and look away, a shy smile quirking the corners of your mouth.

"Now you're just being silly..." You murmur.

"I'm just being honest. I've always known you were gorgeous, hon, but, seeing you like this? It's something else... Can I join you?" He asks and you nod, moving over a little.

"Y-Yeah, sure." At that, Bud straightens and slowly unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off and dropping it to the floor, before he starts working on his belt. Once unbuckled, he pulls it from its loops and drops it beside his shirt, pushing his slacks down over his hips. He steps out of them, leaving him in nothing but his briefs, which strain slightly against his erection. "Are you...gonna take those off too?" You ask and he nods.

"Mhmm." Hooking his thumbs into the waistband, he slowly pulls them down and lets them pool around his ankles before stepping out of them. It feels so freeing; the sun on his bare skin, the warm breeze rustling the leaves. He looks perfect too; wide hips, thick thighs, soft paunch and his cock hanging heavy. You unconsciously wet your lips, taking in the sight of your wonderful husband put on display, as nature intended. He steps closer to the blanket and you get up onto your knees, shuffling forward and sliding your sunglasses up to the top of your head, eying up the way his erection throbs under your attention.

Reaching up, you slide your hands along his thighs until you wrap your fingers around his cock, giving it a light squeeze. He sucks in a breath as his hands ball into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to thread his fingers into your hair and pull you onto him. "Damn..."

"You got this hard just from looking at me?" You ask coyly and he chuckles, the slightest hint of blush decorating his cheeks as he looks away.

"Baby, you could make me hard just reading out the Goddamn yellow pages." He mutters, groaning softly as one of your hands slide down to cup his sac. "It's like you're designed to make a man crazy."

"Well, you're the only man who's allowed to see me like this." You assure him before leaning forward and running your tongue over the head of his cock. His knees almost buckle as you do and he watches, transfixed, as you open your mouth and take him in. Sighing heavily, he slides his fingers through your warm locks, gently guiding your head as you suck him. You bob your head nice and slow while rubbing and squeezing his balls, occasionally looking up at him through your lashes.

"Shit..." He whispers, watching your mouth move up and down the shaft of his cock. The sight of your lips stretched around him, combined with the way you're playing with his sac, is driving him wild. "Ohh, baby..."

"Mhmm...?" You hum, still bobbing your head, closing your eyes as you savour the taste of him.

"You keep doing that and I'm not gonna last." He huffs and you pull away, collapsing back onto the blanket, lifting your hands to tug and pinch lightly at your nipples, as you present yourself to him.

"You wanna finish on me?" You ask sweetly and he nods, practically drooling at the sight of you laid out for him.

"Mhmm. All over you."

"Do it..." So he stands over you, his broad frame casting a shadow over your sun-kissed skin. He wraps a hand around his cock, pumping with a tight fist, drawing the foreskin up and down over the crown with every pull.

"God, you look so beautiful down there." He groans as one of your hands slips down between your thighs, the skin already wet with slick.

"I never figured I was that much to look at." You sigh and he chuckles breathlessly as he watches you play with yourself.

"Baby, there goes that mouth of yours, always saying crazy shit. You're a masterpiece." You bite your bottom lip and spread yourself open for him, massaging the hood of your clit with your fingers.

"Mmmnn... You're so sweet..." You purr and the sight of you touching yourself pushes him over the edge. He reaches his peak, hot cum landing in white streaks across your body; on your chest, your stomach, your thighs. There's something so satisfying and primal about it, naked in the backyard, marking you like an animal. And you watch him do it, occasionally rubbing it into your skin, making it glisten.

"Goddamn..." He runs his free hand along the soft plane of his stomach, a few more spurts decorating your skin, as you gaze up at him adoringly. "You look like you're being baptised." He breathes. "Turn over." And you do, turning onto your stomach and displaying your soft, round backside to him. Kneeling behind you, he runs his hand over one cheek, leaving sticky smears of cum across the skin. "Sweet Jesus, you're a work of art. You wanna ride?"

"Yes, please..."

Bud lays back on the blanket and you move to straddle him, rubbing yourself against his half-mast cock. Your skin glitters in the sun as it begins to set and his hands find your waist, encouraging you to find a rhythm, as you work him back to full hardness. Pressing your hands to his chest, you push him down onto the blanket, leaning over him and covering his lips with your own, still grinding down against him. When you pull away, you nuzzle your nose against his with a sweet smile. "Love you, honey."

"Love you too, baby. More than anything." And, with a happy sound, you lift your hips and slide down onto his cock, gasping as he fills you up perfectly.

"O-Oohhh..."

"Ohh, yeah..." His breath catches as he wraps his arms tight around your waist, his hips bucking slightly as he meets the downward thrusts of your rhythm. You ride him at a decent pace, lifting yourself up and propping your hands on his stomach as you grind down against him, the light of the setting sun beating across your shoulders.

"Honey..." The pet name falls from your lips and his hands massage your hips, helping to guide your movements.

"Ride me, baby..." He sighs, running a hand up your belly, spreading the mix of cum and sweat across your skin. "You're taking it so good... Just like that..." His breaths grow louder, heavier, and you sigh, your eyes falling shut as you bounce in his lap, revelling in the slight breeze that brushes your skin and the warmth of the sun on your bare body. He sits up, one hand moving to your clit, pressing and circling, as he matches your pace. "You gonna cum with me, sweetheart?" He asks before pulling one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tight peak. Your fingers run through his salt-and-pepper hair, pulling it out of its perfectly styled state from work.

"Y-Yeah, if you keep...touching me like that..."

"Look at me, baby." Your eyes flutter open, slowly rolling forward as you look at him lovingly.

"Mhmm...?"

"You're so pretty like this." His voice breaks slightly at the sight of you riding him, covered in his cum and sweaty from love-making. "Gonna fill you up, baby..."

"Fill me up...?"

"Mhm. All the way. You gonna take it all, sweetheart?" He pants, face flushed, looking up at you like some kind of sun deity who dropped out of the stars just for him. You nuzzle your face against his neck, taking in the musky scent of his cologne and the sweat beading on his skin.

"Yeah..."

Suddenly, his hips buck up hard, reaching that spot inside you that makes you see stars. He holds you there, arms wrapped tight around you as he pumps his hips. You toss your head back, your body milking him for all he has as he presses up against your sweet spot with sharp, shallow thrusts. "O-Ohhh, my God, honey..." You mewl and he groans lowly as he feels you clench down around him, gripping your hips almost painfully, spurting pulse after pulse inside you. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, panting and moaning, as he holds his end of the promise and pumps his load deep inside you. "Hahh... H-Hahh... Mmmnn..."

Bud collapses back onto the blanket as he tries to catch his breath. He's completely spent, his cock still throbbing inside you as the last few shots leave him. He pulls you down against him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his heart racing against your own.

"Love you..." He huffs and you laugh softly, laying on top of him.

"Mm... Love you too, honey..." He runs his hands up and down your back soothingly, fingers tracing patterns across your skin.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, never better... You?" You pull your head back to smile at him tiredly.

"Me? I'm amazing."