another one SO THIRSTY for size kink #2
Part I here
Words: 1290 ~ Warnings: P in V sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, FEELINGS
Pairing: Pero x fem! reader
***********
The Spaniard looks at you as if he cannot quite believe the words that passed your lips. “You mean this, gatita?”
You nod, breathlessly.
“After dark,” he murmurs, and he is impossibly close. His scent, polished leather, lemon oil, and the musky smell of clean sweat, surrounds you. “I will come to you, si? By the tree of sorrow.”
The weeping willow. Pero likely didn’t know the English. You nod. “By the tree. When the moon is up.”
He strokes his thumb along your lower lip. The rough caress of his callused skin sets your nerves alight. You poke your tongue out, a little tasting his skin, salty, warm.
He bites back a curse. “Until then.”
And then he’s gone in a few heavy footsteps, just the memory of his touch remaining. You smooth your index finger over your lip, and wonder how he will feel inside you.
******
The moon hangs heavy and fat in the sky, a near perfect circle, when you slip out of the straw bed you share with Cara.
“Oi,” she whispers, her eyes still closed. “Where you going?”
“Chamber pot.”
“No you ain’t. Going for a poke are you?”
You scoff, although you love her. “Don’t tell on me.”
“Go get him,” Cara mutters and turns over, pulling your side of the thick blanket more fully on to her own body.
You kiss her forehead and open the door very carefully. For once, God - or the Devil, considering your destination - is on your side and it doesn’t creak.
Pero is silhouetted in the moonlight; his expression hidden by the draping branches of the willow tree. Its leaves sway gently in the night breeze, framing him, like a hero in a myth.
But you know better than to believe in bedtime stories. The man kissed by moonlight is no more than flesh and blood, and no less than you want.
You reach him and he holds out his hand. His palm is so large as he folds his fingers around your own.
“Bonita,” he whispers.
“What is that?”
“Pretty.”
You feel heat creep up your face. You’ve been called a lot of things; not usually pretty. You tug his hand. “Come on.”
“Impatient?” he teases. “I like this.”
You grin back at him.
Like children you scamper down to the copse, led by the glow of the moon, gazing down upon you like a blessing or a complicit friend.
Without warning, Pero scoops you up and carries you, and you squeal, slapping your hand over your mouth so you won’t be heard.
“Never been carried like a lady,” you whisper into his neck. His thick stubble tickles your lips and it’s wonderful.
“Then it is past time for this, no?”
That he can look past your dry hair and chapped hands and plain figure and see a lady, warms your heart.
He lays you down in the circle of trees and you tense at the feeling of - a pile of blankets?
“Pretty sure most soldiers don’t supply this treatment,” you smile.
“Perhaps I want to be invited back, gatita.”
“By me?”
“Who else?”
He braces himself over you, and he is so big; so wonderfully broad. You lift your hands and smooth them over his wide shoulders. He feels warm and firm under the tunic and your tummy flips; your lower body pulling with desire; every nerve winding up tight.
You expect him to begin, then, but instead, he kisses you.
Just the brush of his lips over your own to begin with, teasing, light, and then as you tug at his hair and pull him closer, he uses his tongue and teeth, and you open for him. He licks into your mouth, and each stroke of his tongue in that parody of the most intimate act makes you wetter.
“You have done this before, no, bonita?” Pero asks against your lips.
You nod.
“Very well,” he says, moving to kiss your neck, and you are relieved beyond words that he wasn’t expecting an untouched maiden. That isn’t the kind of life you live, you are hardly a gentle noblewoman in a high tower.
You clutch at him as he makes his way down your body, uncovering you one slow inch at a time. Fireflies dance in the long grass between the trees. Your toes curl as he latches on to a nipple, and you clench one hand in his soft, worn dark tunic.
“Little kitten,” he murmurs against your damp flesh. “So perfectly formed.”
You thrill to his touch as he continues to undress you slowly by the light of the moon. You touch him your fair share, too, his hair, his shoulders, feeling under his tunic to trace the fierce scars on his back.
When he finally, finally spreads your legs and slides between them, his mouth biting gently at your inner thigh, you could scream from the need for him.
“This is what you want, no?”
“Yes,” you breathe.
His large hands settle on your hips and he begins to feast on you like a man starved.
When you come, you buck into his mouth and you bite your own hand to keep from crying out.
When you float back into your own body, he is braced over you, rubbing the blunt head of his heavy cock through your wetness, and your muscles clench; the want spirals all over again.
“Pero.”
“I’m here, cielo.”
You don’t ask what the new word is. You want him too much for that. You wrap your legs around his broad, firm hips, and dig your feet into his ass. He feels big, and you wonder if you can take him.
He pushes gently into you, letting his forehead drop against yours. The scar over his left eye is bathed in moonlight, curved in sharp relief against his golden skin, and you lift a hand and stroke it gently.
“Beautiful,” you murmur.
“That is my line, is it not?”
“Men can be beautiful.”
He pushes in a little further. The stretch is bittersweet - velvet fire.
“Good?”
“Very good.”
You clench your muscles and he breathes raggedly.
You’ve never had this much power over a man before. You do it again.
“Wretch,” he rasps, but it’s teasing; loving. He moves, then, just a little, and licks of pleasure flit up your nerve endings.
“Again.”
And he complies, over and over, and you clutch him to you as he makes love to you under the watchful kiss of moonlight.
After, you sprawl across him. His torso is littered with scars and so firm and broad that you can use him as a bed.
“Sleep, gatita,” he whispers into your hair. And so you do.
*******
The Spaniard stays.
He stays to make love to you by moonlight - sometimes in the copse, sometimes in a secluded corner of the barracks storeroom, when all others are out on a hunt. One memorable time in the kitchen before dawn, when he drizzled honey over you and oh, so slowly, licked it off.
He stays and ends up semi-adopting the kittens from the barn cat. They trail around after him. His fellow soldier, William, the Irishman, mocks him mercilessly. Pero can often be seen carrying the runt of the litter around in a little pocket you fashion for him, attached to his leathers.
Anyone who questions this receives a death glare in return.
He stays to train new soldiers.
But most of all, he stays because he has won your heart, and because you hold his in your hands.
********
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and people who interacted with pt 1: @wildchild1964 @djarinsidebitch @quacksity @its-forevermore @itstheanxietyforme @sirarthurconanchristie @savingreading @someplace-darker @chasingdreamer @javierian @ellenmunn @theamuz @meshlamando androgynousclambonklawyer ew-erin dragcn-queen bonnieonhisside @chook007 @oh-kittykat @goldenholland mudhorn-djarin19 hyacinthsatdawn fulltimefangirl111 killerduckzilla jennajackflash querido-pascal stardust-danvers @codenamewife @kesskirata raindancejodi captainreyloswan iampearlteacup @bonktime
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