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impossiblescissorspeachpaper · 2 years

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Seven Hundred & Sixty-One Days (Part 4)

Previous chapter linked here.

Azriel POV. 1.7k words. Language.

Azriel brooded at his usual post within Rhys’ study. Standing sentry at the wide window behind the desk that overlooked the vast gardens of the estate below.

He hadn’t listened to a single word that had been uttered during the meeting. Eris, Beron, Kochei, the remaining Queens. It had all been discussed to exhaustion. And if there was ever any actual news to impart, he would be the one doing so. But he had not learnt of anything new these past weeks. His charges coming up empty, still unable to infiltrate Kochei’s domain across the sea on the continent. Lucien didn’t even have any new information to report from his time in the human realm. The conversation between the members of the Night Court churned, around and around, recycled and dissected and agonised over with no new outcome.

So, he stood and watched, swarmed in shadow at the window. His silence was not all that surprising. His family well and truly accustomed to him not speaking unnecessarily. He never felt the need to mindlessly fill in silence with pointless chatter. His sour mood could easily be misinterpreted for his usual stoic stance. His cold mask resolutely in place. But beneath it all he burned.

He stood at the window and watched her. Watched as she pottered around the gardens, diligently working. Pruning bushes, gathering the fallen branches and bundling them in twine and adding them to a growing pile at the foot of the ornamental rose garden, ready for mulching.

She usually looked at peace when she worked amongst her flowers. Her face often set in an expression of serene tranquillity. Completely at ease and content. But today, even from where he watched on the second floor of the manor, he could sense her agitation.

Her shoulders were bunched around her ears with tension. Her brow was set in an uncharacteristic scowl. She was snipping branches with more ferocity and malice than he had ever seen Elain wield toward anything. He had even witnessed her throw her pruning shears across the yard earlier, stamping her foot in frustration at something. He wondered what it could be…

“What’s eating you?”

Cassian’s voice broke through his reverie, and he turned from his post at the window to look at him. The study had since emptied at the close of the meeting. He hadn’t noticed. He huffed, some Spymaster. It seemed he was failing at everything lately.

“Nothing.” His voice sounded clipped even in his own ears, and he knew his shadows still swirled angrily around him.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, piercing him with a look that said he knew he was talking shit.

“You haven’t been training in the mornings.” With him. And Rhys.

“I’ve been heading to the training pit at night.”

Cassian considered him. Hazel eyes raking across his face, noting the purple smudges beneath his eyes, the sallow skin, the hint of exhaustion that seemed to constantly haunt him these days. “And when do you sleep, brother?”

Most didn’t give Cassian enough credit. Although many things could fly over his head, he had a keen awareness of his brothers, their wellbeing, their moods. He may not know what grievances ate away at their souls, he just knew when to prod and poke, and when to leave matters be.

“I could ask the same of you,” Az retorted pointedly. For Azriel could hear those nightly trysts with Nesta. The bumps and moans from down the hall in the House only spurred him to give up on his futile attempts at sleep and dredge his way to the training pit in the dead of night. And although he didn’t begrudge his brother his happiness, he couldn’t help the greasy weight of jealousy settling in his gut at the thought of yet another of his brothers finding his salvation in the arms of an Archeron woman.

“Don’t deflect,” Cassian pointed a thick finger in his face, his brow creasing with concern. “Az, I know something is up with you. You stood at that window during that entire discussion and didn’t utter a word. And unless you’ve suddenly become very interested in rose-bush care I don’t see why poor Ellie has to endure your death-stares.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed, widening in alarm, the only sign he let slip that he had been caught off guard before schooling his features again. “I was not giving Elain death stares.”

“Well, something out there sure caught your attention.”

Azriel’s fists clenched at his side. “I was not staring at Elain,” he grumbled.

Cassian’s head cocked to the side as he took in his brothers’ reaction, weighing up its meaning, the cogs in his brain working, attempting to draw some sort of reasonable conclusion.

Finally, Cassian’s face softened, and he breathed, “Az… Ellie?”

Azriel didn’t know how he had come to that deduction, what inferences he had drawn, but he was not going to admit anything. His scowl deepened, shadows quivering around his shoulders, across his wings, in his agitation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled.

Cassian gave him one of his infuriating smirks, one that brandished too many teeth and usually lead to trouble. “Oh brother, you’ve got it bad. How long has this been going on?”

Az ran an agitated hand through his hair, tousling up the ends and he turned a maniacal gaze on his brother, “Nothing is going on. It can’t. Cassian—“

Cassian excitedly cut him off, “What do you mean? This is great! Az, it’s so obvious now that—“

Azriel’s skin was too hot. He felt a swell of fury mounting within him, as hot and calamitous as a mountain spewing lava. And try as he might in that moment, laid bare before Cassian, there was nothing he could do to douse it. He exploded, shadows erupting from him in every direction like vipers springing at their prey.

“SHE HAS A MATE!” Azriel bellowed, eyes wild, his breathing coming in deep gasps, unable to continue denying what was boiling beneath his skin in the presence of his brother.

Cassian froze, staring wide-eyed at Azriel’s rare outburst, the thought that this may not be a welcomed epiphany finally sinking.

“She has a fucking mate. From the Autumn Court… She has a fucking mate, and it’s not…”

He couldn’t say the last word. He couldn’t. He grasped the ends of his hair, pulling at the dark locks hysterically, pacing across the wooden floorboards behind the desk like a caged beast, his nerves unravelling faster than he thought possible with the vulnerability that had finally cracked his stoic façade and seeped to the surface in the presence of Cassian’s relentless inquisitiveness.

“She has a fucking mate and every day I curse that fucking Cauldron that it didn’t choose me.” His voice fractured on the last word. Azriel had ceased his pacing, turning to his brother and revealed every crack, every fissure, every single dark thought bubble to the surface and let it flow out of his every pore. Exposing every vulnerability, airing his every insecurity to the General.

Cassian swallowed thickly, approaching Azriel like a tamer coaxing a wild animal. “It doesn’t matter what the Cauldron chooses, Az. You know this. It matters what she chooses. What you choose.”

Azriel, finally feeling the crushing weight of his outburst, the feelings he let erupt to the surface, flopped heavily onto the couch. His elbows pressed into his knees as he leaned forwards, his head buried in his hands. His scarred fingers still pulled at the roots of his inky hair.

“It doesn’t matter what I choose.” He uttered those words so softly he didn’t think Cassian had heard him.

He felt the dip of the couch cushion as Cassian sat beside him, a large palm squeezing him on the shoulder in comfort. “Have you told Ellie how you feel?”

Azriel blinked. He’d thought it was obvious. Did he have to explicitly tell her?

After his actions the Solstice before last, when he’d gifted her that necklace made specifically for her, he’d thought it was obvious. It had taken weeks for the jeweller to get it just right, the small, unassuming charm that hung from the fine chain. Its true beauty only evident if you knew where to look. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. Just like his feelings for Elain.

When he’d put it around her neck, and touched her the way he did, his body’s reaction saying what his voice couldn’t.

He hadn’t gifted any other females jewellery for Solstice. He hadn’t fantasized about any other females in the dead of night when even his shadows had fallen silent. He hadn’t so much as even looked at another female with interest since the sisters had been turned and brought to Velaris. Wasn’t it obvious?

But then… he had told her it was a mistake. She had been so open, and warm and soft in his arms. And ready, Mother help him he could still smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal. But he had pulled away, without so much as an explanation. He knew she deserved an apology. Knew he had hurt her. But how could he possibly explain this whole mess to her? Rhys’ order, the tenuous political implications. When really, it should never have been this complicated… And she herself hadn’t really dealt with her Cauldron-gifted bond. Everyone could see she had no interest in Lucien. But… Perhaps he was just a moment of weakness for her. Maybe he was just a distraction, perhaps Lucien really was what she needed. What she wanted. Perhaps she didn’t feel about him as he did her. Perhaps she had since changed her mind after that night on Solstice. No longer thought of him, wanted him. Like he wanted her…

The thoughts beat on his mind, over and over and over. Spiralling into a dark abyss of self-loathing and destructive thoughts.

“I know that look you bastard. Just talk to her,” Cassian continued when he hadn’t said anything in a long while. There was pity in Cassian’s expression. He couldn’t stand it.

“There’s no point. It doesn’t matter,” he growled, before uncoiling abruptly from the couch and stalking to the door, flinging it open. He needed to get out. Away from Cassian’s pitying stare, away from the suffocating weight of Rhys’ order.

Just, away.

*******

tagging: @the-laughing-bubble @mis-lil-red

#elriel fanfiction #t writes #writing #azriel #elain archeron #elriel #761days #azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel #elain #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elriel fic #azriel x elain #angst

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blue-mood-blue · 3 years

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Juno’s vision fizzes out right around where the man’s face should be.

He rubs his eye. The interference doesn’t go anywhere, and he sighs. He’s already tired - always is, lately - but this, at least, is not on him. Will the wonders of modern technology never end, he thinks, and there’s a ping at the back of his head of what is probably admonishment. I’m right, he thinks back, stubborn.

The man sits down at his table. Juno leans back; the shadow already obscures his features, but something about not seeing the expression on the face of his unexpected guest makes Juno want to sink farther into the darkness. He doesn’t like being looked at - call it paranoia, call it being shy, whatever. When you have one person in the world - another ping at the back of his head - one and a half people in the world, being generous, most people’s attention loses its appeal.

Juno waits. He doesn’t talk much, anymore. His voice is... uniquely recognizable.

The man is probably smiling; his tone sounds teasing, and that’s about all Juno can glean from the unnaturally stilted sound. Audio distortion, too - whoever this is, the chip in Juno’s neck is throwing a blanket over Juno’s head in an outdated and unneeded attempt at protection. He would get angry, or suspicious, or march over to his partner in crime with a scalpel and demand it out of him, damn the consequences... but he knows the feeling of that shadow in his head, now. The chip doesn’t know why this is happening.

“Do I have the good fortune of speaking to one of the pair people are calling ‘the new Buddy and Vespa’?” The man is tall and skinny, and folds himself into the seat across from Juno like it was left out for him. Juno feels one of his fists clench and hopes the scowl isn’t clear on his face, visible or otherwise.

He’d like to correct the man; he’s not trying to be anyone else. Juno doesn’t speak. His voice would be a dead giveaway.

“Not much for conversation, hm? That’s fine. We don’t have much to talk about.” The man leans closer. Juno guesses that the look directed at him now is one of quiet intimidation; he can’t say, since the features are blurring out like static on an ancient television screen. “You’re here for the Maxine Rutherford job. I’m here to tell you to drop it.”

Juno tenses, and the thief - because that’s what he must be, if he’s here to talk another thief out of a job - must pick up on it, because he chuckles. “It’s a big ask, I’m aware. There’s a pretty penny to be had - that experimental technology is worth an incredible amount of money on its own, and that’s not even touching what might be gained from selling her out to a competitor.” There’s something in the way the thief is sitting, the set of his shoulders - or maybe it’s just the chip in Juno’s neck, setting off urgent warning signals. This is a threat. “But I need you to understand something. Maxine Rutherford is mine. And you do not want to be in my way when I get to her.”

Juno pushes the panic button in his head, the one that will bring Jet running. And he’ll need to run, because Juno’s about to do something incredibly stupid.

“Not if I get to her first,” Juno says in two voices. The thief is still, and if he’s afraid, Juno doesn’t blame him. He remembers the way he felt, the first time he heard the Theia layered under his words.

~~~

The detour wasn’t part of Buddy Aurinko’s plan. Even calling it “on the way” would have been generous; the Carte Blanche should have passed it like it had a hundred other space stations, and it would have. It would have, except for the seven names Rita had been listening for ever since she left Hyperion.

“It doesn’t hafta mean anything,” she’d told Juno, holding her tablet to her chest and looking nervous. He remembers thinking it wasn’t her usual kind of nervous, with fretful energy and too much talking - she’d been holding onto the tablet like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. “Maybe it’s not even the same person, but. But I was doin’ some listening, you know, and a name came up, and.” Juno remembers thinking she looked almost sick, saying it out loud. “One of those names. And the soul.”

Juno doesn’t know what he thought he could do about it. He’d wanted to try, and when he and Rita went to Buddy, when he’d forced the bones of what happened in Hyperion from his throat and onto the kitchen table during a family meeting... they’d all wanted to try. Maybe that had been his mistake, Juno considers. He could have been quiet. He could have let it go.

It started with an infiltration. The Dogstar Space Station was small, relatively, but it was still the size of two major cities; finding Maxine Rutherford in the crowd would take some looking, with or without Rita’s ‘listening.’ Juno and Jet would go first, bumbling tourists who might, if they were lucky, stumble across a newly-acquired lab space. The idea was to uncover everything they could - location, security systems, layout, plans - and then get back to the ship to decide a next step. Juno packed for a short surface stay. He pulled the last Theia soul from where he’d stowed away in the back of a drawer and, after a long moment and with no clear reason, put it in his pocket. He squeezed Rita and whispered in her ear that he’d be okay when she had a hard time letting go. He kissed Nureyev and promised to call. He walked away and he didn’t look back.

Twenty-four hours later, the siege started.

That’s what the reporters on the hotel’s screen called it, while Juno and Jet sat on the edge of the couch and watched everything change. Some kind of hostile takeover, a grab for power or property or... something. The reporters didn’t know, and if the way they looked off-camera during their reports was any hint, there wouldn’t be time to find out.

If there are gaps in his memory after that, Juno thinks it can only be that he doesn’t want to remember. There’s him, running behind Jet through streets that are eerily quiet and terrifyingly loud by turns. Hiding, and running, and hiding - the thought that it’s a good goddamn chance Jet seems to know where he’s going because Juno is already lost, the shouting of soldiers behind them, the emblem on a ship Juno spends just a little too long looking at because something is wrong. The two of them finding a back entrance to the docks, using the chaos to cover them. The... wreck.

Juno will never forget the wreck.

They must have hit the docks first, is his first thought. It’s the last semblance of reason over the high, keening sound that’s enveloping the rest of his brain - they must have hit the docks first so no one could get out, they must have destroyed every waiting ship to keep the people of the Dogstar Space Station right where they were, because there is nothing but wreckage and broken parts.

Juno might have screamed. It might have been Jet. It might have been someone else, any voice out of hundreds speaking for all of them: loss, despair, desperation. It didn’t matter; the damage was done, and they were alone.

Jet held his hand. Weeks, months - however long they survived on the Dogstar after that, it was with Jet holding his hand and Juno clinging back. There were names they didn’t say for a long, long time but they held onto each other while the soldiers-who-weren’t-soldiers rounded up stragglers and led them to the government facilities that didn’t belong to any government Juno had ever heard of. They were lucky enough to have each other, but it didn’t feel like luck; it felt like borrowed time.

(He said he would call, and he did. He called, once, and he didn’t know what he expected - but he got no answer, and if he dropped his communicator the next time they ran, well, who was going to miss him?)

“I get it, if you hate me,” Juno said into the dark of the shelter they’d found, a hidden nook between big, steel beams of a bridge. “For her. For all of them.”

“I do not hate you, Juno.”

He didn’t know if that felt better or worse. “You should. You’re the only one left to feel anything about it, and they deserve -” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to; Jet knew already.

A relapse, Juno will call it later. Healing is not linear, not when the wounds are torn back open every other day or so, and these things happen. Sometimes there’s a stumbling block on the way to better. And Jet will look at him, ask him if he’s any closer now, and Juno will tell him “a day closer than yesterday.” Jet will nod, because that’s all Jet ever asks of him.

Survival became an exhausting thing. When Juno knew the streets of a couple of districts of Dogstar like the back of his hand, he felt like a rat in a maze, nudged back and forth along pre-determined paths by uniformed sentries and reinforced vehicles. Jet had the kind of patience a person worked for, and Juno could see him clinging to the shreds of it; just shreds, because the hope of patching it back into a serene whole was less likely with every hole the two of them were flushed out of. It had always been only a matter of time before they stood outside of the lab doors and asked each other if they were going to do what they came here for.

Maxine Rutherford was on Dogstar. Maxine had been on Dogstar a long time, plenty long enough to set down roots for a research facility and collect a space station’s worth of subjects by force. If it looked like anything else from the outside, well, that was just a pretty face to convince everyone else that it wasn’t their problem and it wasn’t worth getting involved. The first news reports were of a siege, and that was the last outgoing message anyone received; by the time the theory fell apart, communication outside was an impossibility.

The reality was that Dogstar was a testing ground. Maxine had the Theia, and she had plans.

Juno and Jet became her personal annoyance. And it felt good, for a while; Juno felt alive, Jet laughed sometimes, and at last there was a purpose in being the ones left behind beyond dumb luck and timing. It felt good like another hit felt good, like dodging blaster fire close enough to feel the heat of it on your face felt good, and they would take what they could fucking get. There wasn’t anything else.

(They needed something, in that hell of a prison they were trapped in, with no guarantee that the people they saw were people the way they used to be. The reports they stole were horrifying and complex, and Juno was as frustrated as he was relieved he couldn’t parse the science of it. Bioengineering, maybe, or technology taught to behave like biology - a machine fed raw materials that grew them into circuitry, twisting and growing like roots into a person, along muscles and bones and into the brain and good luck, Hanataba, coming up with instructions to rid a person of an infestation that deep. Juno put down the reports. He pulled out his own Theia, considered crushing it under his foot - looked at the way Jet looked at it and knew he would understand if Juno gave in to that little violence - and then put it away. He talked about close escapes and running guards, and Jet laughed, and who cared if they were running along a cliff’s edge because they needed something.)

A relapse, Juno will call it later. An instinct he thought he’d put away, dragged back out of him into daylight. In hindsight, he could even see it coming.

Maxine had gotten sick of them, clearly; her guards were better armed every time Juno and Jet went in, and the escapes were getting closer. The thought of can we afford to do this anymore had been pushed back by well, what else are we going to do and it was a compelling argument, especially to a couple of people carrying their grief along with them everywhere.

It only took a second. Out of the corner of his eye, Juno saw it: one of the guards unclipping something from his belt. There was just enough time to think he wouldn’t, he’s too close, he’d get caught in the blast, just enough time to see the look in his eye and think if he has the Theia and he thinks this is for the greater good, he would. Just enough time to push Jet forward and press the button for the door.

Jet has to tell him what happened next, and he does, eventually - by stops and starts, in pieces, and it’s the way he tells the story that tells Juno how much it hurt. When Jet opened the door, Juno was... broken. He may have been dead already; Jet didn’t stop to check. He scooped him up like a doll and carried him away, deeper into the lab until he found a room with a reclining chair and a looming machine hanging over it.

Here, he always pauses. “I could not be alone, Juno,” he explains. “I could not lose you too, after everyone else. I could not.”

There were instructions. He needed a Theia and he had one, fished out of Juno’s pocket. He didn’t know if he was making the right decision, so he held his emotions at arms’ length, leaned into his work with the quiet, steady determination required of him in a dusty clinic hidden beneath Mars’ surface, and he knit Juno back together again with filaments of woven metal.

(So much later that it feels like a different life, Juno gets to see it. The scanner picks up the roots that wrap around him, concentrated on the back of his neck at the base of his skull. They’re in his muscles, his bones, around his brain. Tiny, delicate, firm, and Juno can trace the fault lines that would have killed him in their paths.)

Juno didn’t dream, he tells Jet later. When he woke up there was just a heaviness in his mind that he didn’t understand yet, the lab, and Jet standing next to him. When Jet looked down on him, he looked so angry that Juno was sure he was going to scream until he was hoarse - but Jet pulled him close and held him like he was something breakable.

“Never again,” he whispered, and he sounded so pained that Juno was already nodding into his shoulder, agreeing to whatever he said. “You will never do that again. You will not make that choice, for me or anyone else.”

They stayed away from the labs. Jet held his hand all the time while Juno remembered and relearned how to walk, how to move his body, how to deal with the heaviness of his mind. Every time he spoke, Jet squeezed his hand harder... and eventually, Juno just spoke less. He could hear it talking from his mouth. If he had more energy, that would have terrified him. But Juno had other things to be afraid of.

There was something else in his head. It didn’t speak; it could have, maybe - it had the last time it had been there, supplying him with information and rote instructions and orders. The Theia didn’t use words anymore, by choice or by limitation, and it’s presence was still inescapable.

Juno didn’t talk about it at first, the ideas and images that came from nowhere. They were tentative and reserved, and it was so unlike what he was used to that he was half-convinced it was all him and the disjointed feeling was just... the result of shoddily-repaired brain damage. That was a thought awful enough that it didn’t bear repeating to Jet, who already looked at Juno in the silence sometimes like he was asking himself how much he’d broken by trying to fix him. Juno shoved the whispers back into the shadows, and they went willingly; he never met resistance, and that convinced him he was right. His head didn’t work the way it used to, but nothing did; it was another adjustment while they picked their way over the ruined station.

And then he answered a question Jet hadn’t asked.

Juno stormed into his own mind. Jet saw the glaze of his eye, took him by the shoulders and called his name to coax him back out, but Juno was flooded by frantic, overlapping images of radio towers and the repair of something he didn’t know was still floating in his blood. For communication, the Theia said without words. For the kind of communication the chip knew better than spoken language - direct transmission.

Direct transmission.

It was the beginning of an idea. It was the only thing stopping Juno from doing something they’d all regret, ripping the chip back out and to hell with it.

Juno spent a lot of time in his own head after that. He poked, he prodded, he looked for traps. The Theia didn’t have anything to offer - the Theia didn’t have anything to hide. He was given the impression of a long, dark quiet, a nothing; even disconnected and not operating, something in the chip had... stayed awake. Being where it was now felt like a second chance.

There are a lot of other people I’d rather give second chances to, Juno snapped out bitterly, silently. The chip already knew. Hard to keep secrets in his own head.

Juno pushed farther. He pushed out, and sometimes Jet turned to look at him, a strange expression on his face. Sometimes, a radio hissed and whined with feedback, or a screen popped and shuddered, or he and Jet stopped walking when Juno’s view was suddenly too high. Whatever Juno’s head was doing, it didn’t work like it had before - where that invasion used to operate something like a two-way knife, now it was a battering ram, ungraceful and swinging wildly. The repair the machine and the chip had attempted in tandem was a miserable patch job at best, dangerous at worst, and Juno pushed anyway. Jet asked him about it once, and Juno let him into his head instead of answering, invited him right in to see the mess of complicated feelings and uncertainty. Jet reached for his hand.

Every day, Juno found something new. It was the worst kind of game, running up against walls: a new rat maze that he was running mostly alone, but never really alone because he was never really alone anymore. He stuttered like anything over Rita’s name, out loud and to himself. The chip caught stray transmissions and placed them right in Juno’s head, a disorienting mix of updates from the lab and tentative calls from survivors. Some memories took a long time to recall, and some weren’t his. And he ached, he ached with every step while his body healed around him.

They walked. They hid. They planned. And when they reached the dock’s communication hub, Juno leaned his forehead against a transmission tower, exhausted all the way through, and gave everything to one last attempt.

(“Symbiosis,” he says later, so much later in a different life and a different world, the kind of life that has room for beds and money for transport to other places; the kind of life that calls them thieves instead of survivors. Jet looks over at him with a raised eyebrow; if that word in two voices upsets him, he’s good at not showing it - but Juno knows better. He knows. “That’s the word for it.”

“The word for what?”

“For me. For... us.” Juno looks up at the ceiling. Jet knows which ‘us’ Juno means - he knows. “We’d be dead without each other. I get held together and it gets to exist. Symbiotes.”

Jet hums. “You are more than a chip’s second chance to be, Juno.”

“But I’m that too,” Juno says in two voices. “I’m always that, too.”)

They get away from Dogstar. Of course they do; if Dogstar and its destruction couldn’t kill them, if a tossed bomb and losing absolutely everyone and everything couldn’t finish them off, maybe they just weren’t meant for death. One call makes it through the communication barrier with enough memorized confidential information to send several planetary governments scrambling into action and Juno sleeps for a week, but no one besides two and maybe a half people know the connection. Jet carries Juno onto one of the ships sent in to clean up the mess and hides them in a distant corner; they don’t speak, and eventually concerned authority figures leave them alone. When they land somewhere - anywhere - else, Jet leads them away from the ship.

It feels like a rebirth. It feels like a second chance that Juno isn’t sure he deserves, but won’t waste - if not for his sake, for theirs. For Jet’s.

Maxine Rutherford gets away, too. She’s long gone by the time the authorities descend, no doubt trying to sink her roots into some new place, and when Juno picks up that transmission from a closed, secure line and shares it with Jet, there’s no discussion. They’ll do this, one more time, for the right reasons. After that? After that is anyone’s guess.

Jet and Juno waste no time; the flurry of criminal activity in their wake inspires rumors and nicknames, and when Juno thinks to ask Jet if that bothers him, Jet chuckles.

“The legend lives on,” he says. “I think they would be pleased.”

~~~

“I’m guessing that means you poached our contact,” Juno mutters. He’s annoyed enough about the waste of his time that he has no reservations about subjecting his guest to more of his voice - and the thief is unnaturally still, which is satisfying and offensive at the same time. “What, did the people who told you the nickname not warn you about the voice?”

“Let me see your face.”

The flatness of his tone is obvious, even with the audio distortion. Juno frowns; he can’t picture what kind of expression goes along with a tone like that, and it makes him uneasy. “...why?”

“Please.” He hasn’t moved an inch. Juno would wonder if he was still breathing except that he keeps talking. “I just need to... please.”

Not without seeing his first, Juno thinks. He doesn’t have to ask the chip to know that it’s working on it, but it’s the kind of work that’s going to take months of concentrated effort - reclaiming Rita’s name taught him that, and that’s still not a sure thing.

Jet, stop where you are.

I am almost there.

That’s great, big guy, but I need your eyes for a second and if we do that while you’re moving, you’re gonna run into something.

Juno can feel the skepticism; no lying to him in his own head. If you say so, he says anyway. What do you need?

Somebody stole our meeting and I need to see his face - the distortion on this guy is something else. Can you take a look and tell me what you see?

Jet doesn’t answer in words; he doesn’t need to. He looks, and the inside of Juno’s head is quiet for a long time. Juno, he thinks, and there’s a strange echo that usually only comes from him -

“Juno?”

Juno, it’s -

But Juno doesn’t need to be told. He knows. There’s no evidence for him to point to, but he knows the person who would say his name like that, can hear what it would sound like in the right voice in his memory.

Juno leans forward. “Nureyev?”

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monstersandmaw · 3 years

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Male vampire x male character - Part Two (nsfw) (Halloween ‘surprise’ Patreon story).

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I'm really pleased that you and my Patrons enjoyed the first part, and that folks were keen for more. I’ve had more interaction with this post on Patreon than many of the others, which is surprising given how mlm stories are usually much less in demand than m/f ones. Thanks for that!

Anyway, here's more of our favourite oblivious dork Alec and his obviously-not-a-vampire crush... Part Three is on the way too (tomorrow), despite this having been planned as a quick porn-without-plot one-shot, as it were. Oh well?!

Hope you enjoy.

Part One

After his initial - admittedly strange - meetings with Sebastien, Alec didn’t see him on campus at all for the rest of the week, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Yes, the guy had been a bit of a pompous arsehole in the library, but he’d made up for it by coming to the art room and apologising, engaging him in conversation — even if that conversation had been slightly… odd? — and being so god-damn-fucking beautiful too.

He overheard his students gossiping about ‘Dr. Dulac’ earlier that afternoon while they all carved the pumpkins he’d bought for them at the local supermarket, and it seemed that the general consensus was that Sebastien was single, unfailingly polite (even in the face of Janette Hilton, the English Department’s longest-serving and least sympathetic lecturers), hotter than any celebrity you cared to name, and a specialist in the poets of the First World War like Sassoon and Brooke, among other more esoteric interests.

After an hour of clock-watching in his tiny little office in the Art Department on Friday, he abandoned all hope of concentrating on his last few bits of admin, and shut down his laptop. After clearing up yet more pumpkin seeds that he’d somehow missed on the last two sweeps he’d done of the studio, he stepped outside, never wanting to see another bloody thing again. Too bad he had a whole bloody cardboard box of them waiting to go into the boot of Kay’s car for her party that night. Still, he was almost sinfully proud of the carvings he’d done on them. One was decorated the whole way around with the foliate style engravings usually reserved for the steel on antique guns, with different depths to create the highlights and shadows, and another particularly spherical one had been cut away in squares to resemble the Death Star.

The October air outside bit into his lungs as he drew a deep breath - the spicy, fragrantly damp scents of autumn filling his nose - and his eye was drawn to the twinkling lights of the little coffee cart that still lingered in the park, selling tea, coffee, and hot chocolate to chilly students leaving the university campus for the night. With a black coffee for himself in one hand, he made his way to the Engineering Department, warily holding another frothy concoction in his other. It was apparently called a ‘London fog’ and it smelled of earl grey tea and lavender. He thought it sounded (and smelled) disgusting, but Kay perked right up when he deposited it on her desk five minutes later.

“Bless you, Alec Twayblade,” she grinned, taking the plastic lid off and inhaling it like it was the best thing she’d ever smelled. “Oh my god. How can you not like this?” she said after taking a huge gulp and moaning obscenely.

Alec didn’t bother to reply, his eye-roll speaking volumes anyway. They’d had this discussion so many times that they were both probably playing it out silently in their heads right that second. When Kay glanced up and saw that he certainly was, she snorted and grinned. “I love you, Alec,” she laughed. “You’re still coming tonight?”

“Against my better judgement,” he growled, leaning his weight on her desk and folding his arms across his battered, blue cable knit sweater. He had a huge daub of yellow paint on one elbow from that morning, and a small burn hole in the bottom from a failed attempt at pyrography a few years ago. It was the most comfortable jumper he owned, and he would probably wear it until it unravelled around him.

“You’re still not going to wear a costume, are you?” she added as she stood, pouting.

He shook his head. “I draw the line at that.”

“But you’d be so good making one!” she countered. “You helped me with that bat costume when we were at high school… Don’t you remember how fucking awesome it was?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “But I’m not going to wear one myself.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Too much attention, huh?” she said softly. “Well, you know you’ll stand out more if you’re not wearing one tonight…?”

He shrugged. Honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered to dress up. Halloween had rather lost its shine for him anyway. “Not if I hide in the kitchen all night and make too-strong cocktails for everyone,” he said, flashing her his most roguish grin. “Plus, I spent much of today carving pumpkins with nattering eighteen year olds who are far too old to be carving pumpkins on academic time, but —”

“— you’re an awesome teacher who understands the need to let off some steam on the holidays,” she interjected. “Plus, it’s good practice anyway… working with a new medium…”

He allowed his lips to pinch upwards into a tiny smirk and let her have that one. “It’s nice to see them having fun,” was all he said.

An hour or so later, just as he arranged the last of the pumpkins down the garden path of Kay's Victorian semi-detached house, a voice murmured from behind him, “I can see the hand of a master at work in these carvings.”

Not having heard anyone approaching, Alec jumped, cursed, and dropped the pumpkin - thankfully with the candle still unlit. It rolled in a semicircle until a black boot gently stopped it, and a familiar face dipped into view as the owner of the boot bent to pick it up. To his surprise, it was Sebastien, and he was in costume. Probably anyway. Hopefully? Fuck. Alec’s brain stalled at the sight of him.

His eyes raked up Sebastien’s body and his jaw went quite literally slack.

The slender man was wearing thigh-high boots and leather pants so tight they had to have been spray-painted on, into which was tucked a loose, old-fashioned, white shirt with a good bit of flounce at the collar. “Holy shit,” he whispered, and Sebastien chuckled softly, a low, amused sound in the back of his throat.

“You recognise the costume?” he asked, seeming innocently amused. The long, dark coat, accented with gold brocade and bright gold buttons, opened briefly in a soft gust of wind that made the lit pumpkins flicker and lifted his loose, silver-white hair back for a breath as well.

“I…” he swallowed. “Uh, you’re Alucard,” he croaked. “From the Castlevania games…” A wry incline of Sebastien’s head told him he was correct, and then Alec blurted stupidly, “Shouldn’t you be shirtless though?”

Sebastien’s smile grew from pleased to deeply amused, his eyes glittering, and it was only then that Alec noticed the contacts burning a bright gold in his eyes and, as his lips peeled back and Sebastien began to laugh, he saw long, tapering, white canines befitting a vampire costume. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” Sebastien asked, still laughing quietly as Alec flushed crimson.

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I know. I just… forget it.”

“Where do you want it?” Sebastien asked, and Alec’s poor brain went blank.

“What?”

“The pumpkin,” Sebastien deadpanned and Alec’s poor, blank brain melted out of his ears with embarrassment.

“Uh… there’s fine,” he said, pointing at the little wrought-iron garden gate.

Sebastien placed the pumpkin down on the flagstone path so that the carved graveyard scene glimmered and flickered with appropriate spookiness, visible to anyone approaching along the quiet, suburban street. Enormous London plane trees stood sentry every few paces, heaving up the tarmac pavement with their roots, like a sleeper shifting a blanket with a restless turn, and sheltering the cars snuggled and parked beneath them. A carpet of leaves clung to the gutter in a long, golden line, melting into nothing in places in the glittering puddles. It would have been beautiful, had Alec not been faced with quite literally the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.

“Am I early then?” Sebastien asked, dusting off his palms and turning back to face Alec, who had barely managed to make his legs work long enough to stand up straight again.

He shook his head. “No. Henry’s inside already,” he said, running his fingers through his scruffy black hair. “With Rachel and Alison. I just forgot to put the pumpkins out earlier.”

“No costume?”

With a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Too bad,” Sebastien said, eyeing the front door. The contacts were really creepy, shifting in the light that spilled down the stairs as the front door suddenly opened and Kay stepped out before he could worry that he’d been the only one to dress up. He could probably brush it off anyway, Alec supposed, and tried not to envy the man’s quiet confidence.

Silhouetted starkly against the hall light, with her high ‘Dracula’ collar on prominent display, Kay shrieked with glee and clapped her hands when she saw Sebastien. Apparently the two of them had been getting along rather well, while Alec had sequestered himself away in the Art Department like an ascetic.

“Bastien! You look amazing oh my god!” she blurted, rushing forwards a step or two before halting abruptly. “Wait, does that make me your father for the evening?” she cackled. “Wow, your teeth are really good! Mine wouldn't stay in for more than a few minutes…”

Sebastien’s gold eyes flickered sideways to Alec but it happened so briefly that he almost missed it. “Custom made a long time ago,” was all he said. “Shall we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, of course, come on in,” she said, waving them all inside, Sebastien first. As Alec passed her last, she slapped him hard on the backside in rebuke and hissed, “Told you you should have worn a costume! You look like a big dumbo!”

“No different from any other night,” he quipped back, and she growled something indistinct at him. Perhaps a werewolf costume would have suited her better. “You could have told me you’d invited Dulac…”

“Why?” she retorted. “So you could suddenly decide that an evening moping alone with your PS4 playing Rocket League with strangers was more appealing? No fucking chance. Get inside. Sebastien’s right; I’m freezing my tits off.”

The distant murmur of voices in the living room made him veer off instinctively into the kitchen, and while they began to watch some old Hammer horror film, he made drinks. That, at least, he was good at.

Entering a while later, he found that Sebastien was seated on the sofa beside Henry, who wore an enormously fluffy wolfman costume - mostly a repurposed Chewbacca onesie with a latex wolf mask. He’d pushed the mask up onto his head in order to eat the Halloween themed nibbles on the coffee table, and the effect rendered him entirely ridiculous. Another reason not to wear a costume: it’s impractical, and gets in the way, and washing ketchup out of matted fake fur is a nightmare. Alison and Rachel sat practically in each other’s laps, one a zombie and the other a ghost, both squeezed into one groaning old armchair.

After half an hour of Christopher Lee’s admittedly creepy Dracula, Alec slid from his seat at the periphery, and ducked out again into the kitchen. Straightening from fishing a beer from the back of the fridge, he heard the soft click of the door and turned to find Sebastien standing there.

“Get bored with late 1950’s horror too?” Alec asked. “Beer?”

Sebastien inclined his head in a way that said he wasn’t a beer drinker and held up his almost-empty wineglass as an excuse as he moved a little closer. “If you don’t like cheesy horror films, and you don’t seem to like Halloween either, I wonder why you came at all tonight?”

“For Kay,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She loves this shit.”

At that, Sebastien paused, a delicate smile on his face. In the soft glow of the under-cupboard lighting, his tanned skin seemed to shimmer, and Alec wondered fleetingly if he’d put some kind of glittery body powder on. Next, he wondered what on earth Sebastien was doing in here with him, looking at him like that.

“You are a good friend,” Sebastien said quietly, seeming perhaps a little sad around the edges.

“She’s done more than her fair share of looking after me,” Alec sighed knowingly. “Not that I’m doing it because I owe her,” he added, twisting the cap off the bottle and leaning back against the counter to drink deeply from it. As the malty froth washed over his tongue, he felt eyes on him and looked over at the other man.

Sebastien tilted his head slightly to the side, the false golden light in his eyes making him look like a cat in the dark. “You said she was trying to set you up with someone…”

Alec snorted, nearly shooting beer out of his nose. “Yeah. Well, she seems to think a good fuck will sort my mood out.”

“But you think otherwise?”

“You offering?” he asked bitterly, taking another swig and feeling uncharacteristically bold, though absolutely not expecting the answer he got.

“Perhaps.”

His eyebrows shot up and this time he did cough a little. “You can’t be serious.”

“You think someone who looks like me is entirely straight?” he asked with a wry smile, and Alec had to hand it to him. Not many men he knew could pull of long, luscious, white-blond hair like that, or would have the confidence to wear fucking thigh-high boots and whisper-tight leather pants…

“Still… you don’t really know me… That’s all I meant…”

“Doesn't mean one couldn’t engage in — how did you call it? — ‘a good fuck’. Not that I’m averse to getting to know you better, before or after.”

Alec swallowed another enormous gulp of frothing beer and blinked. “You’re serious?”

With a melodramatic smile that revealed his vampire teeth clearly, ‘Alucard’ purred, “Deadly.”

And Alec burst out laughing. The spell was shattered and the two men shared the remnants of their drinks and their laughter together before Alec sighed. “Your place or mine?”

At that, Sebastien seemed to falter, as if he hadn’t thought through to that point. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I assume yours would be alright?”

Alec shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind smacking your head on the ceiling and being able to touch two opposite walls at the same time…”

Sebastien’s lips hitched into another wry smile. “I’ve fucked in tighter spaces, I’m sure.”

“You know what?” Alec said as he rinsed out the beer bottle at the sink and half-turned to look at the other man over his shoulder. “You’re absolutely not what I expected.”

“Nor were you,” he shot back, still smirking. “And it’s been a while since I was assaulted by someone in a library.”

“Bring back happy memories, did it?” he snorted.

“Not exactly,” Sebastien murmured, and Alec realised he hadn’t actually been joking. “But I must confess that — despite my behaviour — I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of you when you rounded that bookshelf…”

Turning, Alec approached him cautiously. If he was genuinely serious about his proposal, Alec would find out now. “Pleased enough to seek me out afterwards…” he said, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t do that ‘one brow at a time’ thing that Sebastien could, but it seemed to get his tone across all the same.

Unusually for Alec, Sebastien had an inch or two on him in height, and as Alec paused in front of him, close enough to catch the faintest hint of a woody cologne, the man angled his face just perfectly for the light to dance along his high cheekbones. Fuck, he was exquisite. The urge to kiss him rose in Alec; to feel his lips against his own, to have those elegant hands scrunch his hair…

As if reading his mind, Sebastien slowly, carefully, raised his right hand and brought his index finger to Alec’s chin, tilting it upwards just a fraction with the lightest pressure. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, and it left Alec breathless. Again. Panting slightly, he parted his lips and then swallowed thickly.

Sebastien’s eyes darted instantly to the motion of his throat and for a second, Alec could have sworn he saw a vibrant red light reflected in his eyes. Sensing his moment of hesitation, of tension, Sebastian frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alec breathed. “I thought your eyes went red but it must have been a car on the street outside or something.”

“Indeed,” he murmured, but then blinked rapidly. “Do you still wish to continue this?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Don't stop now. His whole body was thrumming in a way it hadn’t ever before with casual encounters. He felt alive for the first time in months.

Sebastien stepped back, turning his face away a little more. “Should we make our excuses…?”

Alec shook his head. “Nah, Kay will know what’s going on anyway, and I don’t want to face her smug looks until tomorrow at the least.”

With a softly amused chuckle, Sebastien stepped back and allowed Alec to leave the room first. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as the other man followed behind, but he didn't turn around or look at him until they were outside on the main street.

“It’s a bit of a walk…” Alec said, only realising then how long the walk would be. “I’m way over on the other side of town by the station…”

The continuing intensity of Sebastien’s scrutiny was beginning to shift from a turn-on to just marginally unnerving, but he told himself that an esteemed professor at one of the country’s finest universities, with more letters after his name than anyone his age had a right to possess, was unlikely to be truly dangerous for a one-night stand… right? There was something about the way he stared at Alec — an unmistakable hunger in his eyes — that made his skin prickle and his heartbeat jump instinctively. Like a deer before the gaze of a tiger, he was entranced.

Unexpectedly, Sebastien’s easy stride slowed at the brick gateway to a small, gravel park that sat between an old church and a chemist, the latter closed at this time of night. “May I kiss you?” he breathed, still gazing at him unblinkingly, as though Alec were the pretty one in this equation, not him.

Alec couldn’t help grinning. The way Sebastien’s eyes bored into him then drove all thought of threat and fear from his mind, and he nodded.

The man’s hands were chilly from the night air, but the moment they cupped his jaw and drew Alec toward him, he forgot about that. He forgot about everything at the meeting of their lips. Sebastien began tentatively, merely brushing their lips together, but when his golden eyes fluttered closed, he deepened the gesture, tongue just begging entrance, teasing him before withdrawing, retreating and returning.

Searing want shot down Alec’s spine and he arched into Sebastien’s taller body, hips seeking contact through his jeans. He moaned, deep and guttural, and it seemed to awaken something in Sebastien, because the man grabbed hold of the back of Alec’s hair and pulled his head slightly to one side to begin to kiss along his jawline, down to wards his neck. For a heartbeat, Sebastien froze there, nose pressed to his rabbiting pulse point, his teeth just grazing skin, before he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “We shouldn’t get carried away,” was all he whispered, stepping slightly out of Alec’s dazed field of view. “My place is nearer though.”

“Ok,” Alec said, still reeling. “Sure.”

When they reached the apartment building, his steps faltered in amazement. “You live… here?”

A slight flush seemed to warm Sebastien’s cheeks as he stepped up to the main doorway, only to have it opened from the other side by a man in livery. “Good evening, Monsieur Dulac,” said the friendly doorman instantly.

“Good evening,” he replied. “This is my friend, Alec Twayblade.”

It was impossible for the doorman not to realise that his ‘friend, Alec Twayblade’ was going to be a little more than that for the night, but he never let a flicker of judgement pass across his face. From the concierge desk - Sebastien’s building had a fucking concierge desk too - another man looked up and wished them both a good evening as they headed for the lifts.

“Does the English department also sell diamonds or drugs or something? How the fuck can you afford a place like this on a lecturer’s salary?” but even as he said it and the doors closed with a soft chime, he realised the truth of it. Sebastien’s aristocratic features and bearing were not merely a persona. They were truth. He stared up at him while Sebastien turned a key in the lift panel.

“Are you secretly royalty or something?” he whispered, only half joking.

The man shot him an amused look and shook his head, silk-white hair whispering against the rougher wool of his costume coat. “No, of course not, but I do have some inherited wealth.”

Some? “So you don’t actually have to work at the university at all then?”

He made a so-so motion of his head and said, “No, not really, but I genuinely enjoy teaching.”

“Your students certainly seem to enjoy you…”

“You don’t enjoy teaching?” he asked as the numbers on the dial climbed and climbed.

Please don’t say you live in the fucking penthouse too, Alec thought, already suspecting it might be true from the whole ‘special access key’. He glanced at the number pad and saw that the button labelled ‘PH’ was illuminated. Fuck. “Most days I enjoy it,” he admitted. ��But I kind of fell into it a while back and just sort of…” he shrugged, “Stuck with it.”

Sebastien asked no more, and the lift finally stopped on the top floor. The doors drew back to reveal an apartment beyond that Alec could only gawp at. It was like something from the set of an Architectural Digest photo shoot. Nothing was out of place in the hardwood floor paradise, with clean, crisp lines and white marble counter tops in the kitchen off to his left, while a comfortable, and yet still clinically modern, sitting area sat to their right. Deep, fluffy rugs dotted that part of the penthouse, and a wide balcony stretched out over the city beyond, complete with a little table and chairs for warmer evenings.

“This place is incredible,” Alec breathed, the reason for his even being here completely forgotten.

Clearly sensing that, Sebastien smiled bashfully and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

Alec cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t going to be faced with a choice between very expensive wines that he’d never heard of. “Sure… thanks.”

“White, red, beer, or whisky?” he asked, walking towards the kitchen and dumping his ‘Alucard’ coat over the back of a white sofa as he went. Alec’s mouth went dry as he watched the point where his narrow hips met the flowing material of the white shirt. Dear god, an arse like that shouldn’t be… well, it just shouldn’t be. And yet there it was. Clad in leather and looking positively delectable. “Or a soft drink?” he added when Alec remained silent.

Aware of where his gaze had landed, Sebastien halted and looked back over his shoulder, long, loose, naturally straight hair already losing the curls that had been worked into it for the Alucard costume. Definitely not straight, if he owned hair curlers.

“Uh…” Alec said, unsure what the question had even been now.

“I’m going to pour myself a whisky, if that helps…?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sebastien smiled, looking almost endeared by Alec’s inept stuttering. Surely he couldn’t be unused to such a reaction? “Make yourself at home then.”

With a smoky, peat-tinged whisky in a wide, heavy-bottomed tumbler set on his glass coffee table, Alec watched Sebastien turn the gas fire on, and, to his surprise, he came to a halt directly in front of him. Setting his own whisky down on the table with a deliberate, and yet delicate, clunk, Sebastien turned back to him and raked his eyes down Alec’s body in a way that made him flush hot all over. His cock twitched with interest and he tried not to preen under that gaze.

Sebastien’s eyes and teeth were back to normal now, with no hint of the golden contacts or the vampire fangs, and Alec fleetingly assumed that he must have removed them at some point between getting the whisky and appearing in front of him looking like he was about to ravish him. Oh dear god, please let him be about to ravish me, he thought with a big, dumb grin spreading across his face.

Seeing his reaction, Sebastien reached down and knelt facing him on the sofa, running his palm over the already-growing bulge in Alec’s jeans. Alec let out a deep grunt and rocked his hips up into the contact, throwing his head back against the soft, open weave of the white fabric. “Oh fuck,” he hissed.

Sebastien’s fingers found the button of his jeans and deftly undid it, but he paused. “May I?” he asked, and Alec found himself nodding before he’d even worked out what Sebastien wanted.

He found out a moment later, when his jeans were around his ankles and Sebastien was kneeling on the floor between his knees and licking a long stripe up the length of his rapidly hardening cock.

“Oh god,” he panted as the wet heat of Sebastien’s mouth engulfed half of his length and then drew back to leave his wet tip exposed to the slight chill of the apartment air. The contrast stole his breath for a heartbeat, but Sebastien returned his attentions to his cock, gently sucking and working him to full hardness in a matter of minutes.

Pleasure sparked through Alec’s whole body and he strained not to thrust back into Sebastien’s mouth, even as Sebastien took him right to the back of his throat, the tip of Alec’s cock nudging against the silky resistance of his throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chanted as Sebastien’s fingertips just teased and caressed the underside of his balls too, and Sebastien hollowed his cheeks and sucked a little more insistently. “Oh fuck…” Really fucking eloquent here, Alec, he thought vaguely, but one look down at the vision kneeling between his legs and sucking him off drove even that thought from his brain.

The suck and slide of Sebastien’s mouth was incredible, and while he had no idea quite how much time passed, it felt like mere seconds as the heat stoked in him until he could feel the orgasm threatening to crash through him. “I’m… I’m really close…” he gasped as Sebastien moaned against his cock, sending little vibrations thrumming through him and tipping him even closer. The sharp prick of his teeth every now and again was a perfect counterpoint to the slick heat of his mouth, and it was never enough to hurt. Normally Alec wasn’t one for including teeth in this, but with Sebastien, it felt perfect.

Sebastien pulled back just as Alec felt himself beginning to coil up, his lips swollen and glistening from the exertion of bringing him that close, and he smiled. He looked radiant, and Alec’s cock twitched enthusiastically in his hands as he let out a soft whimper. The air was cold and his tip beaded pre-come freely, which Sebastien thumbed away with a surprisingly tender gesture, only to watch as more pearled immediately at his slit. Using just the tip of his tongue, Sebastien lapped at it delicately and Alec’s whole body shuddered.

His thighs shook at the tiny, intense stimulation, with Sebastien's fingers gripping the base of his cock in a tight circle, and he gasped, chest heaving. It was too much and not enough, and as he found his perineum teased as well, he bellowed and trembled. He was half a heartbeat away from coming harder than he could ever remember coming in his life, and Sebastien wasn’t going to let him have it. He roared and ground his teeth, bucking his hips, which made Sebastien laugh softly.

“Alright,” he heard him murmur, before he swallowed him down to the back of his throat again, and Alec shattered with a yell.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he found that Sebastien had risen and was sitting on the small sofa beside him, whisky in hand, staring openly at him. He didn’t look smug exactly, but there was a quiet satisfaction to his brown eyes that made Alec flush, at which Sebastien’s beautiful lips drew back into a smile. He noted again those slightly larger canines, but they were nothing like the vampire teeth he had worn earlier.

“What do you want?” Alec asked, voice hoarse. God, he sounded wrecked. Had he really shouted so hard he’d made his throat sore?

Sebastien’s dolorous, dark eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “What do you want?”

“To watch you come,” he said immediately.

“And how would you like me to come?” Sebastien replied, sipping nonchalantly at the golden liquor as if the were discussing what Alec would like Sebastien to wear. As it was, his leather pants were constricting his obvious hard-on in a way that had to be painful for him, and his shirt was open at the neck to reveal delicate collarbones and a glimpse of his beautiful olive skinned chest.

He was an absolute vision. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he blurted in a whisper before he could stop himself, and to his surprise, Sebastien laughed. The sound was bright, delighted, and oddly self-conscious, as if he hadn’t been expecting a compliment like that. “Sorry,” he added, looking away. “Look… if you’ve got condoms, I’m… I’m good to… you know…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Sebastien asked, his gaze sharpening again.

“Yes?”

“’Yes?’ Or ‘yes’…?” Sebastien asked, seeking clarification.

“Yes. But I don't understand your question.”

“Look at me,” Sebastien said.

“Hard not to…” Alec quipped back, still feeling utterly wrung out.

“Most people assume I’m going to be the one taking it…”

Alec’s eyebrows rose as realisation settled. “Oh. And, what, I look like a top?”

Sebastien’s lips twitched. “Conventionally more so than I do, with your rugged looks and the rough shadow around your jaw…”

“So… do you want me to… you know…? Or…” Fuck, he felt like a teenager again, struggling to articulate himself and not get his sentences in a tangle while this breathtaking creature just sat there and watched him make an idiot out of himself.

“I very much want to fuck you,” Sebastien said at last. “If you’d like that as well.”

“Yes,” he said instantly.

Sebastien set down his glass and rose in a single, elegant motion, and then held his hand out to Alec.

His skin was still cool, especially next to Alec’s searing body, and his hold was steady as Alec heaved himself to his feet and allowed himself to be alternately tugged and kissed into the bedroom.

___

Part Three

Behold, plot has appeared to go with the Halloween porn I had planned. Alec’s family will come up in the next chapter.

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #male vampire #male vampire x human #exophilia #vampire boyfriend #male vampire x male human #male monster #mlm #mlm exophilia

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mtg-cards-hourly · 2 years

Photo

Keen-Eared Sentry

"You're not the first to underestimate me."

Artist: Viko Menezes TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.01 #viko menezes #keen-eared sentry #adventures in the forgotten realms #creature #human #soldier

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karlnapity · 3 years

Text

we spent two years together, i thought in made her better.

(tws: death, violence, panic attacks)

jack manifold loses his last life on december sixteenth, and he crawls out of hell on the same day.

he has never stood down. he’s a stubborn bastard and he knows that, and he knows that standing against fucking technoblade is a bad idea, and he doesn’t care, because he won’t let him destroy his home.

technoblade looks him in the eye, laughs in his face, and drives an axe down the center of his skull.

he doesn’t quite register dying, doesn’t quite register the feeling of falling to the ground.

he does register pain. he does register overwhelming panic. he comes to laying on the ground, blood stuck to his scalp and in his eyes, rubble scratching his back.

he keens in pain, sits up slowly. he rubs his eyes, resting his head in his hands. he thinks, dimly, that everything seems dulled. explosions and screams in the background, the feeling of his hands on his face, the chill in the air. he can hardly feel any of it. he edges himself behind a large piece of rubble, safe from the conflict for now.

panic courses through his veins. what happened?

he grasps at his arms, curling in on himself. everything feels wrong. everything feels wrong.

his breath quickens as he grows hysterical. tears start to fall as he hiccups, and as they trickle down his face he can barely even feel them.

and then it stops.

his hand flies to his throat. he tries to start breathing again, but as the seconds pass he finds he doesn’t even need it.

oh god, he’s dead. he’s really fucking dead. is he a ghost?

“oh god,” he chokes, curling in even further into himself.

“hello?” someone else’s voice calls. he doesn’t bother sitting up.

“jack?” the voice continues, then, “oh fuck, jack!”

someone touches his arm, and he craves the contact. he can still hardly feel it, but he leans into it, arms wrapping around him and holding him so tight it would probably hurt, before.

“i’m so glad you’re ok,” they whisper. who is it? whose voice is that?

“niki.” his voice sounds raspy, contaminated from smoke and tnt and death.

“yes, yes, i’m here,” she chokes, and he can tell, faintly, that she’s crying. “you’re ok.”

he nods into her shoulder. he wants it to be true, but it can’t be. he can barely hear her over the ringing in his ears.

“i thought you were dead, i’ve been looking for you. how long have you been back here? didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

he almost snorts. what can he say?

her hand moves from his shoulders, cupping around the back of his head. she massages a thumb over the nape of his neck where she used to when he got upset. her thumb brushes over dried blood and he can feel it flake off.

her hand stills. “jack, you’re so cold. are you ok?”

he coughs. “i’m sorry, niki.”

he pulls back, looks her in the face. her eyes are sad.

“jack, please tell me what happened. what’s going on?”

“i died,” he breathes. a shiver runs through him as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. oh god, he fucking died. he grasps for purchase on her arms, grounding himself as best he can. she grips him back.

a combination of confusion and horror fills her face. “you didn’t have any lives left, how…”

he shakes his head. a hysterical laugh bubbles from his chest. “i don’t fucking know, niki, i don’t fucking know.”

she cups his face then pulls him into a tight hug. “you’re gonna be ok, jack. we’re gonna be ok.”

it’s a hard thing, adjusting to death.

for one, he’s constantly cold. not only his temperature, but also his skin. it’s cold, clammy like a corpse. niki says it feels weird, but he can’t exactly tell. he piles on layers, spends as much time as he can in front of the fire and trying to warm the constant chill in his core, but it doesn’t work.

he doesn’t breathe anymore. occasionally he’ll hiccup or gasp, as if his brain is trying to kickstart his body again, and he’ll sit in silence for a few minutes while nothing but pure panic floods his brain, telling him something is deeply wrong. the first time it happens, tubbo slams on his back thinking he’d choked, and jack devolves into a vicious panic attack before tubbo even has a chance to realize.

he doesn’t need to eat, and he physically can’t sleep. he didn’t realize how much people slept, before, and now he finds himself sitting on the snowchester porch in the early morning and realizing how lonely the world is.

he can hardly feel much of anything, and he can hear even less. his vision’s gone a bit fuzzy, too. it feels like his senses have started closing in on himself, and it’s terrifying.

the others have adapted, and he’s thankful. if niki comes up behind him, she’ll grab his arm hard, and tubbo will usually pinch him or slap the back of his head so he knows he’s there.

he’s decided not to tell tubbo. the kid doesn’t deserve that. he doesn’t need to know, long as jack doesn’t start falling apart like some sort of zombie. he’s pretty sure tubbo just thinks he’s traumatized, or that he’s lost some of his hearing from explosions like tubbo has.

and, well, he’s not exactly wrong.

it’s niki who starts it. they’re sitting around the fireplace, jack as close as he can get to try to get rid of the chill, and she says,

“you know, when you think about it, it’s all kind of tommy’s fault.”

resentment has been festering since tommy killed him, so he’s not exactly shocked, just curious. “what d’you mean?”

“he’s caused so much trouble on the server, and now he’s just gotten away with it.” niki sounds angry, and when she sounds angry it’s never good, so he turns to look her in the eye. she’s practically shaking. “he needs to suffer for it like we did.”

when he was alive, he woke up from nightmares almost every night of drowning in lava, of burning while tommy laughed and sneered and laughed, and now it only solidifies. he hates him.

it’s tommy’s fault he’s dead. if tommy hadn’t killed him, he wouldn’t be dead now.

niki stumbles to her feet and falls to her knees in front of him, pulling him into a desperate hug.

he’s not sure if he can cry anymore, but the feeling’s there all the time as he clings to niki, grasping tightly to her shirt, and she pulls his head to her shoulder, curls around him protectively.

they stay there for a long time. every once in a while, niki will murmur an assurance. after long enough the words mutate, transform into something nasty, slimy.

“he’ll pay for this.”

the nukes are divisive. jack doesn’t want tubbo to get hurt. niki doesn’t want jack to get hurt. they both want tommy to get hurt.

he’s not sure when it changed into “kill him.” he’s not sure when it turned from a want to yell, to hit, to wanting to destroy him with nukes, but the anger is fire deep in his chest, the only thing he can feel, and he wants it to continue burning.

niki says she doesn’t want jack to get hurt.

“it’s not like i can get more dead,” he sneers. he doesn’t want to hurt her. he wants to hurt everyone.

tubbo can tell there’s something wrong. he can tell it in the way he rests his hand on jack’s back, even when he can’t feel it, in the way he stays up late and gets up early to spend time with him.

he comes up behind him, early one morning, and wraps his arms around jack’s chest. he buries his head in jack’s back and squeezes him tight. jack jumps at first, but soon relaxes into the content.

he can’t hear tubbo’s sobs, as quiet as they are, but he can almost feel the shaking of his shoulders.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, hesitant in case he’s reading it wrong. tubbo could be laughing, for all his addled senses can tell, but he deep down he knows. he can barely hear tubbo’s reply.

“i’m worried something is going to happen to you.”

something has already happened, he wants to yell. you just missed it.

he knows, faintly, that it’s not tubbo’s fault. tubbo doesn’t know, because he’s never told him, but he wants someone to focus on him, for once. he wants someone to realize, without him telling them. he wants someone to pay attention.

tubbo’s not that person. tubbo has friends, and a nation or two, and a history that extends beyond ‘stay alive.’

he pulls away, gently, promises something or other about him being fine, and goes back to planning destruction.

their plan doesn’t work. tommy shows up only thirty seconds late, while the crater is still smoking.

jack can’t help but feel like the universe is working against him.

niki is fuming. she’s shaking in anger, standing at the edge of the crater and staring at it, and jack goes to put his hand on her shoulder. she pulls away.

niki comes to join him on the porch that night. he doesn’t know she’s there until she says,

“why do you spend so much time out here?”

he doesn’t know how to explain that it’s comforting, being out in the cold, alone when he knows everyone is safe inside. he’s become a sentry almost accidentally, taking care of the only two people in the world he still cares about. he doesn’t know how to explain how comforting and devastating it is, and he doesn’t know how to explain that the cold calms him, so he just shrugs. she always understands him, anyways, or so he hopes.

she doesn’t stay outside for long.

he wonders, sometimes, if he’s doing something wrong. tommy and tubbo are still friends, somehow, even after everything. jack doesn’t know how to ask if tommy’s ever apologized. tubbo’s always had a heart too painfully big, so he kind of doubts it.

tommy’s never apologized to him. he’s not sure if he’d ever accept it.

he watches puffy and niki get pulled apart, and cringes a bit more each time niki comes home crying. he doesn’t know how to ask her if she still thinks they’re in the right.

he can tell she’s not sure either. maybe none of them are.

puffy approaches him one day. it’s her first time visiting snowchester, and her white first gleams in the sunlight reflecting off the snow. he’s at his usual post, and he gives her a half-hearted wave as he sees her.

she returns it, but her face is grim. she comes to stand beside him.

“i know what you’re trying to do,” she says, quietly, and he has to strain to hear her. he pretends he didn’t all the same.

“sorry. hearing loss.”

she gives him a look, but raises her voice all the same. “niki says it’s a bit more than that.”

he balks, stumbles back a few feet on the wood of the porch and almost his balance. puffy reaches out and steadies him. “pardon?”

“i’m sorry about what happened to you, jack,” she starts. he can’t tell what emotions he’s feeling, but it’s overwhelming. he tries to think of something to say, but she continues before he can force the words out.

her hand on his wrist twists, and he tries to pull it away when he realizes she’s searching for his pulse. she holds on, then her face tightens and she yanks him into a hug.

they’ve had hardly more than two conversations, but he feels safe in her embrace. he holds on tight, and she runs a hand through his short-shaven hair.

“i know you’re hurting,” she says, and he knows he’s made a mistake.

jack finds tommy back near l’manburg. it took him a couple more weeks to even gather up the courage, but eventually he spoke to niki.

he tries not to think about the conversation.

tommy seems surprised to see him, but they settle at the edge of the crater.

tommy looks better than the last time he saw him. he tries not to be jealous.

“i think i owe you an apology,” he says. tommy balks.

“what? i owe you an apology,” he comes back with. “i fucking killed you!”

“i tried to kill you too,” he starts, but tommy cuts him off.

“it was kinda deserved. can we just agree not to anymore?” he sticks out his hand.

jack smiles.

snowchester seems warmer, that night.

#personal #dsmp #dream smp #jack manifold #niki nihachu #tommyinnit #tubbo #captain puffy #mcyt #l'manburg #l'manberg #l'manhole #lmanburg #lmanberg #manburg #manberg

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cultofthewyrm · 3 years

Photo

Keen-Eared Sentry by Viko Menezes

#fantasy art #magic the gathering #warrior women

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dibellaskiss · 2 years

Text

꒰♡꒱These short-haired, large-eared cats are a common sight in Mages Guildhalls, where it’s said their keen senses enable them to detect all manner of intruders, even those that are magically concealed or from realms of Oblivion.

꒰♡꒱Default nickname: Uncanny Kitty

꒰♡꒱Trivia:

꒰♡꒱Originally it didn't have a nickname

꒰♡꒱Its the adult version of the Mage's Sentry Kitten

#skyrim #eso #her creatures #ncp #mages guild sentry cat

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Text

More than just a flirt

John Hancock X OC

Hi hi! My smut hand be rusty but nothing like completely self indulgent OC smut to bring me back :)

So I’m still new to tagging and the like but my Fallout 4 OC is GN but I do insinuate female genitals. Soooo ye *finger guns*

If ya read it I hope a like it!

John was a flirt; that’s all he ever could be. He was charming. He was witty. He was an adventure covered in an oversized trench coat. What bed partners he had came for one thing. The experience. The ability to boast loudly about fuckin’ a ghoul. Like it was a damn badge of honor. His whole life had been a stream of one night stands, and cold beds. That's all he ever could be. That’s all he ever would be.

So then why did he wake up so warm?

Cracking an eye open John reached behind him searching blindly for what was heating his back. His burned fingers were a complete contrast to the soft flesh that greeted him. Slowly, he traces down it, following the flow of the dark muscular till he is holding on to an arm wrapped around his middle.

“Morin’.” His bed partner huffs in his ear. Chestnut curls tickle his cheek as they hug him closer. Whiskey and melon sweet breath bringing back memories of their lips against his. Last night clicks in place. Ophelia. John rose quickly as if burned. This was wrong, they are a friend. A good friend, a trustworthy hardworking leader. They deserved better than-than…

“John?” Ophelia rose uncaring of how the blankets slipped from their arms. Old fabric pooling around their bare waist. They rub at their eyes wearily. “You ok?”

He froze at the edge of the mattress. Long fingers reaching for his pants on a very recognizable floor. He was in Ophelia’s room; or rather this was their hotel room. Damn. He couldn't remember a thing from last night. What did he take? Fuck. He could kick himself. Of all the one-nighters, he wanted to at least remember this one. “Ye doll, sorry...just didn't wanna wake ya.” He smiles, covering his momentary panic.

Ophelia frowned, sleepy hazel eyes narrowing into a familiar piercing glaze. They size him up. Reading him better than anyone ever had before. John couldn’t help but squirm. They looked at him just like when they had first met. Strong jaw tense and their chin high, silently calling out his bullshit.

“I'm fine, honest. Didn't expect to see you is all.” Hancock tried again tugging on his pants.

“In my own room?” His friend snorts, rising to go open the curtains. “Where else would I be?”

John is silent. “I don’t know. Not here-with me.” He keeps his back turned. It was stupid to linger. The warm tingling of their soft body seeps down into the floorboards leaving him aching and cold. Staring at his irradiated hands he could almost cry. Almost- his tear ducts had been scarred shut years ago.

“John?” Ophelia comes within arms reach. He could sense their hand hovering close to his own boney shoulder. They drop it moments later. “You sure you’re ok? You coming down from a bad trip or somethin’?” John chuckles humorlessly. Was he that predictable? Stepping away from them he finishes dressing.

“Ye sunshine. Don’t worry about it. Ain’t my first time and sure as hell won’t be my last.” He tosses out over his shoulder. “I’ll give ya a minute ta get ready and meet you out front.”

If Ophelia had anything to say after that they kept between their pretty little lips.

“I think we should head for shelter.” Ophelia says, looking up from the fallen mutant. Their arms filled with loot. John follows their gaze. His black eyes reflect the eerie shade of green growing in the sky. Rad storm. Looked like a big one too. He lights a cigarette and sticks it between his grimy teeth before helping collect a few more useful items.

“Closest place is probably that supermarket couple o’ klicks back.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. If they hoof it they could probably get there and pick off any ferals before the worst of the storm hit. Ophelia sighs, John knew how much they hated backtracking. The decision was made for them when their pip-boy starts clicking in warning.

“Well-” They frown, throwing a glance back at the ghoul. “You alright with taking two steps forward and ten steps back?” John laughs, tipping his tricorn up to flash them a quick wink.

“Shit doll- You just summed up my life in a sentence.” Offering a hand he helps the sharpshooter over some loose rubble. “You keep an eye out K? I know you’re low on ammo so I’ll take point.” Ophelia nods. Their sniper rifle slung uselessly across their back. Readying his shotgun John follows behind.

The storm hit just when he had expected. Dropping rain and hunks of debris on the two as they struggle to close the supermarket doors against the high winds. Thanks to their combined dumb luck the place was empty. The sentry bots long since destroyed and even a few tins of food were still scattered about the aisle. Ophelia left him to collect some and scout out any hidden lock boxes, leaving him to set up the sleeping bags and start a small fire. Cracking open a room-temperature beer he stares idly into the flicking flames. It grew steadily as he fed it bits of cardboard and kindling. The yellow glow touches his skin and starts to dry his drenched clothes. John contemplates his predicament while he waits for Ophelia to return. The memories of last night slowly start to come back to him in the silence. The tastes, and smells of washed sheets and sweating skin permeate his senses. Ophelia’s sweet mewls and gasps echo around in between his ears. Who gave them the right to make his name sound so sweet?

Shit-He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it. First rule of one-nighters is to live in the moment then walk away clean. But damn if he wasn’t the worst at following rules.

He relives it all the best he can, parts still blurring and blocked, like a scratch in a holotape. But he’ll take it. He’ll take the phantom feel of strong, sure fingers mapping his body. The ghost of a tongue slipping against his. Washing away the taste of mentats and cheap drinks. He can’t remember the last time he had felt so warm and wanted. Made the sudden distance he put between them hurt even more. Fuck him for getting greedy.

John flicks the butt of his cigarette into the roaring flames and searches for another. He grumbles in irritation as each pocket bears no fruit. “Here. I got some.” A familiar red and white box appears in his peripheral. Ophelia’s chipped yellow nail polish clashing with the old carton.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He rasps, taking the box. He can’t bear looking up for the crumbled container. The thought of making eye contact with them while his blood and brains were living in his trousers seemed unholy. Pulling out the least damaged cigarette of the lot he lights it with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Found anything good?”

They shrug, putting a few cans of beans and corn in the growing amount of embers around the fire pit to heat. “Some ammo and super glue. Also-” They grin, forcing him to look up. “Got you a present.” They pull a bottle out from behind their back to brandish it at him triumphantly. He stares. Not at the bottle, but at the way that little pull of muscle brightens up their whole face. That signature gapped tooth smile warming him better than the beer and firelight combined. He reaches numbly for the bottle. A Nuka-Cola Quantum, the chill of the bottle a welcomed surprise.

He and the rest of the crew had learned over the years not to reject a gift, no matter how valuable. MacCready nearly had a heart attack when he was gifted with a shiny new sniper rifle. That pretty little custom piece came with all the bells and whistles. Not to mention a few boxes of specialized ammo. John had zoned out when the other man started rambling rapid-fire over specs clutching the gun to him like a newborn. Each of the core companions got some good shit from time to time. He had some absolutely sinful blades and an old bottle of pre war bourbon tucked away in his office. Valentine had gotten some fantastic upgrades to his hardware and repairs to his offices. Hell- Curie got a whole bloody body.

Can’t beat these job perks.

“What’s the occasion?” He pops the cap off with the blunt end of his pocket knife, taking a pull from the bottle. The rush of sugar and god knows what else damping his headache.

Ophelia shrugs from across the pit. Pulling off their worn boots to warm their feet by the fire. “I remember you said they perk you up after a particularly bad crash.” They pause, face closing down for a moment, before looking up in horror. “I would have thought- I mean. I- you-I hope I didn’t do anything last night that upset you. I know you were a bit buzzed and I was way past tipsy. But, if I stepped out of line you would tell me right ?” John looks at them beyond confused.

"What?" He asks dumbly.

" Is," Ophelia waves vaguely at the distance between them. Normally when they camped together they were thick as thieves. Joking and nudging at each other's shoulders. Others used to joke about them getting a room. Now it felt like a great chasm had opened between them. "all of this about last night."

"Oh. Nah. Don't gotta worry none doll." John shrugs. Best to rip the bandage off now then later. "It's in the past, best leave it there. " He lies. It burns his throat worse than jet, but he has to. If only to protect his crumbling pride. One day he'll believe his own words. Hopefully.

"Well I am worried. How 'bout we start over. What’s wrong?" Ophelia jabs.

John feels heat rise under his thick skin. Just pokin’ a fresh cut tonight huh..."Kinda hard to start over after having someone's dick down your throat." He tosses it out carelessly. A shit attempt to derail the coming train wreck. Ophelia doesn't even flinch.

"Well, it's a damn good thing we both know how flexible I am then.” They rebuttal smoothly. “So, I'll ask again. What’s. Wrong?" The ghoul shrinks under their heated look. He was never keen on being hit with these eyes. Meant another kinda storm was brewing.

John throws his hands up in frustration. Had they never heard the phrase 'read the room'. "What, ya never had a one nighter before?" He regrets it the second the words leave his lips. He'd never seen someone flinch from words before. "Look, doll, I ain't one for making things awkward. I know the rules so let's just forget it and move on."

Ophelia deflates. Their signature look that could pin a super mutant in fight extinguished just like that. John watches them mouth over his words slowly. Clearly hating the taste of them as much as he did. "Is- was that what you wanted out of it?" Ophelia sighs. They dig a hand through sweat tangled locks. The tight coils of their hair protesting the drag of their fingers. His own fingers itch watching them, remembering the feel of their hair wrapped around his hand as he pulled them in for a kiss.

"What did you want out of it?" He asks, feeling dumber than a radroach.

Ophelia mimics him, throwing their hands up with a short laugh. "John, I thought it was clear. I don't go sleeping around with my friends and colleagues for shits and giggles. Who do I always ask to join me on travels?"

“Dogmeat?” John jokes, the knot in his stomach loosening with hope. It's unimaginable really- and yet. Were they serious? The past couple of times out they had always come to him. Even when they would be at a strategic disadvantage for whatever crazy scheme they had brewing. Only time he wasn’t Ophelia’s top pick was when some Minutemen tasks needed to be done. Even then He could always expect them at his front door the moment their feet landed on safe ground. A bottle of liquor in hand and an unbelievable story to tell.

“Not funny.” They chastised him scooting until they were seated next to him, knees brushing. "My idea for this morning was to maybe get breakfast and a semi decent cup of coffee. But I guess this is fine." They scrunch their nose in distaste at the cans warming in the fire pit.

“Shit doll,” John reaches out, wrapping a wiry arm around their waist. “Can I make it up to you? For being such an ass?” They hum in jest covering his hand with their own. The kiss that follows was unlike anything that he expected. It was slow and sweet. So different from the fast pecks he would get with others he slept with. He deepens it greedily, not ready to part just yet.

“You’re lucky I find you attractive.” Ophelia whispers into his mouth tossing his tricorn to the side and straddling his narrow hips. “We are going to have a talk about all this. Just-later-much, much later. I need a repeat performance of last night now that we are both sober.”

John groans letting them push him down. “Damn-you got it. You got whatever you want if you mean it.” Ophelia scoffs, ridding themselves of their baggy jacket. John can’t help but marvel at how beautiful they were backlit by the roaring flames. The orange glow of the light wrapping around their dark skin much like he craved to do. The flicking of it lapping at their smooth skin. Flashes of last night coming back to him of his tongue traveling down the same areas. He would have to remap them.

“As if I could ever lie to your smart ass.” They scoff grinding down on the growing bulge hidden in his rough pants. “But you have been lying to me and yourself it seems.”

He grunts in acknowledgment eyeing the way their ass moves. “You are absolutely right.Fuck- how can I make it up to you?”

Ophelia smirks cupping his cheeks. Their eyes meet. Rich hazel meeting cold black. The moment digs dip under his tough hide. The raw emotions in their stare makes his throat dry. “Put that mouth to good use- hmm? I know it’s good for more than some self-depreciation.”

Spurred by Ophelia’s words he flips their positions, placing the sniper down on his bedroll. John sinks lower, kissing and nipping at their hip bone. Mapping out all the sensitive parts of their body. His tongue tracing the silver little streaks on their belly. Ophelia’s stomach twitches at the feel of his warm breath on their stretch marks, cursing quietly as he finds their slick core. Their nails score his scalp, dragging a hiss of pleasure from his lips. He licks with gusto, taking full advantage of their isolated positions to make them scream.

“John-” They mew clawing at his shoulders to pull him back up to their kiss swollen lips. He goes leaving a trail of kisses in his wake before giving them a surprisingly chaste kiss on their lips.

“You sure ‘bout this doll?” He didn’t know what would happen after this, but it felt so different compared to his other recurring bed partners. He did want to see them again. He wanted this relationship to bleed into every aspect of his life. If he could relive that morning wrapped in their arms till his brain was splattered out on some dusty alleyway then he would. Without question.

Ophelia nods, reading in between the lines of his multilayered question. If there was one power figure in this wasteland they trusted, it was him. Wrapping a strong leg around his strong waist they shimmy off their tactical pants. Their eyes lock onto his pants as if the ratty briefs offended them. John chuckles and casually loosens the draw strings keeping his pants up. Ophelia takes it from there scooting the rough material down his legs. They pur, grasping his erection and stroking it. Their dexterous fingers play with his head drawing out a healthy bit of pre.

John sighs and rests his forehead on Ophelia’s brow breathing in their naturally clean scent. It reminded him of the rare times he could get freshly washed laundry mixed with the springtime. Shen the wild plants strong enough to brave this cruel world sprouted. He kisses them, nipping at their chin and collarbone while they drive him wild. “Doll, please.” He gasps, back arching into their touch. “You’re killin’ me ya know.” Ophelia chuckles returning a deep kiss.

“Good, consider it penance for thinking I couldn’t love you.”

John heaves, lost for breath as their words hit him. He pulls back floundering. “You mean that?” He sees the rapid fire thoughts racing through their wide eyes. Shock that they let slip that dirty little secret, fear of what he would do, then a stark resolution.

“Of course.” Ophelia nods through their embarrassment. Their sharp cheeks beginning to warm under his gaze. They say it like it’s an obvious statement. Like he should have just known. In a way he did. He just couldn’t believe it.

John takes the initiative now. Dragging Ophelia down to his scarred lips preening when he feels them sigh into it. Their tongue teasing his telling him point blank what they wanted. Grabbing onto their plush hips John grinds down on them, rubbing his stiff erection through the seam of their thighs and wet entrance. The moans that elicited from them made his radioactive blood boil with need. He had to have them again, last night was a dud. He would savoir this time.

Positioning themselves over John’s cock Ophelia shoots him a sultry wink before sinking down onto him slowly. “Oh fuck me.” He groans, dropping his head to his pillow. Their body was feverish around his, soft, pliant and so willing.

“That was my intention.” They grab onto his shoulders for support. Eyelids fluttering heavily. “If I’m not getting that across now, perhaps I should quit while I’m behind?” They joke as they ride him. Their hips move in slow tight circles. It’s enough to drive him wild.

John digs his fingers into the supple flesh of Ophelia’s hips. With any luck he’ll leave bruises. Excellent. Ophelia couldn’t stop John as he flipped their position. He pinned them roughly down on his sleeping bag. “Don’t worry Doll. You got your point across very well. Don’t need to go putting yourself out like that.”

“You’re one to ta-” John thrusts into them cutting off their snark. Taking devilish delight in flustering them. Setting a fast pace he drives in deep revealing in their cries of pleasure. God damn- this was almost enough to make him wanna go sober. How did he ever think one night would be enough?

“Fuck! I don’t deserve you.” His hisses cutting through the wet slaps of skin on skin. Ophelia does nothing but groan. Neither of them last long. Much to John’s chagrin. He finishes with a choked shout, hips and stomach twitching as he spills himself on their thigh. Ophelia doesn’t fare much better. They bite hard at the rough skin of his neck, nails scoring his back with a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain while they came undone beneath him.

“Do you mean it?” He asks, cupping the back of Ophelia’s skull. They wrap an arm around his neck nuzzling close, draping their body across his.

“Ye- but if you talk down about yourself again I’ll have to feed you to a deathclaw.” John chuckles feeling his eyelids getting heavy. He wouldn’t put it past them.

#Fallout 4 #john hancock #john hancock x sole survivor #it's smut #it's angsty #it's oc time #crusty boi is best boi

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babyybitchhhwrites · 4 years

Text

Shikamaru x Reader 18+

Title: Sleeping In

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 6413

Warnings: Cunnilingus, barebacking, creampie

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482461

♥♥♥♥

Rather than the blaring noise of your alarm, it was the soft nudge of Shikamaru moving against your back that woke you up. A soft rustle of the sheets followed by a dip in the mattress and then the unconscious huff of a man only partially cognizant filtered through the still morning air, drawing you further out of your peaceful slumber.

Groggy and half asleep yourself, you blearily cracked your eyes open to peer over at the clock standing like an ominous sentry among the clutter on the bedside table. There was a little over fifteen minutes left until it would start screaming at you to get up, you realized with some amount of dread. You wanted to drift back off for the remaining time you had but you were already awake and regretfully aware of your surroundings so there was little hope of accomplishing that. It certainly didn’t help that the looming obligation of having to go in to work at the Hokage’s office made you feel ten times more tired than you would have if this had been one of your days off. Being an adult really sucked sometimes.

Shikamaru seemed to settle behind you then and you felt his arm curl around your middle as he snuggled as close to you as he physically could. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling into the pillow as that anxious feeling immediately dissolved as if it were little more than sugar in warm water; thoroughly smothered under the reassuring weight of his body curling around yours like a contented house cat laying in its favorite sunbeam. You instinctively knew you could face anything the world had to throw at you with him at your back like this.

Issuing a low hum of appreciation into the quiet room, you rolled your ass against the flat plane of his hips by way of greeting. He shifted, seemed to realize that you weren’t asleep anymore, and his arm protectively tightened around you in response.

“It’s not time to get up yet, baby.” Shikamaru’s voice was rough and gravelly with lingering traces of sleep and the warm puff of air from his mouth tickled the nape of your neck, making goosebumps erupt across your skin.

You drew a contentedly slow breath, basking in his presence pressed up against you like this. “I know.” You murmured, with just a hint of forlorn melancholy for effect. “I don’t want to go though. Not in fifteen minutes. Not ever.”

“Then don’t.” Was his all too simple answer to your conundrum.

You quietly laughed as you reached under the blankets to cover his bony knuckles with your palm. The body heat coming off him was almost enough to make you forget that the likelihood of finding snow outside was exceedingly high even with spring fast approaching. He was a surprisingly effective substitute for a space heater for being as skinny as he was.

“I have to. Tsunade-sama is expecting that report to be finished today. Plus, there’s that meeting with the councilors.”

Shikamaru snorted and pressed his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling into you. “As fun as that sounds, I’m going to enjoy my day off. I have no intention of leaving this bed before noon.” He let out a quiet sigh before adding, much more softly, “I wish you could stay with me.”

“I do too.”

A quiet moment passed over the bedroom and the only sound you could make out was the steady whisper of breathing. Slow and shallow. Rhythmic. It very nearly lulled you into dozing off again, which you wouldn’t have complained about, but Shikamaru’s thumb tracing nonsensical patterns just above your belly button managed to keep you tethered to reality. The rough callus tickled, only a little bit, and you knew that getting anymore sleep was well and truly a lost cause now. Resigned, you languidly stretched after a prolonged moment only to issue a quiet groan at the resulting series of pops down your spine.

“You could always tell them you’re sick.” He helpfully suggested, dragging his hand down over your abdomen to slip between your parted thighs. You tensed slightly but didn’t protest even when the pressure of his palm cupping possessively around your pussy made an interested spark ignite deep inside your gut. “My dad doesn’t actually need you there to do the paperwork for him. He’s perfectly capable of managing on his own for one day.”

Giggling, you brought your topmost leg down to effectively trap his fingers where they were. “Shikamaru ... are you encouraging me to lie to your own father?”

“Only if it keeps you here in bed with me.”

You rolled your eyes at the far wall but couldn’t exactly deny that the offer was tempting. Just enticing enough to make you seriously consider it. But Shikaku would have your ass if he found out you’d been dishonest with him just to lay up with his son all day and that was to say absolutely nothing about how Tsunade would react. You weren’t so sure you were brave enough to test your luck against the two of them but your resolve started to crumble when Shikamaru rolled the heel of his palm against your clit, just the right amount of teasing pressure to leave you wanting more.

His powers of persuasion were simply too much to contend with sometimes.

“Let’s say I agree to this.” You intoned distractedly. “Are you going to protect me from the Hokage’s wrath tomorrow?”

“To my dying breath.” The sly tone lacing his now much more alert voice attested to the fact that he was already sure of his victory. The absolute ass.

“And your father?” You pushed, trying to convince him as much as yourself that this wasn’t the best-laid plan he’d ever come up with.

Shikamaru’s mouth curled against your shoulder and he laughed. “It doesn’t matter who it is. I’d never let anyone hurt you.” A brief kiss pressed into you through the thin material of your t-shirt, succeeding in its intended purpose of making you want him even more than you already did. “You should know that better than anyone else by now.”

You wanted to curse him for doing this to you but you were nothing if not a slave to your own desire for him. Blindly reaching back to tangle your fingers in his loose hair, you swiveled your hips down against his hand in a slow grind that left you feeling just shy of needy.

He chuckled into your back, contentedly letting you tug at his scalp while he rolled his wrist in time with your tense, halting movements. The pressure sent exquisite jolts of pleasure racing through your body and it didn’t take long at all for the two of you to find an easy rhythm with one another; pushing, pulling and grinding together in tandem. You could feel the spot between your legs steadily dampening as your arousal swelled and you moaned when you felt the rising nudge of his cock against your lower back just a brief moment later. A silent reminder that he wanted you just as bad.

“You’re going to be the death of me at this rate ...”

Releasing a clipped exhale, Shikamaru leaned into you with his weight and half rolled you over so that he was draped across the length of your back. The change in position had you spreading your legs and bracing your topmost knee on the mattress for leverage. Pivoting your hips was made all the easier now and you rode his palm in earnest, grasping at the sheets with an increasingly tighter grip that had them bunching under your fingers.

“That’s funny,” He whispered against the outer shell of your ear, rubbing the hard length of his cock against your upturned ass enticingly slowly. “Sometimes I think the same thing about you.”

You keened, very softly. The pressure Shikamaru was exerting on your eagerly throbbing cunt doubled down at the low noise of wanting you’d issued and he responded with a soft groan of his own. Turning his head, he dipped his mouth down to kiss the side of your neck; pausing every so often to give your thrumming pulse a teasing lovebite. It had you squirming underneath him, desperate for the full brunt of his attention without your clothes in the way.

“Shikamaru ... nngh.”

Grunting in acknowledgment, he started humping you a little more earnestly. His enthusiasm picked up as the red hot desire you were mutually stoking in one another gradually mounted, dragging the hard weight of his cock over the swell of your ass so earnestly that a shudder rippled down his spine. The bed creaked softly as the sharp contours of Shikamaru’s pelvis drove into the plush cushion of your thighs and pushed you forward, bowing your back underneath him. You whimpered in delight and pressed your face into the pillows, arching up to eagerly meet his next thrust.

“Don’t hide from me, baby,” He rasped, making your pussy clench in anticipation. “Let me hear those pretty sounds, okay?”

You swallowed hard and tentatively lifted your head. “Aahn .... don’t - nngh - tease me ...”

He drew a pointed breath but the sudden blaring from the alarm beat him to the punch and you both started.

“Shit!”

Shikamaru’s fingers jolted against your cunt and quickly withdrew, shoving the blankets out of the way as he brought his hand up to reach over onto the bedside table. He slammed the button to silence the damn thing so hard that for a split second you actually wondered if he’d broken it. The strange sound it made upon abruptly cutting off didn’t exactly bode well for its longevity.

That thought was short lived though and you promptly forgot all about it when he pulled back to go up on his knees, taking the comforter with him as he tugged at the waistband of your sleep shorts. One good pull was all it took to have them bunched just under the swell of your ass and a fresh wave of pleasant tingles ran up your spine when you felt the chilly morning air hit your exposed backside. The warmth of his hands descended upon the plump globes almost immediately, squeezing and kneading them in a pinching grip that made your breath hitch.

“Seriously though,” You sighed, sounding far more sultry than you’d intended as you peered over your shoulder at him. “We’ll both be on the chopping block if we get caught like this.”

Scoffing, Shikamaru lifted his gaze to fix you with a wry look even as he curled his hands around your hips and easily flipped you over onto your back without much resistance on your part. “We were always going to be in deep shit if we got caught like this so there’s really not any higher risk involved. What with you being the Jounin commanders secretary and me his son, after all. Talk about a conflict of interest.”

He grabbed at the front of your shorts then and you curled your legs up so he could tug them down and off. They were carelessly tossed over the edge of the bed and he promptly lowered himself to nestle between your thighs, jostling you slightly with the movement. You felt yourself flush hot when his intentions became clear, happily relenting when he nudged your thighs further apart.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t care anymore?” He asked mildly.

“That depends.” You murmured, your heartbeat picking up a little bit as you watched Shikamaru dip his face to press a lingering kiss to the apex of your mound. “Prove it.”

The confident smirk that slashed across his pouty mouth would’ve been enough to convince you all on its own but then he shimmied a little further down the mattress and bent close to your bare cunt. Dark lashes fluttered shut against the apples of his cheeks, savoring the moment as he tilted his head and slotted his mouth over your slit. You jolted slightly at the hot, wet warmth; lips parting on a silent groan as he kissed you, slow and steady, gradually working your labia apart with the motion. The moment his tongue flicked out to get its first taste made you twitch and hiss at the sensation, curling your toes against the sheets. His warm breath fanned out across your pelvis on a quiet sound of satisfaction, feeling almost like the barely there caress of spectral fingertips. It was enough to make you completely forget your obligation to the Hokage. To his father. The whole damn village.

With a low exhale, you arched into his mouth and brought your hands down to thread them through coarse, ink-black hair. Shikamaru issued a noise of encouragement against your pussy, the hint of vibration making you clench as he leaned his scalp into the cradle of your palms. His eyes flashed open a brief moment later and he peered up the length of your body to pin you with a hooded look that was indescribably attractive, particularly while he was dragging the flat of his tongue over your clit. You trembled, brows knitting together when a roiling pang of desire shot through you.

“You’re always such a tease ...”

One of those sharp, thin brows quirked up in amusement and he nuzzled into you, opening his jaw wider. The impossibly soft, wet cavern of his mouth enveloped the tingling nub and you seethed through your teeth when he gave it a torturously slow suck. He issued another rumbling groan and did it again, slowly suckling at your cunt in a rhythm that seemed to match your heartbeat. The quick flick of his tongue intermittently lashing out to prod your clit made you groan a little harder, a little louder; and you tipped your head back against the pillows as you spread your legs wider apart for him.

“Oooh ... Shikamaru …!”

He grunted a low sound of mirth, burying his nose further into the plushy give of your mound. Tongue slipping past his teeth once again, he took his time slowly tracing circles around the sensitive pleasure button nestled between your folds while unhurriedly working his way inward. You were trembling softly by the time he brushed against the center of your clit what seemed a small eternity later and your grip on his hair tightened. Back and forth. Up and down. His attack on your body was sure and precise, alternating between feather-light strokes and grinding it down with the flat of his tongue. It had you shaking with rapidly mounting ecstasy, twitching and writhing on top of the sheets as you softly keened up at the ceiling.

“Aahhn .... Ahh! Right there ...”

Wetly smacking his lips as if you were the sweetest dessert he’d ever tasted, Shikamaru lifted his head to draw a strained, faltering breath. You watched as though through a dreamy haze as the pink of his tongue darted out to lick his lips and lap up the evidence of your arousal. Those dark, dark brown eyes roved up to regard you again, glinting with mischief and surety alike as he slowly smirked at your flustered expression.

“Who’s to say I don’t want you to cum on my cock instead of my face? Hmm?”

The way you trembled underneath him at the low, seedy promise in his voice did not go unnoticed and he chuckled softly when you fitfully tugged at his hair. Lowering his face again, Shikamaru took a long, wet lick up the length of your slit and you gasped.

“Why can’t I have both?” You mewled, jutting your pelvis to give him better access.

He offered you a shrug of his thin shoulders and affectionately nuzzled against your core, the tip of his nose just barely teasing your clit. “We have all day, love. There’s no rush.”

That little reminder that you were skipping out on work made your stomach settle like a lead weight. You started to sit up, already taking a breath to announce that you had to send a message to the Hokage’s office before everyone started to wonder at your absence, but Shikamaru was quick to curl his arms under your thighs and flatten his palms across your abdomen.

“Calm down. You’d still be getting ready right now so we have time.” He said, smiling up at you when you opened your mouth to protest. “Just relax. Let me take care of it.”

You couldn’t have missed the double entendre even if you’d wanted to and you hesitated a moment before gradually easing back onto the mattress. He looked quite smug as he made himself more comfortable, nudging even closer before closing his open mouth over the apex of your slit again. Stiffening, you slipped your hands down off his head in favor of clutching at his wide hands where they were still keeping you pinned and he promptly picked right back up where he’d left off. Your thighs started shaking almost immediately, making you suck in a faltering inhale as white hot static surged throughout your cunt and into the rest of you.

“Ooh, shit ...!”

Shikamaru issued a breathless laugh against your soaked pussy, burying his face between your thighs so he could worry your clit between his lips. The slow simmering flames burning within you roiled and heaved, making the rest of your body feel pleasantly oversensitized even as the heat of ecstasy continued to pool directly into your loins. You could tell you were edging dangerously close to the edge when your hips began twitching under his ministrations and you twisted, arching into the air even as you swiveled your hips to grind against Shikamaru’s face. Clearly recognizing your tells for exactly what they were, he withdrew his tongue and sealed his mouth around your clit and sucked. Hard.

“Aaah - nngaaah ...!” Blinding starbursts erupted across your vision as you went ramrod stiff against the bed, gasping raggedly. “Shika - aaahn!”

You were vaguely aware of his mouth curling against your soaked cunt and then he slowly leaned back, tugging on your clit until it slipped past his lips. The sharp sensation of having that throbbing little nub toyed with so relentlessly had you writhing and bracing your feet against the mattress so you could enthusiastically jut your pelvis up for more. Shikamaru was altogether uncooperative though and he turned his head to press a rough kiss to your soft inner thigh, smearing a viscous mix of arousal and spit across your skin in the process. You hissed emphatically, trembling even as you brought your knees together and sandwiched his face between your legs with a frustrated little whine.

“That’s not fair ...!”

Dragging his hands up from your hips, he gave the pliable soft meat of your thighs a tight squeeze as his attention flitted up to coolly regard you from under the fall of dark lashes. “All's fair in love and war, baby. You know that.”

You pulled your lower lip in a pout and warningly flexed your legs around his head. “Is that so?”

He offered you a cocky, lopsided grin, entirely unperturbed. “Well, I can’t say I necessarily agree with that statement in a broader sense but in this case at least, I think the point stands. Don’t act like you don’t love what I do to you.”

Unable to stop it, you smiled right back at him. He was right and both of you knew that. The slow buildup he was so adept at torturing you with would just make the explosive crescendo all the more satisfying and when he gave your leg a soft pat, you readily eased up the tension keeping your knees together.

Shikamaru pushed against the bed and rose up on his knees to loom above you. The plain black, oversized t-shirt he’d gone to bed in was yanked over his head in one smooth motion and tossed to the side, exposing the long, lean line of his body. You licked your lips hungrily, watching the muscles in his stomach dance just below the skin. He didn’t allow you much time to ogle him though, shuffling close to kneel between your parted legs before reaching out to hook his broad hands under your armpits and tug.

You giggled when he effortlessly pulled you up into a sitting position, bringing your hands up to squeeze at his narrow hips. He smiled at you, warm and unguarded as he could be only when you were alone like this. The sight of him looking so happy was enough to have your pussy and heart throbbing in equal measure, and it took everything you had not to start swooning right on the spot.

Oblivious to your thought, his long fingers came up to affectionately brush the side of your face before trailing down to grab the hem of your shirt. It came off as quickly as his had, exposing your tightly puckered nipples to the cool air, and you shuddered even as you lifted your hands to pull at the hem of his sweatpants. You’d never been so glad for elastic waistbands as you were when his straining cock popped up into the scant space separating you two, blissfully free of the restrictive clothing.

Shikamaru issued a low sound of approval, palming your breast in one hand and possessively squeezing the supple swell of flesh while the other came up to curl around your neck. You leaned into the covetous gesture as you wrapped your fingers around the hard length proudly jutting from his pelvis, tilting your face up when he leaned close to press his mouth over yours. The exchange was chaste and savory in deference to the fact that neither of you had brushed your teeth yet, and you issued a quiet groan against his lips as you steadily pumped him with a gentle roll of your wrist that made him sigh through his nose.

A soft, wet click rose up between your bodies when you tugged the meat of his foreskin down just enough to expose the glans. There was a fat drop of precum beading on the tip and you lifted your thumb to gently smooth over it, smearing the sticky slick across the head of him. Shikamaru groaned in response, breaking apart from the kiss with a low sound of wanting as he sat back on his haunches to look at you. His eyes were resting at an attractive half-mast, lips parted in a crooked, pouty ‘o’ and the faint dusting of pink on his round cheeks effectively reminded you just how much you loved him. He was easily the most attractive man you’d ever known with his smooth jawline and sharp facial features, and the fact you were lucky enough to call him yours just made your heart swell.

Reaching out to brush a loose strand of thick, coarse hair behind his ear, you gave his cock a slow tug. “I wish you could see yourself right now.”

He snorted a quiet sound of mirth and shot you a meaningful look from under the fall of his lashes. “That should have been my line. You look wrecked and all I’ve done so far is eat you out …”

“Well, you’re very good at it.” You offered him a salacious smile as you pulled, bunching the tip of his foreskin with another quiet click before rolling it down under the ridged glans in one smooth motion.

The furrow between Shikamaru’s brow deepened and he shuddered at the sensation. His gaze darted down to watch you drag your palm down towards the base until the mess of black curls there brushed your knuckles. He tightened his hold on your neck then and pulled you close, leaning forward to meet you halfway. Your foreheads bumped together and the two of you stayed like that, alternating between looking into the others face and peering down at what you were doing to his cock.

“Now who’s being the tease?” He huffed, lightly brushing the rough pad of his thumb over your tightly puckered nipple.

You arched into the touch with a sharp inhale. “You’re welcome to come take me whenever you want …”

Mouth curling in a lopsided smirk, Shikamaru sent you a long look from just a scant few inches away. You could see the familiar glint of fond endearment reflecting back at you and when he drew a haltingly slow breath that made his shoulders lift, you licked your lips in anticipation. “When you say things like that, it makes it hard for me not to act like a brute.”

“I might like it.”

He laughed, low and quiet; angling close to brush the tip of his nose against yours. You returned the gesture, never once breaking eye contact, and when he leaned further into you just a short moment later, you readily let him push you back against the pillows. Shikamaru followed you down, taking his rightful spot on top of you as he seamlessly slotted his hips between your thighs. You felt his straining cock nudge your cunt, tracking more arousal across your labia when it slipped through your drenched folds. A faltering groan rolled off your tongue as you brought your arms up to link them around his neck, trying to pull him down to rest against you, but he continued to hover over you with one hand braced against the mattress.

The other slipped into the tight space between you two, reaching not for his cock but for your sopping wet cunt. You jolted slightly when you felt the pads of two fingers press down on your clit, drawing tight circles around it, and the high strung arousal from only a few minutes ago immediately came rushing back at full force in a blinding surge.

“Ahh!”

Biting down on your lower lip to stifle your cries of pleasure, you tilted your head back to fix him with an imploring look. Shikamaru attentively regarded you for a prolonged beat, watching the way your face twisted in pleasure while your body twitched against him, and the strand of hair you’d tucked behind his ear only a short while ago slowly slipped forward to hang over his temple again. You wanted to reach up and push it back, curl your fingers against his scalp and hold it in place, but with a twist of his wrist he was suddenly prodding at your entrance and you couldn’t think straight.

“Shikamaru!” You blurted, digging your nails into his back.

A sly edge crept across his expression and camped there as he breached your entrance with the tips of his fingers in torturous slow motion before suddenly withdrawing them. “What do you need, baby? Tell me.” He repeated the same action twice more, just barely dipping into your body and then immediately pulling back out. It had you clenching down on nothing and letting loose a frazzled groan into the statically charged air.

“I need to cum on your cock,” You choked out, trying once again to pull him down on top of you. “Please …”

Shikamaru acquiesced this time and a reverberating groan rumbled deep in his chest as he settled against you, the pliable swell of your breasts squishing against the firm expanse of pecs. You invitingly arched against him even as you brought your legs up to hook them around the small of his back, trying to nudge him closer with the balls of your feet. Shikamaru’s attention was focused on guiding himself to your waiting entrance though and you both seethed in unison when the glans started to sink inside. The stretch gradually grew more intense one torturous fraction at a time until you were blinking through a film of stinging tears, your mouth hanging open in stricken ecstasy. The further he reached inside your body, the harder it was to stay grounded and you finally threw your head back with a half choked moan just as he settled against you at long last.

“God,” He breathed out, sounding like even that much was a struggle. “You have no idea how good you look when I’m inside you, baby. You really don’t.”

You drew a shuddering inhale. “It feels good …!”

“I gathered as much.” Shikamaru murmured laughingly as he bent close to press a bruising kiss to your jaw, his narrow chest working against yours. “I’ll start to get a big head if you’re not careful.”

“You already had a big head.” Whimpering softly, you turned to shove your face into his shoulder and muffle the last bit. “And I don’t mean your ego.”

That didn’t stop him from hearing it though and Shikamaru issued another breathless laugh as he flattened himself flush against you, working his arms between your back and the mattress. “Mean girl.” He mumbled in a fond tone.

You smiled against his skin, feeling like you were floating somewhere between this plane and the next as he slowly angled his hips back. The drag of his stiff cock against your spongy inner wall made you feel lightheaded and dizzy, head lolling on the pillow as you braced for what was coming next. You were much too far gone, lost in the rosey daze of carnal pleasure, to realize that you should have left about ten minutes ago and the thought never even crossed your mind when he pushed back in straight down to the base. A grunt on his end and a staggered gasp on yours with an accompanying wet squelch of your body sucking him in deep. That was all you could focus on at the moment and you clung to him as he started up a steady rhythm of push and pull, the soft thunk of your headboard meeting the wall helping set the tempo.

Shoving his face into the crook of your neck, Shikamaru seethed with every downward lunge while his fingers dug into your ribs hard enough to bruise. The onslaught of stimuli was overwhelming in the best possible way and you heaved for air as the space between your bodies quickly grew stiflingly hot and sweaty. It made your flesh stick to his, abrasively pulling at the soft expanse of your tummy where it was pressed flat to the hard line of his stomach. Your breasts were in the same boat and you mewled when you felt the soft skin of his nipple drag across yours, sending explosive shockwaves racing down the curve of your spine.

You writhed under him and locked your ankles together over the small of his back, clutching at him in your desperation. Shikamaru’s quiet groans rose in pitch when your pussy clamped down on him with a warning tremor so strong that it seemed to bleed right through you and into him. Slowing to a shuddering halt, he took a moment to steady himself and he used the opportunity to grind against your soaked core with a stuttering pivot of his hips. The coarse hair at the base of his cock teased your clit with the motion, making you teeter that much more closely to the brink of release and the added pressure on your quaking guts instantly had you shaking uncontrollably around him.

“Shika - aaahn! Shikamaru! I’m gonna’ cum! Please! Nnnghh … don’t stop!”

Sucking in a haggard breath, he resumed his earlier thrusting with noticeably more urgent enthusiasm. He wanted you to find release on his cock, basked in the knowledge that he could make you shatter with his own body the same way some men took pride in the knowledge that they could go for hours without ever stopping to ask if their partner had been satisfied at any point during that time. You’d been there and done that before, and as a result you hadn’t thought the sheer heights of ecstasy Shikamaru took you to could actually exist before you’d met him. It was a heady, intoxicating feeling to know your pleasure was so important to him and you happily let the cresting waves of building tension swallow you up even when they threatened to suffocate you with the sheer intensity of the sensation.

The headboard was now banging against the wall loudly enough that there would be no mistaking the reason, and you idly hoped your neighbor was away on a mission. You weren’t so sure if you could survive the embarrassment of receiving a formal noise complaint, particularly not when the pressure in your throbbing cunt doubled down and you suddenly realized that you were wailing Shikamaru’s name up at the ceiling.

“Shhh. It’s okay, baby.” He rasped, panting into your neck so vigorously that you could actually feel the moisture beading between the two of you. “I - nnghn. I’ve got you! Cum on my cock so I can fill you up, okay?”

The mental image of him releasing deep inside you added on to the potent memory of him doing just that many times before made you seize, releasing such a stricken shriek of delight that you sounded possessed to your own ears. There was no stopping it though and you heaved once, twice - the tense muscles of your fluttering pussy staying locked in dizzying overload for the beat of two seconds - and then the coil snapped. You jerked under Shikamaru so hard that the bed slammed into the wall with enough force to make the contents of the nightstand clatter. You probably would have shot right off his dick if he’d let you but, true to his word, he held tight. Keeping his arms linked around your convulsing body, he fucked you right through your orgasm and into his own until your cunt was a pulppy, churning mess and he was shooting ropes of hot spunk against your cervix. His off kilter groaning rose in pitch and joined yours, the two of you shaking against one another for what felt like a small eternity.

Shikamaru was the first to come down and he went boneless on top of you, trying to catch his breath even as he nuzzled into while you rode out the lingering tremors of orgasm. Your shuddering passage clamped around him in rapidly weakening contractions a few more times before stilling altogether and you let out a flusteredly gratified puff of air that made his hair shift against your cheek. Slowly letting up the tension keeping your legs curled around his waist, you let them slide down the backs of his slim thighs to hook in the bends of his knees. Both of you were sweaty, tangled up messes but the contentment radiating around you was practically palpable. You’d never dreamed sex could be so satisfying.

It was the plush give of Shikamaru’s lips on your neck that finally drew you back to reality and you turned your head, pressing a kiss of your own to the outer shell of his ear. You felt his lips curl into a smug grin and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling too. It was infectious.

“I think you’re slowly getting louder and louder.” He murmured softly.

“Shut up.” You laughed, bringing one hand up to tangle in his hair and cradle the back of his skull while the other looped across his broad shoulders.

Shikamaru breathed a deep sigh of contentment as he shifted on top of you, seemingly getting more comfortable. A few minutes passed in this fashion and it seemed inevitable that the two of you would drift off in each other's arms when an abrupt knock at your front door startled you both awake.

“I’ll get it.” He grumbled and sat up, though not without a yawn to go with his compliance.

You giggled, rolling over onto your side so you could watch him stumble out of bed and back into his sweatpants. The urge to reach out and playfully smack his ass had just gotten the better of you when another knock sounded at the door, but this time it was accompanied by a voice.

Shikaku-taichou’s voice.

You’d recognize it anywhere and you froze, arm still stretched out on its aborted mission. Shikamaru’s expression visibly paled as he shot you a quick, surreptitious glance and you both seemed to realize that neither of you had sent word to the Hokage’s office regarding your absence at the same time. The twin looks of dawning horror probably would’ve been quite comical had the circumstances been any different.

“I’ll answer the door,” You whispered, heart in your throat as you jumped up to find your clothes. The thick, goopy mess between your legs promptly made itself known and you winced. “Hurry up and hide, just let me handle this.”

“Oh, like that’s going to do any good.” Shikamaru snipped as he frantically looked around for his discarded shirt. “That’s the Jounin commander out there and my father! If it was that easy to hide from him, he wouldn’t be your boss right now.”

You threw your hands up in frustration and spun around to face him, suddenly finding yourself standing chest to chest with your (secret) boyfriend. The two of you hesitated, regarding each other for a quiet moment of uncertainty. “What do we do?” You finally asked him in a small voice.

Shikamaru opened his mouth to speak but it was Shikaku’s words drifting through the front door that answered your question, much to your mortifying shame.

“Look, I know my son is in there with you so you don’t need to try and hide it. I’ve known about you guys for some time now, actually. Just let me in so we can talk, alright?”

He didn’t sound particularly upset, more tiredly weary than anything else, but you still felt certain you’d die from embarrassment alone. A brief look at Shikamaru quickly assured you that you weren’t the only one feeling that way and you reached out to comfortingly take his hand. You’d never seen his face so beat red in all the time you’d known him. Even the time he’d slipped on ice and landed flat on his ass when he’d been trying to show off in front of you hadn’t made him look quite this humiliated.

“It’ll be okay.” You assured him in a soft tone. “Let’s just talk to him, okay?”

Forcibly shrugging off his shellshocked daze, Shikamaru peered into your face for a long moment while those big brown eyes darted back and forth over your features in search of an answer. Then, so imperceptibly you almost missed it, he squeezed your fingers with a cautiously optimistic smile. “Okay. Let’s tallk.”

#naruto #shikamaru x reader #shikamara nara #self insert bullshit #My writing

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