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hypocriticalspicewrites · 5 months

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🦇~FruitBats Drabble~🍒

17+ Beyond this point! Contains suggestive content not meant for younger audiences, so if you're bit looking for spicy writing, keep on rollin brother. Also never really written anything like this, so reboots and feedback is appreciated if you decide to stick around and read~! 🩷🖤🩷

Chrysta had just been turned only a few months ago by her four mates, and she seemed to be adapting well to the vampire life, especially if it meant being with her boys.

However, there were a few things she was still getting used to... This was completely new and difficult for her to adapt to.

Chrysta was in heat. A rut, if you will - which is usually a once or twice in a year routine most vampires went through. Hell, even the boys have gone through it countless times in their immortal lives... But Chrysta? The sweet thing wasn't handling it well.

The scent if her heat had filled the cave, and immediately brought all the boys in the cave over to her nest like a both to a flame, watching the way she tossed and turned, restlessly gripping at her sickly stomach.

It was David who decided to take the daring step forward toward the dancing shadows in the dim candlelight, tugging at the silky and sheen fabric that worked as a curtain shielding the nest, pulling it away with his two fingers to peer in and see its treasure inside.

He couldn't help but fight the grin that creeped onto his lips like a kid on Christmas day. His icy eyes scanned over his woman curled into herself, her bare back bounced with heavy pants, body turned to face away from the four coven members all circled around watching like dogs waiting to be fed.

"Having a good time in there?" David asked, earning a few grunts and snickers from the three boys behind him.

Chrysta's pointed ears twitched, her breathing hitched, and her body seemed to freeze. A low growl purrs from her throat, hearing the taunting being sent her way. The response was odd coming from her, she was such a sweet little lady to her boys and everyone else, but it's obvious the heat made her more irritated and aggressive- it usually was a worse time for female vampires.

She rolled over, her back hitting the rocky wall behind her as she finally made eye contact.

Her fangs were bared, and her eyes glowed that feirce yellow with firey rims. Her body was uncontrollably hot, her pale skin slicked with sweat that glistened in the dim lights, and her brunette curls were all over the place, hiding the bottom half of her face into them and the pillow as she growled and hissed, muffled by the sheets.

Her silky tanktop slipped her shoulders as she tried clawing at it. The silky fabric did anything but comforted it and worsened the irritation of her sensitive breasts.

David had knelt to her level where her face was hidden away, pursing his lips out and cooing at her mockingly. "Oh, you poor thing, you're barely keeping it together, baby."

She didn't speak - even if she could very much do so. She just watched them through her thick lashes, like a Vixen. Fat tears fell from her unblinking eyes she refused to avert from David as though she expected him to make a sudden move if she even blinked. It stimulated her poor body to a point that she couldn't control the tears rolling down her rosey cheeks. Her eyes narrowed as she heard them mockingly coo and tease her.

Chrysta didn't want to be so hissy at her mates, but this heat was so bad it almost hurt. She couldn't help but get defensive if they even made one more step towards her. Her fangs felt too big for her mouth, sore and aching deep in her gums and itching to sink into flesh.

"Come on, Chrissie," David brought his hand over to her face- the second he did it was like Marko, Paul, and Dwayne leaned in dramatically to watch and see the outcome of his choice.

"I know what you're feeling, Chrissie, but throwing a fit won't help... Why don't you let your boys help you out?" He spoke quiet, but his tone wasn't soft or comforting, his fingertips brushed over her forehead, moving away her bangs.

The second she laser-focused on David's hand, she was growling, her lips curling back to reveal her fangs as her pupils shrunk. The hair on the back of her neck raised.

Her hand immediately shot out for his face, her claws barely grazing at his jaw before he quickly reeled away with ease. The action got the boys laughing and hollering.

Given Chrysta's condition, what was hers was hers. especially her personal space. Even when she was starting to enter her heat, Max himself had told the boys to leave her alone till she willingly gave into it and came to them to help her. They knew what they were doing.

David didn't fight an amused chuckle himself, feeling some sort of sadistic rush as the anticipation and adrenaline pumped through his veins at the quick dodge of her attack, craning his head back to show of the faint and barely visible graze marks along his cheek toward his lip. He was looking pretty prideful in the marks his lady left on him.

Paul made a drawn out 'O' noise as he strutted toward the opposite side if David, crouching doen and stroking two of his fingers up and down her ankles, flashing a toothy grin as his ocean blue eyes scanned her figure. "Wanna leave me a few of them scratches down my back, Dime piece?"

He swiftly reached toward the back of her thigh, taking a good chunk of her plush skin between his fingers and pinching it - which quickly got him the reaction he was looking for.

Chrysta let out a shrill yelp, throwing her arm out and hitting Paul's chest before lashing out her other hand, fingers splayed out and sharp nails ready to cut. But Paul stumbled back quickly, falling into Dwayne’s arms, who caught his friend as his back hit his chest, both cackling with one another.

"Cherri's feelin' fiesty t'night!" Paul spoke, putting his hands up to admit defeat as she stared at him through the opening of the curtains, a low hiss rolling of her tongue.

It only took a single pinch before they were all on her like a heeler nipping at the ankles of cattle. Marko places a quick smack to her ass where it peeked from her shorts, earning another squeal and Marko quickly missing a foot shot straight for his face.

On a normal night, this type of attention would have had Chrysta giggling and (to put it lightly) all over her boys. But not tonight. She wasn't in the mood. It was either get her out of this heat immediately or leave her alone, and the boys weren't about to give her what she wanted without enjoying a little teasing first.

While her leg was still stretched out, Dwayne all but pushed his dirty blonde mates away, wrapped his whole hand around her ankle and his other hand began to glide up her leg, his calloused palm making contact with her soft skin. His fingers barely crept under the hem of her tanktop, brushing over her stomach before her claws made contact with his hand.

He quickly drew his hand back, not as quick as David however, yet something about his hesitance seemed he wasn't trying to miss her attack, quickly bringing his scratched hand up to his mouth and licking the blood away from his wounds, his eyes never left hers as he did so.

"Alright, that's enough of that."

Before Chrysta could react, David's hand wrapped around her neck, slow and cautious as his fingers gave her a little squeeze. She doesn't make a move to scratch him yet, feeling his cold fingertips on her hot skin make her flinch, a hiss rolling out of her throat, vibrating against his palm. She could've left him some mighty fine few scars to show off to the boardwalk tomorrow night, but she didn't, cause even through her overwhelmed mind, she was still Chrysta, their good girl. And good girls obey.

He doesn't look intimidated or scared. His face looked unreadable, his narrowed gaze on her the whole time he brought his face closer to her own.

He raises his thumb to her mouth, running it down the long length of one of her fangs. The action caused her pupils to dilate. "That's more like it." He breathed, his voice low and quiet enough only loud enough for Chrysta's ears - even if the other boys had already crowded around close enough to hear and watch.

His thumb trailed down to her bottom lip, the pad of his ungloved digit running over her dry brim, missing the sticky sensation of her glossy cherry flavored lip loss. "Look at you, baby... It hurts so bad, doesn't it?" He spoke to her like she was a little kitten in the palm of his hand, continuing to stroke her bottom lip.

She doesn't answer him just yet, the cave filling with silence and thick with tension. He can feel her windpipe bob as she swallowed the saliva pooling in the back of her throat, but it doesn't take long before she let's out a pleading whine, her bottom lip studding out into a pout as she looks at him with her big, doe-like eyes, nodding her head at him and waiting patiently (even if she hated doing so) for him to do something- anything to get this God-awful heat to calm down.

David didn't even fight the smirk slowly growing on his lips, the unreadable look on his features breaking. "Don't worry, Chrissie, I won't make you beg." He stated, his nose brushing against the shell of her ear, leaving a quick kiss to the back of her ear near her jaw, the scratching sensation of his stubble sent a shiver down her spine, causing her to visible arch her back.

"Now let's get you out of this rut, shall we?"

🍒🦇

OK I HAVE TO SAY I WAS TOTALLY INSPIRED BY @luv4fandoms TLB rut series cause they are SO👏GOOD 👏 I think I've reread David's like 140000 times I love them sm

I SWEAR I hope this wasn't totally cringe to read I haven't written anything like this (at least I haven't posted👁👁) before so I hope it isn't too bad! Thanks for checking it out! ;D

#🍒daily dose of cherry🍒#🍒cherrys spice cabinet🔥#self insert #self ship #self shipping community #the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #lost boys #selfship #tlb 1987 #spicy creator #spicy content #lime #the lost boys david #the lost boys paul #the lost boys marko #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys oc #tlb oc

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thorihpes · 3 months

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Look, I'm not into feet. At all. But there was only ONE content creator out there (that I can recall) who made sfm p*rn videos of Ardyn Izunia, and that legend happened to like Ardyn's feet.

I can't find those videos anymore. But this absolute fking warrior did NOT hold back. They made 2 of the most unhinged Ardyn fan contributions I've ever seen in my life and then logged tf out. God rest their soul.

Tonight, I pour one out for you, my fallen foot soldier. 😢🥂

A moment of silence guys...🫡

......

........Alright now does anyone have the videos cus I'm legit desperate for anything at this point I don't even care if it's his feet. I am officially out here begging for scraps I s2g 😭

#ardyn izunia #I am NOT shaming anyone for liking feet btw but it's definitely a niche choice for an sfm content creator to make like-#-what percentage of Ardyn stans have a foot fetish?#For me it's like...I'm not really into lime flavoured starburst. But if I'm starving I'll gorge that shit down no problem #that's what the Ardyn foot video is to me

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zeia · 1 month

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Ever wanted to know what the pages look like without the lines?

Doesn' matter, now you know!

They're smooth

actual page here, for reference

#my art #original art #oc #mixed media #staff's break #extra content #silly #fnaf sb #fnaf au #funfact: everything had placeholder colours #they were super vibrant so i wouldn't forget to switch ou later #like oranges blues reds greens #except for the speech bubbles who were a light lime #i forgot to switch them out and ended up liking it this way

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v4mpy-cat · 7 months

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Tickletober Day 3: "Cuddles!"

First time making Yellow x Lime art, and it's fucking THIS.

I can't even with my motivation! 😂💖✨

#tickle fluff #sfw tickles #among us tickles #tickle art #sfw tickling community #tickle content #rodamrix tickles #Lee!Rodamrix Yellow #Ler!Lime #tickletober2023 #tickletober 2023 #augtickletober2023

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skimmeh · 7 months

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I hope you know that stareater even though it's desertduo and ranchers centric story ... there's a lot many other characters in it that I hold dear

#I WANNA GIVE ALL THE HERMITS AND LIFE SERIES SILLIES THE LIME LIGHT #obviously though cant include everyone for different reasons..but also cos i want to my familiar with the characters #but taht means consuming alot ot content #so sorry ive your favourite is missing #but!!! i do wanna give characters that rarely get inculed ..some story and also avoid toconigesing?? idk if thats the right words #miss characterising them bascilly

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sourcitrusjuice · 23 days

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I am the Lemon.

I am bitter, unsavory, tart

The skin on my back is yellow, dimpled and fresh.

The color of nourishing sunshine and everlasting happiness

My aroma is alluring, sweet, tangy

Won’t you take a bite?

The taste of my juice is acidic, rotten, repulsive

The flesh of my membrane attacking your mouth, digging into your tongue

You spit me out, your body salivating as if I were a poison, but I have yet to be removed

You have given me a chance, a heartbeat of trust, and I have ruined it

My ravishing outside is starkly contrasted with the reactive, volcanic contents of my inside

As you eat me up, I wish to eat you too

I react swiftly, terrifyingly, to those who try to learn the taste of my flesh

For inside, I have nothing but bitterness. I am raw, inedible, hard to digest.

There is nothing that is consumable in my core.

I would rather you just drink the lemonade.

I have been processed, properly sugared, sweetened like the deceiving peel that adorns my outside should be.

I would rather you just drink the lemonade.

I should be sweet.

But I am sour.

I am sour.

The true me, is sour.

And I don't want you to taste me.

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illusivesoul · 9 months

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"You've only scratched the surface. Scratch a little deeper"

#mass effect #femshep #ashley williams #shepley #fshepley #illusivedits #illusivesouledits #shepard x ashley #ashley mass effect #mass effect ashley #putting some positive ash content in the tags after dealing with more idiots who hate her today #lime #commander shepard #meedit #meedits #masseffectedits

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issa-pheonyx · 8 months

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on my hands and knees begging for a crumb of yandere vergil 🙏🙏🙏 however you want to characterize him in regards to sub/dom is up to you! Love your work :)

- @plslovemeforeverandever

𝗛𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘆, 𝗜 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗰𝗵𝘂. 𝗔𝘀 𝘄𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱…𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗼𝗺 𝗯𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗼 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗼𝗼. 𝗔𝗹𝘀𝗼, 𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻, 𝘀𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗜 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄, 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗯𝗯~🤭🖤

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

-This guy has major mommy trust and commitment issues. Which may explain why he is a single deadbeat dad and was barely aware he has a whole kid (I swear I'm just joking about him, we'll get more in depth right neow~), but that was all in your head to be false. He didn't think he would make it as a father, hell to even take care of himself due to the obsession of needing to be powerful than his father. All because he wanted to protect his mother, his little brother-the whole family he felt like a failure...not anymore though

-It seems like when you interact with the squad you were...calming. Even if you claim yourself to be chaotic and loud there is something unique about you he just can't put it. It just leads him being cold and distant away from you, because he is confused and irritated the fact he didn't understand why, but that's only the reason he is afraid to be vulnerable. He already has, the outcome turned into a repeated nightmare with Nero being put into an orphanage cause of the demons always on his tail and to end the Sparda bloodline. That's when he realizes it was love...that's what he thinks it would be. He is infatuated

-Sure, his father wasn't around so much fighting off demons when he was young, but hearing his mother telling stories and experience of her and his fathers romance made his inner child be in awe. Despite Dante's disgusted reactions as he claims that they are 'cooties'-Vergil would ask his mother now and then what his father, Sparda, done for his mother, Eva. Vergil then follows what his father would do for you instead, it was awkward at first since you felt like he didn't like you at all until he starts complimenting your handy work fighting off demons, next was saving you when you were so close to dying before Nero has the chance to pull you aside for aid, and to be around you for company as he reads being at peace with you next to him doing your hobbies

-Everyone was shocked, yet proud he is starting to open up to more people instead of them and lowkey shipping ya'll, so they would give you guys some alone time. However, it was strange that whenever you leave the couch to get something and come back that one of your sketches was gone and the pencil wasn't placed at the same spot-no way it could've rolled off, or even that dress/suit you wore only once you remember you put it all the way to the back of your closet only for it to be gone. You assume it was Nico or maybe Dante pulling something funny, but they told you they have no idea. Surely, Vergil wouldn't do that, you knew it yourself...right?

-Things were missing-small things that you own, but were important to you. Eventually, you confronted Vergil, finally and he said,"Why on earth would I even bother to touch a humans belongings? Let alone a full blooded human. I have other important things to do." Yikes, that was harsh. This lead you to be more frustrated and gave up if things disappear...when you do though everything starts to come back. You're starting to get paranoid. Even your dress/suit is back in the closet, but there was a strange strand of hair on it. It was white-the twins!? No, it couldn't be. Dante is a flirt sure, but not a creep. Nero is a good boy, and he knew better since Kyrie would end him. But, Vergil??? Oh god no...

WARNING!!! Spicy after this thread [MDNI🔞]

-This dude has a shrine okay?? Somewhere out there we don't know, not even the squad knows, the demons-nobody, okay?? He does this as a way to cope with being touch-starved, fear of committing due to being a half-demon that you may end up getting killed cause of him, he doesn't want you to see him all disgusted by how much of a filthy man he is smelling the perfume and just your addicting scent on that dress/suit he can not help to purr and let out raspy moans, rubbing the boner that's tenting his pants smelling you

-Whenever you save him from a surprise attack or training together that you always manage to win and pin him, he would compliment. It's like more of a 'oh that's nice...still you could've just done this-' kind of manner if that makes sense. You usually roll your eyes or tell him "I don't care and I never asked, son of Sparda." Honestly, you assume he is going to be triggered by the mockery, but nope! It seems like your sarcasm and attitude of not giving a fuck about his egotistical and obnoxious critiques awaken something in him that you got him readjusting his collar. Like why am I losing oxygen? I swore I didn't put this shirt on too tight. Sure, Vergil, sure~

-Now the times Vergil wouldn't be around you and the squad is, because he is at your place smelling the air as every single just in the room itself is reeking of your lovely scent. He has been to hell, but if this were heaven he never wants to leave. Vergil wants to know where you sleep, what you eat, what cup you drank to see the prints of your lips were formed, the dirty clothes that's been used, because that one is stronger than the rest-he is like a kid in a candy shop

-Eventually, when you find out on what he is truly doing you were in shock. The Vergil having an obsession over you? You predicted he hated you, didn't want to be around you, etc. He claims to be feral around you that's why he has a certain look on his face when you stand or sit too close to him he has to scoot or walk away, before it got worse. Like a hungry dog he wants to feast, but he is scared. He doesn't want you to leave him or possibly die from a demon interfering...if that's the case he will have you when you're unconscious

-He wants to taste you all over. He has licked your neck, back, waist, legs, and...oh is that an opening? Just a little tug on your shirt up and dammit there it is. Your chest bare and he ends up licking around, sucking and nibbling your nipples gently as he doesn't want to wake you up. There were times he got carried away when you let out a loud moan from sucking them a little to hard he hid and you woke up confused. You go back to sleep again, knocked out peacefully, and when you woke up again the sun was out. That's weird. It feels weirdly...good. You couldn't move your legs as it made you wake up for real looking down to see Vergil giving you head. The way he shot his eyes up though, glowed of hunger. There is no way you can fight him off cause he is going to finish this until you cum

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴! 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘁. 𝗠𝘆 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹~🖤🫣

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cupcakedex · 1 year

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Jar cakes for Pokemon Go Tour Hoenn!

These were a blast to make live on Twitch!

We filled jars with layers of pineapple-coconut cake soaked with lime simple syrup, topped with yellow pineapple curd and lemon cream cheese frosting. The Groudon and Kyogre coins are made of chocolate candy melts.

#pokemon #pokemon go #pokemon go tour #hoenn #groudon #kyogre #legendary pokemon #gen 3 #cake #jar cake #fruit #pinapple #lime #lemon #coconut #original content

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bosspigeon · 10 months

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some strange kind of euphoria

Rating: M Words: 6230 Pairing: Amir x MC Warnings: references to past homophobia, bullying, and emotional abuse, panic attacks, implications of kink, general horny content Ko-Fi <3

Amir answers the door wearing nothing more than his gauzy dressing gown and a smile, which drops as soon as he sees the look on Jude’s face.

In Jude’s defense, seeing Amir at all brightens him up a bit, but even offering his own smile doesn’t quite feel right. He’s tense, slouching, and he knows his sour mood is broadcasting loud and clear in more than just his expression and posture.

His face feels brittle, but so does the rest of him. “Can I come in?” he asks, wincing at the way his voice cracks.

He shouldn’t have come at all. He should have just… called Amir and asked for a rain check, but Amir penciled out this time for him, when he’s always so busy, he couldn’t just bail. He’s starting to think he should have anyway to save them both the discomfort.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, swallowing and backing away from the door while Amir stares him down, quietly assessing. “I shouldn’t have–”

“Did the doorman give you trouble?” Amir snaps, eyes blazing. Heat prickles along Jude’s skin, the temperature in the hall rising abruptly.

“Wh– No, he– Well–” He didn’t give him any trouble, per se, he knows Jude well enough by now as Amir’s guest that he didn’t say anything– just gave him the usual quietly critical once-over he does whenever Jude shows up on his own without Amir to shield him. It usually doesn’t bother him overmuch, but he’s… a bit more of a raw nerve than he usually is. Maybe more of an open wound.

“No,” Amir says slowly, calming down quickly as he examines the human. “Something happened.”

“Nothing serious,” Jude assures him, and he doesn’t resist as Amir tugs him inside. The hand curling around his wrist is soft and too-warm, and something in his body eases at the simple touch. “I just… had dinner with my family, is all.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is tense and weighted.

“...It didn’t go well, I take it?” Amir offers, his voice carefully neutral, his fingers tightening briefly around Jude’s wrist and then relaxing.

Jude can’t help but laugh, a single sharp bark that he stifles as quickly as he can. “‘Bout as well as could be expected,” he mumbles. He’s not sure what else to say beyond that, there’s so much tangled up in his head, in his chest, his whole body is tense and heavy with it.

He wishes he’d thought to change before he showed up. The crisp button-down and pressed slacks are uncomfortably formal, fitting too closely around his shoulders, at his waist. He feels stiff and stifled and… not like himself.

He’s sure Amir notices. Amir notices everything.

He leads Jude to the sofa and urges him to sit. He sinks into it with a grateful sigh, releasing as much of the tension in his body he's able to without medical or chemical assistance. Amir settles in next to him, curling close, and immediately starts plucking at the buttons of his shirt.

Jude huffs out another weak little laugh, lolling his head back against the cushions and watching those long, graceful fingers work.

“Talk to me, darling,” Amir says, slipping his hand under the fabric to rest against Jude's chest. The heat of his hand is comforting in its familiarity, lighting up his skin and settling his nerves. There’s a silky weight pressing at the edge of his thoughts, a presence that he’s grown used to at this point, warm like a physical touch. He’s not sure Amir’s even doing it on purpose, but it doesn't really matter.

"Mom asked if I was seeing anyone." It hangs between them for a long moment, before he manages to eke out, "She… didn't mean to."

She's never asked. Not him, at least. She's asked his brothers, his cousins, the kids of friends of hers or Dad's, but never Jude. She knows better than to ask questions she doesn't want the answer to.

He tries to elaborate, but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out, like the words are stuck behind a barrier, like there’s a big blinking roadblock between his brain and his mouth. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry.

He’s so tired of talking, and even if he doesn't really need to say much of anything out loud with Amir, he's just so frustrated, like he wasted all his words on people who didn’t even care to listen. He groans and covers his face with his hands.

Amir's slide over them, tugging them away so Jude can't hide from him. "That’s fine. You don’t need to talk." He smiles a sly little smile that always makes Jude's pulse race, kisses his knuckles, and slips off the couch, taking his warmth with him. "I'll make tea, you get comfortable."

It takes a few seconds for Jude to catch on, his head is such a mess, but he feels the familiar whisper of Amir's power twining through his thoughts. Oh.

They've done this before, more than once, when Amir's asked about fantasies of his and he was too embarrassed to say them aloud. It took some practice, but Amir has always been careful, never probed too deeply, and never without Jude's express permission.

He focuses on the pleasant background noise of Amir moving around his kitchen, the gentle thrum of his presence at the edge of his thoughts, and tries to put them in order.

Dinner was… awkward, to say the least, from the start. Jude isn't a talker, never really has been, so it was mostly him listening to his brothers ramble. Seth's youngest is starting middle school. Gabe got a promotion.

Seth asked what he’d been up to, not that he cared. Gabe snorted when he asked, which only proved the point. Jude just mumbled something about work and avoided eye contact. Played with his food. Wondered if his hometown had anything like the things he’d found out living in the city miles away. The conversation moved on without him, like it always did.

His brothers stopped picking on him about the same time he hit a growth spurt and outstripped both of them in height and not just weight. Well, they hadn’t stopped, exactly, just… didn’t push their luck like they used to. Like they did when they caught him sitting happily while their cousin, Lacey, put makeup on him as "practice" for cosmetology school. Like they did whenever his hair got long enough for them to to pull, before Dad got sick of him “looking like a girl” and shaved it off.

"I've got three boys, not two boys and whatever the hell you're tryin' to be."

And then Jude got bigger than him too, and he left him mostly to his own devices. Not without those snide comments here and there, but he was well used to it at that point.

His family is good at ignoring things that upset them–once they've stifled the offending party into silence, of course.

Jude came out when he was a teenager. His mother wept like someone had died. His father looked furious, but bit his tongue–though he spent the next few years making little digs about how lucky Jude was he didn't just kick him out to fend for himself. His brothers weren’t there, but they found out ;ater, and though they couldn't do anything to him physically at that point (head and shoulders taller and nearly twice as broad–and the Marlowe boys all took after their father in stature, Jude just took it further than that) they made sure he knew he was still their punching bag one way or another.

So when his mother asked him innocently, not thinking, hardly looking at him so much as smiling glibly at her family, and they both froze… well, it said more than if Jude had just out and told them he was getting railed by a demon on the regular.

At least he's not like those fairy boys. At least it's not in our faces. At least, at least, at least–

He hates that he still feels guilty. Guilty for ruining his mother's picture-perfect family. Guilty for being a consummate disappointment to his red-blooded American father. For taking his brothers' "friendly teasing" too personally. For missing the way he felt when Lacey put makeup on him and styled his hair and just let him want the things he could never admit to out loud.

For feeling bitter that she left him behind to pursue her own dreams while he was stuck cowering in the shadow cast by everything he was supposed to be.

He doesn't realize he's hyperventilating until Amir's hands, almost scalding hot against his clammy skin, are pressing against his cheeks, tipping his face upwards. He can’t figure out why the demon is so blurry, swimming before his eyes, when he’s too busy trying to remember how to get air into his lungs.

“Breathe, darling,” Amir urges him, firm but so gentle. Jude tries, and at first he only manages a few pathetic wheezes, but a low hum picks up at the base of his skull, a prickle like static skittering down his spine. For a split second, he’s paralyzed by a foreign surge of guilt, but it doesn’t feel heavy the way his own guilt does.

He sucks in a breath, one that makes his lungs burn, and grabs for Amir’s wrist with trembling fingers. “Not you,” he manages to strangle out, listing forward until he can bury his face in the crook of Amir’s neck. “Happens sometimes,” he mumbles in an effort to explain. Amir’s relief settles over him like a blanket, and he clings to it, to him, desperately, until he’s breathing again mostly normally.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but Amir cuts him off before he can even form the words.“None of that." Firm, brooking no argument, but still kindly tempered.

Obediently, Jude stays quiet, and Amir strokes his hair until the kettle chimes.

Rather than parting from him for even the short time it takes to prepare two cups of tea, Jude follows Amir to the kitchen, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheek pressed to his silky hair. His thoughts are staticky and nonlinear, feel like they're coming from somewhere beyond the boundaries of his skull. It's strangely peaceful, feeling like he's floating outside his body, like he's barely tethered to himself by just a few fragile threads.

Amir always smells so nice…

He's not sure when they wind up back on the sofa but he's holding a warm, delicate little cup in both hands. They share tea in easy silence, and if Jude's fingers are still trembling against his cup Amir doesn't mention it. Muzzily, he notes how fancy the cup is, and now that he's adjusted a bit to the staggering opulence of Amir's world, he finds the little things like that so endearing.

Jude is sluggish and heavy when Amir guides him to bed, and it doesn't take long at all for him to doze off, their positions from earlier reversed, with Amir curled around his back.

He's just awake enough to feel a little bit of that fire humming along his spine, the banked coals of Amir's temper pulsing between them, and he mumbles a half-hearted, "Please don't fight my family," into the luxuriously soft pillow smushed against his cheek.

There's a bit of a huff against his hair, something close to a laugh, but sleep finally pulls him under and blessedly quiets his overworked mind.

His dreams are washed over with a filter of wispy pink, but he doesn’t really remember much of them beyond that. Honestly, it's a bit of a relief. He wakes in Amir’s huge, soft bed, buried in plush pillows and blankets feeling surprisingly well-rested. Of course Amir is gone already, but Jude doesn’t take it personally. There’s a hurried little note on the nightstand on a scrap of sketchbook paper apologizing for his absence and assuring Jude they’ll meet again in the evening once he’s free of his responsibilities.

Jude tucks the note into his pocket as he dresses and leaves, feeling much lighter than he did when he arrived the night before.

~*~

He tried to get as much of the grime off his hands as he could before he left work, but Jude knows he looks like even more of a greasy schlub than he usually does when he comes ambling into Amir’s building. He brought his car this time, so he doesn’t have to go through the main entrance and deal with anybody grimacing at the state of his clothes, but he’s got a bag of fresh ones over his shoulder and he’s looking forward to a long, hot soak in Amir’s shower.

“I know, I reek,” he says sheepishly when he makes it to the door to Amir’s apartment.

Amir smiles indulgently at him, and gives him a kiss on the cheek regardless (even if he has to rise onto his toes a bit to do it, dressed down like he is) and only scrunches his nose a little. “Just a bit. I wouldn’t mind the sweat so much, but��”

“Engine oil and cheap cigarettes,” Jude laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, my boss likes menthols.” He gestures to the bathroom with his bag. “Mind if I…?”

Amir doesn’t hesitate to usher him down the hall as soon as he’s tugged off his boots at the door, and Jude plods along after him.

“I’d offer to wash your back,” Amir teases, watching Jude intently as he undresses, making a show of biting at his knuckle just to see him blush from his ears to his chest, “but I’ve got a few more things to take care of. Shouldn't take long, I'll be right outside.”

"Y-yeah, of course," Jude stutters, hands fumbling at his belt. Amir leaves him with another peck on the cheek and a sly parting smile, and while he was hoping for a nice hot shower after work, he's debating whether or not a cold one might be a better idea.

In the end, hot wins out. Amir's shower is like everything else in his orbit—spacious and ridiculously opulent to a degree that Jude's almost nervous interacting with it—but he's starting to enjoy the perks that come with drifting into that irresistible orbit himself. The water is just the right temperature, the pressure pounds down on his tight shoulders and back until he can finally feel them starting to un-knot themselves, and while he makes sure to get himself clean, he also spends a long while just standing under the spray with his head down and his hair hanging around his face like a wet curtain.

At some point, he hears the door click, some quiet rustling, but he doesn't pay it much attention. It's Amir's home, after all, he can come and go as he pleases.

Besides, it's not as if he hasn't seen Jude naked before, even if the thought still has heat crawling up his neck.

The door shuts again, and his mind goes blessedly quiet. The water doesn't go cold at any point (another thing that makes showering in his own too-small bathroom even more of a downgrade) but he knows he can't spend the whole night in here, however much he'd like to. He came for Amir, not his shower, though a little part of his brain does offer the helpful suggestion of trying to entice the succubus into joining him.

He snorts to himself as he slides open the frosted glass door, wringing out his hair. As if any attempt of his to be enticing towards someone like Amir, who drips easy sensuality in every breath he takes, would result in anything more than Jude falling all over himself like an idiot.

At least Amir finds it cute.

He reaches for a towel and steps out onto the plush bath mat, and stops short when he looks around the bathroom and doesn't see his bag.

Instead, sitting on the vanity in place of his ratty canvas backpack, is a shopping bag. What he can only assume is the name of the store is embossed on the sturdy, matte black paper in looping gold that matches the designs etched along the trim, but it's not a name he recognizes. Definitely someplace far outside the realm of a scruffy mechanic, that's for sure.

But there's something niggling at him, tickling at the edges of his thoughts, that suggests it's—

No, don't be stupid. Of course it isn't.

"Amir?" he calls out, eyes still glued on the bag as he awkwardly towels himself dry. Of course, Amir has the perfect timing to come swanning in when Jude's scrubbing at his hair, leaving the rest of him bare.

Amir does not hesitate to ogle, because he never does, and his smirk as his eyes take a luxurious stroll over every damp, hairy inch of human is nothing short of salacious. Jude's hair is still wet, but he can't resist the urge to drop the towel to cover himself a bit, which only makes Amir smirk wider.

"Yes, pet?"

It takes a moment for Jude to remember what he was even going to ask, because the casual little endearment never ceases to scramble his brain a bit.

(He's heard more than one person refer to him as Amir's pet, and he knows it's supposed to be an insult, but… he doesn't exactly hate it.)

He shakes his head to get it back on the right track, and winds the towel around his waist, eyes lowered. "Um, did you move my bag?"

Amir's heaves a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "I am begging you to let me replace that thing.” He is pointedly not looking at the bag on the counter.

"It still works just fine," Jude protests, smiling to himself. It’s something they’ve argued about before, if it can even be called an argument. It’s sweet, how Amir likes to spoil him. He shrugs a bit, ducking his head and letting his damp hair hide his face. “It’s sturdy. Dependable.” He's had it so long, it's almost like an old friend.

“Ugly as sin," Amir adds helpfully, rolling his eyes. But there's a smile playing around the edges of his lips. "You're lucky I think that sentimentality of yours is cute."

Jude's ears burn and he stays hidden behind his hair, but he's smiling too. Cute. Nobody but Amir's ever called him that (not since he was a chubby kid, at least) and he does it so freely and so often, Jude's starting to believe he honestly means it, even if he doesn't see it himself.

He feels Amir slinking closer more than he sees or hears him, bare feet nearly silent on the glossy tile compared to those staggering heels of his, and his breath hitches. He peeks from underneath his hair and is met with those stunning golden eyes and that playful, slightly predatory smile. “I… My clothes were in there, Amir,” he protests weakly, shuddering when soft, warm hands slip around his hips, fingers wiggling under the edge of his loosely wrapped towel, sharp nails pricking at his skin.

“Mmhm,” Amir hums. “Don’t worry, I haven’t thrown them out. I just figured you wouldn’t need them for a while yet.”

A quick, shuddery breath rattles out of him, at the end of it, a tremulous, "O-oh? Oh."

Amir chuckles and pokes Jude’s nose playfully. “Mind out of the gutter, darling. Since you’re playing coy, I’ll just come out and say it–I’ve gotten you a little gift, and the suspense of waiting for you to try it on is killing me.”

“I’m not… playing coy,” Jude protests weakly, but his eyes flick away from Amir for a split second, over his shoulder to the bag on the vanity, and like an eagle spotting a blissfully unaware rabbit, Amir zeroes in on the shift and leers at him, teeth bared like he wants to sink them into Jude's skin to taste the blood rushing to its surface, like the sweetest of threats.

"You're a terrible liar, but it's so precious that you tried," he purrs, smooth and dangerous. With a flick of his nimble fingers, the towel still clinging desperately to Jude's waist drops to the floor, and sharp nails dig into the meat of his hips just hard enough to make him whimper. "I think you've kept me waiting long enough, pet. Don't you?"

Amir doesn’t wait for him to respond (not that he’d be capable of it in the first place, mouth suddenly dry and tongue like lead) and simply herds him towards the vanity, and the gift on top of it. He swallows hard as he reaches out, glancing back as if to ask for permission before he even touches it. It’s given in the form of a silky chuckle and a not-quite-gentle pat to his bare backside.

The bag feels just as unspeakably high-end as it looks, the paper heavy and textured, and he didn’t notice before that the handles are gold silk ribbons to match the embossed letters. The name on the bag still isn’t ringing any bells, and he can't even imagine what might be inside, but with the way Amir is watching him, those gold eyes so sharp and intense he can feel the heat of their stare pricking at his skin, he's clearly eager for Jude to find out.

He parts the shimmery metallic tissue paper as delicately as he can with his heavy, callused hands, and finds a long flat box lying underneath. His heart is in his throat as he lifts it out of the bag, turning it over carefully in an effort to guess what it might be without damaging its contents.

Amir sighs behind him, and if Jude’s entire body weren’t thrumming with nerves, he’d look back to see if he’s checking a watch he isn’t actually wearing to drive home the point that his patience is wearing thin.

He opens the box. He almost can't parse what's inside at first.

Lace. Lots of lace. Pale, dusky pink lace edged along sheer fabric and adorned with delicate ribbons and thin gold chains.

Jude's no stranger to fancy lingerie—Amir wears it often enough, and he likes to model it for Jude, even if he's just as clueless about luxury fashion as he is about fine art. Jude's never once complained—in fact, he's found he really likes it, the textures and colors and cuts, the way the airy fabrics cling to the striking angles of Amir's body, the way he always chooses colors that compliment him so well…

Jude's mouth is suddenly very dry, the weight of Amir's expectant gaze pressing down on him, because he's seen the succubus in enough lacy underthings, and removed them enough, to have a rough understanding of the sizes he wears.

The pretty pink garments in the box are much too big to be meant for Amir.

He looks up, and Amir meets his eyes with a sly curl to his mouth. "Well?" he asks, stepping closer, watching Jude’s face, picking apart his reactions with an almost surgical precision. "What do you think?"

He’s not sure he can think anything right now, all of his thoughts a messy jumble of confusion and curiosity and (a bit shamefully) desire. He knows he shouldn’t be ashamed for what he feels, what he wants, but there’s a lifetime’s worth of it built around everything he’s wanted that wasn’t in line with what he was supposed to be, and he’s still digging his way through that.

He wets his lips with his tongue and stares into the velvet-lined box, still trying to make sense of everything he’s feeling. "Is it… are they… for me?"

It’s a stupid question, but there’s a part of him that still can’t believe it, is still scared this is either a dream or some sort of joke.

Amir laughs, low and sultry, reaching out to curl his ring-laden fingers around Jude's bicep. The touch is so simple, so soft, but it still spreads warmth through Jude's body. "Of course. Not really my color, is it?"

It isn't, Jude knows. Amir prefers bolder colors, stark contrasts, shimmer and shine to draw the eye. He tries to say as much, but what comes out of his mouth is a fumbling, "Y-you look good in everything."

That laugh again, a smoky, rich thing that sinks beneath his skin, curls in his gut and leaves him aching to hear it again and again and again. "You're so sweet," Amir says, scratching affectionately at his scruffy chin with his free hand. He squeezes the other around Jude’s arm, the tips of his nails a tantalizing pressure that makes his chest feel tight, makes his breath quicken. “Why don’t you go try them on, make sure I got the sizing right.”

He did. Of course he did, Jude couldn’t doubt for a second he would. There’s no way the set isn’t entirely bespoke, too, considering there’s no tags in sight to indicate sizing. There’s a bit of embroidery on the inside of each piece (panties, garters, belt, a frilly top that he struggles to identify) that he assumes is a brand signature or something like it.

Amir ushers him back into the bathroom, smiling playfully as he closes the door, and Jude is left to stare at the box in his hands and try to sort through his thoughts.

It’s easier, with Amir there to distract him, when he can’t focus so much on his nerves, or what his family would think of him, or what he thinks of himself.

He keeps his eyes down, away from the mirror, as he carefully takes each piece of the set out of the box. There’s enough room on the vanity for him to lay them out one by one, and he tries to think of it the same way he thinks of disassembling an engine. You have to go into it with a plan, you have to know how the parts fit together, and in what order. He arranges them in the way he thinks (hopes) they’ll need to go on his body, and takes a slow, deep breath.

The most daunting piece, it seems, will have to be the one that goes first. He picks up the panties, wincing when the calluses on his palms snag at the lace. He frantically checks for damage, his heart pounding, and sighs with relief when nothing seems to be out of place.

He looks over his shoulder, towards the door. Amir is quietly waiting on the other side, probably keeping himself busy with organizing his ever-crowded schedule while Jude has a quiet panic spiral about underwear in his bathroom. But he’s been waiting long enough, and though he teased, he’s been endlessly patient with Jude, and kind enough to get him not just a gift, but an expensive, custom gift he literally plucked from the human’s deepest, most secret desires.

Jude takes another grounding breath, and meticulously, cautiously, pulls the underwear on.

He knows he’s in trouble when a shudder works its way through him at the way the lace feels sliding up his legs, softer than he expected. He’s achingly aware of it whispering up his calves, stretching around his thighs, and nestle over his hips. It takes a bit of… adjustment in certain areas, but given that they were made specifically for his body (and that’s still something he can barely wrap his head around) everything, uh, settles in with surprising ease. It’s oddly comfortable and, more than that, it feels right.

He swallows so hard his throat clicks, and keeps his eyes steadfastly away from the mirror as he reaches for the next pieces–the stockings– with trembling hands.

Amir’s bathroom is practically the size of a studio apartment on its own, and thankfully there’s a seat near the vanity in the form of a plushy padded stool. He sits down and feels the panties shift and stretch around his hips and ass, and gently scrunches the first stocking. He tries to remember how people in movies put them on, and goes from there, bunching it and then pulling it slowly up his leg. It shouldn’t feel so sultry to basically be putting on socks, but the opaque material edged with more of that soft pink lace scraping gently against his skin is thrilling him beyond words. The second stocking doesn't fluster him any less, and he spends a moment or two just staring down at his legs, trying to make sense of what he's seeing, and what it might be awakening in him.

The belt and garters come next, and those at least are fairly simple. The belt is broad and subtly patterned, nipping his waist in a bit without being too restrictive. He spends what feels like an age just running his hands over the smooth, satiny panels before he clips the garters with their tiny bows to it and attaches them to the stockings.

The final piece is the top, with its spidersilk-thin gold chains attached a smooth satin ribbon, and sheer ruffled fabric flowing down from the bust. There’s a touch of fear that it won’t fit him, that he’ll move wrong and tear it while trying to put it on, but it really was made to fit his body, and the way the hem floats around his (doughy, hairy, and sort of pale) belly does a lot to hide some of his insecurities. It does emphasize his chest in a way he’s not sure he likes, clinging and translucent, but when he carefully fastens the ribbon around his neck and makes sure the chains attached to it aren’t tangled, he forgets his stalemate with the mirror and looks up.

For a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

He looks like himself, still big, broad, and heavyset, with dense muscle padded with a layer of fat and dusted with dark hair, but the contrast of the dusky, pale lace against sun-browned skin and muted tattoos is something that leaves him feeling things he’s not sure he can name.

As if on cue, there’s a dainty little rap on the door, and he jolts, fingers twisting together. Amir is still waiting, and he has no clue how long he’s been in the bathroom—it feels like hours.

He turns and stands at the door, hand hovering over the handle, and feels his stomach beginning to tie itself into knots.

Amir sees something in him that he doesn’t see for himself, and he knows that logically, but his brain isn’t always the most logical place, especially right now. There’s a sense of impending dread taking root in his chest, leaving it crowded and too-small, like his lungs hardly have the room to expand. He imagines, a bit panicky, Amir taking one look at him and bursting out laughing, or the more likely outcome of feigning interest, telling Jude he looks nice, then hurrying him to change back into his normal clothes and never speaking of this little venture again.

As if Amir senses the direction his thoughts are going, the door swings open, making Jude flinch and—pulse pounding in his ears, heart jumping into his throat—wanting to scramble for cover. But he’s frozen, a deer in the headlights, as the succubus drinks him in.

"Oh, look at you…" he croons, beckoning him out of the doorway (and, of course, he follows without thinking) so he can circle him like he's sizing him up, like he’s taking in every inch of him before he pounces. "So pretty."

Jude couldn't feel more bare if he were actually naked, especially with the way the succubus is pulling him apart with just his molten gold eyes. But he can't get too caught up in that when he's left reeling over one simple word.

Pretty.

Nobody's ever called him pretty before.

Something slots into place in his chest, settles in and unfurls, a shuddering realization of a desire he never knew he held being fulfilled.

He never knew he wanted to be pretty, but it… it makes sense. And it feels good.

“I’ll admit, I took a bit of a risk,” Amir says, and there’s no teasing to his tone this time, just quiet consideration, a tenderness that makes Jude feel just as weak and helpless as his bold innuendo and sultry purring. “It was just a little hint of something I saw after…”

His expression shifts, brows furrowing, mouth curling. There's the faintest hint of that simmering anger he works so hard to hide. He doesn’t have to say anything, and Jude is grateful that he doesn’t. His thoughts were all over the place the night he had dinner with his family, he’s not surprised Amir managed to find the things he didn’t let himself think about, things he’d been struggling to bury for a good two decades, when all his old hurts were bubbling to the surface and he didn’t have the strength to push them down again.

“It was a guess,” Amir continues, easing closer, looking up with his head tilted, hair spilling over his shoulder in a glossy fall that Jude wants to hide in, bend himself practically in half so he can tuck away somewhere he actually feels safe, but he’s rooted to the spot feeling more exposed than he’s ever felt in his life. At least here, out in the open, he gets to see the way a slow smile starts to curl Amir’s lips again, softly smug. “But I think it’s safe to say it was a good one.”

Amir is so close, the heat of his body is almost enough to have Jude sweating, scantily clad as he is.

That could just as easily be nerves, or rather, anticipation.

Without his heels, Amir's a good six inches shorter than Jude, but it doesn't matter much with a presence like his. He effortlessly fills any room he struts into, and Jude's been helplessly drawn to him since the beginning. The demon stares at him with smoldering eyes, a gaze that clings to his skin like honey, thick and molten and saccharine, dripping from the ribbon at his throat, the slender chains connecting it to the top, and lingering at the bust for a long breathless moment before sliding down to the belt, the garters–

Jude shifts on the spot, shivers at the alien sensation of the stockings rubbing against the carpet, and tries to be subtle when he drops his hands to cover himself a bit. Unfortunately, it's not really possible for a man his size to be subtle in anything.

And then there's a swirl of mild disorientation, the sensation of breath against his ear, and a whisper in his mind that sends a shudder through his body.

No hiding, darling. I want to look at you.

Amir's lips don't move, but his eyes are so intent it feels like a physical touch. He takes his sweet time looking Jude over, admires him from every angle. Jude holds still obediently, doesn't try to hide, and he’s rewarded for his good behavior when Amir finally, finally touches him again, fingertips tracing along where the lace clings to his skin, where the softness of his hip spills out over the waistband of the panties, the lines the garters draw down his thick, hairy thighs to connect to the stockings and back up to slip under the floaty hem of the top and prickle his nails along the band that’s doing its best to support his ample chest.

His skin is burning now, between the hearthfire heat Amir radiates and his own blood rushing, and he’s starting to feel the shift in the atmosphere from an almost artistic appreciation to something a little more focused.

He’s not sure he can take much more of that focus, but thankfully Amir is very good at distracting him when he’s starting to feel overwhelmed. It just so happens that, in the current case, that distraction comes in the form of crowding him back into the nearest wall and pawing at him.

"W…wait," he whines out, helplessly squirming against the wall. He’s been able to restrain himself up to this point, to manage the low thrum of arousal building up in his gut since he starting pulling on all the satin and lace, but he can already feel himself straining against the delicate panties with Amir grabbing two big handfuls of his ass and squeezing. "I don't… I don't want to… mess these up."

There were no price tags, but he knows this has to be one of Amir's more expensive gifts. He's heard enough women in his life complain that just the mass-produced stuff is pricey, much less bespoke luxury lingerie. He can't even begin to guess how much Amir spent on what he's wearing, and he's honestly afraid to think about it too hard.

Amir laughs, something low and throaty that echoes sweetly in Jude's ribcage, settles heavy in his belly, and he tugs the human down to his level by the slip of ribbon around his throat. "Oh, darling," he coos indulgently, honey-sweet and just a touch condescending in that way Jude has gotten a little addicted to, "do you really think I only got you one set?"

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