#Um ghost sex tag for ao3 apparently
Photo
Get Orpheus
33K notes
·
View notes
Text
so i’m finally posting some of my writing!! any feedback is welcome — it’s been years since i’ve posted anything, and my writing style has changed quite a bit. (this is so much longer and more intense than i had planned good lord.)
a couple things real quick! in this, there are some thinly-veiled references to nsfw happenings and some decidedly less thinly-veiled internalized homophobia, some of which comes from bitty’s experience with religion, and general homophobia. there’s also a passing mention of past canon-typical underage alcohol consumption. please read with caution, and if you have any concerns or think i missed a tag, please please please contact me!! going by ao3 standards, this is rated mature.
edit: this is now posted on ao3! you’re not allowed to judge me for my old fics lmao
(we’ll take it slow and) grow as we go
The thing is, Eric does want this. In the weeks between three stolen kisses in an empty bedroom and Jack joining him in Madison, he spent nights alone except for the ghost of Jack’s lips on his, and in his mind those lips press under the corner of his jaw and then over the swell of his Adam’s apple and then into the dip of his collarbone, and maybe they go lower and lower and lower.
In the privacy of his room, late enough at night that Mama and Coach have long ago knocked their goodnights on his closed bedroom door, this is safe to imagine, and it’s not quite anything new to him. He’s known without any doubt he prefers boys since he was fifteen and fumbling with the computer mouse on days when the house was empty but for a small teenager with red cheeks and wide eyes. He spent many nights with videos of men dressed in nothing burned into the backs of his eyelids, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and one hand tucked under the elastic lining the top of his boxers. And for exactly the same number of nights of that, there was a half hour spent in tears or near it, wondering if there was something wrong with him and wondering if Father Wilson was right in his homily last week and wondering how long he needs to pretend to think of girls with long wavy hair instead of boys with callused hands.
So no, it isn’t new and hasn’t been for years, but it feels like it is. There are similarities between then and now — Coach is down at the school, busy running his football players into the ground under the blazing summer sun, and Mama is on a front porch miles away, busy sipping sweet tea with her church friends under the brim of a baseball cap, and Eric’s cheeks are burning bright. The differences, though, are more important. He has his body curled into Jack’s, his lips pressed to Jack’s, his fingers tangled around Jack’s. They’re trading sweet, lazy kisses, laying on their sides with Eric’s dark teal duvet pulled around their shoulders so that the warmth of their bodies is trapped around them. He finds he doesn’t much mind the heat, and he supposes the fan whirring and clicking above their heads helps, but there’s just something blooming in the air between them — not that there’s much air there — and he isn’t sure whether it’s love or lust but he is sure that some part of him is aching for it in a way he isn’t used to.
He tells himself that it’s okay to want this, as Jack’s lips part against his. He tells himself that the heat simmering low in his stomach is okay when Jack slots one leg through both of his, and when his boyfriend’s leg presses higher, he tells himself that rocking his hips against the pressure is okay. There have been times when he forgot, and years of living in a conservative, Southern, and Christian house catch up to him. The first time Jack kissed him — and the second time that had followed immediately, and the third — had left him with a whirling mind and tight chest and a lip gnawed into red and pain by his own teeth, like that would sting the gentle pressure of Jack’s lips back into reality. The kissing he isn’t a stranger to, not really, but somehow, irrationally, there is a world of difference between being maybe a step past tipsy, clumsily making out with his Winter Screw date as rough, strong fingers curled around the back of his neck, and being in his childhood home, room, bed with his boyfriend and pressing open-mouthed kisses to eager, soft lips as his hips grind, lazy and slow, to seek the sweet pleasure being offered to him.
Eric tells himself it’s okay, but when Jack’s fingers lower from his shoulders to his waist to below the band of his boxers, he forgets.
There’s a moment where he doesn’t quite realize what’s happening, and then their lips separate and a Is this okay is offered to him on a breath and a silver platter. In the same moment that he recognizes the hard line nudging at his thigh, Eric is pushing at Jack’s chest, suddenly needing space that he doesn’t have. He’s mumbling words like hang on and wait, even as Jack manages an awkward roll-scoot combination that has him nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. And then they’re staring at each other, equally wide-eyed and flushed, and Eric clamps his mouth shut. He’s sure that opening it would be condemning, sure that words would tip over the edge of his tongue and tumble, rough and unplanned, into the fragile silence that separates them. He’s also sure that he doesn’t really want that to happen.
“Bits,” Jack finally says, simply, after a full minute has disappeared. His voice is gentle but unsure, cautious and caring. It’s what Eric is waiting for, apparently, because he slumps forward like a puppet with its strings abruptly snipped, and in between one moment and the next he finds himself with his forehead tucked into the corner of Jack’s neck and shoulder. He feels Jack begin to reach for him, automatically, and then he pauses; Eric nods, and one hand wraps around the back of his neck, a thumb stroking slowly, and the other arm winds around his waist to pull him forward a little. “Bitty, it’s okay. I mean — is something wrong?”
When a slightly helpless laugh flies from his mouth, Eric just shakes his head, and chases the noise with words. “No, honey. Just ... old mindsets die hard, y’know?” It takes one, two, three heartbeats, but he feels the second Jack understands, because the thumb rubbing at his hairline where it lies on the base of his skill pauses, and the rest of his fingers twitch like they want to tighten and only get that they shouldn’t a moment too late. Eric heaves a heavy sigh. “I just — it’s so frustrating,” he admits to Jack’s shirt. “I mean, I tell others that it’s okay to be queer all the time. All the time! But with me it’s just sort of ... different. I still, um. I still can’t handle ....” He trails off and pulls away a little, keeping his head tilted down and his eyes trained on Jack’s shirt. There’s a piece of fuzz clinging to it; he pulls it off and wriggles his fingers over the edge of the bed until it falls to the ground. “The idea of me being intimate with a guy is kinda ... off.”
A beat. And then — “Are you asexual?”
“Oh, I — no, I don’t think so.” He’s considered it, briefly, in the past, especially after Shitty’s talk about how someone can be asexual and still enjoy sex, but he’s positive he still feels that sort of attraction. Lord help him, he’s beyond sure.
“It’s okay if you are, Bits. We don’t ever have to —”
“Jack, you sweet boy. I really appreciate that, I do, but I’m not. I do want to — to be intimate with you. I just ... I don’t know, there’s no explaining it. But I think it’s just the mindset I grew up in and it’s harder to shake than I thought.” Eric pauses for a second, considering his own words, and then looks up to see if Jack’s expression will somehow help him.
It’s a mistake. The look on Jack’s face is — it’s not really pitying, but it’s ... sorrowful, he realizes. Sorrowful is the word. It makes Eric’s heart constrict a little, and then he finds himself smiling a little, almost against his will. Before Jack can say whatever is on the tip of his tongue, Eric leans in to brush a quick, chaste kiss against his lips, and then pulls back to tilt his head in until their foreheads and then noses connect. He waits a moment before saying anything, still mindful of how Jack had seemed to be wanting to speak up, but after the clock on the other side of the room has carefully counted out seven seconds of quiet, he exhales, and the noise is definitely either a hum or a sigh.
“I hate that I can’t — can’t practice what I preach,” Eric confesses finally, the words reaching out to bridge the little distance there is left between them, like they can make up for the fact that they’re no longer as entwined as they had been just a minute or so ago. “I feel so hypocritical, being so out and proud at Samwell and so ... so afraid to actually be proud of myse — no, that’s not right.” He whines, frustrated, and his eyes, already closed, tighten. He can feel the way it makes his forehead wrinkled against Jack’s. “I am proud of myself. But sometimes it’s like my brain doesn’t really know that. My heart does, and my — my body, but my brain’s just sorta like ‘No, that’s okay!’ And I guess it’s just because I’ve ... well, I’ve been told that it isn’t okay my entire life. Did you know my mama’s first conversation with me about the queer community involved her showing me an article about a man who decided to never date or anythin’ because he was gay and wanted to be able to dedicate his life to God? And, I mean, it’s his decision, I guess, but then she said all this stuff about how that was exactly what gay people should do. Which was just so hard to hear, because at the time I was maybe thirteen an’ startin’ to realize I wasn’t straight an’ that kinda stuck with me all these years an’ — and —” Another high pitched whine marks the end of the sentence, and he begins thunking his head lightly against Jack’s shoulder — at some point he shifted — until a hand curls into his hair, holding him firmly and effectively immobilizing him.
“Whatever you feel is valid,” Jack starts, slow but steady, “but that doesn’t make it right. You aren’t broken for wanting this. And I know you know this, so don’t look at me like that, but you need to hear it again sometimes.”
It isn’t until he hears those words that he is struck with how much he needed them, and then Eric is struck with such an overwhelming wave of fondness — because Jack knew, just like he always did, exactly what Eric had needed — that all he can do is squirm closer and promise himself that he’ll finally give in and make that nutritionist-approved version of the pie Jack’s been asking for.
After a stretched out silence, Jack’s arms find their way around his waist again and Eric is pulled close, and he feels more than hears when there’s an inhalation that seems to be leaning into a sentence. He waits patiently when none follows immediately, and soon after —
“What do you need from me, bud?” Jack asks, the words quietly pleading and cracking but so, so grounding. Eric sort of sinks into them, huffing a warm, maybe-slightly-wet laugh into the soft fabric of Jack’s shirt, and takes the time to consider the question.
“I — at some point we should ... well, I think there’s a little more to talk about,” he admits, and Jack nods his agreement with an encouraging hum. The next sentence is loosed before he really thinks about it, but in its release and freedom he finds it true. “But, um, for now, I think I’m done. Can we just stay here until Mama and Coach get home?”
“Of course, Bits, yeah. Whatever you need.” Without another word, they begin to move around again, shifting until they’re molded together, secure and warm and perfect. Eventually they find themselves in a mimicry of their position from the beginning, curled up on their sides and facing each other with their legs and fingers tangled, but Eric keeps his face in the safety of Jack’s chest, and Jack cranes his neck to whisper kisses into the hair on the crown of his head.
“Thank you,” Eric offers, in between grazing two kisses on the exposed skin of Jack’s collar. He can sense the head tilt that receives this, so he clarifies, “Thank you for being so ...” only to come to the conclusion that he doesn’t know the words that will summarize the feeling in his chest. Luckily, it seems like he doesn’t need to.”
“Yeah, Bits. Anytime. Anything.”
And with that, Eric lets his eyes close and gently separates his fingers from Jack’s only to clutch at his shirt instead, and he reaches up with his face to find his boyfriend waiting for him. He smiles as their lips meet.
#annie writes#eric bittle#jack zimmermann#zimbits#zimbits fic#check please!#missing scene#check please missing scene#madison visit#this is CONSIDERABLY longer than i had wanted it to be. ugh#i just really love writing bitty though#plus this fic was Very Personal to me?#as a southern and catholic and queer person#also this is my 100th post!! which is super exciting!!#how many ways can i say ‘it was quiet’? let’s find out shall we#excessive use of hyphens#excessive use of commas#also bitty’s story abt his mom and the article? based entirely off my own experience :)#so is the way i wrote his accent lmao like i definitely drop off some Gs from -ing verbs and the D in and when i’m having Feelings#i literally don’t know how to end fics#i know i said this was too long but it’s also too short#like i was aiming for under 1k and it’s hovering around 2k ...#but also i have a lot more to say about this and i’m not sure i got across what i was trying to#i just can’t do the words anymore#god i’ve been working on this for like a week and i still!! don’t really love it!!#oop i just edited and it is now over 2k#✌️✌️✌️
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
“This isn't prison break.”parts 1 & 2
Rue runs away for a night from rehab with a bunch of people she doesn't know. They go to a club, do some stupid stuff and adopt a cat.
wrote this and put it on AO3- lnk here- but also updating on here:
PART 1
Rue laughs absently at the other group of "degenerates" as Ali would call them. They are walking along the side of the road towards wherever a kid named Malcolm was leading them. She technically was supposed to be in her small dorm bed asleep and awaiting 4 am check in. But instead here she was being a fellow degenerate who had technically escaped the rehab facility. They all intended on going back to the treatment facility eventually. She hopes Sol would even though it meant they probably would be separated. They all just needed a night of more because everyone was on edge and needed a break. Everyone was aware that the consequences would be getting kicked out or all restrictions taken away. But, fuck it.
Her group of acquaintances, because they were not her friends, was made up of a random assortment of folks. One of which was some guy named Graham who was apparently the older "brother" of Angel. Angel was the only one out of the group besides her roommate who actually knew more than whatever she half assed in group therapy. Which was very little but it was enough to keep them.... interested. Rue shoves her hands in the pockets of a pair of baggy shorts that Angel threw at her in a parking lot after everyone met back up. Their escape plan was a plan but they all booked it through a hole in the fence and through a patch of woods at first. Some person named Bones, who had to at least be a sophomore in college, picked them all up in a hatchback and the Graham who opened a backpack filled with vices.
Rue steered clear of the opiates and went straight for the bottle of Coconut Rum. Even though she could practically hear the pills singing her fucking name. Most of them actually opted to be clean of whatever landed them in rehab but not sober. Not everyone though because Angel was definitely rolling a tiny bit and so were two other people out of the 5 fence jumpers. Including her roommate Sol. Rue just figured the slap on the wrist once they got back would be less harsh without a positive test. The rum was more than enough to stay kind of alert amongst everyone here. All these faces that might leave her dying face down in a ditch if she OD’ed....again.
She wasn't even in here because of an overdose. Just a basic relapse that made her mom's mind up for her and now she was forced into a stupid facility with strangers. They forced her to talk, made sure she ate, but she honestly felt worse being inside than out. It was probably working the 12 steps and quiet therapy sessions but in places she didn't see yet. This right here though the warmth of the air touching her skin as the packed car they'd all tumbled into hurtled through empty streets. Leaning her head back she mumbles along the lyrics while Sol pulls at the worn shirt collar.
"Beep beep go swerving in my, Beep been you want me riding in your...."
Rue sighs feeling sticky lips press against her clavicle and up her neck.
"Beep beep ghost busting in my,
Beep beep you want me riding in your....driving super fast."
Sol was cool people but Rue knew it couldn't be anything more than fooling around. Kissing when no one was watching or either of them came back from a therapy session sobbing. Sometimes Sol sneaking into her bed at night so they could have quickie sex sessions. This wasn't how Rue expected to explore her sexuality that was pretty dormant but it was what she had. It also wasn't with who she had in mind either. Lingering feelings aside the two of them were stuck in a juvenile inpatient program. With the same beds as the ones in college pamphlets, a no shoelace rule, and fuzzy socks ( that Rue secretly loves). This girl was like 3 inches shorter than Rue, dark skinned, neck tattoos and a short cut. Sol had been through so much more shit than Rue and it made her feel ungrateful. Ungrateful because at least she had a hard working mom who still loved her and hadn't abandoned all hope. Other people in the program who took it seriously though told her not to because her life sucked too.
Feeling Sol's lips on hers she kissed her back. She didn't feel anything but it must have felt amazing to Sol who deepened the kiss. The car swerved past what in Rue's mind had to be a pothole. Sol falls away further into her body clutching the fabric of her shirt and accidentally her chest. Rue hears Sol sigh and snaps her eyes open while Sol still kisses her. Rue grabs hold of the handle above the door and sits back up mumbling, what was that. She watches Sol roll her eyes and sit back into the tan seats.
"Oh FUCK," Bones yelled slowing the car down and pulling over. Bones had their black hair slicked all the way back and a cigarette falling out of their mouth. They were odd enough sober and everyone's dd, just a ball of chaotic a.d.d they'd laughed at her earlier as they walked her from the gas station bathroom back to the car. It was a nice gesture because apparently she seemed "kind of uncomfortable," which was true. The urge to escape herself dulled the fear of her mother's true unbridled anger. Or Fez's.
He was really upset when he found out she got a new plug after actually being clean for so long. She turns to look out the back window and sees two green eyes attached to a small grey mound in the road.
"What the....omg a cat omg," Angel is practically bouncing out of the car after pulling out a half eaten filet o fish. Rue watches him in an outfit she felt fit him so much more than the basic t-shirt and sweatpants he wore everyday. His platform sneakers lit up across the black asphalt as he inches closer to the obviously terrified animal. A glitter covered arm wove in front of him with food and Rue leans into the window in anticipation. The only thing that could make Angel seem even more angelic was wings or a halo above his half platinum half silver hair. He honestly seemed like the type to fit right into Jules's friend group. But instead he was the kind creative rave kid who drew her pictures of kandy he'd give her one day.
"Hey um...you ," she feels her shoulder being tapped. "Put this in your lap."
PART 2
"Yes! I love this song," Bones yells back rolling down the windows. The cool autumn air filling the car and the smell of weed being blown out the window.
Her heel is bouncing with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. With one more she could become triple A instead of alcoholics anonymous. She can feel a comfortable softness against her sole. It's from a piece of fabric she keeps stuffed in her sock. Her knee keeps bouncing in place with the sleeping kitten being stroked by Sol in her lap. Her current reality is so much more serene than the one she relives in her head.
Arrival nurses took her hoodie at this new place only letting it stay with her the first night. She was so fucking high on check in that she screamed please don't take my dad please as they explained it to her mom. Her mom who she clung to like they were about to skin her alive. Chest rising and falling quick enough someone said something about a shot. Too high to be cold and distant but not enough for her heart to stop. Just enough to be a paranoid fuck up. Leslie tried to calm her down but it only worked after her mom bargained with them, one night.
One night and then her mom visited the next day to say goodbye. Slipping a gray square in her pocket. It was worn in from a t-shirt that her dad wore in her baby pictures. Leslie hugged her so tight before leaving whispering we love you so much. That was the last time she'd seen her mom and every time she called Leslie said oh rue like her heart was breaking again. So those phone calls were short because her mom crying always fucks her up mentally for a few days. The silent pauses remind her of the little sister who always has faith in her but is turning into someone who doesn't even look at her.
"You okay," Sol whispers and rue nods because when was she ever. Her arm that sol is resting on is cramping but she lets it, not much arm space in this back row anyway. She should have just chosen the trunk with some 16 year old named Zach.
"On the left yesss we made it and on time too," Graham jeers next to Sol.
Rue looks at the dash clock crinoline her brow. "How is almost 1 am on time," she whispers.
Sol chuckles, "It is a club not a house party you knew that right ?" Rue bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head no. Sol puckers a bottom lip and kisses her cheek. Great pity Rue thinks. Sol leans in to whisper to Rue, "Don't worry Graham knows the bouncer. No fakes required."
Rue opens back up the glass bottle in the seat net and lets the clear liquid burn her throat a bit. Out of her realm was an understatement, house parties were something she was used to but never clubs. She didn't even know what kind of club this was but judging from the giant rainbow flag out front, angry repressed frat bros wouldn't be an issue. Which helped the nerves in her stomach unwind. The fur ball on her lap made a noise and she rubbed it through the sweater it's been laid on. Sol said the kitten was probably dumped because there was a tag scar and the kitten was super clean. But was she risking it....no.
Sol takes the bottle from her hand and screws the cap back on. "You gonna dance with me tonight Benny." Sol says as she nudges her shoulder.
"Maybe," Rue shrugs.
" Okay well how about anyone else," Sol grins coyly.
Rue looks away from her and out the window. She's more interested in the brick building as they get closer than someone's hot sweaty body. There's a line to the door with several guards standing with gloved hands and flashlights. " Idk maybe," Rue looks back at Sol who is rolling her eyes.
" Yes she is," Angel yells from the passenger seat. He's checking his makeup in the mirror and winks at rue. Which makes her tuck her hair behind her ear and cough to cover the blush. Angel turns around happily and says, "meee.'
Leaning forward Sol pecks Angel and says, " Bennett your goal tonight is to have fun, dance with someone. He, she, they, who cares, maybe you'll get a lil prison pen pal."
Rue rolls her eyes, that probably wasn't happening but it was about trying new experiences. Treatment was also not prison; it just was not freedom either. Bones pulls past the entrance and swings into the parking lot. Graham is behind them pointing as they follow directions. He's even saying fun facts like this is Knott's which Angel keeps mimicking. Bones slowly moves the car until one guard leans his hand in the window. The guard daps Graham up and they laugh for a second. His name is apparently DJ and he's their in. The only rules are no weapons.
In the parking lot they all get put and Rue notices other cars with clusters of people around them. She shakes her lap free of cigarette ash and cat hair. The cat now named sparkle is being in the trunk with a makeshift bed, a small can of tuna Bones just had and an old bottle lid filled with water. Rue leans down and ties the mismatched dollar store laces on her chucks. They had hot dogs on them which was kind of cute. A tire squeals close by of a car obviously moving way too fast and drunk singing out a window speeds past them. Idiots. Everyone else was finishing a shared bottle or blunt. Leaning against the side of the trunk she feels Sol rest against her arm warming it up.
Rue can hear a steady thump and beat coming from the brick building. It makes her head move which means the music might not be her thing but it'll be tolerable. Graham even said there's another section with actual seats that has a more contained dance floor with pop and hip-hop. Just in case she got overwhelmed by the rave scene and the lights. She doubles over as she laughs at Angel's jokes.
Kid was fucking hilarious, she stands up wiping her eyes and freezes looking in front of her.
#rue bennett#rue euphoria#jules vaughn#jules euphoria#original character#euphoria hbo#euphoria#euphoria fanfiction#euphoria fanfic#my wriitng#fanfiction#club tw#rue#jules#rue x jules
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
what’s your quietest feeling?
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Rating: E
Pairing: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Word count: 3382
CW: mildly dubious consent, implied/referenced noncon/abuse, internalized acephobia
Other tags: trans Jonathan Sims
ao3 link
Martin opens the door to Jon's office, armed with a duster. He's procrastinating recording the statement Elias assigned him, some dusty old letter from well over a century ago - it's waited this long, it can wait some hours more. Jon hasn't spent more than fifteen minutes at a time in the Archives since he'd been cleared of murder charges, and Martin doesn't think he even notices the state of his office when he pops in there, but God knows Martin isn't doing this out of any real hope for recognition and it's basically a matter of personal pride to -
He stops halfway to Jon's desk because… Jon's in the hollow under his desk, his favorite knit blanket (Martin's thrown it over him countless times) wrapped tight around his thin shoulders, and he's just. Staring.
"Jon?" No answer. Martin hurriedly sets the duster down, then pulls the desk chair out of the way so he can kneel next to Jon without trapping him under there.
"Jon, what's wrong?" Martin can't keep a note of shrill worry from his voice. He looks Jon up and down; no visible injuries, though that hardly means anything nowadays. He checks his watch - how long has Jon been like this? This is the first time Martin's seen him in over a week, but if he's been hiding in here? He could have just returned, or been back for hours. Days. A sneak attack on the Archives? Did someone, something get to him -
Then Jon laughs hollowly, says, "I'm fine," with that old acerbic tone that used to intimidate Martin. But Martin's not scared of him anymore -
"You're not scared at all?" Jon shifts his eyes to look at Martin without moving his head. Has he slept in the past week?
"Sometimes I'm scared of you, but mostly just for you." Then Martin frowns at him, anxiety spiking when he realizes Jon's voice had filled with static. "How did you know to ask - like. Like how Elias does -" Jon grits his teeth, and Martin promptly moves on. (How long has Jon been able to do that? How much has he… heard?) "Okay, Jon, that's weird, and more than a little invasive, but right now it's more important for you to be -"
Jon stares at him with unusual intensity. He looks exhausted, and his eyes look almost black in the shadows under the desk. (Martin briefly thanks the Eye for fixing Jon's vision and rendering his glasses unnecessary. Which is the only good thing the Eye's ever done.) "You know I'm trans, right?"
Martin's train of thought is violently redirected to a new track. He involuntarily inspects Jon from head to foot, then kicks himself. It's surprising, yes, but no reason to suddenly inspect him, and now Martin has taken too long to answer. Jon hasn't blinked, expression unreadable. "Um - no, I didn't?" Come on, he knows that's not nearly enough to say when someone comes out. "Well, uh, thank you for telling me, that's, good to know - I'm cis. I think. Maybe? I chatted with Tim, a bit - sorry, this isn't about me so - um… is that? Relevant? To… whatever… this is?"
Jon's eyes flash in an instant so brief and unsettling Martin thinks it had to have been a strange shadow that made them look like they contained too many irises and pupils. "Do you still want me?"
Static permeates his voice and slips like a heavy caress into Martin's ears, throat, bones; and now Martin is very, very scared. He knows now how there's no denial or deception when Jon compels. He clamps his hands over his mouth, straining to prevent his jaw from opening. "I - I'm -"
Jon's eyes widen and he jerks towards Martin, holds his hands out in apology, caution. "I'm sorry! Don't - you don't have to answer. I didn't mean - I won't do that again."
Martin clutches at his face for another long moment, capturing those muffled half formed words, until he's sure that hungry pressure is gone, that his tongue is his own again. He lets go to suck in a heaving breath as his heart hammers away. "Jon, why -"
"I'm sorry -"
"I mean, I - actually, what I want is - is for you to be safe -"
"Martin -"
"That's normal, and e-everyone does too - more or less - "
"Listen -"
"That's it! We are all - just, so professional here, in this, workplace setting -"
"Martin, stop." Jon grabs Martin's hands to hold them still.
Martin stops, mouth hanging open, flushed to the tips of his ears. Jon has such a strange look on his face right now as they lock gazes over their joined hands. He has his answer even though he withdrew the compulsion, Jon's not stupid, but why did -
Martin doesn't get the chance to analyze it because Jon bites his lip (that's just not fair), pulls Martin's wrist towards him and. He kisses it. He brushes his full lips against the thin skin on the inside of Martin's wrist, where his veins show pale green against sandy skin. His fingers are warm and they fold so gently around Martin's, uncurl them to lay Martin's hand on his cheek where his own flush heats his skin. Jon carefully asks, "Do you want to. Have sex with me?" He presses a kiss to the base of his thumb, and his breath ghosts over it as he speaks.
No static except for the buzzing in Martin's head and everywhere Jon is touching him. His fingers move of their own volition to stroke that high cheekbone, the curling gray hair at Jon's temple, before he arrests their movement. Not before Jon notices, of course. "Are you… You’re not Jon. What did you do with the real Jon -"
"What? No! It's me." A mirthless smile passes briefly over his face. (Even in the midst of total incomprehensibility Martin can't help but marvel at the fact that he is touching the rare wonder of Jon's smile.) "Not entirely human anymore, but certainly no Stranger."
He had tried to compel him, after all. That blows Martin's theory out of the water. Martin leans back, putting more distance between them, though he can't quite make himself. Stop touching Jon. "You're… interested. In me? You, actually want to -"
Jon's face closes off. He looks away, drops Martin's hand and tucks the blanket in tighter around himself. Martin sometimes forgets how forceful his gaze can be until Jon breaks eye contact and Martin doesn't feel pierced through anymore. "Fine - you clearly don't, so just… do me a favor and don't tell -"
Martin knows there's something else going on, there has to be, God knows he's obsessed about every interaction he's ever had with Jon and concluded every time that his feelings were as far from requited as possible. And it seemed pretty apparent from casual conversation that he had just never been interested in anyone. At all. Ever. (That actually almost made his hopeless crush easier to bear, knowing that it probably wasn't entirely personal.) And the timing, and the state Jon was in when Martin came in - this entire thing makes no sense. But. Martin wants to. Maybe, this actually marks the point where Jon will let Martin help him, since he's reaching out for… Martin can't really see how sex would help anything. But he's just a little too selfish to ruin this opportunity. He seizes his panic, uses it to propel himself past the emotional walls he'd (mostly unsuccessfully) set around Jon, and says, "No, wait! That's not - um, yes. I would like to? Have s… do that. With you." Fear and excitement turn his stomach to ice.
Jon sighs in what sounds like relief, but the tension in his body ratchets tighter. Then he slides out from under the desk without further preamble to wrap his hand confidently around the back of Martin's neck and kiss him hard.
As soon as those fingers stroke against his neck surprised heat flashes through Martin's body; then their lips meet and Martin's lost. The gentle scrape of teeth along his lower lip reminds him he can reciprocate. Jon had pushed him back with the force of that kiss - Martin grabs at Jon's shirt, shoulders, to give back as hard as he's getting. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and a hint of the black tea he prefers (he never remembers to take the tea bag out when he makes it himself but Martin knows how to steep it perfectly) and it's so warm, soft skin and hard pressure, and his mouth fits just right, and he feels so sharp in his arms and determined in his kiss, and Martin traces his tongue along Jon's lip and presses it into his open mouth -
Jon breaks away, blanket sliding off his shoulders, to push closer and kiss down his jaw. His knees bracket Martin's and suddenly he's practically in his lap, and all the blood in his body drains south. Martin dizzily hauls him in the last few inches to drag his tongue down the cords in that long elegant throat, nip lightly at the curve between his neck and shoulder, breathe shuddering kisses over his scars. God, he's so beautiful, warm solid weight pressed against him, panting and shivering every time Martin touches him like he'd never been touched before.
Jon makes a soft breathless sound and holds up something in Martin's peripheral vision. He glances at it as he bites Jon's earlobe, and then sits up straight. "W-why do you have a condom - did you mean right now? Right here -"
"Now, and here - has to be - "
Martin furrows his brow; that's concerning, isn't it? "Jon, why -"
Jon fumbles the buttons of his shirt open as he demands, "Why do you ask? I can handle this, I want to -" And before Martin manages to say anything, he yanks his shirt off and tossed it across the room. Wonder and hopeless awe shove Martin's concerns firmly to the back of his mind. He wraps an arm around him to keep them close, slides his hand over his chest and the round jagged scars on it (he wonders which ones he yanked writhing worms from, blood staining his hands, the corkscrew, Jon's shirt, Jon's voice). His heart glows hot as he kisses each scar - this one is an apology. This one is a promise. This one is sorrow. This one is faith. God, Martin's head swims with want and he's tried so hard not to think about the want (Jon needs him clear headed, effective, useful; and he absolutely isn't when he's thinking about Jon by candlelight and Jon on Martin’s couch quietly reading and Jon in Martin’s bed moaning his name -).
Jon pulls hard at his jumper and Martin sways forward into it, slides his hands down for a firm grip on his thighs, and stands up. It hardly takes much effort, Jon’s so skinny. He clutches at his chest as Martin resettles him in his arms for long enough to take the three steps to the cot (with how often Jon just falls asleep at his desk, Martin’s not actually sure he remembers it’s there at all. Every time, he imagines carrying Jon there himself, with varying degrees of exasperation). Suddenly, Jon shoves at his shoulders and nearly pitches them both over. Martin drops him on the cot harder than he intended, catching himself on his elbows over him.
They freeze, staring at each other. Jon does something Martin can only call shrinking away, flattening himself against the cot as his nails dig into his shoulders. Something is wrong. Then Jon turns that convulsive clench of his hands into hauling Martin’s jumper over his head, and it and his glasses get tossed to the side; he thinks, something is wrong. Jon arches his back and now they’re skin to skin, heat pulsing through his body. His hands smooth over his soft stomach, then the fingers curl and drag their nails down his ribs; what is he supposed to do? Something is wrong and if Jon would just give him a second to think, to realize that nagging worry has turned into a klaxon in the very back of his mind, maybe he could fix it. All he can manage is a retaliatory bite on Jon’s collarbone, soft open mouth kisses over his stomach as he strokes down the length of his legs to pull off his shoes (battered old dress shoes that he's been alternating with equally battered trainers since Jane Prentiss destroyed any semblance of this being a normal job), back up to hook his fingers into his trousers and peel them off.
Martin leans back on his heels and drinks him in, sharp features, slender limbs, and bones a little too prominent (his top surgery scars and stretch marks are starkly pale, though the worms seem to have spared him somewhat. Bad luck, to be so easily marked). Jon refuses to tolerate that for more than a few seconds, squirming under Martin’s gaze before he finally lurches up to work on his jeans. His hands brush his erection and it all feels so real that dizziness strikes him dumb, stops his heart. Martin has to pull away from Jon’s insistent hands; instead drops to his knees between his legs.
Jon follows him with his gaze, wariness furrowing his brow as he asks hoarsely, “What -”
Martin kisses his hip bone, licks the elongated line of it and earns himself a yelp. So he hitches Jon's leg over his shoulder and mouths at the soft skin on the inside of his thigh, sucks on it lightly and presses his tongue into it hard. Jon jolts and whines, leg squeezing around his shoulder, and Martin agreeably licks his cunt, a broad stripe from bottom to top.
“Martin -” He does it again. Jon’s hands find their way into his hair to tug hard. “Wh - oh, fuck -” He slides his tongue between Jon’s folds, tastes him soft and delicate, satisfaction shuddering up his spine as Jon convulses, bends near in half over him. “Christ -” He flicks his tongue over Jon’s cock -
He’s violently pulled away. Jon’s still breathing hard but it almost has the timbre of panic, and his hands quiver where they’re buried in Martin’s hair. Alarm clears some of the fog from his mind. “Oh no -”
“I don’t like that. That feeling, it doesn’t -” His eyes widen further, the whites showing all around. “I don’t need it, alright? It’s fine.”
Guilt joins the alarm. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if -”
“Just - don’t worry about me, about making me -” Jon swallows hard. “The rest of it is - I want that.”
That reminds Martin, now that he can hear his thoughts. “Jon, please tell me if you don’t, if there’s anything -”
Jon’s mouth works and he leans down, enunciates every word. “I want you to fuck me.” Kisses him, sinks his teeth into Martin’s lip.
And just like that, he plunges back into single minded need. Maybe if Martin had been a better person, he could still have stopped. But the only thought that surfaces with any clarity says there aren’t nearly enough red flags to override all of Jon’s yeses, to override that.
He devours Jon’s mouth, barely gets his jeans off his hips before Jon rips open the condom packet. Their hands collide putting it on, and it strikes Martin that he would really like to hold that hand. Right after he spreads Jon’s legs open over his thighs and thrusts into his cunt. It feels… it all feels jumbled together into one utterly overwhelming whole, and his mind can’t sift out individual sensations to hold onto, though he tries. He wants to imprint everything in his memory so deep it’ll never fade. And when it comes down to it, what he’s experiencing is almost incidental to… Jon himself; how he looks (greying curls falling in his face, delicate neck arched, bottom lip caught in his teeth) and sounds (subdued moans and gasps - he had imagined Jon being a little more… voluble) and moves (tiny kisses peppered over every inch of skin he can reach, hips canted to meet Martin’s).
Martin takes Jon’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and pushes it into the cot next to his face with his next thrust. Jon makes a choked sound low in his throat and bucks his hips, his eyes closing. Then, without opening them, he unerringly grabs Martin’s other wrist. “Yes. Like that -” Pulls those hands above his head too. Martin swallows hard - holding someone down had been a tame, guiltless fantasy until it was about Jon. So it’s not a hard decision to capture both thin wrists and pin them.
Jon goes slack, face softening; then he arches violently, fighting against his grip and weight. Martin lets go - or he’s about to, when Jon says sharply, “No!” He hooks his legs around his thighs. “Don’t let me go.”
Jon matches Martin’s confused expression as they lock eyes, but it turns into a very familiar stubborn jut of his jaw. Something inexpressible wells in Martin’s chest. A not insignificant part is the conviction that this is a bad idea. Another part says that worry and stress had fallen away from Jon for that split second, and he can’t remember the last time Jon relaxed. (A third part tries to convince his heart not to read anything into it.) “I… won’t. Until you tell me to.” He tightens his grip to prove it.
Jon growls and fiercely struggles, trying to work his wrists free and nearly succeeding, heels digging and sliding on the cheap canvas. He clenches down so hard on Martin’s cock that he thinks he might come then and there. Then he visibly calms. Martin drives his hips forward hard, eliciting an unrestrained moan for the first time. That, at least, matches his fantasies perfectly. He runs his thumb over Jon’s cheek, kisses him tenderly in time with forceful thrusts (Jon had pulled away last time so he doesn’t try to slide his tongue into his mouth; that does make it easier to fill the space between them with quiet praise, gratitude, appreciation). Jon reacts beautifully. So beautifully.
It feels like an embarrassingly short time before Martin feels he’s about to come. He pauses deep inside him, panting, fingers trembling when he pushes Jon’s sweat-dampened hair off his forehead. He’d said not to worry about him, but Martin can’t help an anxious, “Jon - I’m -”
His eyes open (there’s definitely too many irises, oh God, how are there so many -) and abruptly an omnipresent scrutiny flays him down to his bones. “Look at me.”
Martin wouldn’t disobey even if he could. His voice breaks on Jon’s name and those eyes dissect him and he shatters, and he does not look away.
Next thing he realizes is that he’s crushing Jon, but he’s thoroughly, unreasonably drained. It’s nearly too much simply to force his hand to release Jon. Starts to move off him but is stopped with a hand on his shoulder. “Was it really so inconceivable that I was interested?”
Martin does not comprehend for a moment (he is unspeakably relieved to see Jon looking at him with perfectly normal eyes. Does he know that they… do that?), then catches his breath for a moment more. “I mean - yes? Certainly not in… in me. And I just, had the impression you weren’t into… anybody, that way.”
Jon’s face twists in a way he can’t interpret. “Well, there’s - there’s nothing wrong. With that. I really - and you seemed… okay, with how things were? And I never wanted to push - to push that boundary. I didn’t - I was okay. With how, with how things were.”
The question looms over them. Things are not the same. They are not the same. Is he okay with that?
Jon pushes Martin off - gently enough, but something brittle snaps in his chest. He slowly sits up, tries to control his emotions while Jon hastily gathers his clothes.
“Thank you.” Martin’s just put his glasses on and looks up to see Jon paused in the middle of yanking his shoes on, shirt buttoned wrong, looking wholly disheveled. “You didn’t have to. With me. I’m… grateful.”
Hope chokes him before Jon finishes, “I’m sorry.”
He nearly runs out the door, and Martin’s alone. Again.
“What?”
#the magnus archives#tma#do not archive#long post#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#jonmartin#FINE just remove all my formatting click on the damn ao3 link#fuck you tumblr
1 note
·
View note
Text
Just Fine
(Smut vent fic)
Summary: “Sex is meant to be pleasurable—for both parties.” It's meant to be. But too often, as Rus quickly learns, it isn't.
Tags: Smut, lemons, bad sex, painful sex, penetrative sex, oral sex, lack of reciprocation, knotting, mention of vomiting, alcohol, loss of virginity, vaginal bleeding, eventual good sex, healthy spicyhoney
Ships: Spicyhoney, US Papyrus/Strangers
Word Count: ~7.4k
Notes: A vent fic regarding how different sex can be for those with vaginas when compared to those with dicks, and how vaginal pleasure is often secondary. This is a bit personal, and I definitely don’t claim to speak for everyone here. I know my experiences aren’t universal. Just something I wanted to write about.
Read on AO3
OR
Below the cut
When Rus had pictured his first time, it had never been quite like this. It had been roses and soft kisses and the familiar warmth of a lover’s embrace. Not the cold, unwashed sheets of a stranger’s bed, after sneaking away from a party, tipsy out of his mind. The man’s mouth tasted strangely sweet, like the cherry and lime ale he’d shared with Rus. He was human too—another inconsistency with Rus’s fantasy, if not a significant one.
And, more to the point, it hurt. Not a lot, but enough that Rus was grateful when the human finally grunted and pulled out of him, flopping onto the mattress and shutting his eyes. Slowly, Rus sat up. “um... thanks,” he muttered, sliding off the bed. The human cracked an eye.
“Yeah, sure thing, babe. You get yours?”
“get my what?”
“I mean—did you finish?”
Rus blinked, then opened his mouth, realising what he meant. “oh—uh yeah. yeah. it was… good.” Was that how really how he’d describe it?
The man yawned and sat up, stretching. “Cool. Glad to hear it.” He watched Rus as he pulled his jeans back on, then winced. “Shit, you alright?” Rus looked down and his breath caught. Mingled with the cum on his thighs was a trace of red. Was he bleeding…?
“uh... shit. yeah—no, i’m okay.” He swallowed, wiping away the residue with his finger. It was warm and sticky.
The human zipped his jeans back up and dug in his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. “Didn’t realise it was your first time,” he said, flicking his lighter. “Would’ve gone gentler if you’d told me.”
“yeah... sorry, i should’ve mentioned it.” Rus tugged on his sleeve, fidgeting with the doorknob. He felt like he’d done something wrong.
The human exhaled a trail of smoke. “First time is meant to hurt though, right?”
Rus shrugged, twisting the doorknob. “yeah, i guess.” The man dusted ash onto the carpet and held out the box of cigarettes.
“Smoke?”
“uh, i’m good,” Rus said, though the smell made his throat itch needily. “think i’m just gonna go clean up.”
“Alright, take care,” the man said, waving him off. “And hey—” Rus turned, and the man winked. “Walk of shame. Enjoy it.” Rus couldn’t tell whether that was meant to be a joke or not, so he forced a smile and left quickly.
He pushed through the throng of sweaty bodies, avoiding curious stares and wandering hands until he found the bathroom. There was a human bent over the toilet bowl, retching while her friend held her hair back. The two of them paid Rus little heed beyond a momentary stare. He wet some paper towel in the sink and quietly unzipped his jeans, dabbing at the mess around his pelvis. The blood clung stubbornly to his bones and he gave up, tossing the wet towels in the trash.
The bathroom door burst open and he jumped, startled, before realising who it was. “oh, hey ‘dyne…”
“Rus!” Undyne shrieked—too loud. She hugged him, beaming, and if that wasn’t evidence enough of her intoxication, the tequila on her breath certainly was. “Where did you get off to? Alph and I were…” She blushed and looked down, nudging her glasses up her nose.
“well, i was just…” He glanced over his shoulder at the two humans, then leaned in. “i was actually with someone,” he said quietly. Undyne’s eyes went wide and she clapped her hands over her mouth.
“No way! Did you—?” Rus nodded sheepishly and Undyne squealed. “I can’t believe it! That’s crazy. How was it? You were just dancing one second and then the next I couldn’t find you—because you were—!”
“yeah,” Rus said, smiling faintly. “uh, it was… fine. it kind of hurt honestly.”
“Oh, but that’s just because it was your first time. It’ll feel better next time. Oh man, I can’t believe it!” She squeezed his arm. “You little slut, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me where you were going.” The gesture was in good spirit, but Rus’s throat felt tight.
“yeah, whoops.” He turned the tap on again and splashed cold water over his face, his sockets burning with tears. A few feet away, the human girl threw up again.
Cuddling was nice… ish. A little awkward, in truth. Rus couldn’t really move the way he wanted to, and his shoulder was cramping, and being a flame elemental, his partner gave off just a bit too much heat. Rus squirmed in his hold, and he chuckled, kissing his skull. “Getting restless, sweetheart?” he murmured, squeezing Rus’s inner femur.
He’d met the guy at a party and the conversation had been pleasant enough to warrant the exchange of numbers. They’d texted a bit, things had gotten heated (so to speak), and here they were, watching Netflix. It was a little cliché. Personally, Rus would have done away with the preamble and skipped straight to the sex, but this was… fine. Just fine.
He tucked himself closer to the elemental, trying to get comfortable. The elemental’s flames crackled. His mouth trailed from the crown of Rus’s skull down to his jaw, and whatever strange horror movie they’d been watching was all at once forgotten.
His tongue was hot against Rus’s neck, not unpleasantly so, but the sensation was unfamiliar. He kissed Rus deeply, licking into his mouth. “You know,” he whispered, planting a line of kisses down Rus’s face, “I’ve been thinking about your pretty mouth all night. Kind of been wondering what it looks like wrapped around my cock.” He pulled back to give Rus a sly grin, then purred, nuzzling into his neck.
“yeah? okay, i’ll see what i can do about that,” Rus said with a smile, cupping him through his sweatpants. Shit, he was hard already. Had he been hard through the entire movie, waiting for Rus to make a move? Rus cleared his throat. “i should probably warn you, i’m uh… not all that experienced at this.”
The elemental chuckled throatily, his flames crackling. “I find that hard to believe.” He pinched Rus’s chin, tilting his face. “After all those dirty things you said to me last night… I’m inclined to believe your mouth is just as dirty.” He nipped at Rus’s jaw, and Rus laughed, hoping it sounded genuine.
“right…” He shifted in his lap and tugged down his sweatpants. The elemental watched keenly as he ran his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the bead of precum.
“Yeah, that’s it baby, c’mon. Let me see you put it in your mouth.” Crouching between his knees, Rus tentatively licked a circle around the head. It burned his tongue a little, but was otherwise bearable. “Oh yeah, that’s it. I think you can take it deep, babe. Show me what you can do.” Rus wasn’t confident. Even with a pseudo-throat, his gag reflex was overly-responsive.
But he was eager to please his partner. Or maybe just to prove himself. Whatever it was, it was enough for an attempt at deepthroating. He swallowed just a little, and got about half way before his throat began to itch. He choked and the elemental groaned, flattening his hand on the back of Rus’s skull and pushing down. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby. Let me just—” He grunted, bucking his hips, and his cock hit the back of Rus’s throat. “Oh, yes! Fuck.” He moaned loudly, mindless, apparently, of Rus’s discomfort.
It lasted a good ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Long enough to make Rus’s jaw ache and his throat burn. “Gah, no teeth, babe,” the elemental griped as reflex drove Rus to grimace. “Almost there.” Thank fuck, Rus thought, and he might have voiced it were his mouth not being used as a cocksleeve. The elemental held his head down and fucked his mouth, and with a rather unimpressive groan, buried himself all the way inside Rus’s throat and came. His hot release spilled into Rus’s throat, and contrary to his desires, he was forced to swallow it.
The air had never tasted sweeter. He buried a cough in his sleeve when the elemental let go of him at last. “Shit. Dude. That was amazing,” he breathed, slumping against the arm of the sofa. Rus was untangling himself from the blankets but the elemental pulled him back down and kissed him deeply, humming into his mouth. “Mm, we should definitely do that again. I was right about that dirty mouth, wasn’t I?”
Rus put the barest ounce of energy into the kiss before wriggling free. “ha, sure,” he said weakly, grimacing at the insincerity of his words. He scurried to the kitchen and drank straight from the tap, rinsing out his mouth and swallowing half a gallon of ice-cold water. His throat still felt singed.
When he returned to the living room, the elemental was dozing on the couch, while the TV flickered blue across the room. Sighing, Rus switched off the TV and left to take a shower. If he was lucky, maybe he could rub one out and pretend the sex (or lack thereof) hadn’t been dismally frustrating.
Finding partners online proved to be a thousand times easier than flirting at bars, and Rus wished he’d tried it out sooner. He spoke to a hundred odd men a day, but only a miniscule percentage of them ever saw his bed. And not for lack of effort on his part. But most of them seemed to fall into one of two categories—the over-eager pervert, or the ghost. Rus wasn’t particularly inclined to either. The odd few that fell outside of those categories usually went home with him.
They were fine.
Tonight, they ended up on the sofa. After a tedious non-debate over what movie they were going to (not) watch, Rus ended up in his partner’s lap. He was human, which made his lap somewhat comfy, though his hands were… disappointingly immobile. He held Rus around the waist, and from there—well, nothing. The movie slogged on for a good half hour before Rus realised he was likely expected to make the first move. A bit awkward from his position, but his patience was dwindling.
He twisted in the human’s arms, giving him a soft, but suggestive smile. “enjoying the movie?” he asked, tongue dancing across his teeth—just for a moment, he still enjoyed a degree of subtlety.
The human shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Rus held in a frustrated sigh. “just fine?” He smiled and touched the tip of his tongue to the human’s neck, tasting sweat. “anything i can do to make it more than just fine?” The human stirred, shifting his hips beneath Rus.
“Yeah? Like what?” Rus grinned cheekily and the human lifted him onto his back, tugging his pants off.
Underwhelming was the only word that could really describe it. It was over before Rus had even started, and the human didn’t breathe a word before getting up wandering down the hall to the bathroom. Rus couldn’t even say he was frustrated, just… bored.
Undyne set Rus up with a guy she knew from work. “He’s really nice, I swear!” she told him excitedly. “Real gentleman. And he has a great sense of humour. You’ll love him.” She wasn’t completely wrong. He was friendly, he laughed at Rus’s jokes, and he kept the conversation going well enough to stifle most awkward silences.
He took Rus to a drive-in movie on their first date, and insisted on driving him personally. More as a means of showcasing his ride than out of courtesy, Rus soon came to realise. “Just got her,” he’d said, patting the bonnet of the sleek car. “Wanted to take her out for a spin. What do you think?” Rus wasn’t an expert on cars, but he knew enough to be able to tell a good car from a bad one. This one was good (probably expensive), and had a spacious backseat.
Which may have been why they found themselves there halfway through the movie, mouths locked together while they undressed each other. “God, you’re gorgeous,” the other monster breathed as he unbuttoned Rus’s shirt. “Beautiful. Let me see you.” His words were kind, almost reverent, and in spite of himself, they made Rus blush. Soft paws scrambling over his body, and soon the monster had two fingers inside him. From his appearance, Rus had to guess he had some wolf in him (and so did he, his mind supplied). His fingers were long and his coordination was… awkward. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but he wasn’t hitting the right spots either.
“How’s that, baby?” he breathed feverishly, pushing his face into the nape of Rus’s neck. “Good?” Rus hummed a non-response and the wolf pressed himself closer. “Lie down, I wanna taste ya.” He crawled between Rus’s knees and lifted his legs over his shoulders. The warm swipe of his tongue over Rus’s clit made his breath catch.
“oh…”
“Mm, ya like that?” He pressed his tongue inside Rus, and Rus clutched to the fur on the back of his neck. It was… pretty good, honestly. More than fine, a nice change. But…
“Alright, sweetheart, let me see you on your knees.” It stopped all too soon. The wolf grinned, kissing him, his tongue probing. “Can you taste yourself? You taste real good, baby.” Rus hummed against his mouth in (false) affirmation, then sat back while the wolf unbuckled his jeans. And...
Oh. He was. He was big. There was no sugar-coating it. Rus studied his cock and swallowed, and the wolf’s yellow eyes glinted. “Yeah? You like it, sweetheart? Ready to taste my nice thick cock?” Rus’s smile was so heartily feigned, it couldn’t have fooled anyone. Well. Except for this guy, apparently. He grinned and kissed Rus before leaning back. “That’s it, babe, let me see that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”
Rus slipped into the small space between the front and back seat that passed for a floor. It was cramped, but it was the only position that gave him a good angle. He licked the wolf’s cock tentatively, swirling his tongue around the head. “Fuck…” he breathed, stroking the back of Rus’s skull. “That’s it, babe, keep goin’. All the way.”
Rus managed to get about half way before his gag reflex caught up with him. He coughed and pulled off, wiping his mouth. “Fuck, good boy,” the wolf breathed, rubbing Rus’s arm. “You’re such a good boy, that felt real good. I know you can keep going.” Rus took him in again, this time at an easier pace. “Oh, that’s it.” He bobbed his head, moving down in increments. “Fuck, lemme see how deep you can go. Let me see you take that big dick—far as you can go, baby, oh, oh, fuck yeah.”
Rus made admirable progress, holding just long enough for the wolf to thrust and catch him in the back of the throat. He swallowed a gag, pulling off quickly, and the wolf exhaled. “Come up, come up here, sweetheart.” He beckoned lazily and Rus sat back up on the seat, letting the wolf guide him into a sloppy kiss. “You want it inside you now?” he purred against Rus’s neck. “Wanna feel that nice big dick inside your pretty cunt?”
Rus nodded with lacklustre enthusiasm. “mhm,” he hummed, his inflection just off. The wolf grinned, kissing him as he lowered him onto his back and lined himself up. It took just the tip inside him for Rus to realise it wasn’t going to fit. “ah!” He winced, digging his fingers into the wolf’s back as he sank in. “ah, fuck!”
The wolf grinned, lapping at his neck. “That good, baby? You like that? Yeah, you like that big dick, don’t ya? Fuck you’re tight. You feel so good, sweetheart, so good.” He pushed deeper and a cry slipped from Rus—fuck it hurt, it hurt so much. He shut his eyes and held on, panting. “Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Love hearing you scream like that. Fuck, it’s hot.” With no further grace, he pounded into Rus, and then Rus really did scream. The wolf gave a howl of pleasure, dragging Rus flush against his body as he fucked him.
It lasted longer than Rus was used to—and usually, he’d be thankful for that. Longer sex increased his odds of getting off. Only this time, it did nothing but extend his pain. His cunt felt like it was being split open, each thrust jolting his entire body. “Oh, sweetheart,” the wolf moaned, slowing to a gentle roll of his hips. “Let’s turn you over, I wanna take you from behind.” Limbs shaking, Rus got onto all fours. The wolf wrapped an arm around his torso and slowly pushed into him.
The angle was no better. If anything, it was deeper—too deep, each thrust jarring. Grateful the wolf couldn’t see his face, Rus shut his eyes, wincing against tears.
He knew it was over when the wolf buried himself deep and held himself there, exhaling against Rus’s neck. Hot ropes of cum coated his inner walls, and—wait, was that…? “are you… knotting me?” Rus asked, not bothering to hide the discomfort in his voice. Somehow, his tone still seemed to pass the wolf’s notice.
“Ah, shit… yeah, sorry. Should’ve warned you about that.” He stroked Rus’s spine as he filled him, the stream of cum unceasing.
“um, yeah maybe?” Rus grimaced, pressing his face into his folded arms. “shit…”
“Can be a bit intense, or so I’m told.” He laughed hoarsely and pressed his body close. “But nice, huh?” Well, the stretch was overwhelming, but it did beat being pounded into the car seat. Fractionally.
The wolf’s cock softened eventually, but the damage was done. Rus was tender and sore, and his inner thighs were slick with cum… and blood. He inhaled sharply and quickly pulled up his jeans to hide it.
When Rus got out of bed the next morning, his pelvis ached. Sitting down hurt, and walking was… awkward. He caught a glimpse of his neck in the bathroom mirror and winced internally. Bruises flushed the bone a purple-grey colour, and the wolf’s teeth had left some pretty telling marks. He picked out a black turtleneck, and spent most of the day on his feet.
Around noon, he received a text from an unsaved number.
Wanted to get in contact with you again so ‘Dyne gave me your number! Just wanted to emphasise how amazing last night was for me. Would love to do it again sometime. - Dom
Against all odds, Rus did end up seeing him again. Really, Dominic was a nice guy. A little cocky, and a little rough, but nice. Fine. The second time they met, Rus sheepishly managed to stutter out that last time was maybe a little too rough and that maybe, if possible, he’d like to perhaps go just a little bit slower this time. Maybe.
“Well, shit, why didn’t ya tell me to stop if I was hurting you?” Dominic asked him, and that stumped Rus a little.
“i know i should’ve. i—i’m sorry. i… i don’t know.” His chest clenched with guilt. He’d messed up miserably. A part of him wondered how Dominic hadn’t noticed. Surely there’d been no mistaking his cries of pain for pleasure? Surely he’d noticed the awkward way Rus had been sitting while they saw the movie through afterward? Surely he’d seen the blood on his pelvis?
Dominic shrugged, lying down next to him. “S’all good. We’ll try and go slower this time, yeah?”
A seed of warmth grew in Rus’s chest, and he smiled. “thanks, dominic.”
He patted Rus’s shoulder. “Hey—remember, call me Dom.”
It was better. Not great, but better. Fine. Dominic gave him a little more room to control the pace, but he quickly found himself on his back again. “Fuck, you know how hard it is to hold myself back,” Dominic growled against his skull as he rolled into him. “Feels so good being inside you, baby, I just wanna go balls deep.” Rus closed his eyes, shuddering. In many ways, the dirty talk was appealing. It was nice to know his partner was into it. Nice to know he was doing something right. But on the other hand… it didn’t exactly hit the right spots.
“You know what was really good last time?” Dominic murmured, licking along Rus’s jawline. “Seeing my dick in your mouth. You liked that, didn’t you? Having a nice big cock in your mouth?”
God, I get it! Your dick is big! Rus wanted to scream, but instead he smiled, nodding. “yeah,” he said weakly.
“Yeah?” Dominic caressed his face with the back of his hand, tender despite his words. Rus nodded with forced eagerness and Dominic grinned, kissing him briefly before rolling off him.
Sucking him off was no less onerous than it had been last time. Rus still couldn’t take him all the way in, though Dominic seemed inclined to get him to try. At length, he patted the back of Rus’s skull. “Alright, come up, I wanna try something else.” Relieved, Rus sat up, and Dominic caught his hips, dragging him upward. “Lemme eat you out while you suck my dick,” he said. “Wanna taste that sweet cunt again.”
“o-okay,” Rus stammered, a little confounded. This was unfamiliar territory. He’d never tried this position before. He lay with his hips over Dominic’s face while his skull fell in line with his cock. The angle was strange, but the reciprocation was appreciated. Dominic pressed his tongue deep inside Rus and he moaned around his cock. Fuck. This was something he could get used to, even if it meant a throatful of dick.
“Shit, that’s it,” Dominic breathed against his cunt. “Keep goin’, baby, I’m getting so close.” He licked a strip down Rus’s inner folds then let his hips drop, ceasing his own performance. Rus lifted his head but Dominic stroked the back of his neck, easing him back down. “Keep goin’, sweetheart, keep goin’, nearly there, fuck…”
You are, but I’m not, Rus thought resentfully. He bobbed his head until Dominic gripped the back of his neck and thrust upward, releasing a stream of cum into his mouth. Rus coughed and it dribbled down his chin and onto the bedsheets. “Aw, sweetheart, fuck… that was hot.” Dominic chuckled, rubbing Rus’s coccyx. “You look good from this angle.”
Rus’s laugh sounded strained, even to him. He climbed off Dominic and sank into the mattress. His cunt still throbbed needily, unsatisfied. He ran a finger lightly over his clit, then looked up at Dominic. “hey, uh, you don’t mind if i… get myself off, do you?” he asked apprehensively.
Dominic eyed him, lifting an eyebrow. “Ha, multiple orgasm kinda guy?”
Multiple—?! Rus laughed feebly. “heh, guess so, yeah.” He turned on his side, resting his chin against Dominic’s bicep as he touched himself. His own careful hands were a staggering contrast to Dominic’s more forceful manner. He moaned softly, burying his face in Dominic’s shoulder and inhaling deeply.
“Fuck… listen to ya. Love seeing you make yourself feel good, babe.” Dominic closed his hand over Rus’s, attempting to guide his movements. “Need an extra hand?” He pressed a thick finger inside Rus and Rus tensed against the intrusion. Fuck, he was so close, could this idiot not—?!
He breathed and kept going, trying not to let it deter him. Dominic was oblivious, but there was something to be said for his eagerness to please. It was heartier praise than Rus could offer his past lovers.
In the end, though, it fell just short of enough. Frustratingly, his climax refused to come, and he settled for a fake one, lest they be here all night. He moaned and squeezed Dominic’s shoulder, then relaxed. At this point, Dominic had two fingers inside him, and was pumping them hard beyond the point of pleasure. He slipped them out of Rus and lifted them to Rus’s mouth. “Come on, baby, taste yourself.” Rus obediently sucked on his fingers and Dominic’s eyes fell half-lidded. “Fuck, that’s good, isn’t it? You feel good?”
Not even close! Am I not even allowed to come on my own terms?! Can I not have a moment to myself where you’re not trying to prove to me how fantastic you are in bed? Can I just enjoy myself instead of sitting subject to your showcase of your own damn ineptitude?
Caving, Rus smiled. “yeah, that was nice.”
Dominic smiled and corralled him tightly, kissing his forehead. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” He chuckled quietly to himself, as if sharing a private joke. “You’re probably going to think I’m just saying this to get you into bed again—and maybe I kind of am, just a tad—but… man, I love spending time with you. Feels good having you close by.” He squeezed Rus to his chest. “Mind if I spend the night?”
“of course not.” Because how could he say no after such a heartfelt confession? Rus’s insides were squirming. He wanted a shower… and to sleep alone. But, he made do. This was fine.
His relationship with Dominic endured beyond its expiry date. It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes it was nice to be able to lie next to someone and know they cared for you a little more than people usually did. Other times, Rus just wanted to scream at him to shut up about the size of his damn dick! In the end, he was left with a few fond memories, and a few bitter ones. He tried to focus on the fond ones, for the most part.
Months rolled into years, and Rus kept his distance from anything that resembled romance. Casual sex remained a pass time, but none of it particularly noteworthy. Undyne had a fondness of bars. Not that Rus minded much, but it did mean he spent a significant amount of time in the line of fire of flirty guys. It wasn’t all bad, really. In some ways, he enjoyed the attention.
But man. Some nights he just needed a break. Was sitting alone wearing sweatpants and a pulled-up hoodie not enough of a deterrent? Did he really look like he was here to get laid?! Apparently yes, if the four men who approached him over the course of the evening were any indication to the fact.
“You need to relax,” Undyne said, swaying past him in time to the jukebox music, drink in hand. “I mean, sure they’re a little over-eager, but…” She glanced around then leaned in. “Don’t tell me all that attention isn’t kind of flattering.” Rus didn’t miss the note of resentment in her voice.
He hummed, swirling his virgin martini around the glass. “guess i’m just not really in the mood tonight. sorry, didn’t mean to kill your buzz or anything.”
Undyne patted his shoulder. “Nah, you’re good. I mean, I should be thanking you for volunteering to drive…. Thanks.” She grinned, and Rus smiled up at her.
“it’s okay. wasn’t really planning on drinking anyway.”
She crouched, gripping his shoulder to keep her balance, then giving it a gentle squeeze as if the move had been deliberate. “Why don’t you come dance with me? They’re playing really good music tonight!”
Rus eyed the small stage, where monsters and humans clamoured and swayed out of time to the music. “uh, that’s okay. think i’ll just sit here.” He nodded at the dancefloor. “that bun looks like she’s making eyes at you, though. why don’t you go and say hello?” Undyne glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks flushing. “go on,” Rus said, grinning.
“I, uh—okay, um…” She turned to look at Rus, her eyes frantic. “Do I—do I look okay?” She made an attempt at flattening her hair and he laughed.
“you look great! now go, before she finds another fish in the sea.” Undyne gave him a disapproving glare before she hurried across the room and into the gathered crowd. Rus watched her disappear, then returned to disinterestedly nursing his drink. He’d barely taken a sip, but having a drink in his hand gave him the ‘i already have a drink’ escape line if anyone offered to buy him one.
The night wore on, and the bar began to empty. Rus barely left his seat, apart from a couple of bathroom breaks, which were more an excuse to get himself out of conversations with handsy men. Being a Tuesday night, the place closed at one, and by midnight, it was nearly empty…
And naturally, there was no sign of Undyne. Grudgingly getting up from his coveted chair, Rus searched the place and came up empty-handed. More an inconvenience than a reason to be alarmed—Undyne had a tendency to wander into stranger’s beds without telling Rus where she was going. He returned to his seat, figuring he may as well wait until closing to see if she turned up.
“Lost someone?”
Rus glanced up as the bartender rolled his sleeves up and wiped down his table with a cloth. “no... well, yes. but she’ll turn up.” He chewed his tongue, eyeing the bartender up and down. He was a skeleton monster too, but his features were hardened by scars and his bones were thicker and rougher than Rus’s. Horns curled from his skull, and his crimson eye-lights flicked over Rus as he cleaned.
“We’re closing in fifteen minutes. You have a ride home?”
“yeah, i haven’t been drinking, i’ll be fine.”
The bartender lifted a brow bone. “Alright.” He moved on to the next set of tables, stacking the chairs. Inadvertently, Rus’s eyes followed the curve of his hip as he walked. He quickly pulled his gaze away and dug in his pockets for his keys, but came up empty. His phone also appeared to be missing.
Shit. He must have left them in Undyne’s purse. Well. That was inconvenient as fuck. “hey, uh…” He stood up and walked after the bartender. “you don’t happen to have a payphone here, do you?” The bartender glanced at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Lost your ride?”
“lost my keys,” Rus said, narrowing his sockets. His indignance only made the bartender smile wider, but he nodded at the bar.
“Behind the bar. There’s a jar of change there too if you need it.”
“i have my own change, but thanks.” He marched up to the phone, flipping through the pages of the phonebook in search of a taxi company. He leaned against the bricks of the back wall as the phone rang, glancing around the bar. The place was empty now, just the bartender circling the room. It was strange how it seemed to shrink without all its patrons.
The call stopped, greeting him with a dead dial tone. He scowled, searching for more change in his pockets and finding none. He eyed the free change jar dismally. Was his dignity really worth sacrificing a ride home?
“You know, if you’re having trouble getting home, I sleep upstairs. You’re welcome to spend the night here.” The bartender’s eyes were on him, and his smile hinted at more than a mere courtesy, a charming glint in his red eye-lights. He lifted a stool onto the bartop. “Or you could hitchhike. I hear the strangers are friendly in these parts.” Hardly true. This was about as down as downtown got.
“hilarious,” Rus said, hanging up the unhelpful payphone. “and are you actually trying to get me into bed right now?”
The bartender cocked a brow. “I don’t believe I made any mention of sex.”
Rus folded his arms and gave a lofty snort. “well—neither did i.” Well done, Rus. Totally dignified. The bartender’s mouth curled, and he returned to cleaning.
It took all of ten minutes for both of them to eat their words. Rus learned that the bartender’s name was Edge, and that he was a very good kisser. After closing up, he led Rus upstairs to the attic, where he pinned him against the bedroom door. Once he’d gotten Rus’s hoodie out the way, he occupied himself with his neck, latching onto it with his teeth. They were razor sharp, but he was careful with them. He had a way of focusing magic on just the tip of his tongue that made Rus shiver.
“you live here alone?” Rus asked, looking around the attic. It was orderly, and surprisingly homely. Shelves stacked with books, plush carpets, a table of figurines. “it’s nice.”
“I own the whole place,” Edge said between kisses. “And yes, it is nice.” He caught Rus around the waist and lower spine and drew him in close, kissing his bare ribs and sternum. Rus closed his eyes and exhaled, magic trickling down to his pubic arch. He gasped as Edge lifted him with a hand braced under his pelvis, his mouth never leaving Rus’s clavicle. Instinctively, Rus wrapped his legs around Edge’s waist and felt the press of his hard length through his jeans.
“so how often do you fuck your patrons up here?” he asked. Edge lowered him onto the bed and crawled between his knees, pausing to brush his thumb over Rus’s cheek. The gesture was brief, and likely meant nothing, but it made Rus blush.
“More often than I should, less often than I’d like,” Edge answered. Then, with a smirk, “Usually the sober ones who’ve been abandoned by their drunk friends.” Rus rolled his eyes.
“not the drunk ones?”
“You’ve seen one drunk idiot, you’ve seen them all.” Edge pushed their hips together and made a soft noise of satisfaction. “You’re comfortable with this?”
Rus blinked slowly. “uh... sure?”
Edge paused, frowning. “I mean—you’re comfortable bottoming?” At first, Rus mistook the question for a joke, and laughed. But Edge’s steady gaze didn’t waver.
“oh, you’re serious. yeah—yeah i like bottoming…” Not a complete lie. He liked it when he was alone and actually achieved climax.
“Alright.” Edge placed a tender kiss on Rus’s forehead and—shit, he was blushing again.
“um, i—here.” Reaching for a distraction, Rus unbuckled Edge’s belt. “let me—”
Edge caught his wrist. “If you’re bottoming, you’re going first.”
Rus stared at him, then let his hand drop. “o-okay.” He watched with magic in his mouth as Edge carefully pulled off his sweatpants, crouching between his parted knees.
“This is okay, right?”
Rus laughed helplessly. “you don’t have to keep asking.”
“We barely know each other. I’m not familiar with your non-verbal cues—so yes, I do have to keep asking.” Rus looked at him with a degree of alarm, but mustered a nod.
“well... alright. um, yes, yes, this is good.”
Fuck, more than good, he thought, as Edge began eating him out. He was gentle, slow with his tongue, and had a knack for finding Rus’s pressure points. He hooked his arms beneath Rus’s knees and lifted his legs over his shoulders. Rus exhaled and moaned softly, running his fingers over Edge’s horns. Edge grunted and pressed his tongue deep, right against a spot that made Rus whine. “Sorry,” he breathed, pulling back. “They’re sensitive.”
“oh—” Rus quickly let go of his horns. “sorry, i didn’t mean to—”
“Sensitive in the sense that you should definitely keep touching them.” Edge’s provocative smile was enough to banish all of Rus’s qualms. With little more than a stupefied nod, he gripped onto Edge’s horns and explored their texture, stroking the small ridges and chips. In short order, Edge had his tongue inside him again, and this time, Rus had difficulty keeping his cries restrained.
Yet all too soon, Edge sat up, bringing his pleasure to a slamming halt. Rus watched with veiled disappointment as he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock. Crawling up to kneel between Rus’s legs, he gently slid two fingers inside him. “This okay?” he asked, scissoring them.
“yeah,” Rus said faintly. “fine.” Edge contemplated him, carefully slipping his fingers out.
“Just fine?” he asked, his mouth curling upward. He lined himself up, pressing just the tip of his cock inside. “You want me to slow down? Vodka. Stop? Tequila.”
“is that a bartender joke?” Rus asked, deadpan.
Edge smiled. “If you don’t stop after the tequila, you’re in trouble.” He stroked Rus’s jaw with the back of his hand. “You good?”
Rus nodded robotically. “yeah.”
“You sure? I can go down on you for longer if you need more time.” Oh, what a tempting offer.
“it’s—it’s fine. you can keep going. this is good.” Rus squirmed beneath him and wrapped his legs around his waist. Edge sighed deeply and kissed him, just a gentle brush of teeth on teeth, then pushed his tongue into Rus’s mouth, kissing him deeply. He pushed forward with his hips, sinking about halfway before Rus tensed. “vodka!” he blurted, squeezing his fists around a handful of sheets. Edge stopped at once and withdrew a centimetre. “fuck…” Rus turned his face away. “i’m sorry—”
“Sorry? For using a designated caution word? Don’t be.” Edge pulled all the way out and Rus slumped, guilt gnawing at his insides.
“i just… i’m ruining this…”
“You’re not.” The look on Edge’s face was so tender, so cautiously mindful, that Rus had to avert his eyes. It was stewing emotions he really didn’t know how to deal with. “I know we barely know each other, but a one-night stand is a mutual agreement. If you’re not getting anything out of this, then I don’t want to keep going.”
“no, i am!” Rus wanted to bury himself. “gah—fuck, i’m sorry, i just—i don’t want you to feel like you have to make special accommodations just for me. this is just meant to be… sex.”
Edge lifted a concerned brow. “Sex is meant to be pleasurable—for both parties.”
“well, i know that…” Rus shifted uncomfortably beneath Edge, biting his tongue.
“How about this—” Edge rolled them over, setting Rus atop his hips. “You control the pace.”
Adjusting himself in Edge’s lap, Rus nodded. He fumbled Edge’s dick inside himself, grinding slowly. It slipped out and he grit his teeth. “fucking hell… i’m sorry.”
Edge shook his head, stroking Rus’s iliac crests. “Take your time. At the very least, I have a spectacular view from down here.” Rus blushed and hummed bemusedly, while Edge stroked his ribs with gentle hands.
After another couple of attempts, he managed to get Edge’s cock inside himself—just the first couple of inches. “Is that comfortable?” Edge asked. Rus nodded, closing his eyes and breathing out. “That’s it,” Edge said softly, stroking his femurs. “Nice and easy.” He sighed. “Mm, that feels good, Rus.”
Bracing his hands on Edge’s chest, Rus rocked back and forth on his cock. The pace was slow, just a grind of his hips, but fuck, it felt nice. The angle was just right, and the movements were easy to maintain. Being able to control the pace made it easier to relax, too. Edge’s hands wandered, but he didn’t try to take over, or even direct Rus.
“How does that feel?” he asked, brushing Rus’s inner thigh with his thumb. “Good?” Breathing deeply, Rus nodded. “Can I kiss you?” The question was so simple, yet there was so much consideration in Edge’s tone, that Rus laughed.
“yes, yes you can.” He leaned forward onto Edge’s chest and met his mouth. The kiss was slow, timed pleasantly with the gentle rocking of Rus’s hips. Rus shut his eyes and rested his head on Edge’s shoulder. “this angle feels good.”
“It does,” Edge breathed, kissing his neck and resting a hand on his lower spine.
“should i go faster?” Rus asked, moaning quietly as Edge trickled his fingers down his spine, making it prickle warmly.
“Only if you want to.”
“but—” Rus swallowed. “faster feels better for you, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, love, this feels just fine, trust me.”
Rus held back a smile. “just fine?”
Edge shook his head, though his amusement betrayed him. “More than.” For the first time, he gave the smallest thrust of his hips. His cock hit a sweet spot inside Rus and he whined, burying his face in the nape of Edge’s neck. “You’re doing so well.”
Pressure built in the pit of Rus’s pelvic cavity, hot magic rushing to his cunt. He bit Edge’s neck and Edge groaned deeply, clinging to his back. “You’re amazing at this, by the way,” he breathed. “Amazing.” His breaths were coming shorter now, quick gasps as he let his hands wander over Rus’s back.
“fuck, this feels so good,” Rus gasped, sitting up. He rubbed his clit, grinding hard. Edge’s face contorted with pleasure. He opened his mouth, gasping, then shut his eyes and groaned. Rus felt a burst of wet warmth filling him as Edge dug his fingers into his hips.
“Fuck,” he gasped, dragging his fingertips down Rus’s ribs. When he began to relax, Rus stopped moving and slowly climbed off him. He tried to hold back the crushing disappointment, but his chest felt heavy.
Exhaling, Edge lay back, wiping his hand over his eyes. “Sorry. I. I got a little lost in the moment there.”
“it’s fine.” Rus searched the floor for his pants, sliding off the bed.
“Hey.” Edge caught his wrist, pulling him back down. “Let me finish you off.” Deliberating briefly, Rus let Edge drag him back into bed. Edge climbed on top of him and kissed him deeply before sinking down and pressing his face between his femurs. Rus let his hands wander Edge’s horns. They were a degree warmer than the rest of his body, flushed with magic.
Edge lifted Rus’s legs around his shoulders and pressed his tongue deep. His mouth was warm against Rus’s cunt, and his own lingering release seemed of little bother. Rus’s climax built, sitting on the brink… before fading. But it wasn’t enough to deter Edge. He kept going, stroking Rus’s femurs as he did.
A good fifteen minutes passed and Rus’s frustration began to mount. “edge, i’m sorry… i’m taking so long. you don’t have to keep going…”
Edge looked up, a flicker of empathy crossing his face. “I want to keep going.” He smiled warmly and kissed Rus’s femur. “I’m enjoying myself. Honestly. You sound beautiful, and I like the feeling of you beneath my tongue.” His smile grew when Rus shuddered. “Unless you want me to stop.”
Rus shook his head, letting go of a breath. “fuck no.”
“Good.”
Edge ran his thumb over Rus’s outer folds and ducked his head again. Watching him became something of a delight for Rus. He stroked his horns and took satisfaction in knowing someone was willing to put this much time and effort into giving him just a moment of pleasure.
When he came at last, he clung to Edge’s horns, tipping his head back. Edge licked his clit delicately, channelling magic into the gesture, and Rus whined, then breathed out. Trailing kisses up his hip, then his spine, Edge came to settle on Rus’s chest. “How was that?” he murmured, eyes closed, smile soft.
“th-that’s the first time i’ve ever come during sex,” Rus confessed. The moment the words were out, his soul shrivelled. He blushed hotly and chewed on his fingertips. “sorry, that was… not the right time to share that.”
Edge laughed quietly. “On the contrary, I’m very flattered. Immediate feedback is always appreciated.”
Rus groaned, his embarrassment deepening. “oh, fuck… i just. i just have a very hard time coming during sex, i guess. especially from penetration. it’s nice, but i…” He shrugged helplessly.
Edge studied him with a mingle of amusement and pity. “Perhaps you’ve just been with the wrong people.”
“oh, and what? you’re mister right?”
“Being able to get your partner to come is the bare minimum,” Edge said, a tad bitterly. “You forget, we share biology. I’ve been in your position, believe me. I thought it was me. But…” He smiled wryly. “I’m pickier about my partners now. If they’re going to be coming, so am I.” He circled a finger around Rus’s sternum. “And vice versa. What’s important to me is that you enjoyed yourself.” He lifted his head, giving Rus a searching look. “Did you?”
Rus smiled, bending down to kiss him. “i did,” he said, and for once, he meant it.
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tumblr tag!
tagged by @minister-of-silly-walks
Last
1. drink: water
2. phone call: mom
3. text message: i don’t text much?
4. song you listened to: All My Heart by Sleeping With Sirens
5. time you cried: Ah, a few days ago.
have you ever:
6. dated someone twice: no
7. kissed someone and regretted it: yes
8. been cheated on: no
9. lost someone special: yes
10. been depressed: yes
11. gotten drunk and thrown up: yeah
three favourite colours:
12. dark green
13. midnight blue
14. deep red
in the last year have you
15. made new friends: yeah
16. fallen out of love: no?
17. laughed until you cried: yes
18. found out someone was talking about you: ??
19. met someone who changed you: i don’t know?
20. found out who your friends are: i’m not sure what you mean?
21. kissed someone on your facebook list: i don’t have a facebook?
general:
22. how many facebook friends do you know in real life: i have no facebook. literally 0 facebook
23. do have any pets: not personally, there are pets in the house but they aren’t mine
24. do you want to change your name: nope
25. what did you do for your last birthday: ugh, i think i got drunk? i can’t remember.
26. what time did you wake up: 11;30?
27. what were you doing midnight last night: watching tv and reading
28. name something you cant wait for: my cousin coming to visit, she got delayed, so she won’t be here til next week.
29. when was the last time you saw your mom: ten minutes ago?
30. what are you listening to right now: Ghost Adventures
31. have you ever talked to a person named tom: yes
32. something that gets on your nerves: look, this could take all day, but i’m not gonna talk about it
33. most visited website: probs ao3?
34. hair colour: brown
35. long or short hair: long
36. do you have a crush on someone: no
37. what do you like about yourself: ??
38. piercings: no
39. blood type: A+
40. nickname: I don’t technically have one
41. relationship status: single
42. zodiac sign: capricorn
43. pronouns: she/her
44. favourite tv show: I don’t have one currently?
45. tattoos: none, but i’m planning to get one soon
46. right or left handed: right
47. surgery: got one to remove my wisdom teeth
48. sport: baseball
49. vacation: um?
50. pair of trainers: champions
51. eating: cereal
52. drinking: nothing
53. im about to: get a drink
54. waiting for: nothing really
55. want: get something other than cereal
56. get married: maybe one day
57. career: who knows yet
58. hugs or kisses: hugs
59. lips or eyes: eyes
60. shorter or taller: me or other people?
61. older or younger: um?
62. nice arms or stomach: i like arms?
63. hookup or relationship: relationship
64. troublemaker or hesitant: what
have you ever:
65. kissed a stranger: once
66. drank hard liquor: yes
67. lost glasses/contacts: no
68. turned someone down: yes
69. sex on first date: no
70. broken someone’s heart: apparently
71. had your heart broken: uh, i think so
72. been arrested: no
73. cried when someone died: yes
74. fallen for a friend: sure
do you believe in:
75. yourself: sometimes
76. miracles: yeah
77. love at first sight: eh?
78. santa claus: sometimes
79: kiss on the first date: no
80. aliens: yes
3 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
fifty-first-worstidea
The only thing dummy thick about me is my skull
realmariesplatoon
sock drawer
eternalowl
Diamonds Are Forever
longlivejahx-blog
LLJ 🕊🖤