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tarabyte3 · 1 year

Text

I Want You to Show Me Weak

Fandom: Andor

Pairing: Kino Loy/F!Reader

Chapter 22/27 (16.1k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

<- Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 ->

Summary: You're pretty sure Kino Loy hates you. He screams at you, grabs you, and shoves you against the wall, and it's becoming a problem because, well...it shouldn't fluster you as much as it does.

Warnings: Explicit rating, Smut, Prison, Prison sex, minor non-graphic injuries, Dom/Sub, sexual tension, dirty talk, praise, hair-pulling, choking, unprotected sex, oral, angst, orgasm denial, humiliation, slut shaming, references to domestic abuse, discussion of domestic abuse, minor violence, discussion of violence, description of violence, very light ass play

A/N: Hey, y'all! Did you miss me?? I promise I never stopped writing (as evidenced by the 16.1k word count). This entire chapter was a test of my skill, my patience, and my sanity. I swear it never ended up going in the direction I was intending, so I was constantly reeling and trying to figure out what the FUCK I was writing. So I'm sorry it took as long as it did to write, but whew boy. Enjoy! Work title is from "Poison" by Vaults. Chapter title is from "Crush" Cigarettes After Sex. Chapter navigation above.

AO3 Link

Chapter 22 - Can't live without your love inside me now. I'll find a way to slip into your skin somehow. I wanna fuck your love slow.

By the time you step into your cell, you've practiced your apology at least three times in your head. You aren't looking to get out of any punishment, you just feel bad you hadn't at least considered telling him your plan first. You likely would have gone through with it anyway, but he deserved consideration. Deserves it in the future. You spin to face him as he takes a step inside.

"Kino, I'm so sorry!" You say in a rush. "I didn't think. Again. I just saw Taybus and Vage standing there, and I wanted my friend to be happy like I'm happy. He's so young, it isn't fair that he's —"

Kino holds out a hand to stop you and then reaches out to gently clasp your arms. "I know."

"Oh." You deflate slightly because you'd been prepared to apologize or be chastened, even get defensive, but you hadn't been prepared for that. You look at him expectantly, waiting for a 'but' or for him to say more. Instead, he just pulls you slowly towards him, and your feet move, unsure. "Are you angry with me?"

"Furious," he growls, and you wince. Then he gathers you into his arms with a sigh and he rubs his hands along your back in a soothing manner. "But I also know what you're willing to do for the people you care about, so I shouldn't be surprised."

"It's only been this one thi—" you start to protest, but he interrupts you.

"You lied about bumping into me to protect Taybus, you defended me to table 4 without thinking, you worked to get Edii out of his shell, and now you're testing the cell sensors so your friend might find even a fraction of the happiness that we have. Which was after you already helped him get to that point. And let's not forget risking your hand to save your table a headache and some trouble." He raises an eyebrow at you, daring you to argue with him. "Am I forgetting anything?"

"...okay, I suppose that is more than once." You give him a grimace of a smile. "I was just trying to do the right thing," you utter, feeling awkward. Because you hadn't really thought of any of those things as a sacrifice or going out of your way. You simply…acted.

"I know," he whispers, and places a kiss on your temple, the roughness of his beard a comforting scratch along your skin.

"Am I…" you hesitate. "Am I going to be punished?" For the second day in a row, you think to yourself. A new record.

"Not this time." He rumbles quietly into your hair as he nuzzles the tip of his nose through the strands.

"Why not?" You're stunned. Because you were certain it was a done deal. You changed the entire dynamic of the shift. You put yourself at risk. They could have activated the whole block after they got the notification if it hadn't worked. What you did was objectively…well, it wasn't great.

"I don't want to discourage that part of you when there's no harm done, no matter how much it frustrates me. I don't want it to lessen who you are. That's never my goal. Because what you did today was reckless and stupid," you flush in embarrassment at the exasperation in his voice, "but it was also selfless and kind. We haven't had enough of that in here for too long. And I can't argue that having one small joy doesn't improve morale or motivation. I've seen the proof in you and the people around you."

"You're far more than a small joy to me," you mutter, finally laying your head on his shoulder and giving in to the hug.

"All I want—all I ask," he continues, "is that you exercise a little more caution. I want you to make sure you're actually helping and not making something worse by not thinking it through. Do you understand?"

You know he's right. You've always skirted by on dumb luck right up until you don't. You nod against his neck and say quietly, "Yes, Kino. I understand."

"Because it won't always work out for the best. The risk will catch up with you eventually and I don't want you to get hurt," he says softly, the worry evident in his voice.

You pull back again so you can look at him properly. "Despite how it seemed, it really was a very calculated risk," you insist, "but I promise I'll be more cautious. I'll especially make sure I consider you or talk about something like that first because you deserve that level of respect. I should have done so today, and once I realized I didn't, I regretted not doing so immediately. I really am so very sorry, Kino."

"Thank you. I'll hold you to that. Because in the future, I may not be as benevolent if we have to have this conversation again." There's an edge to his words. A promise. You tense slightly against him in worry and anticipation. "So be sure to try and behave."

"Yes, Kino," you agree in a husky voice, already shifting from navigating your newest fuck up into arousal.

"Good. Now that that's settled." He surprises you by capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss. You let out a squeak of shock in your throat, but quickly surrender and melt against him in relief.

That first meeting of lips after a long day without him is always bliss, like a glass of water when you're parched or a deep breath of planet atmosphere after being on a ship for too long. More so when the way he kisses you back betrays that he feels the same way. That he is just as eager to lose himself in you.

He gropes down to your waist and takes a moment to squeeze and rub where it meets the curve of your hips. As if he's reveling in the way you fit into the span of his grip and how he can hold you there. Then he drags his palms down to cup your ass, to pull you up and closer to him. You're forced to your tiptoes, and your lower stomach is drawn against his quickly stirring member, trapping it between you. He growls into your mouth at the contact. You respond with a moan and arch against him, working into where you're pressed together and letting the friction of your bodies harden him further.

Soon he's fully erect, his length digging almost painfully near your hip. He's also kissed you so thoroughly that you're making needy sounds into his mouth. You lift your leg and hook it around his waist, seeking that same friction to alleviate the heat between your thighs. You're unsteady on the balls of just one foot despite his grip on you, but you're hoping he'll get the hint and lift you up so you can wrap both of your legs around him. Can properly rock against him in a desperate hunt for your orgasm.

For now, you clumsily and impatiently set your core against the bulge of him through both of your uniforms. It isn't difficult to reach, but it is difficult to get the angle right and keep your balance on one foot. You manage enough to roll your hips and slide firmly along him, whining at the drag against your folds and how incredible he feels already.

And then he's pulling his lips away from yours, breaking the kiss like he's been shocked from a stupor.

"Wait," he gasps, nearly breathless.

"What is it?" You pant against his mouth, concerned you've done something wrong.

"This isn't…" he hesitates, like he's uncertain or nervous, his chest rising and falling against yours, and your interest is very piqued.

"What?" You search his face for some indication of what he's about to say. You've never heard Kino Loy sound nervous.

"This isn't what I wanted tonight because I was thinking," he carefully brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "that we could slow things down. Take our time with each other since we ended up here early. Then afterwards...I could stay. Here. With you."

"Really?" You gasp in disbelief, caught off guard by it and almost afraid to accept that you might get this. "You aren't worried about the rest of the shift?"

"I think they're going to be a bit distracted this evening," he chuckles. A smile always makes him look several years younger, and your heart skips a beat. "As long as there are no disruptions, no, I'm not worried."

"Then," your voice is suddenly thick with emotion, "I would like that very much."

"Yeah?" He leans in close and angles his face towards yours. He takes in the look of relief and longing in your expression, lets it soften his own, but he doesn't kiss you—likely to prevent himself from getting carried away again. "Then let's move this to the bed."

You go to turn, to take the few steps towards the raised platform of your bed, eager to be tangled up with him, but he puts a firm hand on your shoulder to stop you. You look up at him, confused.

"To be clear," he says carefully, "I don't intend to fuck you."

"Oh. Alright." Your shoulders slump a bit and there's disappointment you can't hide fast enough in your voice. Because he made it sound as if that's exactly what he intended to do.

"Hey." His hands find your cheeks, framing your face between them, and he cradles you tenderly in his palms. Your heart starts to speed up at the gentleness of it as he leans in to place a light kiss on your lips. Then he looks into your eyes with determination. His are so blue and stormy, like an early autumn sunrise when the clouds are parting to hint at the light sky beyond while everything is still hazy and grey with rain. The way he's looking at you is just as weighty and breathtaking.

"I intend to make love to you," he whispers, low and rough.

"Oh ." Your knees go weak, and you put your hand on his chest so you can lean into him for support. Because fuck, he can undo you with a single sentence, but that sentence in particular? It sets both your heart and your sex throbbing.

"If you aren't opposed to the idea." He sounds worried, as if there is the possibility you are.

As if you hadn't ached for any of this. As if saying no to him is ever an option.

As if you aren't in love with him.

Your mind is racing, every thought tangling with the next until you can't find anything to say to ease his fear other than sobbing, "Kino" at him. So you tilt your face forward to capture his lips again. To slide your tongue enthusiastically along his to communicate just how okay with it you are. Your hands find the front of his uniform and grip the fabric to give you a little stability as you tremble against him. And to pull him closer to you.

Because suddenly he isn't close enough.

He breaks the kiss again before it can go any further, and he rests his forehead against yours. "I take it you aren't opposed, then." He lets out a breathy chuckle.

"No," you whimper. "I want it."

"Good," he pulls away and smiles at you.

But you can see beyond the smile to the forced, tight curl of his lips. The tension that wrinkles the corners of his eyes and the creases of his forehead. The way he glances down to the floor.

Underneath that smile is vulnerability.

Anxiety. Relief.

Something more.

Then he looks back to you, and oh. You can see it now.

He thinks about you and your well-being, even when he isn't here with you. He looks at you in adoration and awe. He talks about you. He gave you an affectionate nickname. He made the first time you had sex special. Because…

Kino Loy is in love with you.

It's right there in the way he's looking at you, as plain as if he had said it out loud. Shouted it across the block, even.

And you're a fucking idiot.

How could you have doubted it—him—for so long? How could you have been so fucking insecure that you were willfully blind and missed what was right in front of you, even when other people pointed to it and told you to look.

But you were so afraid. Every sense of yearning, every ache in your chest, and every need that left you breathless was new and almost overwhelming at times. You've never felt this way before. Never actually been in love.

Trusting him with your body and your life is not the same as trusting with your heart. If you had given it to him, only to find pity and apology? If you had to go on living with the anguish that your feelings were unrequited? That had the power to destroy you in a way bruises never could. So it made you a coward.

You let it make you a coward.

Now you would carve your heart from your chest and pry it from the stubborn fingers of your ribcage if he asked it of you. Even if he didn't, you would still lay it at his feet in surrender, to prove to him your devotion and your love. You may as well. It belongs to him anyway. Every second it beats within your chest is now borrowed. That you continue on at all is at his mercy.

That should still terrify you, but as you greedily take in the expression on his face that you can now see with clarity—that you've wanted so desperately and can no longer deny—the fear is gone. Because you have Kino's heart and everything else is white noise.

He moves his hand to gently hold your chin as his thumb strokes against your bottom lip. "I just want to feel you."

"Then you'd better take my clothes off," you murmur before kissing the pad of his thumb.

He releases you, but only for a moment. Then his hands are at the hem of your shirt and he's lifting it, unhurriedly, over your head. You raise your arms for him and he slides it off with care, as though you're delicate. As though you hadn't had your arms wrenched and tied behind your back the night before. After he tosses your shirt away, he pauses for a moment—rakes his eyes over your now naked breasts and stomach.

"God, you're beautiful," he says in hushed awe.

You flush under his appreciative gaze, can almost feel the weight of it on your skin, and goosebumps prickle your chest and arms. But you don't wait for him to finish staring. You want to bare all of yourself to him, to give him more to admire, so you slide your own pants down your hips. Once they're to your thighs, you let the weight of the fabric pull them the rest of the way to the floor. You step out of the heap, toeing them off and nudging them aside, until you're fully nude before him.

He groans as his attention moves lower to where your slit is still concealed between your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you're tempted to part a knee. To bare your sex to him, too. To run your fingers through your folds and spread your lips to expose your damp entrance. Enticing him to bury his face between your legs and plunge his tongue inside of you.

But first.

You lean in and kiss him, just a quick press on his lips, and you purr, "I want to feel you, too." Then, to his surprise, you sink to your knees in front of him. "All of you," you sigh up at him.

"What are you doing?" He sounds apprehensive.

"Appreciating you." You push up his shirt, letting your palms and fingers roam through the fuzz on his belly with a moan as you do. Letting your nose and lips brush over his hair and skin with faint kisses. "Feeling you," you breathe against him.

After a brief hesitation, he wordlessly runs his fingers through your hair and pushes it away from your face, giving you unhindered access to him. Giving you permission. You look up at him in reverence as his hands gently settle on the sides of your skull. Not to push or force you, but to massage your scalp and feel the way you move beneath his touch.

You carefully pull his waistband far enough down below his hips to expose his erection. It bobs free of the fabric, thick and flushed, already leaking in anticipation—and god you love his cock. Love the way it curves ever so slightly to the left, the velvety slide of his foreskin, the faint salt and musk of him on your tongue. Love the way it presses inside of you.

You whimper as you think about what comes after this, once you've provoked him and wound him up just a little tighter. Not enough to break his self control, but to bend it just so. Enough that when the time comes, he aches to sink into you.

His eyes are transfixed on where his hard length is jutting towards you, just inches from your mouth. Any other night you would wait or tease him and hope that one day you could make him beg you to suck his cock, but not tonight. You wrap a hand around him to steady him and coax his foreskin just a little further down and past the tip of him. Then you look up at him as you wrap your lips and tongue around him, too. He groans above you and his hands tighten into loose fists in your hair. You know he's resisting the urge to plunge his hips forward. To fuck into the moist heat of your mouth.

Part of you wants him to because the thought makes your arousal pulse and flood with wetness.

Your mind races with it briefly. You imagine yourself on your knees. Him pinning you against the platform of your bed while he braces forward on your mattress with one hand, and mercilessly thrusting all the way to the back of your throat. You know he would make that sexy grunting noise and tell you how good you feel as he pulls your hair. Praise you for taking his cock so well. Tell you he's going to choke you when he comes down your throat.

Fuck.

Maybe next time. Because you know tonight is more than that. It's an exploration of something newly realized, and you have to navigate it carefully until it's no longer fragile.

Instead, you keep your attention on his face as your lips and tongue move sensually around him. You lap flat, broad strokes over every ridge and swell of him, and each drag of your mouth is long and slow—not intending to draw his release from him, but to savor each dribble of precome, slide of foreskin beneath your lips, and twitch on your tongue. You want to cherish him. To show him how much you enjoy feeling him and bringing him pleasure, too. How much you love every inch of him.

And he watches, eyes lidded and enraptured at the way he disappears past your lips. His own lips are parted as he sucks in breaths and gasps curses into the open cell. Even your inner thighs are starting to grow damp now from the sounds he's making. You do your best to work them from him, tease and milk the swollen, exposed head of his cock, eager to hear more. Eager to hear him whimper your name and furrow his brows in anguish as he continues to fight his own instincts to take.

When his hips start to jerk forward to meet you, you know it's time to stop before he's too far gone. You take him as deeply as you can into your mouth one last time, swallowing around him to force him deeper still, then you languidly pull him from your hollowed cheeks. He lets out an unhindered groan above you, his hands reflexively tightening in your hair as though he's resisting the urge to keep you there or to drive your mouth back down. The brief sting is thrilling enough that you moan around him in response, which earns you an almost pained hiss. After you ease him from your lips, you place a kiss along the sensitive underside of his length, wrenching a shudder from him. You sex quivers and you resist doing it a second time.

With some reluctance, you rise to your feet. He releases your hair to offer you a hand up, and you take it, if only to bask in the roughness of his palm and how his larger fingers close around yours. The strength in his hand makes you feel almost small, and it's thrilling to know just how much power you're teasing and flirting with on a regular basis.

Once you're standing, he gives you a dazed look, his blue eyes unfocused with arousal. He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, but he pulls you in for another kiss instead, and the words are lost the moment your lips meet.

His hands roam down your naked back as he explores your mouth, spurred on by the taste of his own saltiness still lingering on your tongue. A reminder of being inside of you. Of his building climax before you stopped. His length prods your belly before being pressed firmly against it as he grabs your ass and pulls you closer. When he shifts, he leaves behind a smear of your own saliva on your skin, and you feel another throb of moisture at your nearly dripping folds.

You could do this all evening, bask in caresses and kisses—if you were a more patient person.

But you want him. Badly. And right now you're close to jumping into his arms and wrapping your legs around him just to bring his cock closer to your entrance. So it's your turn to break the kiss by pulling back. Just far enough that you can look into his face with all of the devotion and passion you have for him.

"Kino," you whisper against his parted mouth. "I'm yours. Make love to me."

With a groan, he quickly scoops you up—eager after hearing that and not caring that his pants are still around his thighs—and he walks you over to the bed. There he lays you carefully down onto the mattress. Your head is the last thing he releases, and he runs the backs of his knuckles along your cheek before he pulls away. Then he's taking off his own shirt without any of the caution or tenderness that he showed you.

You push yourself up to your elbows to watch as he reveals his sturdy hips and belly, softening with age, but still firm with strength underneath. Then he slides the top over his head, baring his shoulders, which flex without effort, and more of the greying hair on his chest. You itch to run your fingers through that trail of fuzz, to grope your way along the full length of his abdomen, around to his waist and ribs. Because you love how thick he is. Love every curve that hardens into muscle, and how you can grab onto him and feel certain that he would never budge or break.

He lets his uniform top fall to the floor. Then immediately his attention shifts to his pants, which are still miraculously clinging to his upper thighs. He pushes them down the rest of the way, bending to maneuver them past his knees since his aren't as loose as yours. When he straightens and steps out of the fabric, his heavy erection sways enticingly from the movement.

You're glad you're laying down because fuck, you will never tire of seeing Kino Loy naked in front of you. Ready for you. Wanting you. He's so fucking sexy that it's overwhelming every time.

Before he joins you on the bed, he looks down at you in adoration. Your heart stutters at the expression on his face, as naked as the rest of him. He brushes your hair off of your shoulders, letting his fingers skim along your neck. It's a phantom of a touch and it tickles. You writhe and tremble under his fingertips, trying to withstand it without cracking—and failing.

"Kino!" You put a hand on his forearm to stop him before he continues further and makes you giggle, ruining the tender mood.

"Yes, pet?" He whispers down at you.

"I need you," you urge. You draw your knees up, bending your legs until your feet are planted flat on the mattress, and then you let them fall slowly open. "Please take me."

There's a glint of hunger on his face as he glances down to your parted thighs. Then he's climbing between your legs, pausing only to let out a pained groan when he notices that your sex and inner thighs are glistening from how wet and ready for him you are. He settles onto his knees and sets his hands to either side of your ribs, bracing himself to hover over you. Not pressed against you yet, but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

He leans down and kisses behind your ear, your jaw, down your neck, along your collarbone, dragging his lips and scruff over every sensitive dip. You whimper and squirm from the attention. It's almost too much again, straddles that line between balm and pain. It's maddening. Then, before you can call out, he's making his way back up your throat, pausing to kiss and nip under your chin, and finally reaching your lips once more.

He lowers further to his forearms so now parts of you are touching, but not enough. He also keeps his mouth moving against yours, and you're dizzy from the attention. It's almost as though he's trying to dissolve you into a heap of nothing but want and need. Though, you have to admit, it doesn't take much—at least where he's concerned.

A hand grasps the crook of your knee, and he guides your leg to his thigh. You obediently wrap your leg behind his, not needing to be told or asked. Then he runs his touch up your waist before gripping you tightly. As the pressure of his thumb digs and pits into the flesh of your stomach, you realize he's holding you still for him.

You tense in anticipation because you can sense what comes next, but you still jump with a gasp when his erection brushes against your swollen folds. He's so close to being where you need him. So close to filling you, but still he doesn't. Instead he slides his other arm under you and hooks his hand over your shoulder, keeping you even more firmly in place.

With all this preparation, at first you think he wants to hold you steady because he's getting ready to slam into you, and it's a tantalizing thought. But as he gently prods your opening with tiny thrusts, you realize the opposite is happening. He's going to take his time entering you. And he knows it's going to drive you wild with impatience. That you're going to try and press yourself onto him. Do everything you can to have him inside of you, and he is going to do everything he can to force you to wait.

You groan loudly in understanding and frustration. He knows, then, that you've worked it out because he grins against your lips. You want to pull away, to plead with him to please just fuck you already, but then he angles his hips forward and enters you. Barely. No more than the head of his cock, but it still pulls a wanton moan from you because, fuck, you've needed something.

Then he holds his position inside of you, giving you no additional pressure or friction, and goes back to kissing you with enthusiasm. You could weep in desperation already, and he's only just started.

After what feels like an eternity of waiting, but is likely only a couple of minutes, he edges forward again—slides further inside of you. But you're so slick and hot, that he slips a little deeper than he intended. So then he's pulling back instead, slowly dragging his length along your walls until he's satisfied with his new position within you. He greedily laps up the whines and noises of irritation that spill out of your mouth and into his at the sensation.

That is how he continues stretching and filling you. It's torturous. Deliriously slow. Whenever you adjust and quiet down, he presses in another inch, which sets you off into another fit of desperate keening. You don't know how he's keeping it together because you're ready to scream and beg and bargain with him or any god that will listen. You try to lift your hips and rut against him, but his grip on your waist keeps you from making any progress. You knew it would, but you had to try anyway.

When he's almost entirely inside of you, he finally moves his mouth from your lips to kiss along your cheek and jaw.

"Do you know what you do to me?" He gasps against your skin, and at last you can tell how bothered he is by his own teasing.

"Tell me," you plead because you love hearing him talk while he's inside of you. You want to hear the low rumble of his voice and feel the vibration in your chest.

He pushes his hips forward one last time, slow and deep, until he's pulling at you with his hands and pressing against the backs of your thighs—trying to get deeper still. Then he stops, completely sheathed inside of you, and you moan in satisfaction at being fully stretched and filled with him.

"I never want to leave this cell. I would stay right here, buried inside of you for the rest of my life if I could." His voice is tense and gravelly as he nuzzles his nose against your jaw.

"Oh god, Kino," you sob.

"Before you, all that mattered to me was getting out of this place. After you? I'm weak. You make me weak." He places a firm kiss on your neck, pressing so hard that his nose smushes near your pulse and his beard pricks your skin. Then he growls, "Because you're all that matters to me now."

Your heart lurches and then begins to pound violently in your chest. You can tell he's working up to something important. An admission. Is dangerously close to saying the words that change everything by changing nothing. Because every moment together, every action you've taken, and every touch, gentle and bruising—all of it has been done with love and trust this entire time. It's why labels were never important. You've both said plenty through action—choking and wrenching, kneeling and grasping, humiliation and submission. Every bit of pain and pleasure.

You've already told him you were falling in love with him a dozen times over.

And so did he, you realize now.

You need to hear it anyway.

"Look at me," you say helplessly. Overwhelmed by both his cock and his confession, barely able to speak, but still needing to see his face.

He doesn't look at you, though. Instead he rolls his hips, shifting inside of you as he leans in even closer.

"Do you know why you make me weak?"

"Say it." It's nearly inaudible. Not even a whisper.

"Because I love you," he exhales against the shell of your ear. "God help me, I have wanted you and loved you from the moment I first touched you."

You want to cry. And you want to laugh in glee and hysteria. Bury your face into his neck. Plead. Scream. Straddle his lap, grip him with your walls, and ride him. Wail until your throat is hoarse. Snuggle up next to him in bed. Fall to your knees in prayer. Contort your hips and force him deeper within you. To fuck him. Tear your own hair out. Your insides are churning with a hundred different conflicting emotions at his declaration, but all you can do is lie there. Pinned. Paralyzed. Burning with the intensity of it all.

Because I love you.

You can feel the echo of his words in your ear and his breath against your skin, reverberating over and over in your mind.

You once compared him to a sun—a benevolent and blinding warmth—but he's a supernova. Beyond blinding. Searing past your skin, deep into your flesh. Into your meat. Imprinting himself upon your very cells. You felt the heat of him before you saw how consumed you really were. Now, even if you wanted to get away, you wouldn't dream of it. Wouldn't move an inch unless it was to dive further into that oblivion. Because you have a love that peels you bare and reveals the truth of you. That leaves you undone and broken, even as you trust it with every atom of your being to breathe life back into you afterwards.

"Kino," you weep as he finally moves—thrusts into you again. Then more urgently, "Look at me!"

He slowly lifts away from your jaw to meet your eyes. You can tell he was ravaged by his own revelation because his face is a wreck—his eyes are shiny, his nostrils are flaring, and his lower lip is in a pout, quivering slightly. You want those full lips on yours, trailing between your breasts, circled around your clit, everywhere—

"I love you, too," you choke out. You finally get to say the words out loud to him. And you find that they're so significant and such a fundamental truth of you now, that they're ripped painfully from your chest. The relief is so great that it hurts to say it. "I love you so fucking much. Please." You push on the back of his thigh with your calf, urging him to move. To continue rocking into you. Then you grab his face in your hands and hold him there so he can't look away this time. "Say it again."

You need to see it. You need to see the way his lips shape the words. You need to see his face as he says it. You need—

He arches his back, his hand splayed along your hip and poised to thrust into you again, but keeping his eyes on yours.

"I love you," he groans, rugged and guttural, and you let it hang between the two of you. Then he plunges into you, and you are so full of him—your core, your head, your heart—you can barely breathe.

Burying himself inside of you draws a sound from him that is half mirth and half lament, and the expression on his face, somehow at once a smile and a sob, is a reflection of that same contradiction. As if saying it out loud, making himself so vulnerable, brings him both pain and joy. A sentiment you can relate to because it's what he does to you as well. Crushes and holds. Breaks and soothes.

"Fuck," you whimper.

If he's barely holding on by a thread, then you are untethered. Adrift. You aren't sure you will ever stop falling. Ever stop being sucked in by the gravity of him.

"I should have told you sooner," he sighs, regretful. "I wanted to. I wasn't sure—"

"I know," you whisper up to him, your voice thick with the threat of tears. "I should have, too, but I was so afraid."

"Of me?" There's a brief flash of heartache on his face, and you urgently place a hand on his stubbled cheek.

"No!" You gasp, horrified. "Not like that, anyway." Your cheeks flush in shame and you glance away from him. "I was afraid you wouldn't feel the same way about me," you murmur.

"Look at me," he commands. You immediately obey his tone and look up into a hard expression of determination, a familiar one which thins his lips and deepens the lines on his face. "I will never leave you doubting how I feel about you ever again," he says, rough and fierce. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Kino." Your breath hitches and you let out a shaky exhale.

"You will always know that I love you," his voice waivers, still overcome with the weight of saying it. And you've found a new way he ruins you because everytime he says he loves you, you feel as though you could burst into flames.

"Show me," you beg.

He thrusts into you again, deep and steady, but still slow and gentle. And god, it feels good, but it also feels wrong.

This isn't how the two of you should be in this moment. This isn't how you love.

"Wait!" You put a hand on his shoulder and he stills above you. "Kino...is this really what you want?" You rasp. "Something tender? Or is this what you think you should want?"

"What…" he hesitates and frowns down at you. "What do you mean?"

"You said you wanted us to take our time with each other tonight, and I understand why, but what do you really want to do to me?" You push up with your elbows so you can get close enough to brush your lips against his. "Show me how you love me. How you feel about us."

His next thrust is harder, meets you with enough force to shift you along the mattress, and it sparks something inside of you.

"Fuck!" You throw your head back with a moan. "Just like that."

"You think I don't want tender? That I could just fuck you after I tell you I love you?" He growls, nearly spitting the word "fuck" out in disgust. But you aren't fooled. You know how he aches to let go.

"I think fucking me is loving me. I think you've always been making love to me." Then, feeling bold, you groan up at him, "And I know you want to."

"Is that so?" His voice is low and dangerous, and it sends a frisson through you.

"Yes," you purr. "I think you've been holding back all evening." You growl back at him, "Don't."

His grip tightens, sharpens with pain where his fingers dig into you and you hiss in pleasure. He pulls his hips back. You expect him to stop when the tip of him is all that's left inside of you, but he doesn't. He completely removes himself from you, leaving you empty and twitching.

You make a noise of protest and look up at him in confusion. But before you can ask what's wrong or consider that perhaps you misjudged the situation, he growls and slams full force back into you. Your vision blurs in satisfaction and your words turn into an obscene moan. Because you were right.

"Is this what you want?" He grits through his teeth as his lips pull back into a snarl. "Is this how you want to be loved?”

"Yes!" You whine back at him. "Please, fuck me, Kino."

And then you're being split open as he finally lets go—pounds mercilessly into your slick center. There's the slap of flesh on flesh everytime his hips meet yours, and the lewd, wet noise of his cock sliding in and out of your drenched opening. The sound of that alone is enough to leave you gaping and moaning, but he's also grunting in your ear with each thrust, driving you wild.

"You feel so fucking good on my cock," he growls. "God, I love fucking you. I could spend a whole day buried inside of you. Making you come."

Your entire body jolts as he rams you into the thin mattress. Even though your breasts are pressed to his chest, they still shake against him from the force of it. Occasionally his rhythm gets interrupted because you're being slowly pushed away from him along the bed, and he has to yank you back into position. So you hook your other leg behind his thigh and hold on tightly to stop yourself from shifting around beneath him. You don't want any of his momentum wasted. Want it all focused inside of you.

Once you're braced against him, it finally gives him the leverage he needs and each thrust somehow feels deeper than the last.

"I want every step to hurt tomorrow, Kino," you pant. "I want to think of your cock inside of me and how much you love me every time I move. Every time I sit. I want to ache with you."

Faster than you would have thought possible, he removes his hand from your shoulder and grabs your jaw with a growl. "You're shameless, you know that?" Then he pulls your face closer. "I should have fucked that filthy mouth."

"I know you wanted to," you grit out, your words slurring slightly from the force of his fingers and thumb on your cheeks.

"Yeah?" He jerks his hips hard against you, forcing a little yelp from your throat. "Is that why you were sucking me so beautifully? To get me to lose control?"

"I wasn't even trying that hard, but I thought about it. About you fucking my mouth." You smirk up at him as much as you're able. "And I can do better," you promise in a husky voice.

"Fuck," he grunts. "That's why you're so wet for me.”

"Yes," you purr against his lips. "I love when you take, Kino. And I love sucking your cock."

"You should see yourself when you're on your knees," he murmurs. "The way your pretty lips look wrapped around me."

He releases your face and threads his fingers through your hair. You whimper in anticipation, eager for the sting in your scalp, and he smirks at you. Makes you wait for it another minute while he pounds into you. Makes you wait until you begin to squirm and whine. Then without warning, he jerks your head away at an angle, exposing your neck to him as you cry out in pain and relief. He places hard, open mouthed kisses along the bare curve of your neck. His hot, wet tongue, lapping and dragging and searing where it passes over your skin.

"The way you swallow me, god,” he snarls. “I’ve never done anything to deserve how good your mouth and cunt are.”

"No." You try to pull away from his hand, even though he has your hair held fast in his grip. "Never say that," you hiss, still writhing fruitlessly against him. "You're fucking incredible, Kino Loy."

His hips stop moving and he lifts his head to look at you in surprise. "I just meant—"

"I know what you meant. But it's your hands that bring this out of me. The real me. There is no me without you," you insist.

His grip slackens for one brief moment of weakness as he stares down at you, and you take advantage of his distraction. You hitch forward and feel your hair give slightly through his fingers. He quickly reestablishes his hold in response, but you've already managed to turn your head enough to face him fully.

"I was made for you, remember?" You bite your lip and grind your hips into his. "I'm yours to fuck," you gasp at him.

He blinks at you a few more times, but another firm rock along his length snaps him out of it and spurs him into action. Back to pounding into you. With a grunt, he dives forward to smother his face into your neck again, just below your ear. The sudden chafing of his beard leaves you squirming, wanting to escape from and relish in the burn of it, but his weight over you has you pinned to the bed, completely at the mercy of his lips. It also makes the skin of your stomach and breasts slide against the softer hair on his belly and chest, which feels fucking incredible. You try to arch your back to rub into him. You want more of it. The two opposing sensations nearly drive you to tears until he moves on to frantically kiss and nip at your jaw.

Then he's murmuring into your ear, "Yes you fucking are! You're mine." He rocks into you, barely pulling his hips back for a proper thrust, as if he can't handle not being fully buried inside of you. "Mine." He says it over and over like a mantra.

The result is a relentless friction against your clit and pressure on that sweet spot inside of you.

Soon you can't fucking breathe and you desperately try to suck in air to stop the room from spinning. It's too much. Every part of you is touching him—wrapped around, pressed against, grasping on for dear life. His hand at your waist is constantly roaming and groping and clutching, and the other in your hair wrenches at you for leverage. His lips kiss and sweep along your skin, dragging the burn of stubble with them as he continues laying claim to you. And his cock grinds into you, against you, within you.

You think you can't take anymore. That you might go mad with all of it. But then there's that familiar burn at your core—that blossoming of tension that opens up inside of you and grows through your belly and thighs. You begin to quake in his arms, and you wail out a muffled stream of moans and pleas into his shoulder, begging him to stop. To keep going. To keep fucking you. To— "oh god, fuck, Kino! I'm so close!"

His litany stops, and instead he begins to growl, "That's right, come for me while I fuck your wet cunt. I want to feel it."

"Please," you let out a choked whine—closer closer closer, "Kino!"

"You're mine, so be a good girl for me."

"Fuck!" You sob, "oh Kino! I'm—"

"God, I love you," he whispers against your ear.

And the tension snaps, sending the tide of your release swelling and receding through your entire being. It blooms along your skin and behind your eyelids, muting the sterile white of your cell. And there's a rush of blood to your skull that leaves you momentarily deafened except for a ringing in your ears. You think your head has fallen back against his hand and you're shouting his name—your own prayer—but reality is beyond your senses while you're consumed by the peak of your orgasm.

And then you blink away tears and the worst of the fog, and everything sharpens. Returns to focus, even as your body still churns and pulses with bliss.

His hips falter for a moment as your walls clench around his cock, and he groans like he's in agony. As if you're reaching into his chest and rending his heart with your bare hands, and not having your own torn from you at the way he's looking down at your face. Like you're the supernova— searing into his retinas until he can see the impression of you even when he closes his eyes.

Then he recovers and resumes his relentless pace—pounding into you, holding you in place, his grip tight on your hips while he fucks you through your climax, coaxing every last tremor and spasm from your core. Bottoming out through every aftershock.

"Fuck, you're so tight when you come. The way you squeeze my cock," he growls deep within his chest, “makes it so hard not to empty myself into you."

You try to whine his name, but your brain is buzzing, unable to force your mouth to work, so you can only choke out a whimper instead.

"But I don't want to. I'm not done with you yet," he hisses into your ear. "I'm still going to take my time before I do."

You lay there, spent and helpless, making pathetic noises as every deep plunge inside of you is like fire to your over-stimulated nerves.

"I'm going to have you whichever way I want before then, too," he mutters, and you shiver beneath him. "And I want you on your hands and knees.”

Suddenly the weight of him on top of you is being lifted as he pushes off. He slips out from between your legs and you let out a ragged protest. Beg him to come back to you. Because now you're floating without an anchor and your sweat flecked skin feels cooler without him covering you with his warmth.

But then his hands are back on you. He patiently helps you flip over and recenter yourself on the narrow bed. Once you're on your stomach, he pulls back on your hips until you raise up on all fours. You don't even think, you automatically square yourself, knees beneath your hips and hands beneath your shoulders.

He gives a dissatisfied grunt behind you.

"Lean forward," he orders. Without waiting for you to obey, he's bending over you and pushing between your shoulder blades, forcing you to lower down towards the bed. He removes his hand when you're less than a foot from the mattress, your elbows sticking out as you're crouched down. You assume that means you're low enough and stop, despite the fact that you have to look completely ridiculous.

"Farther," he growls. You arch even lower until you have to reposition your arms so your forearms are flat, your breasts are nearly touching the vinyl material, and your ass is up in the air. He lets out a huff. "You'll get there." There's a confidence to the phrase which sends a shiver through you, straight to your rekindling arousal.

You can hear him shift on his knees behind you and you feel the dip in the padding by your shins. You wait to feel him shuffle in between your legs, to put a hand on your hip as he gets ready to fuck you. Instead he puts his hands on your outer thighs, just above your knees, and squeezes them together, trying to close your parted limbs.

"What are you doing?" You glance over your shoulder at him in confusion.

He looks down at you in equal confusion. "Getting you into position for me," he says as though it should be obvious.

"But…how…?" You wiggle your hips at him.

It takes a second, and then there's a dawn of realization on his face. "You've never been fucked properly from behind like this before, have you?"

You open your mouth to scoff. To say that of course you have, but then you stop and think… Have you? You've been fucked from behind while on all fours, certainly. That's a pretty basic position. But properly? Well, it was okay. Sometimes it felt close to really good if you shifted your hips just right. You had to reach between your legs and finish yourself off every time, though. Actually, you had to do that a lot—and damn, you really thought you were having decent sex before him, huh?

"Apparently not?" You relent.

He gives you a heated, almost predatory smile. "Oh, pet," he coos at you. "Then I am going to fuck you until you're screaming my name into your hand again. Because you're going to feel so good, the only thing you will remember is my name and my cock." Your face flushes, bright red and hot and tingling, and your walls and clit both flutter in anticipation. He hasn't even fucking touched you and it's already the most you've enjoyed being in this position. You swallow hard.

He pats your thigh. "Now legs together." You obey with now trembling limbs until your thighs to your ankles are pressed together.

"Good girl," he says in that perfect fucking low and gruff way that you like. The way that leaves you wet and panting. Thinking about how he's already fucked you senseless once tonight.

"Kino," you moan, canting your hips towards him, arching your back further until your arms reach out to help you brace yourself into a more natural position.

He grunts down at you. Now he's satisfied, you think, as begins to climb into position. He puts his knees outside of yours, rather than kneeling between them like you're used to. You're very interested to know how this is going to work, since apparently this is going to be a new experience. And it involves him fucking you.

"God, this is an incredible view. You're breathtaking," he growls behind you. Then his thumb is dragging over your slit. "And you're still soaked for me."

"How could I not be," you gasp, "when you made some pretty big claims about fucking me after already making me come once."

"Is that doubt I hear?" He adds pressure to his thumb, causing it to barely press into your folds. He massages between them, teasing your entrance and making an obscene, slick noise.

"No," you groan. You shift your hips, trying to tilt them further towards him to give him better access and to encourage him to keep going, "I'm just waiting."

"You're too impatient," he scolds. And his thumb slips inside of you. You whimper and quickly press back, seeking more, which forces him deeper into your entrance. He grumbles in disappointment, "Like that."

He feels along your walls in slow curls and draws, coating his digit in your wetness. Then he pulls his thumb out of you and drags it down along your folds, rubbing circles of your own moisture along your opening, until he finally runs it over your bundle of nerves. You cry out, still a little sensitive, and quickly muffle your voice into your arm.

"See? Isn't that better? To have my fingers on your clit so my cock can go inside of you?" There's a teasing edge to his voice that would normally have you huffy with irritation, if not for the fact that his thumb is still moving deliciously along your clit.

You nod against your arm, certain he can see you. He removes his thumb, and then something thicker is dragging firmly along your sex. The hard ridge of his cock pushes noisily, obscenely, down through the wetness he left behind as he rubs between your slick and swollen lips, coating you in more of it because he's still drenched from being inside of you.

"Oh, fuck," you whine.

"That's right," you can hear the smirk in his voice. He's enjoying this. Teasing you. Having the upper hand.

But, fuck, so are you. It straddles that line between scolding and playful.

You wonder how you can tip the scales in favor of scolding. Of feeling his hands on you in punishment while he fucks you. You rest your head between your arms with a quiet whimper.

He lines up, firmly nudging the head of his cock against your opening. You hold still to resist being impatient again. Rather than plunge forward, he pulls back hard on your hips, forcing you to sink onto his thick length. Your folds part and your body yields to him, engulfs him, already loose and slick, but not as much as you expected. It's as if you're clenching, resisting without resisting and—

"Oh," you say, a little dumbstruck. Your legs aren't spread open for him, which means your opening isn't spread open, which means—

"Fuck," he lets out a ragged breath. "Squeeze your thighs together."

You obey him, clenching your thighs and pressing your knees inward, even though they have nowhere to go except being forced together. He makes a strangled noise behind you, so you squeeze again. His hips draw back and he uses his grip to rock you forward, and then he slams into you, yanking you back to meet him. The pressure and friction inside of you is enough to work a needy whimper from your throat.

"You're so fucking—ah! So fucking tight," he whines and gives a shallow, savoring thrust into your heat. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect."

You glance at him coyly over your shoulder, sensing your opening to rile him up. "Sure it won't be you screaming my name?" You flex your thighs again and grind back against him. He grunts, but something inside of him latches onto your words and his face becomes stern.

"Is that what you think?" He squares his shoulders in a quiet rage, which is always more dangerous than an outburst, and you can see his mind working. Coming up with something on the fly to send you reeling, and a shiver of anticipation runs down your back, meeting where his hands are now claws on your hips.

"It is now," you stubbornly jut your chin at him.

"Then you do it." His grip slackens.

"Do what?" Your brows furrow in confusion.

"Fuck me if you think I would lose control that easily." He stares down at you in challenge. "But you only have a few minutes to make me scream your name. If you don't, I'm taking over again." His jaw clenches, and then he grits out, "and I won't be gentle."

You bite your lip as you pretend to consider it. Either you manage to ruin him or he destroys you and you DO end up screaming into your arm. How is this even a threat?

Wait.

…how is this even a threat ? You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him because you're now fully aware there's a catch somewhere. And you're about to discover it by blindly fumbling around because fuck if you aren't going to take the bait.

Because what a way to learn a lesson.

You clench the muscles in your thighs and your sex, and you roll back against him, forcing him to slide deep within you. Your walls grip tightly to every inch of him, pull at his length, and you draw an involuntary moan from him as you drag yourself up to the head of his cock.

"Deal," you gasp.

Then you put your whole body into getting him off. You rock onto him while on your forearms and knees, lifting off the bed far enough to get leverage to gyrate your lower half in time with your thrusts. The circular roll of your hips requires you to flex anyway, so every pump onto his member clenches and drags at his foreskin, as if you're fucking him and jerking him off at the same time.

He grunts and swears behind you. Though his hands rest loosely on the curve of your hips, you can feel his fingers twitching. He wants to grab you. He wants to fuck you. And that is such an intoxicating, powerful feeling—getting him to the brink of control, stretching the limits of his willpower and knowing he could break at any moment. Like when his fingers flexed in your hair while you were blowing him.

Part of you doesn't want to make him come because you want him to snap. You ache for it. You want him to drive your climax from you until you can't think and then spend himself deep within you. But you also know this is a rare opportunity for you to be in control. And there are so many more opportunities for him to show you later.

His grunts turn into groans, so you speed up. You wish you had a wall or a headboard to brace against rather than using your arms to help you rock back against him. It's less effective and you're using more arm strength to compensate, but working the floor all day has given you the stamina to keep up for a while longer. Thankfully your pace isn't brutal like his. It doesn't need to be as long as you can keep working him with each thrust.

Just when you think you have him edging towards his climax, his hands shift from your hips to grip your ass. He squeezes along the swell of your cheeks, pressing them firmly together and massaging them outward as you rock back onto him. Even though you know, logically, you have no modesty in this position to begin with—or in a few of the others he's had you in—you feel exposed. You squirm against him in discomfort.

But he doesn't stop there. He works his hands in closer. He runs his thumbs along either side of your cleft before he stops to part your cheeks and hold them open.

"Kino…" you gasp in sudden concern and your movements slow.

"What's wrong?" He asks absentmindedly, not looking up from where his thumbs have begun kneading on either side of your hole. The soothing pressure of it opens you up even more, and you quickly clench to keep the ring of muscle there closed tight. He makes an appreciative low groan in his chest.

"What are you doing?" You can't stop the trepidation in your voice.

"Admiring you," is all he says.

"Okay." You bite your lip and force yourself to relax. Force yourself not to blush as you feel his eyes leering over where he's buried inside of you—and where he isn't. Force yourself to try to continue rocking back against him.

You yelp in surprise when a thumb barely brushes over your opening and, out of instinct, you attempt to scramble away from him. He grabs one of your hips in a vice-like grip and holds you there so you're just grasping along the bed instead of going anywhere, but his thumb stops its exploration.

"Kino!" You grunt out, now horrified.

"You don't like it?" He doesn't sound particularly upset or disappointed, just curious.

"I…" you're once again forced to stop and fucking think about your own sexual history. Because you had tried it exactly once and you hated it.

But.

The guy you had been with barely got you wet, even during sex, which also wasn't great because he didn't get you off either. You still can't believe he talked you into it. So…no? Yes? Maybe?

You let out a noise of frustration. "I don't know?"

"There seems to be a lot of that tonight," he mumbles, still staring down between your cheeks.

"Yeah, well, it's really difficult to think back fondly on nearly two decades of lackluster fumblings with you sending me into hyperspace every night," you huff, frustrated and a little embarrassed. "I'm starting to think I didn't actually enjoy anything until you did it to me. It's incomparable."

"Has anyone…?" He pumps into you and squeezes your ass for emphasis.

"Yes. He—" you stop to let out an uncomfortable laugh. "You know, I never thought I would be talking about this with your cock in me."

"I can take it out if you prefer," he murmurs.

"No!" You push back against him, trying to keep him there, and you just know there's a smirk on his face. You sigh, "I was young and I was kind of dating a guy—"

"Kind of?" He teases.

"Yes," you protest, "kind of. We hadn't been dating very long, but I thought I liked him. The sex was horrible, though. Didn't have a single orgasm. I…let him talk me into it thinking it would—fuck, this is embarrassing—thinking he would like me. And it was so terrible, I broke up with him and I refused to try it again. But…it wasn't with you, so…" You blush and trail off, needing to turn away so he can't see your face.

"No, it wasn't." He says quietly.

"I told you," you shrug, "you're incomparable to anything I had before."

"I could make you feel good," he whispers. When you whine instead of responding because you know he could, he continues, "Would you let me fuck you here?" His voice is low as his thumb rubs firmly against your other entrance again. A moan tumbling from your own lips surprises you, and your hips jerk towards his hand beyond your control. Because holy shit that actually felt…good that time?

"Yes," you purr without any hesitation, "I'd let you do anything you want to me." You know it's distressingly true. You're starting to think there isn't anything you wouldn't give him. Or wouldn't want him to give you. You want him to do things to you that you don't even have the words for.

"Hmmm." He makes an intrigued noise. "Noted. Also your time has run out."

It's all the warning you get before he's leaning over you, one hand now braced on your lower back. The weight behind it pushes your hips down, forcing your knees to slide with it until you catch yourself, angling you down towards the bed. Then he has a hand on the side of your face and he's crushing your cheek down into the mattress. You cry out in surprise, which comes out slightly muffled from the way your face is being squished by his palm.

Then you realize: he was distracting you. He was teasing your ass so you would slow down and lose.

There's a flush of anger in your belly because he was never intending to play fair. That was the fucking catch. He just wanted to watch and enjoy you fucking him, knowing what he was going to do anyway. The anger twists into scalding lust at the first hint of embarrassment that washes over you. Then you're mad about how much that turns you on. How your arousal throbs and drenches around him. About how he knows it.

You open your mouth to protest, but without saying anything or letting you get a word in, he sets a relentless pace, hammering down into you. You have to clench and brace yourself to keep from sliding further, and every thrust into you is a test of your own strength. One which he is winning, you realizing as your knees slip another inch.

For too long, all you can do is desperately try to keep your position and let him fuck you. Even shifting or writhing beneath him would be all the submission he needs to force you flat onto your belly. And it feels good, god it feels good, but you're so focused on your body, that you can't truly enjoy the way your closed thighs force friction and pressure against your g-spot. Or the way his balls hit and rub against your nerves with every thrust.

It's frustrating, like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, but it's gone by the time you turn your head. You let out a discouraged huff.

Then he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls back, attempting to lift you up off of the bed. You scramble to get your arms under you so you can move with his hand, relieving most of the pressure on your scalp. His hand on your lower back forces you to arch towards him rather than lean against him, and he continues yanking on your hair until your head is tilted back and you're practically looking up at him. Once you're in the position he wants, he removes the hand on your back and settles it over your belly, holding you up.

"Finally get sick of that?" He growls into your ear.

"Yes!" You whimper. "It wasn't…"

"Good?" His raspy voice finishes for you. "That's because it was supposed to be frustrating."

"But—" you sputter.

"Had to punish you somehow."

"Fuck!" Anger settles back over you. "I just wanted it rough, Kino."

"I know. And I was going to give it to you," he rumbles down at you, "then you opened your mouth." He tsks at you. "Brat."

"You were enjoying it too much," you hiss.

He tugs back on your hair and you cry out in pain.

"I was enjoying it just fine. I was adjusting." He's almost too collected for how hard he was just thrusting into you. "You were going to get fucked."

You let out a little sob, and if you could hang your head in anguish, you would.

"Poor thing." His hand strokes over your belly, teases up towards your breasts. Then he leans close to whisper in your ear, "Would you like to?"

"Yes, Kino, please," you blurt out with no hesitation, uncaring how desperate it makes you seem, and the words continue spilling from your lips. "Please fuck me. I'm still so fucking wet for you! I need you. Make me come with your cock. Make me come so hard—make me scream! Please."

"Hmmm," he hums, pleased, behind you. He pumps into you, and you cry out in relief. "How can I say no to that?"

He releases your hair and you drop your head down, twisting back and forth, letting the muscles and tendons in your neck stretch and relax. He waits patiently until you're finished before plunging into you again, and you're so grateful for those little moments where he's tender and thoughtful, even in the middle of being rough. Where you know how much he wants you to enjoy it, too.

God, you love him.

Then both hands are on your stomach, and he's groping upwards, feeling his way along your ribs until he drags his calloused palms over your breasts. This time you arch back of your own accord, pressing your chest forward into his hands, eager for more. He rewards you by fondling you as he thrusts into you.

His lips find your shoulder and he kisses towards your neck, pausing occasionally to bite and grunt into your flesh. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave half moon impressions behind—and to leave you whimpering.

You turn your head to capture his mouth, and he crashes his lips messily into yours. You both moan in relief at the contact. The downside of this position is not being able to kiss him whenever you want, and, fuck, do you love kissing him. And touching him. And looking at him. God, this is torture. His tongue finds yours and you yield to him, letting him be in control of plunging into you there as well. Let him twist and stroke his tongue into your mouth, and nip at your bottom lip.

You both kneel there for a few minutes, kissing, rocking against each other, and him teasing your nipples under his palms and fingers while you make needy noises into his mouth. Then he breaks the kiss, leaving you slack jawed and panting against his lips.

"This is lovely, but the angle isn't good enough for what I want to do to you," he says in a husky voice as you whimper against him. "Get back onto your stomach." With one last squeeze over your breasts, he lets go of you so you can return to the bed.

But your back is stiff from bending for so long at such a sharp and unnatural angle. So when you lean forward too quickly, one of your muscles tightens into a knot. You hiss in pain and nearly recoil as you freeze in place. You put a bracing fist in the middle of where it hurts as you slowly press and stretch it out, trying to force it to unknot so you can maneuver down as fast as you can without hurting yourself more.

He must realize because then both of his strong hands are on you. He nudges your fist out of the way and slowly runs his hands up your back, working the tight muscles with his thumbs. At first his touch is too firm on the tender knots and you cry out in pain. But as he kneads them, rolls them under his grip, they begin to uncoil and relax beneath the effort and you practically melt into his hands. He encourages you to lower down to the mattress as he follows you, massaging a few more circles into your flesh to make sure they don't seize again.

"Better?" He sounds genuinely concerned and your heart flutters.

"Much," you sigh. "Thank you."

"Hips, too," he instructs. "We'll give your poor back a break."

You wiggle and shift until you're prone on your stomach with your arms crossed above your head, which is much more comfortable than forcing your spine to bend at an extreme angle. Your hips are still tilted and jutting in the air to give him access to your entrance, but it takes less effort to maintain slightly raised as opposed to on your knees.

Behind you, Kino straddles your thighs. His erection is still inside of you, but not nearly far enough. All your squirming into position worked him somewhat loose. You'd be impressed at his ability to move with you, if not for the fact that you are not a patient woman. And you want him back inside of you. Want to feel full of him.

"I'm still not going to take it easy, so you TELL me if you hurt, okay?" His voice is firm and leaves no room for argument.

"Yes, Kino. I promise," you say as seriously as you can to reassure him.

He studies the side of your face for a moment, and finally gives you a satisfied nod. Then he spreads his knees wider, bracing himself on the bed. The implication of it—that he needs the extra leverage—sends your face into the mattress to muffle a moan. His hands grasp your hips, too, and he leans into it until his weight is putting enough pressure on you to deepen your indentation in the foam.

When you come up for air, his thumb strokes over your hip. A feather light show of affection. Just a reminder—before this starts, before you're both delirious and lost in each other—that he loves you. That this is how he shows you how much he loves you.

Because Kino Loy is in love with you.

The thought is unfurling and flowering in your mind when he thrusts the rest of the way into you, slotting into place like he belongs there as you cry out. It's heady, being full of him. You could have sex with him every day and a decade from now, he could thrust into you and it would still be devastating. He can shatter your entire world with just his cock.

He pauses. Adjusts his knees. Slants over you. Readies himself while you squirm beneath him, rubbing your legs together, lifting your hips, aching in his grasp.

"Hold still," he scolds and swats your ass. Not hard, just enough to get you to stop in shock. You gasp and flush, hot with arousal, and fight against squirming even more than before. You mentally curse the open cells because you know he can't do it again—or do it harder. At least not without the whole block knowing what's happening.

Finally he moves, but he doesn't pull back. He rolls further inside of you. He squishes your ass cheeks forward with the depth of his grinding. Then he rocks back, hips barely leaving yours, and he does it again.

"Fuck!" You both cry out at the same time—his is gruff and raw, and reverberates deep in his chest. Yours comes out as a high, needy whine that devolves into sobs.

Then continues rocking into you, faster, letting his weight and strength push his length inside of you. Through all of it, he never leaves your opening. Never leaves any space between his hips and yours. He lets the friction, the depth of every movement, send both of you into fits of moaning whenever he angles just right or you squeeze your thighs together.

And god, the slide of him through your clenched folds makes you aware of parts of yourself you didn't think could feel pleasure like this before. Your swollen lips, the press of your ass shifting muscles deep within you, even your walls feel more sensitive when he drags so forcefully against them.

Your legs start to squirm uselessly behind you since you can't rock back against him or lift up to meet his thrusts. The constant motion must flex your core as well because he starts hissing and sucking in sharp breaths each time you cross your ankles—which you start doing intentionally, just to drive him mad. And it isn't long before his movements become a little more rough. A little more insistent.

He braces more of his weight onto your hips and you swear you can feel your bones shift under his hands. There's more pressure than pain, though, and you're completely flattened to the mattress, wedged between it and him. Now he's using his grip for more leverage, which allows him to use his knees to push instead. Then he drills into you and fuck, you didn't think he could get deeper. His hips start to pull back far enough to meet your ass with a wet slap, no longer just shifting and sliding with you.

With a frustrated "shit," he drops to a hand, plants it next to your shoulder and hovers over your back. The angle inside of you shifts, too. He's pounding down with each thrust, relentlessly hitting that exquisite spot inside of you. The one behind your clit that sends alluring tension up through your belly and bones. It builds with each new thrust.

His head is lowered close enough to your ear that you can hear his low breathing. The way he's focusing on pumping into you. You turn your head to the side so you can see his face and to let him grunt and pant against your cheek and fuck, that's hot. Your eyes flutter with it and your lips part in bliss as you let the sound wash over you.

"Are you enjoying laying there and letting me fuck you?" He catches the expression on your face and growls as he arches into you.

"God, yes!" You bite back a whine. "You feel so good."

"And have you ever been properly fucked from behind?" He buries his nose behind your ear, plants his lips firmly into your hairline, and lets out another low grunt when his hips press deep.

"By you," you grit out as his length strikes hard into that spot again, sending you reeling. "Only you."

"Because you're mine," he rumbles. "I will find every way there is to claim you and make you take me." His voice becomes harsh and insistent. "I will make you wet and make you beg, and when you behave, you will come every single time. You will never be neglected again. Not with me."

The last part is said with such conviction that you're dizzy with it. You throb with it. Because it's a promise. A vow. It's also the closest glimpse you've ever gotten to knowing he sees a future for the two of you, you realize. Something beyond this. It's undeniable proof that he thinks about what comes after cells and uniforms and shifts. And you know you would happily kneel before the altar of him and worship for the rest of your life if he let you.

"I love you, Kino," you whimper.

"I love how you—" he lets out a strangled groan, "love how you take my cock. You're so good for me. So fucking perfect."

"All for you," you swear with a gasp. There is heat pooling between your thighs and your attention has begun to hone in on it, tugging your mind away from coherent thought. "Anything for you."

"Then I want you to come for me." His gravelly voice thrums down your spine and you shiver. You claw uselessly against the mattress, looking for something to fucking hold on to as your limbs begin to quake and tremble. "It makes you so wet for my cock." He places an open mouthed kiss on your jaw, letting his tongue and teeth drag and scrape across your skin. "I want you dripping."

"Kino," you sob, "please, I'm close."

"Not good enough." His hips speed up, each thrust into your nerves sending sparks through you as you lay there and try to catch fire.

"Right there," you slur, dazed, igniting, close to being gone completely. "Fuck."

"Are you going to scream for me?" He growls.

You don't answer. Can't. You go rigid under him, every muscle in your body flexing and each nerve ending activating as if you stepped out onto the hot floor. As if you're braced to plummet off a ledge and into freefall. Then he starts grunting again from the effort of fucking you, and it's one of your favorite sounds in the entire fucking universe.

So you do. You clench your eyes shut and fall.

When you climax, there are stars behind your eyelids. Infinite churning furnaces that expand and explode with you, yielding to entropy—the heat death of the universe contained within your core, searing through your groin and up your belly. You burn. It's death without dying.

Through it all you wail and cry his name while your hips flex and try to grind onto him. Your walls clamp down around him, clenching greedily at his cock. Your voice and your body surrendering and wanting for nothing but him. Knowing nothing but him.

"Just like that." He moans and curses over you, rocking hungrily into your flutters and spasms. "I never want to leave this. I want to stay right here," he presses into you so hard your hips lift from the bed, "buried inside of you while you try to drain me as you come. They're going to have to come down and drag me away from you."

Your heart swells. It's so bloated within you that your ribs ache with it and there is no room left for your lungs. You gasp uselessly, desperately, for air. For relief.

"Kino," you manage to choke out. Still the only word your mind can conjure. The only one that matters.

He pushes away from you suddenly, rises to his knees, and pulls out of you with no warning.

"Flip over," he barks out, uncharacteristically impatient, and you know he must be close. You scramble to obey, turning as fast as your lethargic limbs will let you—only stumbling once—and then collapsing onto your back.

He dives into your arms, finding where he fits perfectly against you with no hesitation. Where he belongs, you think. You fold around him, one leg hooked behind his thigh and the other lazily draping over his hips.

He spears back into your slick heat with a groan. His aim isn't perfect, it's needy, but your entrance is so wet that he slips in without having to fumble between your legs. Then he's pounding into you. You jolt at each impact, and the force rattles little breaths from your lungs.

A hand comes to the side of your neck, cups it while his thumb caresses lovingly over your throat and jaw. His lips and nose brush across your skin, kissing and panting and slowly nuzzling. Such a gentle contrast to the punishing snap of his hips and the bruising grip of the hand that has latched onto your thigh. Because he's holding on to you, frantically, as if you might try to escape. As if the only thing that matters is chasing his release between your legs.

You nuzzle back, wanting to feel every part of him that you've been missing. Wanting to breathe him in and fill your lungs with his scent. You run your hands through his hair, the stubble on his jaw, and over his chest. Insatiable despite having two orgasms.

You gasp his name like a call and he grunts yours in answer into your cheek.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," his voice is tight and ragged.

"I want it deep, Kino," you beg into his ear. "Make it hurt."

The tender touch of his hand vanishes as he clamps down on your jaw as hard as the hand on your thigh. Before you can whine with pain, he pushes your head back so he can muffle a groan that is wrenched from his chest into your throat.

"Fuck!" He snarls, baring his teeth against your skin. Your heart stutters in thrill at your vulnerability. At how exposed you are again.

He buries himself into your wet heat. Presses so brutally that he slides both of you along the mattress until your back catches on the vinyl and he's pushing uselessly against you. Then he throws his head back. His face is contorted in anguish and rapture—eyes clenched shut and his mouth frozen in a sob—as he hovers just on that edge, and it's fucking breathtaking. Everything about him is raw and scruffy and hard and lined with age, and he's so god-damned perfect, you think. Irresistible, like reaching for an open flame. His fingers digging into you, his fuzzy belly on yours, his sculpted shoulders, his full lips, his bared, imperfect teeth, his nose—that brief moment of stillness before he comes undone, burning itself into your memories.

Finally, he's moaning, a broken, guttural sound, as he's falling into his climax and spending himself inside of you. His cock throbs so hard that you can feel every pulse of his release, every contraction that starts in his balls before it's wrung out and floods your core. God, he feels so incredible. You grind your hips against him, wanting more of it. Trying to milk every last drop and bit of ecstasy, and it draws a growl from him.

He retreats back for another deep plunge and his knees buckle from exhaustion and the intensity of his orgasm. With a grunt, he collapses on top of you, but then he quickly arches his hips into you to finish the thrust anyway. He scrambles to push off of the mattress with his toes, drags himself forward using your hips as more leverage, and he slides against you. Rocks through the final tremors of his release.

When he finally stops, he's shaking over you, still trembling from the force of his climax. He drops the rest of his weight onto you with a heavy exhale and settles his head onto your chest. He lays there for a moment, listening to your heart pounding beneath him and letting the rhythm calm him. His legs and hips start to relax as well, no longer arched and pressed into you, which causes his length to slip out of your now very slick sex. His spent cock twitches on your inner thigh.

You shift to look down at him, gasping for air and having no idea how you're so out of breath when all you really did was lay there and get ravaged. You hug him to you, wanting to feel as much of his skin against yours as you can, but he shakes his head and pulls away.

"One more," he pants. "I want you to give me one more."

"What?" You stare at him in confusion, uncomprehending what he means. "One more what?"

"I want you to have one more orgasm while you're full of my come," he explains, winded, but patient.

"Fuck, Kino! I don't know if I can," you whine because what the fuck. How can he still be thinking about sex? How can he even move right now? How can—

"I know exactly how to get it from you, don't worry. Just lay here." He reaches out to cup your jaw, and his thumb tenderly traces your cheek. His face and his voice soften. "Let me love you."

And how the fuck do you say no to that? You nod at him before you even know what you're doing. Before you've even thought it through. It astounds you how eager you are to obey him sometimes. It's deeper than instinct. It's inevitability.

He slowly works his way down your body, obviously exhausted, and spreads your legs open before him. You know what he meant, then. How he plans to shatter your sense of awareness one last time, and you writhe and whimper. As tired and spent as you are, the thought resurrects a spark of want that starts in your chest, builds to your stomach, and reignites in your core.

He settles between your knees, sprawled on his belly along your small bed. Then he scoops your legs over his shoulders and pulls you closer to his mouth by your thighs.

"Fuck, look at your ruined, pretty little hole." He kisses your inner thigh as he continues to admire your glistening sex, and your skin quivers under his lips. "Your cunt should always look like this. You were made to be a mess from my cock."

He licks the inside of your folds, just at your entrance, dragging his hot tongue through the mixture of both of your fluids and spend as you gasp above him. He groans in pleasure. "You taste even better full of me."

He teases your entrance with the tip of his tongue, skimming and tracing along your swollen lips. And you're not going to fucking beg. You're not. You're not.

"I came so deep that you haven't started leaking properly. Yet." Then he widens his mouth over your sex and plunges his tongue inside of you, seeking his own seed. It's so filthy that your walls pulse and flutter around him while he presses in and out of your depths. Laps inside of you. He finally withdraws and drags his tongue up over your too sensitive clit. The frisson it sends through you is sharp and potent. It makes you desperate.

"Oh god, Kino! I need your mouth on me," you beg, immediately giving in at the intensity of your own yearning because fuck how could you forget how good he is at this? How did you think you wouldn't be a blubbering mess with his mouth on you?

"What do you say?" He asks, low and gruff, and flicks the tip of his tongue over your nerves again.

"Fuck! Please !" You shout. "Please please please ple—"

He covers your clit with his mouth, turning your pleading into a choking sound as you try to gasp and moan at the same time. His tongue sets to work, rubbing and swirling over you as his cheeks hollow with the gentle suction of his lips.

The lines on his face crease and deepen with concentration. His neatly combed hair is tousled from your fingers and the effort of fucking you. The stubborn curls, usually only obvious at the nape of his neck, have worked themselves free and one sticks out in defiance on the side of his head. The sight of him—disheveled, his jaw moving and flexing from working your clit, your wetness shiny in the stubble on his cheeks and jaw, and him gazing up at you from between your thighs—sends a fresh surge of need from your weak flesh.

Occasionally he pulls away to lick between your folds and his eyelids go heavy in pleasure. You would scream if you could breathe. If that hadn't knocked the wind out of you.

When he rubs his tongue back over your nerves, your body doesn't wait or tense. There's no building or teasing you while you're on the edge. You're already so loose and stimulated that you shoot up to your elbows and come immediately against his mouth.

Your climax burns from your core, out to your pelvis, then down your thighs. Your toes curl with it. Your walls pulse with it. Your entrance clenches and leaks an obscene trail of both of you down your slit and into the cleft of your ass. You cry out, but your voice is hoarse from all your moaning and screaming and lacks the intensity of your previous two orgasms—even though it still leaves you quaking and grabbing at his hair and grinding yourself against his mouth, riding out every last wave.

After your hips finally stop and the little tremors of your aftershocks subside, you collapse back to the mattress with a whimper. He pulls his head away from your clit to admire you. Watches you finally leak and drip his come with a look of awe on his face.

"That's better." Then his tongue flattens over you and he licks the entire length of your slit. Slowly. Gathering as much of the mess as he can. He groans appreciatively as he curls his tongue back into his mouth. You watch him savor it for a moment, and then swallow.

You begin to sob.

You can't help it. You're emotionally and physically spent, vulnerable and overwhelmed in a way you've never felt before, and that was too fucking hot for your lust fried brain to process right now. Which apparently translates into tears because you can't stop the way they start running down your cheeks.

He looks up at you, wide eyed in concern, and quickly makes his way beside you on the bed. Then he pulls you into his arms while you sniffle against him.

"What's wrong?" He tilts your chin up to look at him.

"I'm fine. I think you just broke me," you let out a watery laugh as you meet his eyes. "Apparently that was so god-damned hot that it was too much. You're too sexy, Kino. It overloaded my brain."

He gives you an incredulous stare and you let loose a wave of fresh tears.

"Shhh, hey, it's okay," he whispers. He presses his forehead to yours and cups your cheek, swiping the moisture there away with his thumb. "You were so good for me." He kisses the tip of your nose. "So good."

You flush under his praise and wipe at your eyes. "You were incredible. Every time we have sex, it's the best fucking sex I've ever had in my entire life."

"Good," he rumbles against you. "It's what you deserve. Not whatever the fuck those other assholes were doing to you."

You laugh, your whole body shaking with it, and you catch a small smile on his face. It's enough of a distraction that you let out a deep sigh and blink back the last few tears that hadn't fallen yet.

"Apparently setting me up to know exactly how damned lucky I am to have finally found you."

"That's my line," he grumbles.

"Why, you have a string of disappointing partners, too?" You yawn, now exhausted from, well, everything.

"Something like that," he says under his breath.

"What does that mean?" You blink heavily at him.

"It means there was always something missing, which is unsatisfying in a different way to not having a single orgasm for the entirety of a relationship." His voice deepens. "And you are very, very satisfying. In every way."

A thrill runs through your tired body at that. "I bet you always made sure the person you slept with finished." You snuggle closer to him.

"Of course I did," he sniffs. "I'm an asshole, not a monster."

"Mmmm. Never a monster," you mumble, your eyes closing. "Think you're amazing. Fucking…wonderful. Love you."

"I love you, too," he whispers.

You aren't sure how both of you got dressed. You remember a lethargic shifting of limbs and pull of fabric, but you were fighting to stay awake at that point. It's all so hazy. The only thing you're sure of is that now you're curled into his arms and laying half on top of him, your head is tucked under his chin, and your legs are tangled together. Your body thrums with love for him and a bone deep satisfaction.

You hold possessively at his waist, as if he could somehow sneak out in the middle of the night and leave you to wake to an empty bed, alone. Or that you might open your eyes in the morning and find the last few weeks have been a dream. That he grabbed you by the jaw and cracked you so deeply that you imagined all of this to save yourself from shattering.

As if he can sense your thoughts or feel the stiffening of your body, he hugs you tightly to him and kisses your hair.

"I love you," he whispers, and you melt, releasing that last bit of tension. You open your mouth to say it back, try to fight to get the words out before you can't. But you've tipped too far towards unconsciousness now to manage it.

Your last thought before the darkness takes you is, oh, hell, he knows.

A/N: Fun Easter egg about this chapter: I'm a dramatic, desperately hopeless romantic that loves angst. I don't know if any of you've picked up on that. I've been really subtle about it. (sarcasm)

I was really struggling writing this because, FOR SOME DAMN REASON, I was struggling writing romantic smut. And then my brain went, okay but what if you just…didn't?? So I made it romantic AND filthy, which fits better anyway, and was much easier for me to write. (Curious 💅)

✨An actual fun science lesson Easter Egg about this chapter!✨ I used the comparison of binary stars in chapter 10:

"Like binary stars, bound and endlessly drawn towards one another until they're destined to merge—or to destroy each other."

Usually binary star systems fall apart when one evolves into a white dwarf first and consumes the other one, causing it to gain more mass, exceed the limit of its stability, and go supernova. Anytime at least one white dwarf is involved in a binary star supernova, it's called a Type 1a Supernovae.

It's rare, but occasionally both binary stars evolve into white dwarfs at the same time. (The reason it's so rare is because the stars have to be incredibly similar to have a parallel evolution, otherwise one would evolve first and likely destroy the other.) White dwarfs are very dense and, as a result, have a powerful gravitational pull. The stars are slowly drawn towards each other in their orbit until they eventually collide, creating the Type 1a Supernovae that way. I've always thought there was something very romantic about them being so perfectly matched that they burn together, as if they were soulmates.

A Type 1a Supernovae is also one of the brightest events that occur in our universe. 🙂 Space is cool, y'all.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#kino loy #kino loy x reader #kino loy x f!reader #i want you to show me weak fic #andor fanfic #fanfiction #andor #andy serkis

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