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lullaebies · 9 months ago

Note

For Aegon III/Jaehaera's requests: Aegon being nervous because Haera is having their first child and heir after a decade.

He can hear her screams of pain from behind the doors of their shared chambers.

He starts to pray the gods, despite Baela and Viserys' tentative reassurances then Haera calls for him and Aegon's feets lead him in front of the doors; the guards try to stop him and he orders them to not touch him.

They woke the dragon and the dragon will be protective of his mate and hatchlings.

When he enters, he is quick to be by Jaehaera's side

"My king you shouldn't-"

"I can and I will"

They had their baby boy🥺 and you bet that Aegon cries for the first time out of happiness, then Haera is there like: "Give him to me! he's mine!"

And doesn't allow anyone to touch their baby and you vet Aegon will wash his baby boy, much to the horror and amusement of the masters, midwives and Aegon's siblings

Aegon paces around the hallway in an attempt to calm down. He has been banned from his bedchambers for the better of half an hour now. The Grand Maester and his accompanying midwives have tended his wife as she gave birth to her firstborn; their firstborn.

He is not a religious man, by any means of the word, but he prays under his breath. The gods had long forsaken him, laughing as they planted him on a throne of swords that had cost him nearby everything. But his wife had a woman of more faith, despite all she had been through herself. If the Seven are true to them, they would protect her.

Aegon hopes so, begs so, his stomach turning up and down. The toll of the birthing is clearly heard beyond the doors that separate them. Jaehaera is eight and ten, and they both grew plenty since their wedding, but she has remained a smaller woman to this day. Her pregnant belly had been big for her frame, he can’t help the dark thoughts his mind leads him to.

“You are going to have to breathe, dear brother,” Viserys tells him. “Births do not ever sound pleasant. This is a fact of life.”

Yet they never sounded so difficult for Larra, either, he wants to say, but he only frowns. If it wasn’t for the fact Lady Larra Rogare had left court a year prior, he may have said it aloud. Little Aegon, Aemon, and Naerys were left alone with only their father. The pit in Aegon’s stomach grows exponentially. This is a possibility, for Aegon too, and he had never trusted his odds.

Baela takes him by the shoulder. If it wasn’t his sister, he may very well flung that hand away. “You are going to look more dreadful than your wife when she gets out of that room,” she says straight to his face. “Calm down. I have done as much twice. Rhaena had done so six times. Your little wife will manage, she’s resilient, for all it’s worth.”

She’s neither you nor Rhaena. Resilient Jaehaera had been, but it hasn’t been without struggles. Aegon doubts she had ever said as much to anyone else but him, but this court had been a lonely place for her besides for him. She’s been changing it, step by step, and now labouring to change it definitively, but how alone must she feel in that room?

Another pained wail comes from within the room. I can’t take it anymore.

“I am entering,” he finally says, escaping his sister’s grip. There are protests from all sides when he steps away from his siblings and to his Kingsguards. The bumbling fools in their white capes move to not allow him to enter, citing the instructions of the Maester, but he glares them down. He’s a full head taller than both, with a crown on his head. He has abandoned the days the Keep could rule him when he fired Lord Torrhen Manderly. “You serve the maester or the King, now? Move aside, or else.”

The doors to the room open for him while Jaehaera is pushing, forehead wrinkled and sweatied as she does. All her attendants turn to him, but he ignores them and their words entirely. Aegon only needs a few long steps to reach his wife, sitting beside her on their very bed.

Jaehaera lifts her eyes to him, panting as he wipes her forehead and moves silver strands from her red-hued face. Grand Maester Munkun swallows as he moves to him. “Your Grace, you shouldn’t like to stay. Births are stressful occasions—”

Aegon does not listen to a thing the man says. “Aegon,” Jaehaera pants, fingers coming to clutch his sleeve. He gives her his full palm to squeeze.

“—To both parents…” The Grand Maester slowly falters in his words.

“As I’ve noted,” Aegon answers, cutthroat. “I can stay and I will. Now mind your Queen before I find someone who does.”

The old man gulps in response, and scurries to his seat at the edge of the bed nodding. Aegon fixes the pillows under his wife’s head. The calls to push are difficult on his wife for a while, and he feels her using all her strength, the squeeze on his hand a testament to all her efforts.

Their child’s cradle is ready, standing by the window and illuminated by the sun. So many blankets woven for a child not yet born are laid within. Jaehaera had been waiting on the babe for so long, talking to her belly at times even, hoping the little one would hear.

In comparison, Aegon had been almost afraid. He had worried and angered and anxiously dealt with the idea of a child coming under his wing. Broken wings, by most accounts. He has never known how his siblings had been able to heal the way they were, raising their own family in swift pursuit. Jaehaera’s losses, his losses, had made them become ghosts in the shells of their bodies for the longest while.

But he had grown into this shell, just as he had grown into his crown, and now it is their turn to rebuild.

Jaehaera lets out a sharp yelp of pain, and Grand Maester Munkun lifts his head. “The babe is crowning,” he looks to the midwives. “Prepare the bath!”

Aegon squeezes his wife’s hand harder. Jaehaera’s eyes are bleary from tears of effort, but he feels he is the one who is in whirls of uncontrollable emotions. Jaehaera inhales in determination, readjusts her position and groans loudly one last time.

A babe’s cries deafen all other voices in the room.

“It’s a boy,” Munkun announces to the room amidst cries of new life, and then looks at him. “A healthy prince, Your Grace. An heir for the Iron Throne.”

Grand Maester Munkun is holding their son. Aegon doesn’t know how long he has been waiting on letting his tears fall. It could be from the moment he has been told Jaehaera’s water broke, and it could be from moons prior, when he had been first told Jaehaera is with child. There is some spell cast on him when he sees his boy writhe for attention, tufts of silver hair sticking to his head. It’s my…

The umbilical cord is cut, Jaehaera, despite her pain and fatigue, rises into half-sitting in a bolt. “He’s mine,” she yells at the Grand Maester, paralysing all attendants in the room. Queen Jaehaera, as the court knows her, hardly ever raises her voice. “Give him to me!”

It’s their boy, first. Before he is an heir, before he is thrust into his royal position, it’s their son.

Aegon comes up from his place, and takes his son from Grand Maester Munkun before he could give him to any of the midwives. He is a big baby, eyeing Aegon with a stare of indigo. He has small, pouty lips, and squishy cheeks as red as all of his body is.

“Our son,” he says, placing the boy in her arms. Jaehaera holds him close to her chest, and finally, the stress on her face dissipates. Tears escape her eyes, but she smiles so widely. “He has your nose.”

“Hello. I am your mama,” she tells the newborn softly. The babe’s cries calm as they speak. Aegon brings a hand to caress his face. Does he recognize their voices? Aegon hasn’t spoken to him during the pregnancy as much as Jaehaera, but the nights he did, does the boy recall them? Aegon had been so afraid for his upcoming arrival, but now he has him and he can’t look away. “And this is your papa.”

It’s my family.

And he loves it, so dearly, he will never let it go.

“Congratulations, little brother, and good sister,” he hears Baela’s voice from behind him. Both her and Jaehaera look up to her. His sister is mindful of their space, but ogles the little boy with a grin. Viserys is further back, trying to catch a glimpse of the child too. “The midwives are afraid to ruin the moment, so I must. Our prince needs to have his first bath before the water grows cold.”

Jaehaera licks her lips, rather hesitant to give the boy away. They share their reservations with only their eyes. Aegon thinks for a moment and kisses his wife’s temple before looking at all the attendants in the room. “Bring the bath here. I’ll do it.”

There are many variations of his title that come about in exclamation. ‘Your Grace’, ‘Your Highness’, ‘Your Majesty’ and so on and so forth, all complaints and concerns and whatnot. None of it matters, not even a smidge, when Jaehaera smiles at him, and gives him their boy in full trust. He holds him, swearing his arms would be secure for the boy evermore.

Because I am your father, above all else.

#andddd jaehaegon requests cleared!#this was so sweet it reminded me of the queen charlotte scene in the netflix show #i didn't know what to name bby boy so I didn't drop suggestions in the tags if you'd like lmao #jaehaegon #jaehaera x aegon iii #aegon iii x jaehaera #jaehaera targaryen #aegon iii targaryen #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #my fanfics #my fics #reqs #answered #tremendouswolfsaladranch

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coffeeghoulie · 2 months ago

Text

you got some scrapes, but i'll piledrive you anyways

Ghostober Day #7: Hatesex

You are a prizefighter who is in love with a boxer. You say "It's a bad idea," and the boxer says, "It's only a bad idea if it gets in the way of our work," and you say, "Promise me you'll never pull any punches." The boxer swears they won't. But when you fight, the boxer always pulls their punches, and you never do. You're pretty sure this makes you a bad person. You're a prizefighter, and you do not love this boxer or anyone enough to pull punches. -Gabrielle Zevin, ILYSFM Liner Notes

Dewdrop decides it then. He hates Swiss Truppe with every fucking fiber of his being.

He can feel Swiss's gaze burning into the side of his head through two thick layers of plexiglass. Pointedly ignores it. He knows what Swiss wants. Has bent over backwards and done this song and dance a dozen times. He just wants to get his dick wet.

Admittedly, Dew's been into it, but would rather die than admit it out loud. But after all of this? Swiss isn't going to get what he wants that easily.

Explicit, 6.1k. Contains rough oral sex/facefucking, fistfights, semi-public/shower sex, dry humping, degradation, biting, one slap, ruined orgasms, and no aftercare. Set in the hockey AU, but all you need to know is that Swiss and Dew are hockey players and they hate each other.

Much thanks to @kroas-adtam for arranging Ghostober, and also @askingforthesun for letting this live in their dms for two months <3. Tagging @forlorn-crows and @nocturnalghoul for more hockey shenanigans <3.

Title from Wonderful Nothing by Glass Animals.

Read under the cut or on AO3

It takes less than fifteen seconds for Dew to go from chasing the puck to beaten and face down on the ice with the air knocked from his lungs.

He's behind the Popestars' goalline between one of their defensemen and one of their right wingers five minutes into the first, scrabbling to get the puck out from where their three sticks are locked. They're bigger then him, but he's a lot defter, working the puck from between them and snapping a pass to Rain, who skates it in front of the net to try and shoot.

Following the puck, the defenseman chases after Rain. He doesn't matter though, because the right winger's still behind him, and Dew can feel him looming. He knows what's about to happen milliseconds before it does.

Swiss had leaned over the red line during warm ups, talking a big game about how Dew should be ready for anything tonight. Clearly, he's come to collect.

There's a hard shove, a hard line of fiberglass and carbon pressed into his back through his pads. He snarls before he can do anything else, gloves and stick already clattering to the ice by the time he wheels around. Swiss tosses his stick aside, dropping his gloves as he lunges in the same movement.

Swiss has a shit-eating grin on his face, hands curling into the collar of Dew's jersey as he pushes him towards the face off dot. Dew lunges, grabbing Swiss's jersey and shoving him back. The momentum of his skates gives him an attempt to struggle, to push him back.

He swings, the knuckles of his right hand colliding with Swiss's jaw. He takes it, head whipping with the blow. Dew snarls when it doesn't knock the grin from his face.

Swiss pulls harder at his jersey, swinging hard. Dew has just enough leverage to duck, throwing a punch to his side, where his jersey and the pads that cover there ride up, exposing warm brown skin. He can feel the way the breath gets knocked out of him, but Swiss keeps swinging.

He's angry now, lands two sharp right hooks downward across his cheekbone and jaw. Iron fills his mouth, something wet dripping down over his upper lip.

A third and fourth to the back of the head through his helmet. His blades slip just a little bit, his forehead pressed to the brown and gold of his jersey. He tries to fight back, he really does, but Swiss is a solid half a foot bigger than him, a fire burning in the dark of his eyes.

The next punch doesn't quite hit, hooking around his neck, and Dew shoves with the hand not pulling at the collar of Swiss's jersey. He snarls, snapping his teeth. He knows he probably looks insane, blood staining his teeth, dripping from his nose, something crazed in his eyes.

Dew swings as hard as he can, catching him straight across the face. He feels something give under his knuckles, probably soft tissue on the inside of his cheek catching on his teeth.

He barely has enough time to feel smug about it before his eyes go wide. His skates scrabble against the ice. Swiss grins, yanking hard at the black and teal mesh clenched in his fist, pulling him to the ice by the collar.

Dew can barely catch himself with his hands, the visor of his helmet smacking against the ice. His head rattles inside his helmet like he's taken a puck to the temple. He thinks he might end up with a shiner after this one. The chill radiating from the ice feels good against his throbbing cheekbone and nose.

It's only a momentary reprieve.

Swiss follows him down with the momentum of his swing, his last punch landing square between his shoulderblades. It knocks the breath from him, wheezing on the ice as the blow shoves him into it. His knee lands on the back of his as Swiss falls on top of him, and Dew can't bite back a yell as his joint is pressed further into the unforgiving surface of the ice.

Thankfully, the refs pull Swiss off of him then. As Dew hauls himself to his feet, legs still a little wobbly under him, he feels a big, ungloved hand rest on the small of his back through his pads and jersey. Concerned. Gentle.

The fire inside of him reignites. Because how fucking dare he? How fucking dare Swiss pretend to care after humiliating him and beating the shit out of him?

Dew's about ready to lunge back at him, threat of expulsion be damned, when the ref passes him over to Aether. He's still pissed, but just Aether's gloved hand on his arm is enough to temper the flames.

For now.

"You good?" Aether asks, grey eyes scanning over Dew's face with a look of real worry behind them. Dew won't get a good look at the damage until intermission, but with the way his face aches, he reckons he's well on his way to black and blue. Blood still trails down his upper lip, salty and metallic where it drips into his mouth. His nose doesn't feel broken, but he won't be sure until the physical trainer checks him out.

Dew nods, swallowing hard as one of the refs skates up to the two of them to escort Dew to the box. "Nothing I can't deal with."

He glances over his shoulder, glaring at Swiss. The right winger grins, smug and infuriating, and Dew sneers at him with reddened teeth. Swiss's bottom lip, to Dew's sick delight, is bloody too. There's some kind of look in his eyes, but Dew's too pissed off to pick it apart for some semblance of meaning.

He sits in the box, wiping sweat and blood from his face on the towel handed to him. Watches the replay on the big screen. How he fell to the ice in glorious, humiliating slo-mo.

Dewdrop decides it then. He hates Swiss Truppe with every fucking fiber of his being.

Admittedly, Dew's been into it, but would rather die than admit it out loud. But after all of this? Swiss isn't going to get what he wants that easily.

Dew fumes for the rest of the game, arms crossed over his chest during the first intermission. The physical trainer appraises him as good to keep playing, and that's all Dew really cares about. He tries to keep his anger in the back of his mind, save it for later and keep it from affecting his performance. He's a professional, for fuck's sake. Aether's voice reminding him for the seventeenth t he's a hockey player, not a boxer, echoes in his head. He can be level-headed. Cool, calm, and collected. Dew takes a deep breath.

Unfortunately for Dew, Swiss's smug, holier-than-thou expression is burned into his mind and it pisses him off.

When the buzzer calls the game, Dew's one of the last players off the ice. Aether claps him on the back in the tunnel as they make their way back to the locker rooms. "You did great tonight," he praises, but Dew barely hears it.

He has to bite his lip to keep from making a noise. Aether's hand landed right where Swiss's last punch did. Dew swallows hard, nudges his shoulder into Aether's. "So did you, that powerplay shutdown was great," he laughs, praying Aether doesn't hear the sharp edge in his voice.

Anticipation settles deep in his gut, mixing with the residual anger and frustration and turning into the low burn of arousal. Aether doesn't need to know about that.

Dew only gets in the shower after everyone else has left. He takes a deep breath as the pipes creak, slowly filling the space with steam as he strips down, piling his clothes on the shelf outside the shower stall. The water feels good on his sore muscles, the bruises certainly forming across his face.

He carefully washes off the rest of the blood crusted around his nostrils, hissing with sensitivity as the tender flesh stings. Dew knows the clock is ticking, quickly rinsing the rest of the sweat from his hair and skin.

Dew does not jump when he feels two big hands clamp onto his waist, thank you very much. They're so big that they nearly wrap all the way around, thumbs at the small of his back. He's shoved bodily towards the shower walls, and the anger banking in his gut rakes back up into roaring flames.

"Hey, spitfire," Swiss croons, and Dew twists to face him, snarling like something wild. He shoves hard again, Dew's back slamming against the cold tile wall. Dew at least has the satisfaction of seeing the mottled bruise forming across his left cheek, spilling down across his jaw.

"Fuck off," he spits, shoving back at Swiss's shoulders. He doesn't quite have the leverage he needs, and Swiss laughs as he's only pushed back a few inches into the spray. The water beats down on them, plastering Swiss's dark curls to his forehead.

"Thought I beat the fight out of you," he says, digging his fingers into pale skin. He presses painfully hard against Dew's hipbones, and he snarls again to cover the yelp of pain he wants to let out.

"Takes more than five punches to do that, jackass. You should fucking know better than that by now."

He shrugs, shoving Dew back against the ceramic and looming over him. He shoves a solid thigh between Dew's, nothing but cruel pressure. He flashes that stupid fucking infuriating grin, laughing in disbelief. "Putting up such a fight like you don't want this, and you're already hard," he mocks, digging into the metaphorical bruise as he presses his thigh harder. "Come on, spitfire, all you gotta do is say the word, and I'll make you feel so good."

Dew pants. The sensation already borders on too much too fast, despite the way his cock throbs against the solid muscle.

Any other night, exhausted and sore, he might be more likely to roll over and let Swiss have his way with the softness of his underbelly. Tonight though? After being beaten and dragged to the ice and pinned down in front of the entire arena? Dew's not feeling that submissive.

He shoots a hand up and grabs under Swiss's jaw, fingers digging into his bruised cheek. He shoves Swiss's head back and up. It shoves him back, easing the pressure between his legs. Dew almost mourns the loss.

Almost.

Dew's laughter echoes around the showers as Swiss sputters, water spraying him right in the face. It's cut off by Swiss's hand flying to his throat. He squeezes just hard enough to turn his laugh to a wheeze.

"Aww, peewee couldn't stay on his skates and now he's mad," Swiss mocks, voice childish and lips pursed with the force of Dew's grip. "Ice is swippery."

Dew sees red. He digs his blunt nails into the bruise on Swiss's cheek, pushing harder and harder on the outside of where he bit his cheek during the fight. The grunt the taller man lets out goes straight to his dick, but he ignores it. His other hand flies to Swiss's side, to where the other hit Dew had landed. He hopes it's tender. Dew didn't get a chance to see if that one had bruised before he had been shoved to the wall.

Swiss grunts. His eyes squeeze shut, Dew's fingers pressing dimples into his warm brown skin.

"Shut the fuck up, asshole," Dew hisses, eyes narrowing as Swiss lets go of his throat, hands up in surrender.

"Easy, spitfire," Swiss says, trying to look down at Dew from the angle he's forced his head back.

"Don't you dare 'easy, spitfire' me," Dew spits, squeezing harder. "I'm sick and fucking tired of you thinking that I'm just going to roll over like a fucking dog because you push me around. Newsflash, jackass, I can do that too."

Swiss tries to wrench his head free, but Dew pushes his head back until he can see the tendons straining with the stretch, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Dew realizes with giddy delight that Swiss is nervous. "Let go of me and I'll make it real good for you," Swiss says, words still mumbled through pursed lips.

Dew laughs, pushing. Swiss steps back, foot slipping on the slick tile, some tacky teal pattern. His eyes flash wide and he scrabbles at Dew's shoulders seeking stability. "Yeah? You'll make it good for me?" Dew snaps, using Swiss's loss of balance to spin them around with ease.

Swiss skids on the tile, grunting as his back slams into the shower wall with a heavy thud. Dew doesn't relent his grip, glaring daggers at him.

"I don't need you to make it good for me. I can do that myself, my hand's just as good as you," Dew snaps, pushing harder and harder at Swiss's jaw, pinning his head to the tile. "Fucking better, even. What I need you to do, Swiss, is to fucking listen to me for once in your goddamn life. Kneel."

Swiss sputters, shoving wet curls off of his forehead and pushing forward into Dew's grip. He doesn't seem to care that he's choking himself. "Why the hell'd I listen to you?" he snaps, the fire coming back into his eyes.

Dew glances down lightning quick, smirking. "Because I'll make it good for you," he coos, throwing his words right back at him. "You're so hard, that looks like it hurts."

Swiss snarls, a big hand wrapping around Dew's wrist like he means to wrench himself free. Dew just smirks. His other hand presses hard into the mottled bruise forming on Swiss's side, something he'd noticed with glee when he'd glanced between his legs. Swiss's knees buckle, grunting angrily at the pain. It gives Dew enough leverage to shove him back against the wall. His head hits the wall a little harder than he meant to, but he's too angry to give a shit.

"You're fighting this like you don't want me to make you cum," Dew growls, the hand still grabbing Swiss's face pulling down. "Get on your knees."

"Fine. I'll indulge you." Swiss goes with it, glaring hard as he drops to one knee and then both, sinking below Dew's eye line. It's rare Dew gets to look down at him like this. It's nice. He could get used to this, even if the scowl on Swiss's face isn't quite the expression he wants to see.

"You're not going to indulge me," Dew says, finally letting go of Swiss's face. "You're going to behave for once in your fucking life."

Swiss sneers up at him, baring all of his too-white teeth. Dew doesn't have time to react before he's lunging forward. A burst of white-hot pain shoots through him.

"Fuck!" Dew yells, echoing around the showers. If any one of his teammates were still in the locker room, he's sure they'd have heard it. He grabs a handful of soaking wet curls and shoves Swiss's head back violently. He hits the wall, and he snarls at the impact.

Dew glances down at the bitemark on his hip, already red and angry and throbbing with his pulse. He swears he can count Swiss's fucking teeth embedded into his skin. "You piece of fucking shit! I was going to let you cum, but you went and fucked that up for yourself."

Swiss, for what it's worth, stays on his knees. There's a dazed, almost surprised look in his eyes, and Dew grins wildly. "How's it feel?" he sneers, tightening his grip in Swiss's hair. "Lookin' up at me for a change."

Swiss yanks back, pulling at the hand in his hair and hitting the tile wall with a thud. Clarity comes back to his eyes, steeling and turning dark. "Don't make a habit of this, spitfire. Think you're all high and mighty?"

Dew leans down, not loosening his grip in his curls. He gets so close that the bridges of their noses press together uncomfortably. "Oh, no, not at all. I just think you need to be put in your fucking place."

Swiss tries to lunge and bite again, but Dew intercepts him with a filthy kiss, licking at the roof of Swiss's mouth. He feels more than hears Swiss groan, the water still pouring down over them in a rush, the pipes protesting as steam floods the room.

"Here's the plan, spitfire," Dew snarls as he pulls back. "You're going to stay right here, and it's my turn. I've had a rough game. I deserve a little relief. And what'dya know? I got somebody fucking desperate for me right here. Now, if that's not true, the floor's yours. Speak up or hold your peace."

Dew's grin only twists wider as Swiss, for once in the entire time Dew has ever known him, stays quiet. He splutters, blinking water out of his eyes, but doesn't protest.

"Damn, if I had known you were this desperate to be a fucking slut, I would have gotten you on your knees ages ago," Dew says, shoving his wet hair out of his face. "Picks fights to turn himself on and doesn't care how he gets off, doesn't he? You'd fucking let me do anything I wanted to you as long as I made that dick cum."

Swiss spits out more water, growling as Dew yanks at his hair, twisting his head this way and that. "I'm playing nice, Dew," he snaps. "What do you want from me?"

"I think I should give you some rules," Dew says, leaning back and letting his gaze rake down Swiss's chest, the way droplets of water cling to his chest hair. "I mean. If you don't break them the way you break the rules out there. All of the cross checking and slashing and roughing. Tsk. Dunno how you're worth anything to your coach, you spend more time in the box than doing your job."

Swiss stares up at him, chest heaving as he pulls against Dew's unyielding grip in his hair. He snarls at the pain, panting even though he hasn't really been touched yet. His cock rests hard against one of his thick thighs, precum dripping and mixing with the water as it's washed away and down the drain. "I'll follow rules," he pants. "I promise I'll follow the rules."

Dew barks out a laugh, the sound bouncing around the tile.

"Don't talk. That's it. Just one rule," Dew snarls, leaning down until his forehead is pressed against Swiss's. "Do you think you can handle that much?"

"Yeah, I can handle that. I can be good. Please, I can be good," Swiss says, a pleading tone in his voice that Dew's never heard before. He wouldn't mind hearing it again. But-

"Damn, you really are a whore," Dew laughs. "All I need to do is pull you around a little bit and you're already fucking begging. Taste of your own medicine, huh? I just fucking told you the rule, dumbass. Don't fucking talk."

Swiss blinks, his jaw clenched tight as his eyes widen. Dew pulls at the fistful of curls and laughs as Swiss winces.

"Yeah, that's right, you dumb slut. One fucking rule, and you don't last five fucking seconds before you're running your big mouth." Dew crouches down, his other hand grabbing Swiss's jaw, digging into the bruised skin. "Don't worry, spitfire. I can help you. I'm a good guy, let me help you follow the one fucking rule I set. Your mouth's good for other things than talking, I'd bet that much."

Swiss's pupils blow dark and glassy, and he groans, leaning into Dew's hand. He nods. Dew grins, something glinting in the sharp blue of his eyes.

Swiss looks good on his knees. Dew can't deny it. Swiss looks even better when he's stunned.

He reels from the slap across his already bruised face, a sharp grunt escaping him, but he looks back at Dew, expectant. For what, Dew's not sure. Another slap? Another reprimand? Another order?

Dew stands, scoffing at the dumb look in Swiss's eye. "Open your mouth, Swiss."

Swiss finally breaks eye contact, gaze dropping to the sharp lines of Dew's hip, where his cock juts out proud and ruddy. He hesitates longer than Dew allows him. Dew reaches down and gives himself a few pumps.

"I said, open your fucking mouth."

Swiss shudders, letting his jaw fall open. He stares up at Dew, shifting on his knees. Tentatively, he reaches up and curls his hands around Dew's thighs, fingertips just barely dimpling the skin.

The room spins as Dew gets a glance of pink tongue. Shiny and wet with spit and the water running down his face. Dew takes himself in hand, squeezing the base. A bead of pre forms at the tip.

Dew pulls at Swiss's hair again, adjusting the angle of his head like he's just a toy for Dew to get off with. "Oh, one more thing."

Swiss blinks up at him, mouth open obediently. The tip of Dew's cock is mere inches away from his lips.

"If you even fucking think about touching yourself, I'm fucking leaving you here and getting off myself," Dew snaps. He doesn't give Swiss a moment to respond before he's shoving in.

Swiss gags, his eyes going wide at the intrusion. Dew pulls him further down until his nose is buried in sparse brown curls. Despite his shock, Swiss moans, lips sealed around the base of Dew's cock.

"Mmm, that's good," Dew groans, holding him down. Dew's a solid mouthful, though not as big as Swiss himself, but he's enough to struggle on. He squeezes his eyes shut, tipping his head back and letting the water wash over his face.

Swiss squeezes hard at his thighs, his throat working frantically around Dew's cock as he holds him down.

Dew pulls him off, and Swiss wheezes, coughing as oxygen rushes his system. "Fuck," he sputters, shifting on the wet tile. He tries to shake the water out of his face, the shower still pouring down over them.

Dew glances down, a wicked grin on his face as he sees Swiss get harder in his lap. "Damn, you're a whore," he taunts, nudging a bony shin between Swiss's thighs, nudging at his cock. He watches Swiss's too white teeth dig into his bottom lip at the touch. "Nope, nuh-uh, keep your mouth open."

It's addicting how quickly Swiss obeys. It makes Dew's head spin, or maybe it's just the hot water making his skin turn ruddy. Or is it just the heat of Swiss's mouth? Dew doesn't know, and he frankly couldn't care less.

He sets a fast pace, both of his hands settling on the sides of Swiss's head, fingers dug into his curls as he drags him up and down the length of his cock. Each pull punches a wet, choked noise from Swiss's throat.

The sound of the rushing water isn't close to enough to cover the obscene noises they're making. Dew groans each time the head of his cock pushes down Swiss's throat, the muscles working and squeezing around it.

"Fuck, that's it, just let me use you," Dew rambles as he shoves Swiss's head down. His lips seal around the base, tongue rubbing the vein along the underside as he finds out how Dew likes it.

Swiss groans, hollowing his cheeks and glancing up through thick, dark lashes. To Dew's delighted surprise, he's actually quite obedient with his mouth full. He hasn't made a single move to try and touch himself, hands still on Dew's thighs, squeezing the muscle as he tries to keep himself grounded.

"See, I knew you could behave," Dew snarls, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. Swiss gags hard, brown eyes wide as blunt fingernails dig into Dew's skin. "Such a good boy with a cock in your throat, huh?"

Swiss can't answer. He groans, trying to suck harder as Dew manhandles him.

Dew throws his head back as the vibrations race up his spine, shorting out his nerves. "Dunno why I haven't done this before," he grunts, pulling Swiss back until only the tip is in his mouth. Dutifully, or a little drunk on it, Swiss sucks on it, tonguing at the slit like it's candy. "Your mouth is fucking sin, Swiss."

Swiss inhales wetly, struggling to keep his eyes open as the shower keeps pouring over them. The noise he makes when he tastes Dew's pre goes straight to his balls. As does the slick pop when he pulls out of Swiss's mouth completely.

Even as Swiss sucks in a breath, he almost whines, sharp and desperate. "What- No- Let me-"

"One fucking rule!" Dew roars, eyes burning like blue flame. "Shut your fucking mouth! It's not that fucking hard!"

Swiss's chest heaves as he leans back, letting the back of his head rest against the tile. Water washes over him, and he shuts his eyes.

Dew can't lie to himself. Swiss is a fucking vision, even disheveled and debauched. Still a little bit of blood crusted in the places the water hasn't hit. Bruised but with a light in his eyes that still refuses to be completely broken down.

"Do you know how many times you've made a mess of me, Swiss?" Dew asks, carding his spindly fingers through Swiss's soaked curls. Swiss almost preens into the touch.

He, very wisely, keeps his mouth shut, panting through his nose.

"I think I should return the favor, huh? Would you like that?" Dew taunts, keeping himself just out of range of Swiss's mouth. "For me to just use you the way you've been using me, and just leave you when I'm done? I think that's still too good for you. Open your mouth, tongue out."

It makes Dew's head spin to see how quickly Swiss obeys. Eyes glassy and tear filled, black instead of brown, tongue a shock of pink against his swollen bottom lip. Dew's quick to slap the tip of his cock against it. Both of them groan obscenely at the sound, Swiss's eyes fluttering shut before flying back open, his own cock kicking hard against his thigh.

The pang of lust that shoots through Dew at the sight makes him let go of himself, afraid he'll spill if he doesn't. He steadies himself for just a moment before he takes himself back in hand, squeezing the base hard before stroking himself furiously. He laughs when Swiss licks his swollen bottom lip and whines. A grown man, on his knees whining for cock. Dew makes sure to let him know just how fucking pathetic he's being.

Dew bites his lip hard enough to bleed, his other hand bracing himself against the shower wall. "You look so fucking good like this, fucking slut. What're you playing hockey for when this is clearly what you were meant for?"

Swiss's eyes flutter up, showing Dew the whites as he groans. His own dick visibly throbs against his thigh, and his hands loosen their grip on Dew.

"Good slut, following the rule," Dew coos sarcastically, twisting his wrist at the head of his dick and hissing through his teeth as the bolt of pleasure zips through him. "You want it? You gonna be good and make me cum?"

Swiss locks eyes with him, shifting on his undoubtedly sore knees with the slightest wince. He opens his mouth to speak but seems to remember himself; his jaw snaps shut with a click of teeth that must hurt. Swiss nods instead, shaking droplets of water from his hair with the franticness of it.

Dew laughs, hips stuttering into his own hand. The water is a poor lubricant, Swiss's spit and his own pre a little better. "I'll fight you every game if it means I get to have you like this after," Dew confesses, lust making his head spin in ways he's not sure if he likes or not. "Let you beat me into the ice if you get on your knees like a whore in penance."

Swiss doubles forward like he's been punched in the gut; Dew can feel the hot puffs of breath against his thigh, Swiss's forehead pressed to the bitemark he'd left on Dew's hip. It's still throbbing in time with his pulse. Dew bets it'll bruise. Just another mark Swiss has left on him.

Dew's knuckles brush past the bruise darkening Swiss's cheek, and he yelps as Dew speeds up his hand. "Oh, you poor thing," he coos, grunting as his hips buck forward into his own hand. It presses the line of his hipbone into him. "So fucking desperate, behaving so well for once in your life. If only you were like this out there, Swiss. Lower my fucking blood pressure."

Swiss bites his lip hard, eyes darting upward like he's looking for permission. For what, Dew's not sure. All he knows is that there's tension growing tighter and tighter at the very core of him, balls beginning to draw up closer to his body, and Swiss is at his feet begging wordlessly and it's doing something to his brain.

Dew shuts his eyes, grunting as he palms the head of his cock, ruddy and practically dripping pre onto Swiss's shoulder. The shower makes quick work of it, which is a complete and utter shame, considering what Dew wants to do to him.

His eyes fly open when he feels something hot and wet on his hip, right over where Swiss dug his teeth into him.

Staring down, Dew feels his stomach swoop as he locks eyes with Swiss, only a thin ring of brown visible around his pupils. He stares up through thick, dark lashes as he licks over the bite. If Dew didn't know any better, he'd say he almost looked apologetic.

The knot in his core tightens almost painfully, and Dew's eyes go wide. His hand never stops moving on his cock. "Fuck, shit, Swiss, gonna fucking make you look like the whore you are, lean back, look at me," Dew rambles, not caring about how desperation seeps into his tone, his hand moving slick over his cock.

Swiss doesn't react as quickly as Dew wants. Once again, his free hand grabs at his hair, wrenching him back from where he's laving attention over where he imprinted his own teeth into Dew's skin.

"Fucking- ugh- look at me, you asshole," Dew grunts as his balls draw up tight to his body, cock pulsing in his hand as he wrings an orgasm out of himself. Swiss flinches as the first rope of cum hits him right between the eyes.

Dew laughs, broken into a moan as he works himself through it, splattering as much mess as he can across Swiss's bruised face.

Swiss lets his mouth fall open, pink tongue lolling out. His eyes roll back when a rope of cum lands right on it, groaning loudly at the bitter, salty taste. Dew swears he feels his balls pulse at the sound.

Dew works himself through it until he starts to wince from oversensitivity, grunting and cursing the whole way through. Swiss doesn't stay as debauched as Dew'd like, even as he tries to maneuver Swiss's face out of the direct spray of the shower, the hot water finally starting to peter out.

They stare at each other, panting and chests heaving, for several long moments as Dew catches his breath. His eyes drag down Swiss's body, down the trail of coarse, dark hair that leads straight to his cock, leaking steadily onto his thigh.

Dew clicks his tongue and cocks his head. "Well, I have to admit you were a good boy," Dew shrugs, shifting his weight forward to toe absentmindedly at the head of Swiss's cock.

He yelps at the sudden stimulation, hips jerking forward instinctively. His mouth opens and closes like he wants to say something, but isn't quite sure if Dew's rule is still in place.

Dew pretends not to notice, staring down at him and feigning disinterest. "You've, for the most part, followed the rule, and you made me cum. I suppose I should let you get off too."

Swiss's eyes light up, breath hitching. He shakes the water fruitlessly out of his curls, and Dew rolls his eyes as his hands flex on his thighs, not sure of what to do with them.

Dew nudges his shin further between Swiss's thighs. "You wanna get off so bad?" Dew mocks as Swiss's hips rut forward once before he manages to keep them still. "You did sneak in here to get your dick wet." Dew glances up at the shower head and snorts at his own joke. "I know you can move those hips. Hump."

"O-oh, fuck," Swiss whispers, softly but trembling. Dew can't bring himself to call him out on his transgression. He rocks his hips forward with a groan, forehead pressing into Dew's hipbone as he finds a rhythm.

Dew feels drunk on power, watching the biggest source of his headaches over the last year and a half pathetically humping his leg like a dog. Swiss's big hands curl around his thigh just to hold on. His hips stutter, and he quickly loses the rhythm he'd set, going faster and faster as he grinds his cock against Dew's shin. Dew can feel Swiss's breaths panting against his skin.

"Look at me," Dew coos, sneering down at him. "Fucking pathetic, you know? Getting off like this?" He rolls his eyes when Swiss, a little too lost chasing his own pleasure, doesn't look up or respond in any way.

He pulls at a handful of curls, angling Swiss's head back until he can meet his eyes. "Speak. Beg for me to let you cum."

Dew didn't think it was physically possible for Swiss's pupils to dilate any further. He's proven wrong as he feels Swiss's dick blurt precum against his shin. The shower, getting a little too cold to be comfortable, washes it away.

"Oh fuck, Dew, p-please, Dew let me," Swiss starts. Heat blooms in Dew's chest when he hears just how raspy and used his voice sounds. "I did what you said, I made you cum, please let me cum. Tell me I can. Fuck, thank you for letting me."

Dew grins, a thought floating in the back of his mind. "Are you close?" He asks, cocking his head as he stares down at him.

Swiss pants, chest heaving. "I've been close since you started fucking my throat," Swiss admits. There's no hiding the valiant twitch that Dew's soft cock gives.

"You know what?" Dew says, disinterested. "I suppose you can cum. Just tell me when."

Swiss's eyes go wide, and his hips redouble. "'M really close," he pants, tongue licking at the corner of his mouth where a smear of Dew's cum hadn't been washed away yet.

Dew can feel his cock stiffen impossibly harder, his balls start to draw up against the top of his foot where his leg is shoved between his thighs. He locks eyes with Swiss, blue burning into brown. "Cum."

Swiss's eyes roll back into his head, a stuttering grunt falling from his lips as he falls over the edge. Dew's mouth quirks up as he wrenches his leg away, stepping back as he watches horrified realization fill Swiss's expression.

"Oh fuck, Dew, no!" Swiss tries to reach for himself, but Dew swats his hand away as his dick pulses, dripping cum pathetically, orgasm hitting but nowhere near satisfying.

"I said you could cum, not that I'd let it be good for you. Taste of your own medicine, you annoying son of a bitch," Dew scoffs, grinning. The water is ice cold.

Dew gives Swiss one more once over; shaking as the ruined orgasm courses through him, hand outstretched as Dew steps back, soaking wet and still covered with a little blood and cum despite the shower's best efforts to wash away all the evidence.

He turns to grab his clothes, giving Swiss one last glance. "Suppose I'll see you next game."

Dew vanishes out of the showers, leaving Swiss on his bruised knees staring after him.

#i have been working on this fic on and off since i heard wonderful nothing for the first time at the end of july #thank you mal for helping me with swiss's last name. so much better than what i was going to go with lmao #i did also think it would be funny to drop a full fic in the middle of ghostober and i refuse to let hockey au die.#dot's writing #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #hockey au #swiss/dewdrop #swiss/dew #ghostober 2024 #ghostober #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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