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mandalhoerian · 11 hours

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sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 5 (finale)

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pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but to the chance of one last glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 25K of pure smut

warnings:. here we go... sexual roleplay, submissive leon, light dom/sub, masturbation, kinda body worship, catharsis through sex, role reversal and we shift to soft dom leon, sex education, body exploration, cunnilingus, fingering, intercrural sex, degradation kink, leon tweaks again and goes full dom, vaginal orgasm training, corruption kink, marking kink, edging, overstimulation, dacryphilia, possesive sex, unprotected sex, coming inside. what else? and ooc and fluff. yay!

author's note: we are at the end of my very first multi-chaptered xreader work, thank you so much for bearing with me while i was tormented by becoming what i hated the most and constantly crying over having to bump up the chapter count. to think this was supposed to be a two-shot... special thanks goes to @chesue00 for starting this madness. this plot and pre-written snippets already existed inspired by her art before i reached out to her, but i still can't believe i've come this far since publishing this on september 14th... insane. this is what dopamine and a little attention does to a girl 😭 please look forward to the masterlist because i have to make one now with how long this is....

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

It's a heady feeling, having this strong, powerful man kneeling before you, his muscular body on display for you, undivided attention fixed on yours with a mixture of desire and trepidation. You run a hand through his hair, enjoying the silky softness of it despite being wet, and he leans into your touch, glazed eyes going out of focus for a moment. Your own heart speeds up at how his mouth falls open, panting, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving them glistening invitingly.

It dawns on you that you don't know what you're doing right now. Are you trying to prove a point, or are you just indulging in your own fantasy? Is it okay to do this to Leon? You've had many men on their knees in a completely different context devoid of this kind of intimacy, whether it be for healing, blessing, or for sineating. All for the sake of helping them, with the holy light of Ethelion running through your veins, flowing to the believers. This isn't anything like that, but it can be. You can make this a blessing, for him to heal from the self-loathing he seems to be suffering from. That is, if he'll let you help him...

"Are you okay with this?" you ask, and he nods immediately, eagerly.

"Yes," he breathes, his gaze fixed on your face, drinking in every detail, committing them to memory as though it's the most precious gift he's ever been given, even though you haven't even started doing anything. Leon's gaze flickers down to your towel-covered lap and back up to yours.

"You can say no anytime you want," you remind him gently, stroking his hair once more, and he leans into your touch again, this time with a contented sigh. His eyelids flutter shut and open again languidly as if in slow motion, and when he looks at you, there is something different about him. The tension seems to have melted away, leaving behind a man who seems... almost peaceful? It's a startling contrast from earlier, when he seemed like a caged animal ready to lash out at anything within reach, and it makes your heart ache unexpectedly at how beautiful he looks like this.

"I want to do this," he says firmly, no trace of hesitation or doubt evident anywhere within those oceanic depths staring straight into yours without wavering even once. "Please."

"Okay," you reply, nodding in agreement, because how can you deny him this when he asks so sweetly? You tug at his shirt lightly. "Then take this off, Sir Leon."

His fingers move deftly over his shirt's buttons, undoing them one by one until he shrugs it off his broad shoulders easily enough before letting it fall to the floor behind him.

Your gaze trails over every ridge and dip on his bare torso, taking in all the marks left behind after years of battles fought against foes both seen and unseen by others besides himself; some faint silver lines barely noticeable beneath tanned complexion while others remain angry red welts raised thickly above otherwise unblemished flesh. There are several long slashes across his abdomen that must have been painful when received judging by how jagged their edges are where they healed incorrectly. A particularly nasty gash just below his collarbone stands out amongst the rest due to its length stretching almost entirely around the side of his ribcage, and disappearing beneath his arm. Another smaller but deeper cut runs along his hip bone leading downward towards his navel area.

He hasn't received the temple's healing because of his oathbreaker status.

It gives you an idea.

Since he's comfortable within the bubble of kneeling before you as the saintess and reverting back to the holy paladin that he was, then you'll play along and offer him a 'blessing'.

You lean forward, your breath ghosting over the scar on his collarbone, and press a light kiss there. His skin is warm and salty, and you can feel his pulse pounding under your lips. "By the power blessed by Ethelion, I will heal you, his devout and faithful knight," you whisper against his skin, letting the holy words roll off your tongue.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your words, his entire body tensing beneath you. Then he relaxes again, his head tilting back just a tad as he gives himself over to your touch.

Kissing seems to have pleased him, but your vantage point on the bed isn't exactly ideal to reach the rest of his body. "On the bed," you order him softly. "Lay on your back."

He does so immediately, scrambling up onto the bed and settling himself on the center of the mattress. He looks so vulnerable like this, spread out before you, and you can't help but marvel at the sight of him. You take a moment to drink it in—the way his muscles shift beneath his skin with every movement, the slight sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily through parted lips.

He looks up at you, and his gaze is full of longing and anticipation. You feel a rush of power go through you as you realize just how much control you have over him right now. It's intoxicating.

"Stay still, Sir Leon," you command. "My blessing won't work if you move." And then you're crawling onto the bed with him, straddling his thighs, feeling them tense beneath your legs at the contact. You can feel him hard and hot even through his pants and your towel, pressing insistently against you. The sensation sends a jolt straight to your core and leaves you aching for something more that you don't know the name of.

You trail the path of the previous wound you kiss with the tips of your fingers, featherlight touches that make him shiver. Then you lean down and kiss it again, letting your lips linger this time. He sucks in a shaky breath when your tongue flicks out to taste the salt on his skin.

Acting entirely on instinct to keep pleasing him, you move lower, trailing kisses along his shoulder, down his chest, stopping to lick and suck at his nipples. His hands fist in the sheets as he struggles to keep them still, his breathing becoming increasingly erratic.

You move lower still, tracing the lines of his abs with your tongue, dipping into the indentations between each one. He moans softly when you nip at the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his pants. His hips jerk upward, seeking friction against yours, and you have to bite back a moan of your own at the feeling.

"Saintess," he whispers desperately, his hands flexing in their grip on the sheets like he wants nothing more than to touch you but is holding himself back somehow.

"Stay still, my paladin. My blessing isn't finished," you remind him, and he falls silent, biting his bottom lip hard enough that it looks painful. He throws his head back, giving you a sensual look at his throat and the underside of his chin.

You can kiss there as well, you realize, and do so, kissing his chin and jaw, then moving down the column of his throat until you reach the hollow where it meets his collarbones again. His pulse flutters wildly under your ministrations as you continue exploring every inch of him within reach like this: licking here and sucking there, nibbling gently along the way. Your hand rests flat on his pectorals and stomach alternatively, feeling how rock-solid every muscle is underneath his smooth, somewhat sweaty skin, and reveling on the occasional shudders rippling through his body that he can't suppress.

He gasps and whines when you pay extra attention to one spot or another that seems to be especially sensitive or ticklish for him, and his reactions encourage you further. You're enjoying every second of this—exploring his body like a map only you have access to right now—learning what makes him squirm beneath you and what gets those interesting little noises he's holding back loose.

By the time you reach his navel again, he's panting hard enough that he's practically wheezing with every exhale, his entire body trembling finely like a plucked bowstring being tuned tighter than ever before. And yet somehow he manages to remain motionless throughout it all except for the occasional twitch or jerk here and there.

You spend several long moments lavishing attention on his abdomen area alone as you're planning how to go along with this. Your knowledge on sexual matters is scarce since the church was always very particular in what kind of information they allowed the Saintess to access, and the directions given for your wedding night consisted of laying back and letting Leon do his duty on you. Which ended up being useless, and now you have to navigate this on your own. It's thrilling and scary at the same time, but you're determined to see this through.

You decide to try something daring then: sliding down between his legs until you're kneeling on either side of them instead. This puts you face-to-face—or rather face-to-crotch—with his erection straining against his pants. It's hot even through layers of fabric separating it from your skin, and you find yourself staring at it curiously while trying not to think about its size too much before your nerves fail you completely.

"Saintess," he says again hoarsely after what feels like forever spent just staring at him without really doing anything else besides hesitating. There's an unspoken question hanging in the air between the two of you—a silent request for permission perhaps?—but he doesn't ask outright and neither do you answer because truthfully speaking neither of you know what exactly needs to happen next either. "May I remove these?" he pleads, tugging on the waistband of said pants ever so slightly, hinting on what he wants to do next.

It's strange how much more sexual hearing him calling you that title has become when it used to sound so reverent, and now it almost sounds dirty somehow. You find that you like it quite a lot.

Getting an idea to teach yourself a thing or two going forward, you sit back on your heels, careful not to let your towel ride up too far, and nod. "I want you to show me how you please yourself," you order, watching him with rapt attention, your face flushing at your own boldness, and at the fact that you're about to see a man naked and aroused for the first time in your life. "I will bless your body, but I need to see it first."

He lets out a shivering breath as if he'd been holding it in for ages before finally moving again. He lifts his hips off the mattress enough to push his trousers down over them, exposing himself fully before you—his cock standing proud and tall amidst a nest of dark curls at its base—and you can't help but admire how beautiful he looks like this: all long limbs splayed across rumpled bed sheets, skin stretched tautly over chiseled muscle, broad shoulders flexing beneath your gaze...

But then your attention zeroes in on his cock, and your previous thought about its size comes back tenfold as you stare wide-eyed and wonderstruck at its length jutting upwards towards his stomach, thick veins running along its shaft disappearing beneath smooth skin covering its tip almost completely except for a small slit where a bead of clear liquid glistens invitingly under candlelight. You've seen illustrations of male genitalia during your anatomy studies, but those were all very clinical and sterile-looking. This is anything but clinical or sterile; this is raw and primal and utterly fascinating.

His hand wraps around its girth tentatively at first—almost shyly almost—as though unsure whether he should touch himself like this with someone else present even if they asked him explicitly beforehand. You reach forward and place your hand on the head of his cock, the little bead of liquid smearing onto your palm. It's slick and warm against your skin, and you can't stop yourself from rubbing it in circles over his heated flesh experimentally, marveling at its velvety texture, until he sucks in a sharp breath and his hips buck forward seemingly of their own accord.

You immediately withdraw, not wanting to get ahead of yourself and ruin everything by rushing things. "Confess, Sir Leon. You'll only be blessed if you do. Do you imagine anything at all when you're usually doing this to yourself?"

"I–I think about you," he blurts softly between short breaths, his hand gripping tighter around his cock as he begins slowly moving it up and down its length, hissing through his teeth when his palm brushes past the head, which seems to be the sensitive part. "I've dreamt about this ever since the day I met you, Saintess..."

"And what happens in these dreams?" you press further, your curiosity getting the better of you despite knowing full well that you shouldn't pry too much into someone else's private thoughts like this. But it feels so good to hear him talk like this—to know that he desires you even half as much as you desire him—that you just can't bring yourself to stop him from continuing any further.

"In some... I worship you, body and soul," he groans, his hand starting to pick up speed as he strokes himself faster, his hips rising to meet each downward stroke halfway, his breathing becoming ragged and shallow as he speaks, his words coming out in short bursts interspersed with low grunts and hisses of pleasure, "I lick your nethers until you cry from pleasure, and when you can't handle it any longer, I fill you up."

The mental image of him between your legs makes you throb between them, and you squirm unconsciously, pressing your legs together.

To reward him, you lay your hands on his thighs, marveling at how they tense and flex beneath your palms, before sliding up to his hips and then settling on his lower abdomen. You splay your fingers across his stomach and push down, feeling his muscles ripple beneath your touch as he thrust upwards into his fist again. It's a promise you'll do more if he keeps talking.

"In others, you're still back at the temple, and... I break my vows, and I take you to a secluded corner, and have my way with you," he continues, his free hand reaching down to cradle yours gently against his skin while the other keeps pumping steadily away at, and you closely pay attention to how he pleases himself. "Sometimes I dream of taking you in the gardens, sometimes in the baths, and sometimes even at the altar... I dream that you're begging for me, and I have to keep quiet because if anyone hears us... we'll be punished. So I kiss you to muffle your cries."

You swallow hard at the thought of him kissing you like that, imagining what it would feel like to have him pressing his lips against yours like this, tasting him on your tongue as he ravages you completely...

"Do you... do you dream of me doing that to you now, Sir Leon?" you manage to croak out after a few moments spent lost in thought.

He lets out another shuddering breath as his hand slows down considerably until it's barely moving anymore, his cock twitching visibly beneath his grip, his face flushed with desire as he stares up at you from underneath long lashes damp with sweat. His mouth falls open just a touch, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before disappearing back inside again, and he nods wordlessly.

You lay down on the mattress beside him, and lean in close to him until you can smell the scent of his arousal mixed with his natural musk filling your nostrils—it smells earthy and spicy like freshly cut grass after rain mingling with something else entirely unique to him alone—and you breathe it in deeply before letting it fill your lungs entirely. Then you lean even closer still until your forehead rests lightly atop his shoulder, your nose grazing lightly across his collarbone as you inhale again deeply, taking in more of his scent as though trying to commit it permanently within memory.

"Let me bless you with that, then," you whisper in his ear, and then press your own lips to his.

It's soft and tentative at first—a simple sweep of skin upon skin—but when he doesn't pull away immediately, you press harder, doing whatever feels right; nibbling at his lower lip and sucking it between your teeth, licking along the seam where his lips meet, tasting him fully, feeling him shiver beneath your touch as he moans into your mouth, his hips jerking upwards into his hand once again as he resumes stroking himself faster than ever before.

Remembering that the head was the sensitive part and he liked you touching there, you reach down and cup it in your palm, rubbing it in circular motions, and he groans louder this time, his cock throbbing hard against your fingers, more liquid coming out to slicken the movement.

Something slimy slips into your mouth, and it takes a moment for you to realize that it's his tongue invading past your lips and teeth, seeking entrance further within. It feels strange—odd but not unpleasant—to have another person's tongue exploring inside of you like this, and you find yourself responding instinctively to him taking the lead, opening up wider for him to delve deeper inside of you, meeting his every stroke with one of your own. You're completely inexperienced, but he doesn't seem to care, instead seeming to enjoy teaching you what he likes.

You're both panting heavily now, gasping for air every so often in between fervent kisses, the sounds of flesh against flesh growing louder and louder alongside the wet friction of his hand stroking furiously away at his cock and yours rubbing insistently atop it. He breaks off from the kiss with a guttural growl, throwing his head back against the pillows, exposing his neck which you immediately latch onto, kissing and nibbling along his jugular vein, feeling it pulse wildly beneath your lips, tasting salt on his skin as you suckle lightly there.

"Saintess!" he cries out desperately as his hips start jerking erratically beneath you, his hand pumping frantically faster than ever before, and you know he's close by the way his cock twitches violently within his grasp, his balls tightening up against his body as he approaches climax.

"Perfect, you're doing perfect," you coo, and completely losing yourself in how beautiful the sight of his head thrown back is, you take your free hand and wrap it around his throat, feeling his pulse quicken even further beneath your fingertips as he sucks in a sharp breath through flaring nostrils. You don't squeeze, just hug the sides of his muscular neck, but the effect it has on him is immediate and dramatic: his entire body stiffens up like a bowstring drawn taut, every muscle tensing rigidly beneath you.

"Release, and be blessed," you order, and with one final cry, he does exactly that. Thick ropes spurt forth from the tip of his cock and splatter across both your stomachs and the sheets beneath him, coating everything in their path with sticky white fluid. His hips keep thrusting upwards into his fist for several more seconds after the last spurt has been expelled from his cock, until finally, his body relaxes completely under yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each ragged breath he draws in, his cock slowly beginning to soften within his grip.

You release his throat and press your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in and enjoying the scent of his skin mingled with sweat, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath yours, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow down from its frantic pace earlier.

"Ethelion's grace be upon you, Sir Leon," you murmur against his neck, and you hear him exhale shakily beneath you as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, curling around you as though trying to shield you from some unseen danger looming nearby. "I absolve you of your sins."

"Thank you, Saintess," he whispers hoarsely back at you after a few moments spent simply holding each other close like this, neither of you saying anything further aloud but rather communicating everything needed through actions instead of words. It feels nice being held like this—being sheltered within someone else's embrace—and it fills your heart with warmth knowing that he trusts you enough to let himself be vulnerable.

He shifts around underneath you, causing you to lift your head off his chest to check on him, thinking he's uncomfortable in the position you're in, but when you look up at his face, you find him staring intently back down at yours, his gaze soft yet intense all at once.

"Where did you learn all of that?" he asks quietly, an imperceptible, suspicious crinkle between his eyebrows. He’s almost searching for the answer in your face before you can give it to him.

"Learn what?" you ask, puzzled by his question. "I just followed your lead"

"You don't realize what you just did?" He frowns just a touch, looking concerned now instead of curious. "That was…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

"God no," he said quickly, shaking his head. "It was incredible. I've just never had anyone take control like that before. Especially not..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at your position.

"Oh," you reply, feeling somewhat embarrassed now that you realize your actions could have easily been misinterpreted as something more sinister than innocent exploration. You wonder if perhaps you crossed a line somewhere without realizing it earlier. "I hope I wasn't forcing you or anything..."

Leon's hand came up to cup your cheek. "You didn't overstep at all. I loved every second of it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if you asked."

You smile shyly at him before placing a quick peck on his lips, causing him to hum contentedly, his hold around your waist tightening, pulling you closer toward him once again until there is hardly any space left between the two of you at all anymore.

"I'm glad then," you murmur softly against his mouth. "Because I think I liked doing it too."

But there's really this intense pressure between your legs and you think you have to use the chamber pot, so you squirm out of Leon's embrace to do just that. However, as soon as you get off the bed, a gush of liquid comes out of you, and you're terrified thinking that you just wet yourself in front of him. It's not that much to completely have soaked through the towel, and you're able to make it to the washroom without giving anything away to Leon.

You remove your towel and stare at the mess between your legs. But it isn't urine, since the liquid is clear and doesn't stink, and it's thicker, viscous almost. You come to the conclusion that if you did pee yourself then it would feel different than this does right now.

You clean yourself with water and a washcloth, and when you wipe between your legs, you feel that intense pressure again, and you have to sit down to wait to pee this time, but nothing comes out. You try pushing it out, but all that happens is a little bit more of that clear fluid. It's strange, and you're worried about it. You don't remember ever experiencing anything like it before and wonder if perhaps you hurt yourself during your earlier activities or caught a disease somehow, but nothing seems wrong with you otherwise, so you brush it aside for the moment, making a mental note to ask Lady Margaret for advice later when she arrives tomorrow morning. But for now, it's time to get back into bed and cuddle up with Leon again.

You wake up the next morning to find Leon's arm draped across your chest, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and his body pressed up firmly against your back. It's warm and comforting, being held like this, and you can't help but enjoy the sensation of being surrounded by him like a protective cocoon.

His hand moves in a subtle manner, flicking over one of your nipples, and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot straight through you from that simple contact alone, your thighs pressing together as a sudden heat blooms low in your belly. It feels good having his skin touch yours like this, making you want more of him touching even more places elsewhere on your body, especially after he had made his desire for you clear last night. He wants you, and that knowledge sends another thrill through you, leaving you feeling giddy and excited.

He lets out a soft groan behind you as he pulls you closer towards him until that want is pressed firmly up against your buttocks. You can tell he's already hard, his arousal evident even in his sleep, and you can't deny the effect that has on your own growing neediness that goes beyond wanting to touch him like that again. You remember how good it felt last night when you touched him, how much pleasure he gave himself while you watched him do so, and you find yourself wanting to experience that kind of pleasure firsthand now, too.

You've been told that the women don't experience it, that they have to endure it and that's why the temple made the act of coupling such a chore. But you know that itch between your legs isn't going anywhere anytime soon, that it was real yesterday as well, and it felt amazing when you got what little friction you could by moving around. You wonder how to alleviate this feeling without Leon's assistance. Surely there had to be a way to do it by yourself?

But as you try to move away from him to try and see how you can do it, he tightens his hold on you and buries his nose further into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "Don't leave," he mumbles sleepily. His lips brush against the sensitive skin there as he speaks, causing you to shiver involuntarily at the sensation, and you feel his cock throb where it's nestled snugly between the cheeks of your ass.

"Good morning, Leon," you say quietly, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, and you're rewarded by his cock pulsating again, his hips rolling forward against yours instinctively.

"Mmm..." he hums contentedly, nuzzling into your hand. "Morning." His other arm comes up to wrap around your waist and pull you even closer to him, his body seeming to mold perfectly around yours as though the two of you were made for each other. You can't help but sigh happily at the feeling of being held so intimately like this. It feels right somehow, natural even, and you find yourself wanting more of it, wanting to wake up every day like this, safe and secure in his embrace.

But the feeling of his hard shaft rubbing against your backside reminds you that there's something else you need right now, and that thought sends another shiver through you, the heat in your belly flaring brighter than before.

"Leon," you say softly, trying not to let too much of the neediness you're feeling seep into your tone, though you're sure he can feel the tension building inside of you anyway, especially with the way your hips keep twitching backward indiscernibly as though seeking out friction where there is none yet. "Can I ask you for something?"

"Anything," he replies instantly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "Anything at all."

You hesitate briefly before continuing. "Do you know if I can do to myself what you did yesterday?"

He goes completely still behind you, his entire body tensing as he processes what you've just said. Then he lets out a shaky breath, his grip on you loosening partly as rises on his elbow, leaning over to look down at you. His pupils are wide and dark with desire, his face flushed, and his breathing roughly controlled as he gazes into your own half-lidded ones.

"What?" he whispers hoarsely, his throat bobbing visibly as he swallows hard, his eyes darting everywhere on your face. You bite your bottom lip nervously before repeating yourself.

"I want to do what you did yesterday. To myself," you say slowly, carefully enunciating each word so he understands exactly what it is you're asking of him here. "Can I do that? Will it help this...?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin area, unsure how else to phrase it without sounding crude or indecent. "This itch?"

"Fuck."

Your eyebrows shoot all the way up to your hairline when you hear him cursing for the first time in your presence. He's always so respectful that the sudden change is quite jarring.

"Is everything okay?"

He drops his head back to your shoulder and groans quietly in frustration, burying his face into your hair. "You can't ask me things like that," he says in a pained tone.

"Why?" you ask, genuinely confused by his reaction. It seems perfectly reasonable to you given the situation at hand. "You were enjoying yourself, weren't you? I'd like to try it."

"Shit..." He lifts his head again and looks down at you, his expression serious and faintly exasperated. "That's called 'masturbation'. And you can do it. And yes, it will ease that 'itch' for you."

"Oh. That's a relief." You smile brightly at him. "Will you show me?"

"Saintess!"

"What?"

"It's broad daylight in the morning, you can't do this to me," he exclaims, his face reddening even more than it already is, and you can't help but giggle at how adorable he looks. You turn around to face him and reach out to cup his cheek, gently stroking your thumb across his cheekbone in an attempt to soothe him.

"I'm not trying to torture you," you assure him gently. "Just tell me how to do it and I'll leave you alone for a bit, alright? Please?"

"You play too much," he complains gruffly, but nevertheless leans into your touch, closing his dark-ringed eyelids and exhaling slowly. He seems calmer now, less frantic than he did earlier, though there's still a noticeable tension in his body. You wait patiently, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest under the blanket, listening to his heartbeat gradually slowing down from its earlier frantic pace. "Lay back."

You comply, settling comfortably atop the mattress, and he takes a moment to study you like that, lying naked beneath him, exposed and vulnerable yet somehow comfortable nonetheless. His gaze travels over every inch of your body, lingering here and there, essentially the same way you studied his last night. It's strangely arousing being observed so closely like this, and you find yourself trying to fend off your squirming under his scrutiny, wanting to cover yourself up somehow but resisting the urge to do so. Instead, you let him look his fill, your own cheeks warming in a blush as you return his stare through lidded eyes.

"Spread your legs," he eventually instructs. You hesitate briefly before obeying, parting your thighs slowly, the cool air of the room caressing your skin as it is exposed to the open space. Leon's breath hitches visibly at the sight, his pupils dilating further as he drinks you in.

This is way too embarrassing. Why did he get to lay perfectly horizontal on the bed yesterday while you're the one on display today? You almost want to ask him if you can switch roles and have him demonstrate it instead.

But it's not like you can take it back now. He's looking at you with such intensity that it makes you shiver, and you can feel the slickness between your legs increasing with each passing second. Your nipples are starting to stiffen and tingle, your breasts feeling fuller than usual, and there's a faint throbbing sensation deep in your pelvis, a need building up within you that demands attention and relief.

"Touch yourself," he orders quietly, his tone low and gravelly, his gaze never leaving yours even for a second. You hesitate once more before reaching down, tentatively running your fingertips along your inner thighs until they finally come into contact with your sex without quite knowing what to do next. "Explore."

"Explore?"

"You're discovering yourself. You have to know where everything is, so you know where to pay attention to the most."

"Everything?" you echo uncertainly. "There's more than one thing?"

"Saintess..." he moans in exasperation, his forehead dropping onto your inner thigh, and he shakes his head slowly, his hair tickling your skin.

"Sorry!" you apologize on the spot. "I just... don't understand."

He sighs again heavily, lifting his head to look at you again, his expression softening. "I'll guide you, okay?"

"Okay but why do you know more about me than I know about myself?"

"Because I've studied it. And I've imagined it a lot," he admits, blushing furiously at his confession, and you can't help but giggle again at how cute he looks like this.

"Oh? You've imagined my... this?" You gesture vaguely towards your groin. "A lot?"

Him looking up at you between your legs like that feels very strange. You're aware of how close his mouth is to you, and it's making the pressure in your belly increase exponentially. It's like there's a string connecting your heart and sex, and every time you look at Leon, that string is pulled tighter, and to what end, you have no idea. All you know is that you want it to keep happening, and you don't want it to ever stop.

"Less talking. Spread yourself open for me. Like this." He takes your wrist in his hand and guides two fingers towards your slit, spreading it apart gently to reveal all its hidden secrets, including the little bud of nerves hidden at its apex. It's so sensitive when air touches it that it's making your hips twitch and your back arch. "Do you see this?"

"Y—es," you stutter, trying your hardest to remain still as he continues guiding your fingers across your folds, teaching you about yourself and your body as he goes along.

"This is your clitoris," he says softly, pressing your fingers against it lightly and causing another shudder of pleasure to course through your entire being, "and it's very sensitive. You can rub it, tap it, flick it, or even suck on it."

"Suck?" You can't imagine yourself bending to that degree, one has to be especially flexible and you're not sure if you are. You've certainly never tried before. "How would I suck on this? There's no way I can bend like that..."

You see that he wants to laugh but presses his lips together at the last second so as not to offend you.

"I can do it for you," he says right after, his tone eager, his words coming out faster than normal, his pupils dilating visibly once again. "I mean... only if you want me to, of course."

You nod shyly, your face heating up considerably at the thought of what he's offering to do for you, and then he shifts lower on the bed, positioning himself between your thighs. You instinctively try to close them but he gently pushes them apart again, keeping them open wide enough so he can fit comfortably without hindrance. His hot breath fans across your sensitive flesh, sending shivers up and down your spine, and you have to fight the instinctive urge to squeeze them shut again.

He's looking at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming, making you feel vulnerable yet strangely empowered at the same time.

He places a soft kiss directly on your clit and you gasp audibly, arching your back as a wave of pleasure washes over you, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you in an attempt to ground yourself.

He looks up at you again, his dark lashes lowered and fluttering, and then he leans forward and places another kiss on your clit before parting his lips and sucking it into his mouth.

The sensation of his tongue flickering over it is indescribable, and you moan softly as he begins licking it in earnest, alternating between slow, languid strokes and quick flicks of his tongue, each one sending sparks of pure ecstasy that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the embarrassing noises you're making.

"No, don't do that," he protests after a few moments, pulling away from your sex briefly, and then he reaches up and takes your wrist in his hand and pulls it away from your face, "don't stifle your beautiful noises. I want to hear you moaning for me, Saintess. I want to know exactly how good I make you feel," he murmurs, and then resumes his task, his lips closing around your clit once more as he resumes his ministrations, his tongue flickering across it faster than before, the suction stronger as well.

"Le-on, this is... Too embarrassing," you whine, your entire body quivering as he continues pleasuring you, his mouth hot and wet against your most intimate parts.

"You'll get used to it," he says reassuringly, his tone gentle yet firm as he looks up at you again, mouth still wrapped around your clit so his words vibrate through it. He releases it with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to it momentarily, and smiles crookedly. "We're just getting started."

His hands come up to grip your hips, holding you steady as he continues to devour you with his mouth, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your buttocks, kneading them roughly, and you're not sure how much more of this you can handle.

You've never felt anything like this before, and you're not sure you want it to stop either, despite your protests, because the pleasure he's giving you right now is unlike anything you've ever experienced. You're completely lost to the sensations, your mind a haze of lust and desire as he continues to worship you with his tongue, his lips and teeth nipping and scraping across your clit and swollen folds, and you're pretty sure that if he were to keep this up, you would explode from the sheer intensity of it all.

He moves lower, his mouth leaving your clit and moving downwards towards your entrance, and he pauses there for a moment, his breath warm against your slit as he takes a deep breath, his nose pressed firmly into the folds, and he inhales deeply, his entire body shuddering violently. "You smell amazing," he breathes out reverently, fiercely as you squirm on the bed beneath him, the heat in your belly flaring up even brighter than ever.

"Please..." you beg him without knowing what you're asking for. It makes him look up at you with a strange light shining in his eyes, something at the opposite spectrum of the reverence you had seen in them last night, and the sight of it sends a thrill of excitement down your spine.

"Please what?" he prompts softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin of your inner thighs.

"Please... don't stop," you plead quietly, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you tightly.

"Okay," he agrees simply, lowering his head back down to press a kiss against your slit.

Then he plunges his tongue inside you and you cry out loud, your back arching as your hips buck upwards. You have to bite down on the noise, because you can't believe the sounds you're making, and you're not sure you want him to hear them, even if they're caused by the pleasure he's giving you. But he doesn't seem to care, too focused on his task, his tongue thrusting in and out of you, his fingers digging into your buttocks so hard that it will likely leave bruises later. You're not sure why but the idea of having his marks on your body sends a new wave of desire coursing through you and you can feel yourself gushing into his mouth.

"Leon," you moan, your fingers finding their way to his head and tangling themselves in his silky hair, "I—I need... I—"

He hums questioningly against your cunt and the vibrations make your hips jump, the coil within your belly tightening even more, and you're not sure how much longer you can last, your entire body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release, and you're pretty sure you're about to explode into a million pieces.

"I'm... I'm...," you pant breathlessly, unable to articulate the rest of the sentence properly.

He seems to understand something you don't, lowering the arm that's holding you down so the thumb of it can draw circles around your clit, and sliding the fingers of his other hand towards your entrance, circling it before pushing inside, causing you to gasp at the intrusion.

He pumps the digits in and out of you slowly at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and you can't help but moan loudly as the pressure builds within you, your muscles clenching around him as the pleasure becomes unbearable, and you can't hold back anymore, you're going to burst, you're going to burst, you're going to burst—

"Wait, please, wait, stop," you gasp, your hands pushing at his head weakly, and he pulls away from your sex instantly, looking up at you in concern. His chin is slick with your fluids and his lips swollen from his ministrations. He's breathing heavily, and in daylight, you can see how red from chest up he is.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks worriedly, his hands rubbing your inner thighs soothingly.

You shake your head, avoiding his eyes as you have to disappointingly say, "I have to use the chamber pot."

You're not sure if this is the right time to say this or not but it feels necessary given the circumstances, and you're afraid that if you don't speak up now, you'll regret it later.

He blinks owlishly, seemingly taken aback by your statement. "What?"

"I have to pee," you say, face burning furiously as you try to explain yourself further. "I don't think I'll be able to hold it any longer if you continue."

He stares at you for a long moment, his expression completely blank. Then suddenly he bursts out laughing, throwing his head back as his entire body shakes with mirth, his shoulders trembling as he struggles to contain himself, his laughter ringing out loudly in the quiet room.

You frown, feeling a bit offended. "Why are you laughing?!"

He wipes away the tears from his eyelashes with the back of his hand as he tries to compose himself, taking several deep breaths before he finally calms down enough to answer you. "I'm sorry, it's just that... Well, it's normal. It's not actually pee, and you don't have to worry about it leaking out or anything."

"It's not pee?"

"No. It's called orgasming, and it's completely normal," he assures you gently, his tone softening considerably. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I did too yesterday when you were touching me, remember? That white liquid?"

You nod, relieved to hear him confirm your suspicions, though still somewhat embarrassed by the fact that he knows what happened earlier. "Okay," you mumble shyly, covering your face with your hands, unable to look at him directly.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning forward until he can kiss each knuckle, and then he pulls your hand away from your face and kisses the tip of your nose. "It's okay. There's no need to feel ashamed of your own body."

You nod again, biting your lip nervously. "Okay."

"Can we continue now?" he asks, his tone hopeful. "I want to make you come."

"I've never... come before," you say, fiddling with the sheets between your fingers. "How would I even know if I did?"

"It's pretty unmistakable," he chuckles, and he kisses you softly then, his tongue darting into your mouth to taste yours, and he moans against your lips as you reciprocate the action eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

The kiss lasts longer than either of you intended, and by the time he pulls away, you're both breathing heavily, your cheeks flushed from exertion, the need within you growing stronger than ever, and you can't wait any longer; you want him to make you come, and you want him to do it now.

"Would you like to go to the bathroom first, just to be sure?" he asks quietly, his hand resting on your hip.

You shake your head. "No. Just continue."

"Alright." He smiles and kisses you once more before returning to your sex, and this time, there's no hesitation or gentleness, only pure lust and desire as he plunges his tongue inside you again and resumes thrusting his fingers into you, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit, and what's been cooling down starts building back up slowly, and you can already feel yourself clenching around his fingers as the pressure within you grows.

The pressure on your clit dissipates for a moment, and the next, he's removing your hand from the grip you have on the sheets, and places it on his head, and guides your fingers so they curl into his soft locks. "Hold onto me," he says, and he resumes eating you out, his fingers pumping faster than ever, and he's relentless, his tongue and lips working in tandem to bring you closer to the edge, and you're moaning louder than before, your hips rolling upwards to meet him halfway, the coil within you tightening even more.

The noise he makes when you pull his hair goes straight towards your belly, and the way he's lapping and slurping on your sex like that is obscene. You're pretty sure he's licking all the way back to your ass, but you can't really focus on that right now, the pleasure within you mounting rapidly.

"Tell me how I'm making you feel," he says after a few moments, his mouth still pressed firmly against you, the eye contact he's maintaining while he does so making your insides clench.

"I— It feels good," you manage to say through gritted teeth, your entire body trembling.

"Yeah? Just good? Tell me more," he encourages you, his tongue darting into you again, and your hiss transitions into a loud moan as he continues to work you over.

"I'm so close," you gasp, your thighs closing around his head, "I'm... I'm..."

"Come for me, then. Don't fight it. Let it happen," he murmurs, his words vibrating against your clit as his tongue flickers across it rapidly, his fingers pumping in and out of you harder than ever.

"Leon..." you whimper, your grip on his hair tightening as he sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue over it quickly, and you're done. You cry out loudly as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your back arching as your thighs clamp down around his head and your hips jerk upwards, and he holds you steady through it all, his tongue never leaving your sex until every last drop has been wrung out of you. You've been dropped off a cliff, and the fall has your insides quivering and your hips spasming. You're not sure what's happening, but you're pretty sure you've died and got your first glimpse of Ethelion.

The euphoria is incomparable, the pleasure overwhelming, and you're not sure how long it takes before the waves of ecstasy finally subside, your muscles relaxing and your body going limp beneath him.

He pulls away from you slowly, his lips lingering on your sex as he kisses you one final time, his tongue cleaning the remnants of your climax from your slit and inner thighs before moving upwards to lick his own fingers clean, the sight of which sends a jolt of arousal straight to your core.

When he's finished, he crawls up to lay next to you, pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Are you okay?" he asks softly, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. "You're so beautiful when you come. It's a shame you can't see it."

You're sure you've made the most embarrassing faces and sounds, and can't begin to fathom why it would be attractive to him at all. But the feeling of him holding you is comforting, the warmth of his body soothing, and you find yourself nodding weakly as he strokes your hair gently, his touch gentle yet firm, and he's so strong, and so solid, and he makes you feel safe and secure, and you know that nothing bad will happen to you as long as he's here, that you're protected from harm.

"Was it as good as you thought it would be?" he asks after a few minutes of silence, his tone light and playful.

"I didn't think I would end up screaming," you say quietly, burying your face into his chest. "How come you weren't screaming like that? It's unfair."

He laughs and kisses your sticky temple, his lips caressing your skin affectionately, and he hums thoughtfully as he considers your question. "I suppose I've had some experience."

"You have?"

"Mm." He tilts his head, and you wonder who he did these kinds of things with. It was probably a lot of people, considering how skilled he is. The thought of him touching other people like this sends a sharp pang of jealousy through you, and you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought.

You try to ignore the bitter feeling in your chest and instead focus on the way he's holding you close to him, on the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, on the way he's caressing you with such gentleness and care.

"Is there anything else you'd like to try?" he asks after a while, and you lift your head to look at him, and he's smiling down at you, his dark lashes lowered, his pupils wide and dark, and the expression he's giving you is so full of adoration and desire that it makes your heart flutter.

"I suppose the only thing left is you putting it in?" you suggest hesitantly, not sure how he'll react to the idea of taking your virginity, but he only grins widely, and he rolls over on top of you, his weight settling between your thighs as he presses himself against you, and he kisses you deeply, passionately, and it makes you moan softly into his mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

"There's so much more to it than that, and I'll show you all of it," he whispers against your lips, his hips rocking gently against yours, and you can feel his cock, hard and thick between your legs, and it feels good, so good, and you can't wait any longer. "But first, let me give you a chance to catch your breath."

He rolls them over so you're on top now, your thighs splayed over his, and he leans forward to kiss you again, his hands running up and down your back soothingly.

"I don't want you to spend your day sore all over, so the sex will have to be postponed to a time where we can afford the time to be lazy," he says, and you nod, understanding his reasoning. It would be unwise to do anything that might hinder your ability to work later today.

"That's fair," you agree, running your fingers through his hair. "What can we do?"

"Let me teach you more," he suggests, and then he's pulling you closer to him, his mouth latching onto your neck, his tongue and teeth grazing your skin lightly. You tilt your head to give him better access, letting out a soft sigh as he sucks on your pulse point. His hands wander down to your hips, gripping them tightly before sliding around to cup your buttocks, squeezing them firmly. He's still hard beneath you, and the feeling of his erection rubbing against your inner thigh has your insides clenching in anticipation of what's to come.

He seems content just to touch you like this for now, though, his lips moving slowly from one side of your throat to the other, leaving trails of kisses along the way, his tongue tracing patterns on your flesh, his teeth nipping gently at random spots here and there. Every so much he pauses and looks up at you, eyelids half-closed and heavy-lidded, and the sight of him gazing up at you sends a shiver down your spine and makes heat pool between your legs once more.

He lays you down on the mattress, then sits back on his knees between your thighs, looking down at you with an intense hunger that has your breath hitching in your chest. His gaze travels over your body slowly, his pupils expanding as he takes in the sight before him, his lips parted just enough to show the tips of his teeth as he runs his hands along your sides and over your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples teasingly.

The next second, you find yourself on your belly, Leon on top of you, the thick head of his shaft pressing against your slit, and he's rubbing himself along it in a slow, tantalizing rhythm, the friction sending little jolts of pleasure through your core.

"This is called," he says, pausing to kiss your shoulder, "intercrural."

You try to concentrate on his words, but finding it difficult as his length slides between your folds, the sensation making you gasp and arch beneath him. His cock is leaking, slicking the way for him as he continues to grind against you, his breath warm against your skin.

You shift to get him inside you, but he moves with you, his length never quite reaching your entrance. You groan in frustration, trying to lift your hips to meet his thrusts, but he simply pushes you back down into the bed with a chuckle.

"Leon, please," you whine, wriggling beneath him impatiently, and he laughs again, his fingers digging into your hip as he holds you steady.

"What do you think you need to do?"

"Ask nicely?"

"Nice try, but no. Do you remember what we’re doing?"

"Intercrural?"

"Yes. Good," he praises, rewarding you by pushing the tip inside you briefly before pulling out again. Your entire body shudders at the feeling of having him inside you, however briefly, and you push back against him eagerly, wanting more. "Up."

With a firm grip on your torso, he lifts you up so your back is flush against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, and he resumes grinding himself between your thighs, the new angle letting him slide deeper than before, and the pressure against your clit has you moaning loudly as he rocks against you, his other hand coming to your front to play with your nipples, rolling and pinching them between his fingers.

He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his lips find your earlobe, nibbling on it as he grinds harder, his cock sliding between your folds faster, his hips snapping forward sharply, and the wet sounds of his shaft rubbing against the crevice between your tightly pressed thighs and sex is lewd and loud. The heat building within you is becoming unbearable, your body trembling with need, and you can't help but cry out as he continues to tease you, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipples mercilessly.

"Leon," you whimper, reaching behind you to clutch at his hair, and he growls low in his throat, his teeth biting down on your shoulder as he picks up the pace, his movements growing rougher and less controlled, and the head of his erection is bumping against your clit, and it's driving you mad with lust and desire.

"Saintess..." he groans in your ear, and then his hand slides lower to rub circles on your clit, the added stimulation sending you over the edge. "My Saintess... Fall with me. Fall with me!"

You whimper as you come, your body shaking violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your vision blurring as stars dance across your eyelids. Your walls clamp down around nothing, and you can feel yourself clenching and spasming as your orgasm rips through you, your juices gushing out of you and coating his length in your essence. He keeps rubbing at your clit throughout, drawing out every last ounce of your release until there's nothing left, and then finally, his hips still against yours, his cock throbbing against the crevice of your thighs as he spills himself between them, coating your inner thighs in thick ropes of release.

He slumps forward on top of you, his weight heavy and comforting as his cock softens against you, and he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder blade, his breath warm against your skin. You lay there together for a while, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your highs, and you can feel his heart pounding against your back, its rhythm matching your own. Eventually, however, he rolls off you. He gets up and comes back with a damp cloth to wipe the stickiness between your legs, and the coolness feels heavenly on your overheated skin. Once he's done, he tosses the rag to the floor before climbing back into bed next to you.

"Bath?"

When you wake up again, Leon isn't next to you, but there is a note on his pillow that informs you he had to go to the border for urgent matters and will be gone for at least two days.

The note makes you want to curl back up under the covers and fall back asleep, but you can't. You have duties to attend to as the Lady of the house, and you can't afford to spend all day moping in bed. So instead, you drag yourself out from beneath the blankets, and stumble to the bathing chamber with a pep in your step, where you splash some water onto your face to wake yourself up.

You look at yourself in the mirror, studying the reflection staring back at you. Your hair is disheveled and messy, and there are dark circles under your red-rimmed eyelids. Leon told you he wouldn't push your body to its limits, but wrung every drop of pleasure he could from it, and it left you boneless and exhausted. Every muscle aches pleasantly, and every inch of your skin feels tender to the touch, especially where his bites have broken the surface.

But none of it matters. You've never been happier.

You finish dressing and make your way downstairs. You have several letters to write today, not only to keep the correspondence with Jill and Claire updated, but also with other ladies they've introduced you to. With each letter, you hope to expand your social network a little bit more, so you may form friendships beyond their group. You've been told to be careful about networking before branching out about investments and business deals by Jill, since men tend to take advantage of women who want to venture into those fields, something her mother warned them about. At least she trusts you enough to take things at a leisurely pace to test waters before jumping at every opportunity that presents itself.

Jill has even invited you to have lunch at her mansion and introduce you to more women involved in similar fields as soon as possible the next season, something you happily accepted.

Even though you're tired beyond belief, there's something almost electrifying coursing through your veins that leaves you feeling energetic despite your lack of rest. Gaining back that connection with Leon, now stronger than ever, has you elated to no end. If someone told you years ago that one night would change your life forever, you wouldn't believe them; now, however, it seems like the most natural thing in the world to experience this level of fulfillment and joy in life, because you never knew just how lonely you truly were until he stepped back into your life.

Leon is panicking.

It's a sensation he isn't accustomed to, not since his days of rigorous training, when his captain had drilled into him the importance of remaining calm on the battlefield. Panic had no place there. Fear had no place. In war, emotions were vulnerabilities—open wounds to be exploited. He had learned to close those wounds, to stitch them up tight and keep his composure, no matter the chaos surrounding him. For years, he had perfected the art of restraint, his face a mask of stoicism, his body a fortress of discipline.

But now, sitting in the dim interior of his carriage, away from the sanctuary of your presence, that fortress is crumbling.

His heart hammers in his chest, and his hands tremble where they rest on his thighs, clenched into fists. His pulse thrums in his ears, a deafening rush of blood that drowns out any sense of calm. It’s disorienting, this unshakable sense of losing control, of being unmoored from the anchor he had always relied on—himself.

His thoughts race, each one more torturous than the last. He can't stop them from spiraling, can't stop the rising tide of emotion that's threatening to break the dam he's worked so hard to maintain.

Fuck. He loves you. He’s loved you for as long as he can remember. Since that first moment when he had seen your face at the temple, luminous in the soft glow of the candles that surrounded you, bathed in the light of Ethelion's grace. He had been young then, just a boy, but even then, something had stirred inside him—a yearning, a devotion so pure, so all-consuming, that it felt like a divine calling. To protect you. To serve you. To worship you.

But never to love you. Not like this.

He hadn’t allowed himself to call it love, not in the beginning. It had been too dangerous, too close to sacrilege. How could a man like him—a knight, a mere mortal—dare to love someone chosen by the gods? He’d convinced himself, over and over again, that what he felt was nothing more than infatuation, a boyish admiration for a figure of holiness. He had to believe it. Anything else would have been unbearable.

Because to acknowledge the truth—that it wasn’t just devotion, that it wasn’t just admiration, that it was a deep, aching love—would mean admitting that you were forever out of reach. You weren’t just anyone. You belonged to something greater, something higher. A god. Ethelion. And Leon? He was allowed to stand beside you only as a protector, only as your shield. But never as your lover. Never as your equal.

And yet, despite all of that, despite the walls he had built around his heart, he had fallen. Harder than he could have ever imagined.

He’d done the unthinkable.

He’d claimed you.

The memory of last night surges forward, unbidden, vivid in his mind. The taste of your lips, the feel of your body pressed against his, the way you had called out his name—his name—as he brought you to the brink of pleasure. You, the Saintess, the epitome of purity and virtue, had wanted him, had given yourself to him. Willingly. No hesitation, no fear.

It had been everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever denied himself. And it was wrong.

But it had also been the most right thing he had ever done.

Leon groans, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if he can pull the thoughts out of his head. He feels himself hardening again at the mere thought of you—the way your body had responded to him, the way you had looked at him, not with judgment or disappointment, but with trust. With desire.

And that terrifies him.

You trust him. You, the one person in the world who should be beyond reproach, beyond the reach of sin, had trusted him with your body, your heart, your soul. You had chosen him. And that trust, that willingness to let him in, is what scares him more than anything.

What if I break it?

That’s the question gnawing at him, the one that keeps replaying in his mind like a dark, endless loop. You gave yourself to him, fully and without reservation, and now he’s terrified of what that means. Terrified of what he’s already done.

Because he has defiled you, hasn’t he? He’s tainted you with his desires, with his need. You were meant to remain untouchable, a beacon of light, a symbol of all that was good and pure in the world. And now? Now you’re his.

He half-expects to be swallowed up by hell after that thought.

Fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it.

His breeches feel impossibly tight, and Leon curses under his breath. The heat of arousal courses through him, his body betraying him even now, when his mind is at war with itself. His thoughts shift, darker, hungrier. He remembers the way you had whispered his name, your voice soft and breathless, your body trembling beneath his touch. He remembers the look in your eyes—like you wanted to be consumed by him.

He wants that. He wants to make you his again, to feel your body wrapped around his, to hear you moan his name, to see you come apart beneath him. And the worst part? He knows you want it too.

He should be ashamed. He is ashamed. But there’s a deeper part of him, a part that he’s been trying to suppress for years, that whispers something different. It tells him that you’re his now, that you’ve always been his. And that he has every right to take what you offer. Every right to claim you, again and again, until the entire world knows that you belong to him and no one else.

The thought makes him groan again, low and desperate. He can already imagine it—the way you’d look beneath him, the way you’d whisper his name like a prayer, the way he’d ruin you, over and over, until there was nothing left of the saintess, nothing left of the woman you used to be.

Just his. His to worship. His to defile.

Leon shifts uncomfortably in his seat, willing his body to calm down, but it’s no use. The arousal is too strong, the desire too overwhelming. And it’s not just lust. It’s love. He loves you. He has always loved you. And now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like to be yours, to have you want him in return, he knows there’s no going back.

But even with that knowledge, the fear lingers. The shame lingers. Because you’re still the Saintess, aren’t you? Even though you’re no longer bound to the temple, even though you’ve left that life behind, you’re still... untouchable. Or at least, you should be.

God, what has he done?

Leon feels sick with it, the weight of his own desires pressing down on him like a vice. He’s tainted you, hasn’t he? He’s dragged you down into the mire of his own lust, his own sin. And yet... you came willingly. You wanted him. You chose him.

He can still hear your voice in his head, soft and soothing, telling him that it was okay. That it was what you wanted. That you weren’t ashamed. That you didn’t regret it.

But he does.

No, that’s not quite right. He doesn’t regret you. He could never regret you. What he regrets is his weakness. His inability to stay away, to be the man he’s supposed to be. The man you deserve. He should have kept his distance, should have respected the boundaries between you. But instead, he let his feelings control him. He let his desires control him.

The carriage jolts as it hits a bump in the road, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, the movement jarring his already fevered body. He’s hard—painfully so—and the more he tries to suppress it, the more it overwhelms him. His hand is still resting dangerously close to his aching cock, blunt fingernails digging into his thigh as he tries to resist the temptation to touch himself.

He should be above this, he thinks bitterly.

Another bump causes his thumb to slip down towards the inside of his thigh because of the force with which he was pressing on it, the friction sending a shiver up his spine. Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the seat.

Sir Leon, you had whispered during that night, your tone soft, commanding, with a cruel kindness that only made him more desperate. He’d been on his knees before you, trembling under the weight of his own shame, of his desire. And you had looked down on him with that serene, knowing smile, as though you had always known what he wanted, what he needed. You had given him permission to feel, to want, to submit.

He shudders, his hand brushing over the front of his breeches as the memory takes hold, the rush of arousal overwhelming his guilt. His mind drifts back to that night, to the way you had taken control, how you had made him feel safe in his submission. You had taken his hands in yours, guiding him through the motions, making him believe that it wasn’t him acting on his desires. It was you.

“Sir Leon,” your voice echoes in his head again, and Leon’s breath hitches as his fingers twitch involuntarily over the bulge in his pants. He tries to ignore it, to focus on the scenery passing outside the carriage window instead, but it’s no use.

His hand moves of its own accord, cupping himself through the fabric, the pressure making his hips jerk forward. He can feel himself growing harder, the ache intensifying. He shouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He’s already defiled you enough. He should have more restraint.

In his mind’s eye, you stand before him again, the ex-Saintess, your hands on his shoulders, pushing him down until he’s kneeling in front of you. The image is so vivid, so real, that he can almost feel the warmth of your touch, the softness of your skin against his.

“Look at you,” you say softly, your tone so sweet it feels like a knife twisting in his gut. “Kneeling there like a dog for me. You’ve fallen so far, haven’t you? My Sir Leon…”

Leon lets out a choked breath, his hand moving to unbutton his breeches as he succumbs to the fantasy, his body trembling with need. His cock springs free, hard and throbbing in his hand, and he bites down on his lip to keep from groaning aloud. The carriage is still moving, the faint sounds of the wheels turning and the horses trotting providing a strange rhythm to his spiraling thoughts.

He strokes himself slowly, his mind lost in the fantasy, in the way you had looked at him that night with such grace and poise, your words cutting into him with a cruel, gentle precision. You had known exactly how to break him down, how to strip away his defenses until there was nothing left but the raw truth of his desires.

"How pathetic," you say in his fantasy in mock sympathy, your lips curling into a smile. "What would Ethelion think of you now? His most devout, debasing himself for me, stroking yourself like a common pervert. You’re not fit to call yourself a knight, Sir Leon."

He shudders, balls tightening as he imagines you standing over him, watching him with that amused, almost bored expression, like you’re barely interested in his suffering, in his need. It’s humiliating, degrading, but somehow that only makes the pleasure sharper, more intense. He can almost hear you laughing softly, a cruel, teasing sound that sends a shiver down his spine.

"Look at yourself," you say, dripping with scorn. "You’re a mess. A disgrace. You’re not worthy of serving me. Not like this."

The words cut into him like a blade, but instead of recoiling, Leon finds himself pushing closer to the edge, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his hand moves with a frantic urgency. He’s so close, so damned close, and your voice only pushes him further, deeper into the depths of his own shame and lust. He doesn’t care if Ethelion sees him like this, doesn’t care if the world sees him like this. He just wants to feel, to chase the high of release that only you can give him.

"You want to come, don’t you?" you ask him, and he nods, a choked sob escaping his lips as his strokes become more desperate. "There are people right outside of this carriage listening in to their lord shaking his hips like a dog in heat with his tongue out, and you want to come. You’re not even a man, you’re a slave to your own desires. A slave to me. Go ahead, Sir Leon. Make a mess of yourself. Show me how pathetic you truly are."

And he does, he begs and pleads for mercy, for relief. His hushed words are a jumbled, incoherent mess, a litany of pleas and apologies as his hips buck wildly, seeking that final release. You watch him with that same knowing smile, your eyes glittering with something like amusement, like satisfaction, and Leon can’t help but wonder if you’re enjoying this, if you’re reveling in the power you hold over him. The power to reduce him to this, to this desperate, needy creature, pleading for your mercy.

"Come," you command, your voice soft but firm, and Leon’s breath catches in his throat, his body tensing as the orgasm finally hits, a wave of ecstasy crashing over him as he spills his seed onto his cupped hand, his body shuddering and shaking with the force of his release.

For a moment, he feels weightless, euphoric, the world fading away until there’s nothing but the pleasure, the relief, the satisfaction of being broken down and rebuilt under your touch. He collapses back against the seat, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat as stares down at his hand, sticky with his own cum, and a wave of guilt washes over him, the shame so intense that it nearly chokes him. But even as he feels the guilt, the shame, there’s a small part of him that revels in it, that takes pleasure in being the broken, debased knight, the one who has fallen from grace and found solace in his own humiliation.

He sits there for a long moment, his breathing slowly returning to normal, the guilt and shame settling over him like a heavy cloak. With a sigh, he reaches into his satchel for a handkerchief, cleaning up the mess he’s made of himself, trying to erase the evidence of his sin, of his desire, of his submission. But no matter how much he tries to scrub away the stain, he knows that it’s there, a permanent mark on his soul, a reminder of the man he’s become.

He’s a sinner, a lost cause. But he’s also a man in love, a man willing to sacrifice everything, to debase himself, to surrender to you, his Saintess, his salvation and his downfall.

Leon arrives back at the manor well past midnight, the long hours of travel evident in the tightness of his shoulders and the way fatigue clings to his bones. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, but the thought of seeing you again fills him with a strange mix of yearning and dread. After weeks spent at the border, surrounded by soldiers and the heavy tension of political unrest, all he wants is to be near you, to feel your presence.

The halls are silent as he walks through the dimly lit corridors, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. His boots are heavy against the stone floor, but he keeps his steps quiet, not wanting to disturb the sleeping household. His thoughts race as he makes his way toward your shared bedroom, the weight of his emotions settling heavily in his chest. He’s been gone for so long, and every step brings him closer to the moment he’s been imagining for days.

When he finally reaches the door, Leon pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he takes a deep breath. He pushes the door open slowly, the hinges creaking softly in the quiet night, and steps inside, and the sight that greets him makes him linger on the threshold.

You’re curled up on the bed, fast asleep, the blankets twisted around you as though you’ve been tossing and turning. The soft rise and fall of your chest are a sign of peaceful slumber, face turned away from the moonlight spilling in through the window, the gentle curve of your body bathed in a soft glow. Drapes of rich fabrics adorn the canopy above you, creating an intimate space that wraps around you like a cocoon, making it appear as if you were held aloft, suspended in time. It's a painting come alive, the kind he'd seen in temples and palaces on a much grander scale, a testament of humanity's greatness. It makes him feel insignificant yet like a god among men to share his room, his life with you.

The sight makes his heart swell with affection, the worries and concerns that had been weighing him down giving way to something warm, something tender. He closes the door behind him carefully, not wanting to wake you, and begins to undress, shedding his clothes as quietly as possible until he's left only in his tunic and trousers.

As he slips into bed next to you, he lets out a contented sigh, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He feels restless and worn out in equal parts, but there's comfort too in having you so close. The warmth of your body radiates against him as he lies there, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, marveling at the delicate curve of your jaw, the softness of your hair splayed out against the pillowcase.

He reaches out tentatively, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and you stir in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips. His touch lingers on your skin for a moment before he withdraws his hand, not wanting to disturb your slumber. A small part of him wishes you were awake, that he could talk to you about the events at the border, but he pushes those thoughts away.

You stir again beside him, rolling over to lay on your side and facing away from Leon, and it feels as if he's somehow in the shadows away from the gaze of god, the moon, and the stars.

It starts small, innocent enough. His fingers barely graze the fabric of the blanket bunching around your waist, a featherlight touch, as if testing the waters. The warmth of your body seeps through the material, igniting a spark in his chest that quickly spreads, making his breath catch in his throat. He pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers as if he’d been burned, but the sensation lingers, ghosting over his skin.

What the fuck is he doing?

He squeezes his eyes shut again, trying to shake off the haze that clouded his thoughts, but the need only grows stronger. Listening for any changes in your breathing, making sure that you were deep asleep, he inches closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

He's zeroed in on the bare skin of your shoulder where your chemise has slipped down. His hand moves again, slower this time, hovering just above, fingers trembling. He wasn’t touching you yet, but the proximity alone made his pulse quicken. He could feel the warmth radiating from your skin, so inviting, so tantalizingly close.

This isn't exactly wrong. I'm allowed to snuggle up to my wife.

The thought gives him permission, or at least that’s what he tells himself. He lets his fingers skim over your shoulder, the contact sending a jolt through him that makes him let out a long sigh. The softness of your skin beneath his fingertips is divine, the smoothness so different from anything he’s ever known. He can feel your warmth seeping into him, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing against his touch.

A small part of him knows he should pull away, that this was crossing a line, but the need was too strong, the desire too potent. He traces a finger along the line of your collarbone, marveling at the delicate curve, at how something so simple can make his heart race. He lets his hand rest at the crook of your neck, feeling the soft thump of your pulse beneath his palm. He can't help but think of the way your heart beats, how it's the same rhythm as his own, and how this shared lifeblood connects him to you in ways he never thought possible.

You shift again, humming something incomprehensible, and Leon freezes, his heart pounding in his chest. But you don't wake, and after a moment, he relaxes again, his fingers resuming their gentle exploration.

He lets his hand drift lower, tracing the dip between your collarbones, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your sternum. The fabric of your chemise shifts beneath his touch, the material so thin that it feels like almost nothing at all. He can feel the swell of your breasts, the way they rise and fall with each breath, and he aches to cup them in his hands, to feel the weight of them, the softness.

Fuck. Fuck.

He bites back a groan, his cock growing uncomfortably hard in his trousers. He wants you so badly it hurts, wants to bury himself in you, to claim you in every way possible. But he holds himself back, contenting himself with these small, stolen touches, the ones that make him feel alive and terrified all at once.

He's so hard that it almost hurts, and he wants to grind his hips against you to relieve the pressure building inside him. But the thought of taking things that far, of crossing that line without your knowledge or consent, makes him recoil from himself.

No. This isn’t right. It’s not right at all. You’re better than this, Leon.

With a sigh, he withdraws his hand, pulling away from you reluctantly. The absence of your warmth leaves him feeling cold and empty, but he knows he's done the right thing. He rolls over onto his back, his body rigid with tension as he stares at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing of his cock and the ache in his chest.

He closes his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths, willing himself to calm down.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind outside, the creaking of the old house as it settles in the night, the distant hoot of an owl somewhere in the forest. But no matter how hard he tries to distract himself, the image of you—soft, vulnerable, trusting—is seared into his mind.

Yeah, he needs a bath.

Careful not to disturb you, Leon pushes himself up out of bed and pads across the room, the cool floorboards soothing against his bare feet. He opens the door, the hinges weakly creaking, and slips out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The corridor is dark and silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering in through the windows. He makes his way down the stairs, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness, and heads to the bathing chambers.

Once inside, Leon lights the candles, illuminating the room in a warm, flickering light. The room is spacious and luxurious, with a large tub of gleaming marble and an assortment of bottles filled with fragrant oils and soaps. He walks to the wooden bucket and pumps water, the rhythmic sound of the handle filling the room, and once it's full, he pours the water into the tub, letting the steam curling off the surface fog his face and warm his skin.

He strips off his clothes, his muscles tensing as he feels the cool air against his heated flesh. He can't ignore his erection, the way it throbs and aches with a desperate need.

He steps into the tub, hissing at the sensation of hot water against his skin. He sinks down into it, submerging his body until only his head remains above water, and he lets out a sigh of relief. The heat soothes his tired muscles, relaxes his tense shoulders, and he feels himself drifting, his thoughts becoming hazy and unfocused.

He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the insistent throb of his cock, the way it strains against his stomach, demanding attention. He tries to focus on the sensation of the water against his skin, the way it licks at his flesh, caresses him, but his mind keeps wandering back to you. To the soft curve of your shoulder, the way your skin felt against his fingertips, the warmth of your body so close to his.

The marble of the bath feels cool against his nape as he rests his head on the rim, the heat from the bath causing sweat to bead on his brow and dampening his hair. His breath echoes off the walls of the bathing chamber, the sound of the water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub providing a soothing background noise. But even that can't drown out the insistent throb of his arousal, the way it pulses with each heartbeat, demanding attention, demanding release.

He ends up dipping under, the water enveloping him, and he opens his eyes, staring up at the distorted image of the ceiling through the rippling surface. His hair floats around his face, and he feels weightless, suspended between the reality of his desire and the fantasy of his mind. It feels like an eternity passes, his lungs burning as his heart thrums, and just when he thinks he can't hold his breath any longer, he resurfaces with a gasp.

He combs his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it away from his face, and—

"You're back."

He startles, jerking upright and causing the water to slosh around wildly, his heart hammering wildly in his chest as he turns to face you.

You're standing there in the doorway of the bathhouse, your silhouette outlined in the candlelight, and there's a look on your face that he can't quite read. You seem surprised to see him there, your eyes wide and bright, reflecting the flickering flames. Your lips are parted slightly, as if you're about to say something, but the words seem caught in your throat.

He can't help but admire the way you look in the dim light, the soft curves of your body visible through the sheer fabric of your nightgown. His eyes linger on the way the material clings to your hips, draping over your thighs and accentuating every movement as you step further into the room. He has to force himself to tear his gaze away from the outline of your breasts, the delicate swell of them drawing his attention despite his efforts to remain respectful. He's suddenly aware of his own nakedness, of the way the water licks at his skin, the way it exposes him to you in a way that makes his breath catch and his pulse quicken. He tries to sink lower in the bath, hoping that the water will hide his body, his desire, but it's no use.

"Why did you come all the way over here? We have our own bath," you say quietly, sitting down on a stool and leaning against the edge of the tub, resting your chin on your folded arms. The fabric of your nightgown shifts slightly, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder, and his eyes are drawn to it like moths to a flame. He's acutely aware of how close you are, of the way he can reach out and touch you, the way he can smell the faint scent of soap and perfume on your skin from your nightly bath. He wants to lean in closer, to bury his face in the crook of your neck and inhale your scent, but he holds himself back, his muscles tensing with the effort.

He swallows hard, trying to find his voice, the sound echoing off the walls of the bathhouse. "I didn't want to disturb your rest."

There's a beat of silence, the sound of dripping water and crackling candles filling the space between you. Your gaze is steady, unyielding, as if you can see right through his flimsy excuses and straight into his heart. And maybe you can, because you've always been able to read him like an open book, ever since that day in the temple gardens when you found him as a young boy, struggling to breathe through an asthma attack and crying from the fear of dying.

"You're not doing a very good job at that," you finally say, the corner of your mouth quivering in a wry smile that makes his chest tighten and his pulse race. You know him too well, know all his secrets and fears, and yet you're here, sitting beside him in the bathhouse, offering him comfort and companionship.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. And he is sorry, sorry for waking you, sorry for being so distracted, so consumed with thoughts of you that he can't seem to think straight anymore.

"Don't be," you reply, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. Your touch is gentle, tender, and it makes him ache with longing. "I missed you."

His eyes flutter close when you start carding your fingers through his hair. It feels so good to be close to you again, to be touched by you in such a simple, affectionate way that he can't help but savor it. But then his thoughts wander again, imagining you in the bath with him, your naked bodies pressed together, the water lapping at your skin as you move against him. He can picture it all too vividly, the way your breasts would feel against his chest, the way your legs would wrap around his waist as he thrust into you, the way your voice would sound in the stillness of the night, gasping and moaning in his ear. He shudders, biting back a groan, and tries to push those images away, but they cling to the corners of his mind like shadows.

"You're so tense," you observe, your fingers still moving through his hair, and there's a hint of concern in your voice.

"It's...it's nothing," he lies, trying to sound casual, but his voice comes out strained and breathless.

"Too tired, huh? Let me wash your hair. Can you hand me that?"

He hesitates for a moment, the water swirling around him, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, slowly, he reaches over the edge of the tub, grabs the bar of soap, and hands it to you. You dip the soap into the water and rub it together in the palms of your hands until suds form. You begin to work the soap into his scalp, massaging it in slow circles, your fingers firm but gentle against his skin. His eyes drift shut, his body relaxing under your touch.

The feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp is almost unbearable, and the way you're looking at him, with so much affection and tenderness, makes him feel weak. He can't remember the last time someone has touched him like this, with such care and intimacy.

"This is lily soap," you muse, your fingers continuing their slow, deliberate movements. "Did you know these were on the brink of extinction in the capital for a while that I thought I could only find one on an auction or something? Fun fact, when you're a maid, you wash both yourself and your clothes with the same soap, so it has a shorter lifespan. But even with that it was so jarring to find out store after store and apothecary after apothecary didn't have this. I wasted an entire off-day running around to find a bar of soap that the next day it was like I worked on a construction for a week. It's funny to think how I used to have to be so careful in not wasting even the tiniest bit, and now I can have a whole basket to myself."

Leon listens to you talk, his mind foggy. He's never washed with your signature smell before, and now it's clinging to his hair and skin like a second layer. It's like you've somehow claimed him as yours without even realizing it. The scent is so strong that he can almost taste it, and it's making him lightheaded in a way that has nothing to do with the steam from the bath. His scalp tingles, and he has to fight back a groan when your fingertips brush against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He wants to tell you how much he's missed you, how he thought about you every day while he was away, how he's been longing to feel your touch again. But the words catch in his throat, and all he can do is sink further into the tub, letting the hot water envelop him as you continue to wash his hair and entertain yourself by twirling strands into shapes and figures, or perhaps just to play with it.

"Don't fall asleep, now," you say with a laugh, splashing water on him.

"I won't," he murmurs, but his eyelids are already growing heavy, the warmth and comfort lulling him into a drowsy haze.

"You're not very convincing," you tease, your voice low and soft, like velvet. "I can see those eyes closing. What's so interesting about a bathtub's rim anyway?"

He opens his eyes to look at you. Your face is hovering upside down from his perspective, and you're giving him a small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. There's a playful glint in your eyes, like you're enjoying teasing him. He can't help but smile back, feeling a surge of affection for you.

You lean down to give him a chaste kiss, your hair falling in curtains around him, your mouth warm and sweet against his, "I'm going to wash this off, alright?"

He closes his eyes as you begin to rinse his hair, the water cascading over his head in a soothing rhythm. The scent of the soap fills his nostrils, and he can't help but breathe it in, letting it envelop him like a warm blanket.

"Alright, I'm done," you announce, your hands moving to massage his shoulders. "Feeling better, Leon?"

"Much better," he murmurs, his voice low and soft, his eyes still closed. "You're too good to me." He can't remember the last time someone has taken care of him like this, with such care and tenderness. It's a feeling that he's not used to, but one that he finds himself craving more of.

"Let's get you to bed, then."

He opens his eyes to find you standing beside the tub, a towel in hand. He stands up slowly, the water cascading off his body in rivulets, his skin flushed from the heat and the attention. As he steps out of the tub, you immediately wrap the towel around his hips, pulling him close to you. He's acutely aware of his nakedness, of the way his skin presses against the thin fabric of your nightgown, of the heat radiating between your bodies.

You move another towel in small circles across his arms, his shoulders, his chest, the fabric soft and absorbent as it soaks up the water from his skin. Droplets from his hair trail down his neck, and you follow them with the towel, pressing it against the back of his neck and gently patting it dry, your fingers soothing against the damp curls that cling to his skin. He can't help but shiver at your touch, his breath catching in his throat as you work your way down his body, your movements slow and deliberate, like you're savoring the moment as much as he is.

"Turn around for me," you instruct, and he complies, his skin tingling with anticipation as you start to dry his back, the towel gliding over his skin like a soft caress. You move the towel down, tracing the lines of his muscles and the curve of his spine, and his heart races as you reach his hips, the towel brushing against the edge of the one wrapped around his waist. He can feel your fingers slipping underneath the edge of the fabric. It's harmless on your part, but he's so sensitive to your every touch that he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

And his erection had just gone down as well.

"All done," you say, your voice soft and a little breathless. He can feel the warmth of your body as you move around to his front, your eyes lingering on his chest for just a moment. "I didn't think to bring a bathrobe instead. It's a bit of a walk to the room, would you mind if I go and get it now?"

"It's fine," he murmurs, his voice low and a little rough. "I can handle a little cold."

It takes every ounce of willpower not to take advantage of the situation. Not because he doesn't want to — God knows he does — but because you deserve better than some desperate coupling in the bathhouse. It's going to be your first time with each other, and even though your body isn't technically new to him, he won't make it uncomfortable for you, not when you haven't actually been together. You should be somewhere familiar, comfortable, with sheets clean and soft enough to let you drift off afterward, wherever sleep may take you both. You've deserved better than what life has given you so far, so damn right he'll deliver on the bare minimum.

The night air is cool against his skin as you lead him from the bathroom. The corridors are quiet and shadowed, and there's something oddly intimate about walking naked through the sleeping castle with only you by his side. You don't speak, but he doesn't need words to know what you're thinking; your hand clasped tightly in his says more than anything else could.

It doesn't go according to his subconscious expectations, though, as he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed and you between his legs, furiously drying his hair while he's trying to avoid getting hard. He has to say that the vigorous motion of your arms is helping his case.

He's not sure if he imagines it or if he actually hears the small, suppressed giggle.

"You look like a sheep," you say, and now he's certain the amusement in your tone isn't imagined. You reach down to press your lips to his temple, the sensation of the towel on his head halting abruptly, and he's left staring up at you as you straighten.

Before he can think better of it, his arms sneak around your waist and pull you closer until his head is resting against your stomach. You don't hesitate in wrapping your own arms around his bare shoulders in return, holding him close, and the two of you just breathe together for a moment.

"Thank you," Leon murmurs after a long pause, his voice muffled by the fabric of your nightgown. He's not sure what he's thanking you for exactly, but it's the only thing he can say. You've taken such good care of him tonight, made him feel loved and cared for in a way that he hasn't experienced, and he's not sure how to express that gratitude in words. But the way you hold him tight tells him that you understand.

He lifts his head to look at you, and he's struck by the beauty and affection in your gaze. It's the kind of love that he's dreamed of his entire life, the kind of love that fills his soul with light. And for the first time in his life, he realizes that he doesn't have to dream anymore. He can reach out and touch it, feel it, hold it in his hands.

You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the feeling yanks him from the edge of sleep. "Do you want to sit in front of the fireplace?" you ask him. "Or would you rather just go straight to bed?"

"Stay," Leon says, his voice thick with emotion. He doesn't want this night to end, doesn't want to let you go just yet. He needs more of you, more of this warmth and love that you're offering him. One arm unhooks from around your waist and he trails a path down your forearm, his palm closing on the back of your arm as he turns his head around to rest his lips on the inside of your wrist. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks. "I want to stay here a little longer with you."

"Alright." You nod, and then your hand is trailing up his neck, your palm coming up to cup his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his cheekbone and then the edge of his ear. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and his throat works to suppress a shudder. He can feel your gaze on him like a brand. "Let me just... get this off of you."

You reach up and pull the towel from his head, tossing it onto the ground behind you, and your fingers comb through his damp hair. He's never realized how good it feels, how much he craves the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, the way you scratch your nails lightly against his skin, the way you tug on the strands to angle him how you want.

"Will you take me tonight?"

Your voice is low and husky, full of desire, and Leon can't help but let out a groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your chemise, bunching it up as he tries to maintain control. His cock is fully erect again, straining against the towel still wrapped around his hips, and he's so turned on, so desperate for you that it takes all of his willpower not to push you onto the bed and take you right then and there.

"Are you sure? I know this is your first time, and we can wait, take things slow—"

"I want this." One knee goes on the side of his left thigh, making the mattress dip. And then the other, and then you're straddling him, hands cupping his face as you press your lips to his, the kiss slow and languid. Leon melts into your embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. The taste of a sweet treat is on your tongue, something fruity, perhaps a dessert wine, and he chases it, wanting more. "I love you, Leon," you whisper against his lips, and he can feel your breath fanning across his face. "I want you to make me yours."

Those words are like a key, unlocking something deep inside Leon.

"You love me?" he repeats, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye.

"Yes." You nod, your hands still cradling his face, your touch gentle and loving. You look at him like he's the center of your universe, your eyes shining with affection and desire, "Yes," you breathe out, your fingers trailing down his neck to rest on his chest, right where his heart is beating wildly beneath his ribcage. "How can I not?"

"God," Leon murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion, "I've dreamed of hearing you say that for so long, I—" His throat tightens, cutting off his words, and he pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, and he can feel your pulse against his lips. He can't believe this is real, that he has you here in his arms, that you want him just as much as he wants you. He can feel your heartbeat, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the warmth of your body seeping into his bones, and it's all so overwhelming that he can't hold back the emotions that flood him. "I love you too," he whispers, his voice breaking, and he presses a kiss to your collarbone, feeling your skin warm and soft against his lips. "I love you so much."

Your fingers are in his hair, tangling and pulling as he leaves a trail of kisses up the column of your neck. His teeth scrape against the sensitive skin behind your ear, and he feels you shudder in his arms, your breath quickening. "I can't believe you let me pull you down from Ethelion's arms," he says, his voice muffled as he sucks on the lobe, tongue dipping into the crevices, the heat between you making him dizzy. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips, your waist, the dip of your spine. "No... I can't believe you willingly fell for me. That you're here. That you're mine."

"Always," you whisper, your nails scratching against his scalp, and Leon groans, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Your touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through his body, and he can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, feeling you pressed up against him. "I have always been yours."

You tilt your head, baring your neck, and Leon is powerless to resist. He bites down on your shoulder, leaving a mark, and you gasp, your body arching into his. "So beautiful," Leon says, his words coming out in a low growl, and he's almost embarrassed by how animalistic he sounds, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you're looking at him with so much desire, so much love. You're perfect like this, with your hair disheveled, your lips swollen from kissing, and your eyes glazed over with want.

"Then why do you keep me waiting, my lord husband?" you whisper, and Leon can't help but smile at the teasing tone in your voice, the way you're challenging him, daring him to take what he wants.

"Because I want to make this good for you," he murmurs, his hand slipping under the hem of your chemise, his fingers dancing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shiver, and he can feel the muscles in your legs tensing as he gets closer and closer to your center, but he's in no rush, and he wants to make this last. "You need to be ready to take me."

"I am," you say with a breathy moan, and Leon can feel your wetness as his fingers glide against your entrance. He's been dreaming about this for weeks, fantasizing about what it would feel like to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him, and he's not going to rush things now. He wants to make sure you're as ready as you claim to be, wants to make this experience as pleasurable for you as possible.

He can't wipe the smile off of his face. "In spirit, maybe. But I need to open you up first. I don't want to hurt you."

He can see the uncertainty in your eyes, the way you bite your lower lip, and it's endearing, but also a little heartbreaking. You're so young, so inexperienced, and he wants to make sure that your first time is everything you deserve, that it's perfect in every way.

"Don't hold back," you whisper, and it's a plea, a request that makes his heart swell. You're saying that without even knowing what that truly entails, but he's not going to question it, not now when he has you in his arms, when you're so willing, so eager. "I want all of you, Leon. Please."

And who is he to deny you?

He stands, lifting you with him. The towel hanging on for its life around his hips drops to the floor, and he can feel your eyes on him, on the way his muscles flex and strain as he moves you to lay on your back in the center of the bed, the soft mattress cradling your body. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling between your spread legs, his cock jutting out from his hips, hard and heavy. Leon reaches down and takes hold of the hem of your chemise, lifting it slowly, his eyes devouring every inch of skin that's revealed to him, the way your stomach tenses as the air hits it, the way your chest heaves with each breath you take. He leaves it bunched right underneath your breasts and wraps his fingers around the waistband of your drawers, tugging them down, down, until you're completely bared before him.

"Look at you," Leon breathes, and there's wonder in his voice, reverence, as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he's trying to memorize every curve, every freckle, every inch of your skin. He runs his hands up your legs, parting them further, and you tremble. He's basking in the pride of your body responding to his touch like a flower opening to the sun.

“I want you to relax,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

His fingers trace a path from your ankle to your knee, the muscles in your thighs tensing, and his touch is feather-light as he reaches the apex between your legs, the place that's already wet and aching for him. He teases you, his thumb circling your clit, "I know how good this feels for you. But we need to get you used to being penetrated. I'm going to start with my fingers. Is that okay?"

"Yes," you gasp, and there's no hesitation, no doubt, just a desperate need for him.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, and his voice is thick with desire, with love, as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "So brave. So perfect. So beautiful."

His fingers slide between your folds, and he's slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches your reaction, the way your mouth opens, the way your eyelids flutter shut, the way you shift around on the bed, your hips arching towards him, wanting more, always more. He pushes one finger inside of you and you sigh, your walls clenching around him, and he can't help but hiss in response, his own pleasure mounting, his cock throbbing as he imagines what it will feel like to sink inside you, to feel your heat, your slickness, your tightness.

He watches you closely, looking for any sign of discomfort as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of you, the tight walls of your cunt gripping it like a vise. It's not long before he adds the second one, stretching you further, and he curls them both inside you and searches around.

"Fuck," Leon mutters under his breath as the tips of his fingers come into contact with a patch of slightly roughened skin and your body jerks like you've been struck by lightning, your hand shooting down to wrap around his wrist in an iron grip. "There," he says, and there's a smugness in his voice, a satisfaction, as if he's discovered a secret treasure that only he can access. "Found it." He rubs his fingers over that spot again, and you writhe beneath him, your grip on his wrist tightening even further.

"Leon," you whine, and there's a note of desperation in your voice, a need that makes him shudder. He leans down, pressing his lips against the side of your knee as he hooks it over his shoulder.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your skin, and there's a promise in those words, a vow that he intends to keep as he starts to fuck you with his fingers, slow and steady, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit, rubbing circles into it in time with the thrusts of his hand. Your grip on his wrist tightens even further, the bones grinding together in your grip, and it's only through sheer force of will that he manages to keep a slow pace. "Can you try to loosen your grip a bit, love? You have quite a vice grip there. You'll break my wrist if you're not careful." You whimper and ease the grip a bit. "There you go. Don't be afraid to feel it. Talk to me, let me know how this feels."

"It's..." You gasp, and your hips jerk up, trying to take him deeper, your walls clenching around his fingers as if you're afraid he'll take them away. "Not enough. More, Leon. Please." You're panting, your chest rising and falling, and he can hear the desperation in your voice, the way it cracks and wavers, and it only fuels his own desire, his own need to take you, to make you his, to make you come undone. "Up. Touch up."

"I need you to focus on the feeling inside," he instructs, and there's a hint of a command in his voice, a firmness that you're not used to from him, but it's not unkind, not harsh, just insistent. He knows you mean your clit, and eases off the pressure. "I don't want you to focus on the outside right now. Just on how this feels." His fingers crook and curl inside of you, and you whimper, your head falling back against the pillow, your eyes squeezing shut. "Can you do that?"

You nod, a shuddering sigh escaping your lips, and he can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, gripping and releasing.

"I can't with this," you whine, and you sound wrecked and frustrated, your words almost slurring together. You release his hand to grab at the pillow behind you, your knuckles white as you grip the fabric. "It's not enough." Leon chuckles. He knew it would take some time to make you come like this, but that's half the fun. He wants to watch you struggle and squirm as he takes his time, opening you up for what's to come. He wants to savor every second of this, wants to make you feel as much pleasure as possible.

"I suppose I can indulge you, just a little," Leon murmurs and presses his thumb against your protruding clit. "I want you to tell me when you're about to come. Focus on what your cunt's doing." He's rewarded with another shudder and a broken whimper as he rubs slow circles over your clit, his fingers still thrusting inside you. "And remember to breathe. You need oxygen to come."

You do as he instructs, taking deep, shuddering breaths, and he can feel the way your body relaxes, the tension in your muscles easing as you let him guide you through the pleasure. Your hips begin to rock in time with the thrusts of his fingers, and he can see the way your toes are curling, your heels digging into the bed. You're close, he can feel it, the way your walls are fluttering, gripping him, trying to keep him inside.

"Leon," you moan, and your voice is so full of need that it sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin, making it throb. "It's... I'm going to... Please, don't stop."

He leans down and presses his lips to yours, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that's more teeth and tongue than finesse, his fingers never stopping, his thumb still rubbing mercilessly against your clit, "Let me see you fall apart."

As if on cue, you shatter beneath him, your back arching off the bed, your hips lifting up as you come, a guttural cry tearing from your throat, and he swallows it, his mouth still on yours, drinking in the sound of your pleasure. He keeps moving his fingers, drawing out your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until you're twitching and gasping, your body writhing beneath him.

"So beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice ragged with his own desire.

He doesn't let you come down, doesn't let you catch your breath. Instead, he continues to work his fingers inside of you without touching your clit, taking that orgasm to associate it to what his fingers are doing. He wants you to come on his fingers, wants to teach your body to respond to his touch in this way, and he's not going to stop until you do.

"I can't," you gasp, your hand coming up to press against his chest, trying to push him away, to create some distance between your bodies, but he doesn't let you, doesn't relent, his fingers still working you open, stretching you wide. "Leon! Ah, it's too sensitive! Too much!"

"Shhh," Leon soothes, and there's a note of authority in his tone, a command that he doesn't realize slips through. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and your mouth parts, a soft moan escaping. "You can, and you will. I'm going to take care of you. I want to see you come apart on my fingers. Can you do that for me? Only from my fingers? Not from the outside?" He presses a kiss to your temple, and your breath stutters, your eyes squeezing shut. "I'll stop if you really can't handle it. I know it's a lot, but I promise, it'll feel so good if you let it."

"I don't know if I can," you whisper, and there's a note of fear in your voice, a hesitation that he understands. You've never done this before, never had someone touch you like this, never had someone take you to the edge and then hold you there, dangling over the precipice, and he's asking you to trust him, to let him take control, to let him guide you.

"You can, I'll get you there," he assures you, his voice soft and gentle, and his fingers never stop moving, never stop stroking, never stop stretching. "Listen, you hear that? How wet you are? That's your body's way of telling us you're ready for more. You're taking it so well. Just try to relax, and let me show you what your body's capable of."

A third finger teases at your entrance, and you whimper, your hips canting up to meet his touch, your body responding to him in a way that he knows is instinctual, primal. You're so wet that his fingers are practically dripping with your juices, the sound of your cunt squelching obscenely with each thrust, and it's music to his ears. "Gods," you gasp, your head falling back, your neck exposed, and he can't resist the temptation to lean down and nip at the sensitive skin there, to suck a mark that will bloom on your skin like a brand.

"It's just me in here with you," he murmurs against your neck, his breath hot against your skin, his words a whisper of reassurance and encouragement, and you shiver, your body trembling beneath him, as if you're trying to hold on to his words, to let them anchor you, ground you. He has to hold you down with his body weight to keep you from thrashing and bucking too much, the pressure on your clit gone and you can't grind up against him to get the relief you need. "Just us in here. No God. Just my fingers. Just focus on what my fingers are doing. Can you feel how wide they're stretching you?" He nips at your earlobe, and then soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

"Oh, god..." you moan, your voice low and ragged, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you, your knuckles white as you cling to the fabric.

"No God," Leon repeats, and there's a dark satisfaction in his tone, a possessiveness that you can feel in every fiber of your being. "I'm not going to let you rely on Him. I'm the one who's going to take care of you from now on."

One kiss mark on the side of your neck turns into another, and another, and soon, he's sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his, claiming you in a way that goes far beyond the physical. He wants to leave his mark on every inch of your skin, to erase every trace of Ethelion's influence, to make sure that you know that choosing Leon meant choosing to fall to his level, not the God who abandoned you. And when you're covered in his love bites, when you're writhing and gasping, your body shaking with need, he'll move on to the next patch of unblemished skin, and start all over again. Because for all the shame and guilt he felt for tainting you, he can't help but feel a dark thrill at the thought of corrupting you further, of showing you pleasures that you've never known before. Plucking an angel from Heaven and making them his. This is his worship. This is what he wanted to do all along.

"Leon!" You cry out his name like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the desperation and need in your voice like a siren song that he can't resist. There's hardly any resistance against his fingers, you're so soft inside, and you're so wet that his hand is drenched in your slick, his palm starting to rub against your clit, the heel of his hand putting just the right amount of pressure there to keep you teetering on the edge, but not enough to send you tumbling over. He wants to keep you here, in this place of pure sensation, where there is nothing but him and his touch, his love, his desire. "Oh, God... please, please... Please, no more, I can't do this, let me off, please, let me..."

"Beg for me more," Leon groans against your neck, and his voice is rough, his own need pressing insistently against the mattress, and he can feel the way his cock is throbbing, the way his balls are aching, and he can't ignore it anymore, can't resist the urge to take his own pleasure in hand, his hips grinding against the bed as he fucks himself against the mattress, head buried against your neck as he licks and bites his way up to your ear. "Tell me what you need."

"I can't," you sob, and the tears are flowing freely down your cheeks now, and he's mesmerized by them, by the way they shimmer in the candlelight, and he catches one on his tongue, the taste of your sorrow and desperation mingling with the salt of your sweat, and he wants to devour you, wants to swallow you whole. "Let me come, Leon, please, let me... I need it, I need you, I need you to make me yours, please, please..."

He kisses you, hard and deep, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you, and you moan into the kiss, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he knows that you're so close, that you're right on the edge, and just in time, he takes all pressure away from your clit and focuses everything on your insides, his fingers pumping in and out of you, and you're so wet, so tight, so perfect, and he can't get enough of you, can't get enough of the way you feel, the way you taste, the way you sound as you call out his name, for him to let you come, to give you what you need.

"I'm not going to let you come from the outside," he says, and he's panting too, his own desire clawing at him, the sheets below him damp with pre-come as he grinds his hips against them, his cock seeking relief, but he denies himself, because he wants this to last, wants to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied before he even thinks of his own release. "You need to come on my fingers, need to get your cunt to associate this with an orgasm. Come on, baby. Come for me. I know you can. You're doing so well, you're being so good, you need to breathe," he reminds you, and you do, your chest heaving as you gasp for air, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin, and he welcomes the pain, revels in it, because it's a reminder that you're here, that you're his. "That's it. Just let go and let it happen. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you."

"I love you, I love you," you chant, like a litany, like a prayer, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, the words falling from your lips like a benediction, and he can't help but groan, his own need pushing him to the brink, his hips grinding harder. "Please, please, please—"

Your voice breaks off in a keening wail as your body goes rigid, your back arching off the bed, your head thrown back in ecstasy, your mouth open in a silent scream as you come, your cunt clenching around his fingers, your thighs shaking, your heels digging into the mattress as you ride out the waves of pleasure. And he can feel it, the way your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers, the way your body grips him, and he's so close, so close, so fucking close...

"That's my good girl," Leon grunts against your neck, his own breath coming in ragged gasps as he continues to thrust his fingers into you, prolonging your orgasm, drawing it out until you're limp and trembling beneath him. "That's it. Let go. Give in to it. Give me everything."

He milks you for every last bit of pleasure, and when you're finally spent, your body lax and boneless beneath his, he kisses you again, softer this time, his lips gentle against yours.

"You're so perfect," Leon whispers, and he means it, he means it with every fiber of his being, because you are, you're everything he's ever wanted, ever dreamed of, ever imagined. "I knew you could do it. I knew you were a good girl. You were so good for me, so perfect, and I'm so proud of you, so proud of you for letting go and trusting me. You did so well."

"Leon..." His name is a whisper on your lips, a plea, a prayer, and he cups your jaw, nestles your chin in the slope between his thumb and pointer, and pushes your head back to kiss you again, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim every inch of you. You're exhausted, spent, your body limp and heavy, but you still manage to wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, and he can feel the way your heart is still racing, your pulse fluttering like a captured bird. Your tongue can't quite reciprocate the movement of his, and he can taste the exhaustion, the way it's settled into your muscles, made them weak. "I love you," you breathe against his lips, and he's sure his heart is about to burst, it's so full of joy and adoration and love.

"I love you too," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than he's ever meant anything in his life. His hand is still between your legs, cupping your sex, his fingers still buried inside you, and he feels the reaction those words elicit, "Fuck, you want more, huh? Even though you're exhausted." You nod, expression woozy and slackened, and he smiles, his lips curving up against yours. "I can feel you clenching down on me, even though I'm barely moving my fingers. I wonder if we should see if you can have another one like this, on my cock this time. Do you think you can do it?" He pulls back, and you blink slowly, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses. Your shoulders, neck and collarbones all littered with bruises and bite marks.

"Yes," you say without hesitation, without a single doubt, and it's a miracle that he can even think straight, that he can focus enough to move his hand, to slide his fingers out of you. Your slick clings to them, a thin string connecting you to him before he smears it all over his length, the slide of his palm against the shaft as he coats it making him groan and his hips stutter. "Please. Please, Leon, I need you inside me."

He's never heard anything so sweet, so perfect, and he's powerless to resist you, helpless in the face of your desire. "Anything you want," he murmurs, and he means it, he means it more than anything he's ever said before.

His hands have a faint tremble to them as he helps you out of your nightgown, baring the upper side of your body to him completely. The jarring difference between the marked skin from the clavicle up and the blank canvas of your chest makes his dick twitch in anticipation, and he licks his lips as he imagines how much further he can take things with you. You let out a soft sigh as his palms skim up your sides to cup your breasts, massaging them gently as his thumbs roll across your nipples. You arch your back, pressing your breasts into his palms, and Leon grins as he continues teasing your sensitive flesh.

"Always so responsive," he breathes, crawling up to nestle between your legs, his broad form draping over yours. His hands drop down to grip your waist, his fingers tightening slightly on your heated skin, and then he tugs you against him, rolling his hips forward, grinding his erection against your center, and the friction is delicious. "Do you like having my weight on top of you?"

"Mm-hmm," you nod, your breath coming in quick pants as he starts rocking his hips, sliding his length along your slit, coating it with your slick.

The feeling of his cock gliding against your folds is intoxicating, the sensation amplified by your previous orgasms. You squeeze your thighs around his hips, and he moans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he continues to move against you. His movements start to spasm when the tip of his dick catches on your entrance, and he sucks in a breath between clenched teeth, unable to help himself as he pushes forward slightly. You gasp at the pressure, and Leon pauses, knowing it must be overwhelming after he spent the better part of an hour working you open with his fingers. You'd be incredibly tight even if he was average sized — which he isn't—so the size difference has the potential to cause real problems for you both.

Your hips jerk forward, and Leon groans loudly as your body wraps tightly around the tip of his cock. A wave of intense pleasure courses through his veins, radiating out from his pelvis. It's almost enough to make him come right there and then, but he manages to regain some self-control, despite how badly his body yearns for release. But damn... it feels incredible, and he needs you, needs to feel that again.

For a while, he loses himself in the repetitive motion of popping the tip of his penis inside of you only to withdraw immediately afterward. Over and over, again and again, until you're sucking him in on your own. Each time, he struggles not to plunge himself fully within you. Every single ounce of restraint is focused on holding back, letting you adjust. By the time he's able to sink past halfway without making you squirm or whimper, you're coated in a layer of sweat. Your breath comes quickly as your fingers wrap around his forearms caging your head, clutching him, nails scraping red lines over his skin, like scratches from wild cats.

You tremble beneath him, gasping, biting your bottom lip to contain the sounds building in your throat. When the crown of his dick hits something solid inside of you, you shout his name.

"Leon, please! So big. Oh gods, oh gods. That can't—that shouldn't fit." The sudden shift into awareness worries him, breaking his concentration, and he nearly slips completely free of you. You're looking down between your joined bodies, and seeing yourself spread wide over his girth, pupils blown, sends you right back to delirium, arousal winning out over panic. "Why do I want it? I'm so full, Leon. I'm gonna explode."

"Not yet you aren't. Don't be tense, I’ve got you, everything’s okay. Relax."

But he needs you to let go for just a minute. A second. If he keeps trying now, he'll hurt you.

Breathe in. Breathe out. He waits, stroking your clit lightly, bringing you back to that blissful state of near-orgasm where all coherent thought ceases, as the passage softens. Finally, he hears it, the soft pop and subsequent sigh of relief. The muscles loosen around his cockhead as he slides further in. Only a little more now. Just enough to—there. Home base. Sheathed entirely within you.

His control frays dangerously close to snapping as he stares at your face, overcome by raw desire. Sweat runs down his spine, drops clinging to the strands of hair at his nape, threatening to fall into his eyes, but he doesn't dare blink lest he miss a single instant. He wants to remember every detail.

Your eyelids are half closed, dark lashes fanning flushed cheeks as your eyes roll back. Lips parted slightly, you pant softly, each breath a moan. "So full."

A thin film of moisture coats your brow, glossy trails winding down your temples to disappear in your hair. Chest rising steadily with each inhale. Hips undulating instinctively against his restraining palm. Inner walls squeezing and releasing sporadically like a massage. His own breathing speeds up and stutters. You feel amazing. Better than he ever imagined. More than anything his dreams could conjure, you are perfection, wrapped in silk and honey and lust.

He starts babbling. "You feel divine. Look at you taking me, being so good for me, relaxing, opening up for me. Gods above I love watching you let go," he groans huskily, leaning forward to nuzzle your jaw. Your soft skin pressed against his forehead, your fragrance filling his nose. The tip of his tongue darting out to lick along the seam of your lips before dipping in between them. Without pulling back from where he's sheathed, he starts slowly rolling his hips, careful not to thrust hard yet; just shallow rocking movements meant to get used to the stretch. Gradually easing both of your bodies into a rhythm. "I was so afraid to ruin you, break you, destroy everything you represent..." A harsh intake of air, followed by a low rumble as he pushes forward, drawing another moan from you, "And now you're here... giving yourself over to me like this..."

He traces the line of your throat with gentle kisses and nibbles. "Tell me how it feels. Is it painful? Am I hurting you at all?" Another tremor, another groan. Your fingers dig deeper into the muscle of his triceps. "If something becomes uncomfortable, tell me immediately. Okay?"

A stream of whimpers and garbled words drip from your lips as they descend lower to trace along your throat. One hand lifts up to twist through his long locks while the other seeks out the small of his back to pull him closer, urging him deeper. "Oh, f-fuck! Shit..."

His motions change from rolling strokes to short thrusts. The pace remains slow but steady. The angle forces the base of his erection to drag over your swollen clit with every inward slide. It stimulates that tiny bundle of nerves continuously. Your legs lock tighter around him. Feet pressing against his ass to lift you higher and push down at the same moment. Seeking more stimulation. Greedy for more sensation.

"It does hurt," you gasp as his lips latch onto a particularly sensitive area below the curve of your jaw, teeth grazing over delicate tendons before licking across to soothe away any soreness left behind. He hums low in his chest at the admission, and you add quickly, "But it's a good kind of pain, I don't know...! Ahhhhnnn—yes!" You lose track of your thoughts briefly when the head of his shaft bumps into some resistance deep inside you, causing an involuntary flinch and then a strangled keen.

"Oh yeah, right there? You like that?" Leon asks wickedly, repeating the action while reaching down with a hand to grab one leg above your knee and toss it over his shoulder. There's plenty of give to allow flexibility even with his broad frame crowding yours but with this new position his penetration increases dramatically. When his hips press flush against your pelvis, his whole length stuffed inside, his cock reaches even further than before and hits that exact spot dead center.

"Oh my gods--"

"No God," he snarls possessively, lowering his head next to your ear, "Just me. Can you feel how deeply you've let me in?" With purposeful intent he bucks sharply upwards, knocking a startled grunt out of you.

His mouth latches onto your neck again and sucks hard, pulling blood vessels to the surface and creating red blooms all along both sides of your windpipe. As his hips rock back and forth, their tempo picks up until you're practically bouncing from the force. "Who is filling you right now? Sinking into this tight little hole, fucking you into oblivion?" he growls savagely against your damp skin. In return, he earns more unintelligible cries mixed in with the occasional affirmation. The words "please" and "more" fall frequently off those lips. "Do you like it when I talk to you like this? Hm? It turns you on to hear filth instead of reverence, doesn't it? I know," he smirks before switching to something equally vulgar, "because you are dripping wet. Dripping... down... your thighs. Oh, Saintess. My filthy little saintess."

Leon rumbles deep within his chest when there's no answer forthcoming aside from pleasured whines and moans. In retaliation he nips roughly at your jugular, catching sensitive nerve endings between sharp teeth and threatening to break skin without actually biting down. His wide open hand finds your slick back and pulls you up a little to latch onto your chest, and rests the other forearm above your head to brace himself against.

Your chest is covered in a layer of perspiration that he laps away eagerly, swallowing gulps of water between every swipe with his tongue over stiff peaks. You writhe beneath him like an animal caught in its death throes. The movement only serves to intensify the friction between your bodies; both the external teasing of your clitoris rubbing against him and internal massage as his length scrapes against hot walls.

Everything smells like sex, like heat. Like two humans consumed by each other. Everything feels slippery wet, slippery soft. Every time either one of you moves the slightest bit there's a squishing noise emitting from somewhere beneath that makes your face twist and his manhood jump harder within its confines.

"So warm, so tight." Leon grunts harshly after diving down to bury his head between the valley of your breasts. "Can't hold back any longer..."

"Leon..!! Oooh gods...!" Your nails dig into his biceps, raking red streaks over smooth skin, sending goosebumps racing along every inch of exposed flesh.

When the initial shock wears off, he takes advantage of his current location and attaches his lips firmly onto one nipple while snaking a hand underneath your derriere and lifting slightly to tilt your pelvis upward so that with his next thrust there's a direct strike straight into your core, striking gold repeatedly.

Leon lifts himself back up, bracing against the bed for leverage, to hover over your limp body; chin resting atop his knuckles pressed deep into the mattress between your bent knees, staring intently at where your connection joins. Watching hungrily as he pistons into your soaked cunt with quick, shallow strokes meant for maximum friction. His balls swing forward in rhythmic thuds, slapping against the curve of your ass, coating themselves in sticky juices. "Keep looking," he commands gruffly. "Don't take your eyes away for a second. Want you watching stuff you full and mark what is mine."

Your breaths become more labored but your gaze remains fixed, focused solely on where they join together repeatedly. Your lower abdomen clenches tighter as he pounds into you, your head arching backward exposing delicate pale skin for him to continue littering love bites all over.

"Leon, I'm close, I'm close again please!" You cry out, chest rising rapidly off the ground, pushing against his mouth still ravishing one nipple between blunt teeth, swirling his tongue expertly over hardened nubs. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't ever stop I want more forever, please...!"

His movements are erratic, desperate. Frantic to reach his own climax. He hasn't had enough yet though, so he resists it stubbornly even as his vision threatens to blur around the edges due to sheer sensory overload from all angles.

"No." And abruptly he ceases thrusting entirely, simply leaving his dick sheathed inside your fluttering cavern, letting you feel how deeply he fills you. How closely he presses against places that have never been touched by anything other than a fingertip before tonight, if ever. The word itself wasn't spoken with hostility or anger but rather affectionate reprimand. "Tonight is about training. About making sure you learn this lesson properly. It won't do if we finish prematurely when there's still so much to learn and do first."

When your frustrated whines subside to mere frustrated whimpers, he begins again, slower now but with firm intention aimed directly toward prolonging the experience further, ensuring maximum pleasure and education. His head lowers once more into position directly beside your left ear, voice whispering huskily and intimate against your cheek. "My sweet saintess," he murmurs soothingly while rolling his hips slowly forward, eliciting several soft sighs and gasps from below. "Let go completely. Surrender yourself to me."

He slides out of you with agonizing care before helping you turn onto your stomach. Once finished positioning you just so, he straddles your calves in order to lay atop you. Your torso is completely flattened out onto the bed, pinned under his weight. He brings a hand behind himself and guides his engorged cock into your wetness once again; guiding, encouraging your thighs apart while simultaneously spreading those soft inner globes wide open until your entrance yields readily beneath his tip. Then slowly pushes home until bottoming out against your deepest barriers, whereupon he withdraws nearly completely again before repeating the cycle.

"I'm going to go weird," you warn feebly. Not exactly coherent speaking material given present circumstances but still understandable nevertheless. "I'm going to break, please, I'm sorry, I can't stop—" You sob as another wave of warmth crests, rolling down from somewhere deep within, drowning everything else in its wake, dragging under and tearing apart all preconceived notions of reality and time and place until only bliss remains, eternal and infinite.

Fuck, yes, he thinks, fighting not to come prematurely when your walls start rippling around him uncontrollably. It's him who did this to you. Who took apart your composure piece by piece until nothing remained but trembling limbs and whimpers escaping dry mouths, lips parched for air. His chest swells with pride at witnessing your body react viscerally to his touch. It's like staring Ethelion right in the eye while he fucks what is His, claiming ownership without reservation or remorse. No god will ever fill you more than Leon can—will always satisfy you beyond compare, leaving you a shattered wreck incapable of coherent thought besides Leon.

"Yeah?" he whispers hotly against your nape, pushing your hair to the side with his nose before nibbling gently on supple flesh beneath. He wraps himself around your back like a blanket, enfolding you completely within the cage formed by his arms, his hips slapping mercilessly into your asscheeks as he continues pummeling relentlessly onward, faster and harder and deeper than before, stretching you far beyond capacity yet somehow never enough. "Break, then. Go ahead and shatter for me. I'll catch you every single time, hold all the fragments together. Give yourself entirely until nothing matters anymore except how good you feel when I'm fucking you."

The sounds he lets out against your ear is embarrassing when your instantaneous orgasm squeezes violently down around him, milking him furiously even though he hadn't been expecting it.

"Fuck! No, wait, waitwait—don't do that, I'll—" His cock twitches painfully within your spasming walls as they begin contracting uncontrollably again despite his orders otherwise; not stopping nor slowing for a second, forcing the rest of his sentence to trail off into a broken groan. He's fucking coming. Already.

Against his best efforts, a guttural whine tears loose from deep within his lungs, echoing throughout the room as he pumps out rope after thick rope into your welcoming womb, coating every possible surface until saturation point has already surpassed capacity and excess seed oozes out copiously around his shaft as evidence of his release. He keeps pumping, desperately seeking extra traction whenever possible but soon running out of reserves to keep up pace. After a few final shuddering thrusts that border on overstimulation, he sinks further into you one last time before allowing himself to collapse and spoons you securely from behind with both arms cradling tightly around your front like a protective shield, breathing heavily.

"You almost sucked the life outta me." Leon mumbles into the nape of your neck, panting hard against soft skin, still half-hard and buried inside of you. "Wasn't supposed to happen like that. Had plans. Wanted to make this perfect for you, wanted you to remember this night forever."

"Are you kidding me?" you slur, sounding delirious. Your head lolls sideways against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering weakly. "That was incredible."

"Really? I didn't hurt you?"

"I mean... I definitely think I would have died if we kept going according to your plans. But honestly? I think that's a small price to pay considering what happened instead."

He chuckles lightly at that, relieved and delighted by your positive response, before turning your chin towards him and pressing his mouth to yours, kissing deeply and tenderly. He tastes the saltiness from sweat and tears on his tongue and smiles inwardly knowing that he was the one who made you cry. That you willingly let him have this, give him everything without question or doubt. That's the real victory here, isn't it?

As you relax further, relaxing into the mattress, your breathing evens out, becoming slower, calmer. He watches intently, fascinated by how peaceful you look lying next to him. His cock twitches inside of you once more, reminding him that he is still hard. Still wants more.

"We can still keep going," he offers quietly, reaching between your legs, fingers trailing lightly along the outer edges of your labia, stroking softly, coaxing them to part further. His thumb brushes gently across your clit and draws out a hiss from you, and a delicious roll of your hips that forces him deeper inside of you.

"You're going to kill me," you whisper, leaning in for another kiss, and he complies readily, capturing your lips with his own. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press yourself against his chest, sighing contentedly as his fingers begin working their magic.

"If you die, it'll be because I loved you too well. Which would be an acceptable way to go."

The golden hour of late afternoon casts long shadows over the estate, the air warm and filled with the gentle hum of life—buzzing bees, chirping birds, and the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze passes through. Everything feels tranquil, as if the estate itself has finally come to rest after the flurry of its construction. Leon basks in the glow of success, having achieved something worthwhile here with his own two hands—or at least supervising its creation. It's comforting to feel like a person instead of a weapon, especially when such simple pleasures bring so much joy.

And there you are, kneeling amid the lilies you’ve finally managed to grow. They sprout from pots scattered throughout the greenhouse, adding bright pops of white to the green of the plants already thriving. You hum happily while tending to your collection; you've taken great care to tend the soil carefully, pruning away any brown or yellow leaves, keeping them watered regularly, and providing proper sunlight each day. And they've paid dividends, resulting in a stunning display. Each pot contains a variety of different types, ranging from delicate trumpet flowers to majestic magnolias.

Leon watches fondly from the doorway as you work diligently, using the watering can to dampen the rich black earth before tucking a fresh bloom into place amidst the greenery. He'd bought the seeds specifically with you in mind when he heard of their beauty, hoping to surprise you upon delivery—but was disappointed when it took longer than expected. Now here they stand, proud and vibrant, blossoming fully in preparation for spring, brought into existence by your tender loving care.

Much like him.

Leon isn’t sure if you realize how much those flowers represent more than just your determination to build this garden. He does hope that perhaps you recognize a hidden truth embedded within these stems and petals; that as long as someone believes enough to nurture growth, nothing will ever truly perish—especially not love.

He takes a step forward, his boots crunching softly on the gravel path. You don’t turn, too engrossed in your work, your fingers gently brushing over the petals of a nearby flower. He watches the way your hands move with such care, such tenderness. It’s a far cry from the woman he first met—so unsure of herself, so afraid of what the world might think. Now, you are here, fully in your element, having created something beautiful from nothing. And he cannot help but admire how far you've come, how brave you are, how determined to make a new life for yourself.

"They've grown well," Leon says, coming up beside you, taking care not to disturb your concentration. His eyes follow your motions, noticing the way the sunbeams bounce off your cheeks, highlighting the curves and lines of your face as you smile proudly.

"Look, my pretties. He's praising you," you say fondly, caressing another blossom with the back of your finger. "Go ahead, praise them more."

He laughs softly. "Alright, then. Um, very nice job, lilies..." Leon trails off awkwardly, unable to shake the feeling of foolishness that comes with complimenting plants like they understand human speech. "Good work on the pollination?"

You burst into giggles as soon as his words leave his mouth and he smiles sheepishly, trying his hardest not to blush. Maybe this kind of thing doesn't suit him, but he wants you to know how happy it makes him seeing your efforts come to fruition. All of this—the flowers, the greenhouse itself, even your little house down by the lake—were ideas that came straight out of your brain and were built here by your hands. And damn it, he wishes there was a manual for what to say to express just how amazingly impressive that is!

But when you glance back at him with shining eyes full of excitement, Leon realizes that maybe he doesn't need fancy vocabulary after all.

"And great job growing garden, my lady." He grins broadly, patting the top of your head fondly. "I knew you would do it if you believed enough."

Suddenly you turn to him fully and throw your arms around him tightly in an excited hug. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nah, this was all you."

"Okay fine, yeah it was pretty much just me... But seriously!" You insist, looking up at him with serious eyes that glitter like gemstones. "Thank you."

"What is this, 'thank you'? You should be saying 'I did a good job!' Come on, say it."

A smirk curls at the edge of your lip before morphing into an expression so warm, Leon feels it spread deep within his chest like sunshine melting snowfall. "We did a good job. Thank you for believing in me enough to see it through. For sticking by me during tough times, cheering me on no matter how discouraged I got. This is our home now."

A soft sigh escapes his throat involuntarily and he pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist loosely while resting his chin atop your hair. "Mmhm... That sounds much better."

Hearing those words, hearing you accept this space as theirs, makes him incredibly happy. Part of him wonders if you truly comprehend just how significant this moment actually is—that neither of you have belonged anywhere since childhood; tossed aside or forgotten, ignored or scorned, pushed around by others' expectations—yet here stands a place where everyone knows exactly who they are meant to belong with and where they belong. A sanctuary of peace built around love alone.

After all those years trapped in that crumbling temple and their orders, forced to endure pain and suffering under constant scrutiny from those seeking power through control, Leon never could imagine things turning out so perfectly for himself. Not when he lost faith so long ago, surrendering himself entirely to Ethelion's command in hopes he might someday find salvation elsewhere; yet ultimately falling short of such aspirations time after time. Yet somehow now, even despite everything—despite being branded a traitor, exiled, stripped away of everything including his name—he is grateful, contentment flooding through his system, settling comfortably within his bones.

In your arms, there is freedom. In your heart beats a home.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy imagine

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techhasmjolnir · 1 day

Text

Crossroads

Plot: When what should have been a day of celebration and joy for you turns south, Echo's there to provide all the comfort you need.

Author's Notes:

*This short story is a combination of a few prompts I've had on my to-do list for awhile. Mainly, writing a story with Echo, because he's so underappreciated, and frankly, underrepresented. Additionally, I wanted to write a story involving one of the Bad Batch lads that involves a casual massage turning into something more.

*When it comes to Echo's prosthetics, there seem to be two camps – one that sees him as having them be permanent fixtures, and the other seeing him as being able to remove them. This story has depictions of Echo being intimate without his prosthetics. If subject matter like this makes you uncomfortable, please DNI.

*This is written in the second person POV, with no use of Y/N.

*The reader has a contraceptive implant.

*Word count 17,930 Important Notes: Most of this content is strictly for audiences 18+. Minors, DNI. As stated, the roles in this story assume female/AFAB readers and Echo. There's plenty of SFW action in here, but the NSFW depictions include: dirty talk, female ejaculation, fingering, F oral (receiving), PiV

The insistent chirping of your alarm breaks the silence in your dimly lit bedroom, the first light of day just beginning to peek through the gap between the curtains. You roll over and throw an arm out, barely cognizant of the time as you slap your hand blindly on your bedside table and manage to hit the snooze button. Falling back into sleep almost immediately, you're able to slip back into the dream you were having and quickly pick up where you left off. Echo's arm pulls you down to his chest, pinning you to him while he bucks his hips up into you, driving himself deeply into your wet heat. Each hard thrust earns him a beautiful feminine moan and his name pouring out of you, both sounds of which he will never tire...

Brrrrrrrrrrtttt? Mrow?

“Echo, since when do you sound like a...”

Something warm and furry nuzzles your cheek, softly at first, then more insistently as it's punctuated with deep purring. You crack open an eye to see little more than an amorphous blob in your field of vision until you rub the sleep from your eyes. A black and creamy ivory face peers down at you quizzically before it sniffs near your nose and rubs against your cheek again.

“Bocha? Oh...Bocha, it's you. Did I forget your breakfast? What time is it, anyway?”

You reach over for your chrono, blinking slowly as you adjust your vision and then sit up quickly, cursing loudly as you rip the covers off and fling them over Bocha, your loth cat. A muffled indignant meow comes from underneath as you get out of bed and nearly fall flat on your face after tripping over your shoes you left at bedside the night before. Dashing over to your closet, you pull out the first blouse and pair of pants that end up in your hands, running on autopilot as you somehow in your sleep-addled state manage to finish dressing, brush your teeth and put on your makeup.

Of all the days to oversleep, this is not one of them. You and a few other candidates have been vying for a top spot at the company you work for, and the decision is being made today. Being late is not an option, and as you slip into your shoes and grab your chrono, you realize that you missed the transport you normally take each morning to work, but have just enough time to catch another and make it with a few minutes to spare. You grab your bag off the chair in the corner of your bedroom and dash to the kitchen with Bocha hot on your heels, meowing loudly for her breakfast.

“Sorry, baby, it's just dry food this morning,” you say as you set the bowl down. “Mama's running late and I don't have time to give you wet food.” Bocha eyes her bowl suspiciously, gives it a single sniff, then marches off with tail up, clearly unenthusiastic about the morning's offerings. “Well, starve then, lady! I don't have time for this!”

You step out into the hallway and look back into your empty apartment, having the distinct feeling you're forgetting something. It dawns on you that every second is officially counting, so you engage the door, watching it close and lock with a soft hiss and a click. Luck seems to be on your side as an elderly neighbor down the hall just stepped into the elevator; he holds it open and watches curiously as you sprint and almost stumble into it, rapidly pushing the button for the ground floor. The door rolls closed and starts making its descent. You can't help but constantly let your eyes drift down to see the time, watching your ability to catch your ride quickly evaporate.

“Running late?”

“Yes, and if this kriffing thing doesn't hurry up, I'm going to miss the next transport and my well-deserved promotion!”

“No need for vulgarity, miss,” your neighbor gently chides. “I think you should have just enough time. Let me give you a little piece of advice. It's always the same pilot for the 8:00 transport, and let's just say that he flies like a bantha walks.”

“So you're telling me I'm still going to be late?!” you exclaim, feeling the worry sitting in the pit of your stomach grow heavier.

“You didn't let me finish. He flies like a bantha walks...up until he hits the lane for downtown. Then you'll think you're traversing a hyperspace lane. You'll make it. See? Ground floor.”

The bell chimes and the door rolls open, although this time you don't feel like you need to run through the lobby. The advice may have been unwarranted, but you feel like you can trust his observations. As you approach the main doors, something compels you to turn around and look back at the elevator. Your neighbor holds up a hand and smiles at you.

“Best of luck to you, miss. May your day be filled with adventures!”

“Uh, thank you!” you call to him. “Whatever that's supposed to mean,” you mutter before stepping out into the radiant sunshine, and the promise of a glorious day ahead.

As your neighbor predicted, you make it in plenty of time, joining several impatient would-be passengers when the low rumble of the transport's engines greet your ears. The rust-colored, boxy looking craft reminds you of a beetle trundling along a tree branch as it slowly crawls its way down and comes to a stop. A few people disembark, then you and the others rush aboard. You find an available window seat and clutch your bag to your chest, still having a gut feeling that something else is going to go wrong and ruin your entire day.

Hey, at least I got this far. Just calm down, girlie. You're going to be fine, and everything for which you've worked so hard all these years is going to pay off.

***

The lobby is nearly empty when you step out of the elevator, save for the security guard at his desk and a maintenance droid busily cleaning the floor. The rapid clicking of your heels on the pristine white tiling disturbs the peaceful ambience, the sound echoing almost obscenely as you walk faster. You keep your head down as you sniffle occasionally, fighting to keep another round of tears from falling and failing miserably as your vision blurs. The tightness in your chest and the rising nausea are rapidly pushing you into a panic attack, and right now you need to get out of the building before you scream your lungs out...or vomit profusely. The security guard starts to wish you a good night, but the words never come as he watches you blow by the desk, nearly tripping over the maintenance droid.

You storm the main entrance, the doors barely opening before you force yourself through them. Stopping at the top of the stairs that lead down to the main promenade, you sit down heavily and drop your bag between your feet. Nothing can stop the flood of emotion now as your hands cover your face, your sobs muffled but still loud enough for passers by to hear. You realize there's no way you can take public transportation home in this state, lest you die of embarrassment from being a complete wreck in front of total strangers. Pulling yourself together the best you can, you reach into your bag and find some tissues to wipe your eyes and clean up your face.

You slowly get up and brush off your pants before slinging your bag over your shoulder and dejectedly plod down the steps. Trying to get an air taxi home during rush hour from the financial sector where you work is almost impossible, but for the first time today you feel like things are looking up when you spot a lanky Twi'lek pilot on standby at a nearby landing platform. You call out to him and he nods in acknowledgment, waving you over. Judging by the look of surprise on his face, you're guessing you look completely unhinged.

“Is everything all right?” he asks cautiously, suddenly unsure whether or not he wants you as a fare.

“Just a really, really, really bad day at work, and all I want to do is go home and curl up into a ball and disappear.”

The exhaustion on your face and in your voice is evident, and the pilot immediately opens up the door for you. “That bad, eh? Come on, get in and we'll be on our way. I'll try to get you home as fast as I can. Now...where to, miss?”

You give him your address and within moments, you're on your way. This pilot isn't afraid to get aggressive with his flying and you find yourself digging your fingers into the back seat until your knuckles turn white as he weaves in and out through traffic. Silently thanking the Maker that he's more focused on his driving than conversing with meaningless small talk, the shared silence gives you the opportunity to think about everything that transpired today and where you go from here. It doesn't take long to get lost in your thoughts – so much so, that it doesn't register that you've finally come to a stop in front of your apartment building and the pilot is trying to get your attention.

“Miss? Miss, are you in there? We've arrived, so if you'd be so kind, your fare is 20 credits.”

As you pay him and slip him a hefty tip, you feel like you should say something. “Thanks for getting me home so quickly. Also...don't take this the wrong way, but thank you for not trying to force a conversation. I'm just not...”

The pilot holds up his hand to silence you, a small smile crossing his face. “No offense taken, miss. I can tell your day has been absolute bantha shit, and I didn't think you'd be up to talking. Humans are especially easy to read,” he chuckles. “Go. Do yourself a favor and take a hot shower, get some good food and alcohol into your system, and if you have someone to curl up with at night, do just that. The likelihood of tomorrow being just as bad as today is slim.”

You crack a smile for the first time all day and the pilot takes that as his sign to depart. You watch him pull back into the nearest lane and even from where you're standing, you hear him lay on the horn as he is nearly sideswiped by a garbage trawler. Feeling a little more invigorated after the pilot's pep talk, you decide to take his advice. You've been walking around all day feeling like you're being suffocated by your emotions and anxiety, and unwinding with a hot bath and a good meal is a perfect place to start. There's only one thing missing from this equation, and that's –

Echo. Oh, no...Echo. He's going to be furious with me, I just know it. He's going to think I've been blowing him off the whole day, and it's not my fault. I'm almost afraid to see how many messages I have...

You set a brisk pace as you head inside and cross the lobby to join a few other residents in one of the elevators. It's a quiet ride up to your floor, and by the time you reach your apartment, the exhaustion is really starting to sink in. Your whole body is pulsing with ache, your limbs feeling leaden and useless as you key in your code. You can hear Bocha meowing loudly inside, and as the door opens, she comes rushing out to greet you.

“Hey, lady,” you sigh, squatting down to pet her as she rubs against your legs, purring non-stop. “Yeah, you know I'm feeling like shit, don't you? Come on, let's go inside before someone sees you. I don't need another complaint from management.”

As if she understands you, Bocha turns and leads the way into your apartment before disappearing into your bedroom. Dropping your bag on the kitchen counter, you slip out of your shoes and walk into your living room, your heart sinking when you spy the comlink Echo gave you sitting on your coffee table. It's one of the military grade comlinks he and his brothers use, after you complained the civilian versions barely work, thanks to all the electromagnetic interference on Coruscant. The private frequency you two share offers a welcome sense of security, and more than once you've both been flirtatious to downright obscene with your conversations while you've been at work. But now, the comlink feels like a dead weight in your hand as you hold it in your palm, staring at it as if you expect it to come to life. This is what you forgot this morning before you left, and it was the first calamity that sent your day spiraling downward.

“I just can't... I know he's probably worried, but if I tell him, he's going to ask a bunch of questions I don't want to answer because the responses will probably get him angry, and then he's going to want to stand up for me, and...”

You set the comlink back down on the table and pick up the personal datapad you left lying there. Echo occasionally sends you messages if you aren't able to get back to him on the comlink, and as you feared, there's a number of them waiting for you. You tap the screen for the first one and are met with a simple, “Good morning, mésh'la. You must be busy this morning, but all I wanted to say is, I love you, and I can't wait for you to tell me about your promotion.” A lump forms in your throat and tears start pooling unbidden once again. You open the second, sent no more than an hour later. “Is everything all right? You're not answering the comlink, which isn't like you. I hope nothing happened on the way to work. Please respond when you're able.”

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly to keep from crying, but you're too emotionally spent to fight it. Your cheeks are already wet as you look at the remainder of Echo's messages, each successive one betraying his rising level of concern. Your hands tremble as you set the datapad back down on the table before throwing yourself onto your couch, only to stare at the ceiling. You don't know how long you sit like that before Bocha's sudden weight in your lap snaps you out of it. Your hands gravitate toward her head and back, stroking softly before you pick her up and cradle her to your chest. She purrs quietly as you rub her ears, and when you look down at her, the rich golden amber eyes blink slowly back.

“What do I even tell him, Bocha? I don't even know where to start. I should probably just tell him that his girlfriend is a –”

The soft beeping from the comlink breaks your train of thought, and as if on cue, Bocha jumps out of your arms, meowing once at you before she vanishes. Glancing down at the table, the tiny light on the comlink flashes in time with the beeping, and you know you have to answer it. The slow creep of nausea returns as you hesitantly pick it up, snuffling loudly and coughing to clear your throat with hopes you won't sound like you've been crying. You've never been good at hiding your feelings from Echo, but damned if you're not going to try now.

The way he says your name when he speaks almost wrenches another sob out of you. “About time you picked up, cyar'íka. What the hell is going on?! You haven't had your comm on all day, and you didn't respond to any of my messages. Do you know I spent the whole day worrying about you? Why didn't you –“

“Echo, I... I'm sorry, I didn't do it on purpose,” you croak, your voice sounding strange and thick. “I forgot my comm this morning before I left, and I just got home from work, and...”

“Cyar'íka, you're not all right. I can tell you've been crying. Did someone try to hurt you on the way home? Do you need medical attention?”

“No, Echo, nobody tried to mug me. Um...literally everything that could go wrong today went wrong, and I...I...karking hell, I don't...”

He hears you break down again, and he can almost feel your anguish as you completely unravel, robbed of your ability to speak. “Listen to me. You stay put, cyar'íka. We just got back from escorting Senator Chuchi to Pantora, but I'm coming over as soon as I'm able. We're staying on Coruscant for the next few days, so you've got me until then. In the meantime, I want you to do this for me: go change your clothes, pour yourself a stiff drink, cuddle Bocha, and don't worry about dinner. It'll be a surprise, all right? We can talk about what happened when I get there. I love you.”

As soon as Echo ends the call, you push yourself up off the couch and head back to your bedroom, peeling off your clothing that feels like it's been a second skin the entire day. You unhook your bra and let it drop to the floor, then slip off your panties. Standing naked in front of your full length mirror, you finally get a glimpse of yourself, and you're mortified. Your eyes are puffy and swollen from all the crying, and your makeup is smeared in spots where you wiped at your face. Even your hair is somewhat disheveled, and now you finally comprehend the look the air taxi pilot gave you earlier. There's no way you can present yourself to Echo looking like this, and you hope you have enough time to shower before he comes over.

You crank the hot water on as high as you can stand and dawdle under the stream, trying to pretend that all of the day's woes are washing off your body. Realizing you're on the clock, you reach for your shampoo and quickly wash your hair. You're already starting to feel better from that simple act, and as you wash yourself, your mind begins to wander, imagining that Echo's in there with you. It's his hand guiding the loofah across your breasts, down your stomach and between your legs while you feel his cock stirring to life, pressing against your ass impatiently. You reach down and brush your fingertips over your clit, moaning softly as you think about him breaching your entrance with a few of his fingers, fucking you steadily with them while that authoritative voice of his orders you to touch yourself for him...

I know you're horny, but you're wasting time. Echo could be here any minute...

You let out a groan, your fantasy dashed to pieces as you rinse yourself and shut off the water. Grabbing a towel, you wring out your hair, then drag a comb through it before you finish drying yourself. You pad back to your bedroom and pick out a beautiful lacy crimson colored bra, along with the matching panties. Even though you still feel like shit, there's no reason you still can't look sexy for Echo. You take another look in the mirror and this time, you can smile at what you see. Your eyes no longer look swollen and your complexion is smooth and clear. Confident you're presentable, you grab a clean nightshirt out of your dresser and slip it over your head. A tiny meow gets your attention and you look around for Bocha, who's been curled up on your bed the entire time.

“Yeah? You think Echo will like this?” Bocha meows again and you laugh, sitting down on your bed to scratch her head affectionately. “I think you're right, Bocha. Red really is my color. You know, Echo is probably going to be here soon, and you probably want your dinner, don't you, my love?”

Bocha lets out a tiny brrrrrrttt and jumps off the bed, standing in the doorway as she waits for you to follow her to the kitchen. You take the hint and walk behind her slowly, watching her stop and sit by her food bowl. You grab a can of her favorite wet food and a small plate out of the cabinet, and as you spoon it out, you look over at Bocha, her thick, fluffy tail curled elegantly around her feet. Those beautiful eyes of hers watch you patiently, and it's only now you realize that Bocha's and Echo's eyes are nearly the same color. No wonder I fell in love with her when I saw her at the shelter... As you set the plate down, the doorbell chimes and your comlink beeps.

“Mésh'la, it's me. Would you mind letting me in? Some of your neighbors are giving me strange looks.”

You hold back your laughter as you open the door for him, and then you see what the fuss is all about. Echo's dressed in his full kit, except he's taken off his helmet, in which sits a bag with something that smells absolutely delicious. You hold your finger to your lips and he nods as you peek out around the corner and see the resident two doors down from you hanging around outside his door, shooting Echo a dirty look, and a young couple with their toddler just getting off the elevator are peering curiously at him. The little one's eyes are as big as dinner plates as he stares at the strange robot man standing there.

“Dwoid?” he asks, looking up at his mother. “Dwoid! Dwoid!”

“No, honey. Not a droid. That's a man, just like me,” his father says, clearly looking embarrassed. “I'm very sorry, sir. This won't happen again.”

Echo chuckles and turns to them. “No offense taken. Your son is quite smart, and he's not entirely wrong, either.” He gives a nod to the mother and father, and winks at the little boy. “Sir. Ma'am. Ad'íka.”

Now it's your turn to laugh as your eyes meet his, a huge smile breaking out on your face that he happily returns. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Echo. This entire day has been a karking nightmare.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders and nudge his cheek with the tip of your nose before your lips move to hover just above his. “I think that tonight, I'm going to need a lot of comforting.”

“A lot, you say? Just what did you have in mind, cyar'íka?” he replies playfully before his lips capture yours for a tender kiss.

You return the favor, this time nibbling on his lower lip gently. His lips part just enough for you to grant you entrance, both of you moaning softly as your tongues collide and glide past each other. You withdraw, kissing the corner of his mouth and then his chin. Echo can see a spark of playfulness in your eyes, but he also can see the lingering hurt you're carrying. You loosen the grip around his neck and rest your hands on the chestplate of his armor.

“Weeeeeeellll...I'm thinking dinner first, because whatever you brought smells incredible, and I haven't had much to eat today,” you admit. Echo raises an eyebrow and frowns. “After that...hmm, I don't know, maybe see what new movies are on the HoloNet? Or maybe you could fuck my brains out?” You say this last part loudly enough that the nosy neighbor lets out a noise of disgust and disappears into his apartment. Echo rolls his eyes, then bursts out laughing. “Seriously, Echo, that guy's an asshole. I don't know why he was staring at you, like he thinks there's something wrong with you.”

Echo kisses your forehead fondly and then makes a gesture for you to take the bag of food out of his helmet. “I get that quite a bit, my love. With some people, it's because they have no love for the GAR and we clones. With others, it's because they think that people like me are somehow...defective and unworthy. When I first joined the 99s, it was Tech that assured me, “we're more deviant than defective.” I still hold to that, you know. I know that technically, I qualify as being disabled, even though I'm enhanced with all these infernal cybernetics. I couldn't care less what people think of me, however. I have a job to do, and my brothers to protect. I don't have time to weigh the infantile opinions of others. Now, can we please go inside? I don't want our dinner to get cold. There's something special for you in there.”

You pluck the bag out and head back inside, Echo staying behind briefly to close the door and activate the security system. He finds you in the kitchen, already taking out the containers and setting them on the table.

“If you don't mind, I'm going to ditch my armor before we eat. The rest of the lads are heading out to 79's tonight, and know not to expect me back at the Marauder later. They wanted me to give you their best, however. None of them were pleased to hear that you were in a bad way. Speaking of...you and I need to have a talk about what happened today. I'm just going to listen and you're going to talk. I have never heard you cry like that in the time we've been together, and it was extremely upsetting. Wrecker happened to walk by when you broke down, and he started getting misty eyed in sympathy.”

You stop what you're doing and look at him, and he can see the guilt written all over your face. “I upset Wrecker? Ugh, just add it to the list of things that went wrong today. Next time I see him, I'm going to apologize. I don't need to be sharing all of my angst with the rest of the squad, y'know.”

Echo starts taking off his armor slowly, placing each piece in a neat pile at the entrance to your living room until he's down to his blacks. “You are aware that by the time you get to apologize, he's not going to even remember what made him upset, right? But he'll accept your apology anyway, and probably try to crush the life out of you with one of his bear hugs.”

“Hey, I'm not going to turn down a Wrecker hug, honey. They're almost therapeutic.” You giggle as you pull the last container out of the bag, and it's considerably weighty. “Wow, they must have overfilled this one,” you remark.

“No, they didn't. That one is yours, and yours alone, cyar'íka. This wasn't listed on the menu, but the owner and I go way back to my early days as an ARC trooper, and he's got a few specialty dishes he'll make if you ask nicely. Now, I know you don't get to have this much anymore, but I remember how much you love it, so...”

You look at him quizzically for a moment, then open the lid. The rich scent of butter and unmistakable aromatic spices hits your nose first, and you don't even have to look down to see the contents to know what it is. “Squid gut pasta?! Oh, Echo, you didn't have to go out of your way to get this for me! Where did you even get this? This is only made in certain parts of the galaxy, and so far, I haven't found anyone on Coruscant who makes it!”

Echo's expression softens and he looks at you fondly, his heart filling with joy to see you get excited over something as simple as a pasta dish. He fetches plates and silverware and sets them down on the table, then pulls out your chair. “Where I got it shall remain a secret. Squid gut pasta is considered a delicacy most everywhere, but it pays to know the right people.”

You pull out two wine glasses and then disappear into your pantry for a moment, returning with a bottle of a deep ruby hued wine. “I'm not having squid gut pasta without a glass of wine. It would be sacrilegious to drink anything else.” You carefully pop out the cork and fill each glass, waiting for Echo to fill his plate. “What did you get, by the way? Certainly smells good, whatever it is.”

“Pan fried buckwheat noodles with vegetables and pahzik meat,” he replies, closing his eyes and inhaling the fragrant scent of onions and garlic, the scent reminding him of his days in the Domino squad. “Back when Fives and I were first called up to join the Dominoes, we sneaked out constantly to this little hole in the wall place that offered it. Couldn't get enough of the damn stuff, and Rex always got on our case about it. He claimed he could smell the stench of it coming out of our pores.”

“Is this your first time having it since...?” you ask quietly, slipping a few noodles into your mouth, chewing slowly. You can see Echo's demeanor immediately change, and when he speaks, his tone is melancholy.

“Yeah, it is. Would you mind?” He raises his glass slightly and it takes you a second to understand he's initiating a toast. You raise yours and wait for him to gather his thoughts. “To Fives. To the Dominoes. To all my fallen brethren. To you and I.”

The glasses clink together and you both quaff your wine liberally before digging into your food. Minutes pass in silence, and you're starting to feel the gravity of the unspoken question. You put down your fork and dab the corners of your mouth with your napkin, then take another sip of wine before clearing your throat. You figure that you should rip the bandage off now and get it over with, rather than souring the mood later. Echo finishes the last of his food and sets his fork down, taking his glass and swirling the remainder of the wine around in it. His eyes shift from his glass over to you, and he can see you're uneasy.

“I told you, mésh'la. I just want you to talk, and I'll listen. You know you can tell me everything with no fear of judgment.”

You shift your empty plate off to the side and set your hands on the table, clasping them tightly. “I can't promise you I can tell you all this without crying again, Echo. I feel like I've wept an ocean of tears today as it is.”

“Your vulnerability will never be alienating to me. If you need to cry, do it. Just let everything out. I'm not going anywhere, and whatever you need from me, give the word. You know I can't stand to see you unhappy.”

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, then let your breath out with a loud huff. “I didn't get the promotion, Echo. I didn't...karking...get it. I have been there almost ten years and given them so much of my time, my knowledge, and my abilities...and for what? For what?!” Your voice rises sharply and grows unsteady. Echo's brow furrows in both concern and disbelief, but he stays silent as promised.

“There were three other candidates. One was a woman who's a recent transfer from one of our field offices. To be fair, she did have enough credentials to be considered for it. I don't know much about the two men that were in the running, other than the fact they were both recent hires, which means they shouldn't have even been able to qualify for a promotion in the first place. I was the only one with all of the qualifications and the years of experience necessary for the position.”

Echo nods and slides his chair back, getting up to clear the table, but not before pouring a little more wine for you. “Let me take care of this. I'm listening.”

“I don't think I ever really explained just what position I was in the running for, Echo. It wasn't something as mid-level as, say, a director of branch operations. This was much, much bigger. Your girl was gunning to succeed the chief financial officer of the company, who just accepted a position at the Ministry of Finance. I wanted the challenge, and...I... Well, I wanted the salary that came with it.”

The clattering of the dishes on the countertop startles you, and you look over at Echo. Tears spring to your eyes when you see the look of unmistakable displeasure on his face. Your lower lip trembles and the dam lets loose, hot tears of shame trickling down your cheeks. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Please don't be mad at me, Echo. I wanted to do what was best for me, and for us.” Your voice drops to a whisper and you turn away from him, but you can feel his eyes boring holes into you.

“Cyar'íka, look at me. Come on, it's all right. I'm not mad at you. I'm never going to be upset with you for doing things to make your life better. I know how long you've talked about trying to get a bigger place, with the ultimate goal of one day having me come to live with you. I want that more than anything...you know that. Already, I'm finding it hard to keep quiet, but this is not about me right now. Go on, honey.”

You push your chair away from the table and slowly get up, walking into the living room and coming back with a box of tissues. After blotting your eyes dry and blowing your nose, you gather the courage to look at Echo. Even with his unhealthy looking pallor, there's only warmth and undeniable love in his smile and those rich golden eyes. You take another sip of wine and pull another tissue from the box to keep close at hand while you prepare yourself to relay the most difficult part of the story. Echo returns to his seat, leaning across the table to extend his hand to you, curling his fingers around yours protectively.

“After we had our daily morning meeting, the other candidates and I had to go before a panel. Imagine my trepidation when it's not just my boss sitting there, but our director of operations, the VP, and the president of the company. We were not told ahead of time that this is how they'd be making their decision. We just assumed our boss would be the one to call us into his office and tell us the good...or bad..news. They did the usual shit that employers do to make their employees anxious with the whole, “you're all strong candidates and we had a very hard time making a decision” tripe. I was so giddy, just waiting for them to call my name. When the president announced the name of one of the men instead, I almost threw up. But I still had to put on a happy face and shake his hand and congratulate him, and wish him luck.”

“What the hell?!” Echo exclaims. “Something is seriously rotten, here.”

“Oh, it gets worse. After the panel adjourned, I briefly talked with the other woman on the way back to my office, and she was just as furious and disgusted as I was. Even though she had been a rival for the position, she knew that in the end, I would have been the better choice, and told me as such. Then she went on to tell me...and I quote: “This is complete shit, and you know it. That guy doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground and has no business accepting the role. If I were you, I'd start looking for another job, because just between you and me, it's abundantly clear we're not going anywhere in this company. I'm seriously considering putting in my two weeks by the end of today.””

“Hm, sounds like the way the Imperials handle leadership roles, if you ask me. Too many people in positions of power that are grossly unqualified, and their ineptitude gets people hurt, or worse.”

“That wasn't the end of the conversation, Echo. She brought something to my attention that I'd never given much thought, and now it all makes sense. Granted, her phrasing was...crude, but it was damning.”

Echo closes his eyes and shakes his head, squeezing your hand firmly. “Why am I not surprised?” he mutters, lifting his scomp-link up to rest on the table.

You reach out and take the tip of it in your hand, its coolness offering you much-needed comfort in the moment. “She flat out asked me if I knew when the last time was when a woman got promoted to an executive position, given that I've been there so long, and I couldn't give her an answer. I must have looked completely dumbfounded to her, because she went, “That's what I thought. They don't think we don't see, but we do. And it's obvious this place is run by the good old boys' club.” You pause to finish your wine, then chuckle dryly.

“What did she mean by that?” Echo inquires, not familiar with the colloquialism you just used.

“It means, honey, that...” you start, feeling your cheeks starting to grow hot with mild embarrassment. “I'll just use her exact phrasing, and please don't be offended. She said, “If you don't have a dick, then you're not moving up. They make sure to hire just enough women in mid-level leadership positions – like you and I – to maintain the illusion of equality. But they have no intentions of letting women hold an executive office.””

“That's certainly, uh, descriptive,” Echo replies, trying to stifle his laughter.

“It's okay, Echo, you can laugh. For as bad as I felt, it got a smile and a chuckle out of me. I know she was trying to make me feel better, but when I got back to my office, I holed myself up in there and then I came apart. Never did I feel more worthless, inadequate, and invisible. All those years of working myself to the bone, doing everything they asked of me, always saying yes... It was all for nothing.” Your voice cracks and with a sob, out comes “Absolutely kriffing nothing. I feel so betrayed.”

Echo watches helplessly as you bury your head in your hands and let the anguish pour out, crying so hard that you're gasping for breath. A sharp spike of anger rises in him over the blatant sexism and discrimination you and your coworker experienced, the feeling intensified by the extreme pain he's witnessing. He waits until you cry yourself out before he says quietly, “Mésh'la, come here.” He pushes back from the table, extending his hand out to you while tapping the scomp-link on his thigh in an open invitation for you to sit on his lap. “There's something I want to say to you, and you need to hear it.”

Under normal circumstances, you would jump at the chance to be sitting in Echo's lap, but in your compromised emotional state, this feels more like a punishment. After wiping your eyes and nose for what feels like the millionth time today, you acquiesce and go to him, letting yourself be pulled in while you straddle his lap. One of your hands comes to rest on his shoulder while your other falls upon his chest. Echo lets out a soft sigh when he feels the heat radiating from between your legs through the material of his blacks, and for a split second, you think you feel his cock twitch. But arousal is the furthest thing from your mind now as Echo brings his hand to your cheek and tenderly cradles your face. When your eyes meet his, he smiles gently and reaches in to plant a feather light kiss upon your lips.

“There's my girl,” he says warmly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Do you remember when we first became a couple, and I told you how much in awe I was of your intelligence, your work ethic, and that unbelievable drive of yours to persevere in the face of adversity?”

“Mhmm, I do. I also remember you telling me that with qualities like that, I would have been a very welcome addition to the squad.”

“You know that offer will always be open, should you desire it,” he replies with a light laugh. “Now, I need you to listen, and listen well. I don't understand all the ins and outs of what you do, but from what I've come to conclude is that you're exceptional at what you do, truly. You're quick-witted, and a creative problem solver. You are empathetic and selfless, even at times when neither trait serves you well. Your desire to help others is commendable, and your loyalty in all aspects of your life is without question. You are not worthless or inadequate – you are anything but. Cyar'íka, I don't know where you got the notion that you're invisible. You are beloved and well-respected by many, and you are...” He takes his hand away from your face and rests it between your shoulder blades. “...without a shadow of a doubt...” He moves lower and cups your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “Seen.”

In a flash, your arms are around his neck, lips crashing into his for an appreciative and impassioned kiss. The scomp-link presses against your spine as Echo holds you tightly, parting his lips as your tongue seeks out his. He groans into your mouth as you catch his tongue and suckle on it, and this time, you feel his cock starting to press into your leg as it awakens. Now he lets his hand wander, sliding it up your silky thigh and under your nightshirt. When his fingertips connect with the lace of your panties, you grind on his lap and a deep chuckle of satisfaction comes from him.

“I take it that you're starting to feel better, love?”

“Mm, you could say that,” you murmur, leaving a kiss on his forehead before you sit up and look into his eyes. “But like I told you earlier, I think I'm going to need a lot of comforting. Lots and lots, Echo.” You run your thumb along his lower lip and he reaches up to take you by the wrist, never breaking your gaze as he kisses each one of your fingers.

“Y'know, mésh'la, I just had a thought. If you want, I could ask Crosshair to...make it look like that guy had an unfortunate accident, if you know what I mean.”

He sounds so serious that for a second, you actually believe him. “Echo, NO. Don't you dare! I hate him for what happened but he doesn't deserve to be killed!” Then it registers that you've been duped by his incredible talent for deadpan humor, and you burst out laughing. “Damn it, Echo, that was uncalled for, and you know it!”

“I know, but I couldn't help myself. But in all seriousness, I hope you know that everything I said to you were things you should have been hearing from the people who rely on you the most. But they let you down, and your coworker was right. You've come to an impasse, and it's up to you which path you want to choose. You have my support no matter what you decide. Now...I think you've had quite enough hardship for one day, so here's what you're going to do. Go rinse that beautiful face of yours in some cool water, then go lie down and let me clean all this up.”

“Is that an order, Echo?” you purr, trailing your finger down his chest, stopping when you reach his waist.

You miss the sly grin that emerges just before he swats you, both of you breaking out in laughter as you climb off his lap and get to your feet. “Yes, it is. Now get going or else.” “Or else, what?” you question innocuously, but Echo sees right through you and narrows his eyes, trying to look threatening. “'All right, all right, I'm going! Just don't keep me waiting, baby.”

***

Echo shuts off the kitchen lights and heads down the darkened hallway to your bedroom. He stops short, noticing the door isn't shut all the way. The serene blue glow of your ambient lights emanate from underneath it, and cautiously, he pushes it open. Echo lets out a startled cry as Bocha materializes right in front of him and bolts out into the hallway, meowing loudly before she takes off. You can't help but laugh, and he turns to look at you, greeted by the sight of you in bed, sheets pulled back and propped up against a mound of pillows with your legs tucked up, nightshirt clinging tantalizingly to your hips.

His mouth goes dry as he drinks in the curves of your silhouette, unable to tear his eyes away. “See something you like, handsome?” you ask as you wink and beckon to him.

Like a moth drawn to flame, Echo comes to your bedside and slowly lowers himself. You extend your hand to him and he takes it, interlacing his fingers with yours. When you start pulling him down to you, he eagerly joins and climbs atop, caging you between the scomp-link and his arm while you stretch out underneath him. He wastes no time, his lips falling upon yours hungrily, tongue worming its way into your mouth forcefully for an ardent kiss. You moan loudly at the intrusion and return the favor, swirling and flicking your tongue over his. Slipping your arms out, you rest a hand on the back of his neck while your other traces its way down his back. Echo groans when your fingers come into contact with the plugs in his spine, a shudder passing through him just as he ruts into you, his growing erection nudging persistently against your mound.

He breaks the kiss and shifts his attention to your jawline, planting gossamer light kisses along it. You crane your head back and to the side, opening your neck and throat to him. A quiet sigh escapes you as he licks and nibbles his way down, sucking on the delicate flesh where your neck meets the shoulder. Your hand closes down on his nape and he lets out a soft hiss as he rolls his hips into you, inordinately pleased when you squirm around in an attempt to spread your legs. Bearing his weight on the scomp-link, Echo reaches back and takes your hand off his neck and pins it back behind your head. He'd love nothing more than to yank your panties aside, bury his cock in your depths and fuck you senseless, but the night is young and he has something else in mind.

“Not just yet, cyar'íka. There's plenty of time for that. I'd like to do a little something for you to help you relax, if you would let me.” He sees the interest flicker in your eyes and a shiver passes through him when your hand on his back slips just under the waistband of his pants, your fingers resting on his tailbone.

“I'm listening,” you reply, a mischievous grin on your face as you lift your hips up into him and shimmy a little, feeling the head of his cock create delicious friction when it rubs against your clit through your panties.

Echo squeezes your captive hand firmly and brings his legs closer together, trapping you between them. “Are you? Because it seems like you're hellbent on making me come in my pants, with the way you're teasing.”

You sniffle loudly and turn your head away from him, feigning sullenness. Your little act doesn't last long, because Echo can see the corner of your mouth take an upturn just before you burst into helpless laughter. Gently, the tip of his scomp-link touches your cheek, turning you to face him. “Maybe it's because I've been exceptionally needy today, Echo,” you retort, cracking a cheeky smirk.

“Well, then, Little Miss Needy, may I interest you in a massage? It'll take me longer to do because of...you know, one hand and all, but I'm sure you're carrying the stress of the entire galaxy with you right now.” He lets go of you and reaches under your nightshirt, following the curvature of your side until he comes to your breast. He maneuvers a finger under the cup of your bra and pulls it down, eliciting a sharp gasp from you when the flat of his thumb flicks over your nipple. “So? What do you think? My only goal is to take care of you tonight, ner cyaré.”

“I think...” you begin, distracted by Echo circling his thumb around your nipple, “...that sounds – Maker, that feels so good, Echo... divine. But what about you? I want to make you feel good, too.” He sees you starting to frown and he tucks you back into your bra. He pulls his hand back out and places the tip of his index finger on your lips.

“We'll come to that road when we get there. But before I get started, why don't you take this thing off?”

He tugs on the shoulder of your nightshirt for emphasis, then pushes himself up into a sitting position to let you extricate yourself from underneath him. Rising to your knees, you make a point to leisurely pull it up over your head, hearing Echo suck air in through his teeth when your chest is unveiled to him. He watches transfixed when you support your breasts in your hands, pushing them up to create extra cleavage. With one of your middle fingers, you tease a nipple through the fabric, moaning softly as it stiffens. You repeat the process on the other side, rubbing and plucking until it's fully hard, and then your fingers hook over the top of the cups. Carefully, you draw them down until your ample breasts spill out.

“Mésh'la, you are a little fucking tease,” Echo says, his voice growing heavy with arousal. “Look what you're doing to me.” He palms his cock through his blacks, and even in the altered light you can see that he's concealing a sizable bulge just begging to be released. “Keep that up, and I'll rip that spicy little number off you, and I'd rather not do that because you look...” He stops and bites his lower lip to hold back a groan, because you've taken to rolling and pinching your nipples between your thumb and forefingers. “Light years beyond sexy in it...” he whispers.

You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, bunching it up in your hand before you cast it onto the floor. “I knew you'd like it, Echo. Bocha did, too,” you giggle, scooting over to him on your knees. The hem of his shirt finds its way into your hands, and you pull it up a few inches, stopping when the scomp-link comes to rest upon your hip. Your eyes lock on his and go wide, breath catching in your throat when his hand turns its attention from his cock to guiding its way between your legs. “I...I...always thought that...” you stammer, rooted to the spot while Echo's fingers travel over the sodden fabric of your panties.

“You were saying, love?” he questions, his voice dripping with amusement. “Don't mind me. I'm merely returning the favor.” The tip of his index finger catches the material and pulls it aside, a hum of approval coming from him as his middle finger probes between your outer lips and finds you deliciously slick. “We've barely done anything, cyar'íka, and already you're dripping wet for me. But go on; finish your sentence.”

Not to be outdone, you let go of his shirt and park one of your hands on his cock, the other on his ass. “I always thought you've looked super fucking hot in your blacks,” you answer, your voice becoming low and sultry. The hand on his cock goes to work, rubbing and squeezing, feeling it swell and twitch in your palm. “The very first time I saw you in them, I thought I was going to pass out.”

Echo lightly bucks himself into your hand with a faint moan when the pad of your thumb traces its way around the outline of his thick, swollen glans. You press down on his frenulum and rub it in tiny circles, this time bringing forth a deep sigh of relief from him. “That's not the first time I've heard that. But the only person I want to hear say it is you.” He takes his hand away, readjusting your panties before he sticks his finger into his mouth to lick it clean. “You taste so delectable, my love. I don't think you have an inkling how much I want turn you around, bend you over and pound that sweet little cunt of yours until you become a boneless mess.”

A rush of heat flares deep within your cleft, your clit pulsing at the sound of his words. Echo had never really been comfortable with using dirty talk before he met you, but when he discovered just how much it turned you on, he eased into it and never looked back. He brings his fingers under your chin and tilts your head up, searching your eyes and seeing the fire of arousal blazing within them. He caresses your lower lip with his thumb, fascinated by how pliant you've become for him. You extend your tongue and give him kitten licks before he lets you take him into your mouth, eyes locked on his while you suck on his thumb. Echo whispers your name heatedly and wedges the scomp-link under your hand to release the grip you still have on his cock.

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth and you let out a little whimper of disappointment. “Enough, baby. This time is supposed to be about you, not me. Arrange the pillows the way you'd like, and then lie face down. Do you still have that special oil? It's the one you used on me when you were tending to my residual limbs.”

You let go of his ass, but not before giving it one solid, good-natured squeeze, laughing at the look of surprise on his face. He grins at you wickedly and takes you by the shoulder, pushing you back into the pillows. “What, you mean that massage oil? The one that's infused with uneti blossoms? Yeah, it should be in...” You roll over onto your stomach and reach over to your nightstand, pulling open the drawer and rummaging around until you come away with a bottle.

Echo reaches over to take it from you and prods your thigh with the scomp-link. “Move over and stay just like that. But before I begin, all I ask is that if something doesn't feel right to you, or you need me to do something differently, just stop and tell me. You're also going to feel the scomp on you here and there; I'll need it for balance.” He moves off to the side to allow you to get in place, watching as you take a single pillow and then finally lie down. “Just one thing, mésh'la. I think you need to get rid of these, first.”

You feel the tip of the scomp-link against your hip as it lifts the band of your panties while his warm hand is on the other doing the same. You raise your ass up a little and Echo eases them past your hips and down your legs, pausing momentarily once they're off. A husky groan comes from behind you as Echo brings your panties to his face, burying his nose in them and inhaling your scent deeply. His pulse quickens, heart hammering in his chest with his cock throbbing incessantly. This is one time where he wishes he had Hunter's enhanced senses, so he could fully understand and appreciate the level of your arousal. All he can think about now is stripping off his clothing to sate the burning desire to be skin-to-skin with you, longing to hear you fervently beg for his touch.

You lift your head a little and turn to look at him in the process of tugging off his shirt, drinking in the sight of his richly muscled chest and the large hand print tattoo on his right pec as it comes into view. The steel plugs embedded in the rest of his chest and abdomen gleam in the suffused light, a stark contrast to his pale grey skin, and in that moment you're reminded of just how especially sexy he is. He starts undoing his pants but stops when the low wolf whistle from you catches his attention, and he looks down at you, a suggestive smirk on his face.

“What? See something you like, cyar'íka?” he teases, watching your eyes roam down his body and zero in on his hand that's making a show of massaging himself through his pants.

“Mhmm... I see the fucking sexiest man in the galaxy here in my bed, and he's about ready to show me what a big, gorgeous cock he has,” you reply luridly. “Come on, baby, show me how hard you are for me.”

Echo slips the scomp-link just underneath the waistband while he hooks his thumb in on the other side, easing his blacks down his narrow hips just until his cock springs free. A sigh of relief escapes him as the cool air of your bedroom hits the hot, turgid flesh. Long and thick with a graceful upward curve, you stare unabashedly at him, nearly salivating when he flexes for you, a bead of pre-cum just beginning to ooze from the tip. He reminds you of masterfully carved alabaster statues that you've seen in fine art museums, and the soft oh fuck, you're beautiful that falls from your lips sends heat flooding its way into his cheeks.

“You certainly know how to make a man feel appreciated, ner cyaré,” he chuckles, enjoying having his ego stroked. “And to think that when we first met, I thought you didn't like me.”

“That was before I learned how to read you and see past that standoffish, cranky façade you maintain, Echo. What I found is that you're an incredibly attentive, caring, empathetic, and loving man. You want to talk about me persevering in the face of adversity? No, baby. That's all you. All you, and I don't want to hear otherwise. However...” you draw out the last syllable slowly, “I think you'd better put that beast back in your pants before I pounce on you and do all sorts of terribly wonderful things to you.”

The two of you look at each other for a few solid seconds before you both dissolve into rambunctious laughter. Echo lifts his pants backs up and grunts softly as he rearranges himself. He picks up the bottle of massage oil and pops the top, looking at you expectantly. “Alright, as you were, love. No more procrastinating, and let me get to work. I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I'm going to enjoy doing it for you.”

He waits until you've settled in, then gingerly climbs on top of you and straddles your hips. A shiver races up your spine at the sensation of the cold steel of his prosthetics against your legs, but there's only reassuring warmth radiating against your ass when he partially sits on you. You feel the dribble of the massage oil all over your upper back and down your spine, and as Echo's steady hand skims its way along your skin, the calming aroma of the uneti blossoms hits your nose. He grips one of your shoulders and traces his thumb along the curve of your shoulder blade before he presses it into the muscle, already feeling how tight and knotted you are. You let out a muffled groan as he applies more pressure and starts rubbing in tiny circles, watching you closely for any overt signs of pain.

“You carry the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, mésh'la. Let me relieve some of that burden,” he murmurs.

Despite having one functional hand, Echo is remarkably dexterous. His skilled fingers know just where to touch you, and you can't help but wonder where he learned how to do this. He travels his way across your shoulder, rolling and kneading out all the tension you've kept locked away, smiling to himself each time he feels a knot dissolve underneath. His touch feels like flame as it burns away the last vestiges of your stress, and you don't hold back the deep moan of contentment when he moves from your shoulder to your neck. Echo strokes the tips of his fingers along the base of your hairline, then spirals his thumb downward.

“Feels so good, Echo,” you mumble as he works his way back up and takes time to gently rub the base of your skull. “Who taught you how to do this, anyway? I'd swear you were a professional.”

“You remember me telling you about Kix, the medic? Got it from him. He taught me and a few others some basic therapeutic massage techniques so that if need be, we could help each other out instead of having to wait for him to do it.”

“Smart boy. Wish I could thank him for it,” you sigh, feeling like you're melting into the sheets. “You're doing so well, baby...please don't stop.”

Echo stops what he's doing and leans down to leave a few open-mouthed kisses on your neck, the sudden tickle of his lips against your skin making you squirm. Your hips involuntarily clear the bed and you discover that he's still mostly hard, the head of his cock rudely poking against your ass cheek. “I'm nowhere near finished, love. Right now, your pleasure is my pleasure, and that's all that matters to me.”

“You're so good to me, baby,” you moan softly when the heel of his hand makes contact between your shoulder blades. “I don't ever tell you that enough.”

You don't see his contemplative expression as he weighs the significance of your words, and for awhile he is quiet, choosing to focus on working out a particularly tenacious knot just off your spine. “I could say the same for myself,” he eventually admits, sounding a little sheepish. “You're amazing and beyond supportive, and you treat me like none other. I love you so much, ner cyaré. Believe in that, if there ever comes a time when you can't believe in anything else.”

Now it's you who is at a loss for words while Echo finishes working out the last of the tightness along your upper spine. He turns his attention to your other shoulder, again letting his thumb glide along the gentle curve of the bone. He discovers you're loaded with knots on this side and wonders just how long you've been carrying this pain with you. You can hear him click open the cap for the massage oil, a fresh round dripping onto you followed by his thumb rubbing back and forth, digging into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut and you wince, trying not to cry out when he finds a large nodule. You let out a whine anyway, and Echo curses under his breath.

“I'm sorry, baby, this is a bad one. I'm trying not to hurt you. Just a little more...almost got it...” Echo presses his thumb into the lump and you bite back a gasp as you feel it let go in a burst of stinging pain. “If it helps, pretend that every one of these that I find is a negative thought, or a bad experience you've had. When they're worked out, consider them wiped from memory.”

A wry laugh comes from you while his fingers soothingly caress the dull ache left behind. “Easy for you to say, Echo. You're not the one with the – fuck, just like that – landmines embedded in your shoulders.”

“Heh. No, just these Maker-forsaken plugs that at least for now, can't be removed, so consider yourself lucky, mésh'la.” He busies himself tending to the remainder of any aberrations he finds, and you find that you're almost being lulled to sleep by the soothing heat and pressure of his hand. Minutes go by before he makes a final pass along your shoulder, looking for any places he missed. You're so relaxed that you startle when he calls your name. “Hi there, love. Still with me? Everything feel like it's been worked out?”

“Mmm, I think so,” comes your dozy reply. “Sorry for almost falling asleep, but that felt so good. I still can't believe how good you are at this.”

Echo laughs and reaches over to pull your hair away from your face. “So what you're telling me is that I have a future as a massage therapist, yes? That's going to come as a shock to the boys when I break it to them! I can see it now - “Sorry, Hunter, I'm leaving the squad to pursue my lifelong dream of massage therapy.” I'm sure that will go over wonderfully.”

“Hey, if anything, I think they would be supportive, Echo. It's not like they haven't thought about what they're going to do when they fully transition into civilian life,” you say honestly. “When that time comes, you can be whatever you want, and you know I'll be with you every step of the way.” You shift underneath him and he rises to his knees to allow you to turn onto your side. “Wanna take a little break for now? I bet your hand needs a rest.”

“Whatever you desire, love. Just tell me what you want from me, and it's yours.” He swings a leg over yours and moves over to let you settle on your back.

Reaching up for him, you take him by the shoulders and pull him down until your nose touches his. “I want you to spread my legs and see how wet you've made me, Echo. Then you're going to eat me out like it's your last night alive; I don't care how you make me come – tongue, fingers, toys...your choice. And after that, I'm going to take care of you.” Your lips connect with his for a charged kiss laden with impatience, a faint moan of surprise coming from him. “But first, I think you need to ditch these.” One hand slips from his shoulder and takes a hold of his pants, pulling them down over one of his hips. “And that...is an order, trooper.”

“Yes, ma'am! You don't need to tell me twice,” he mutters close to your ear, each word dripping with lust. His breath is hot against your cheek, lips greedily claiming it as they lay down a trail of fiery kisses and send frissons racing up your spine. “I think you should help me take them off, cyar'íka. But once they are, keep your hands to yourself.” He lies back and slides his thumb under the waist, waiting for you to do the same.

“And you call me the tease?” you reply mockingly, giving his pants a sharp yank and watching as they quickly slide down over the curve of his ass and down his lean thighs. The material snags and bunches when it gets to his knees, caught on the metal of his prosthetics. “You wanna take these off, too?” You rap gently on a leg, the hollow metallic ring dulled by the fabric. “Only if you're feeling up to it, of course. I know sometimes you don't always want them off during sex—“

“Consider it done,” he cuts you off. “Get my blacks off, and then I'll do the rest.”

You carefully ease them down and drop them over the side of the bed onto the rest of your clothes. Now you let your eyes rove over him from head to toe, in awe of every line, curve, and scar he bears as silent testament to the trauma he's endured. You reach out and Echo's about to take you by the wrist until he sees that you're slowly running your finger over the cold durasteel of his leg. There's a nearly inaudible hiss as he activates the release mechanism for his legs. Rising onto his elbows, he shifts backwards until he's free of them, and you look back to see him with that ever-charming little half smile.

“Much better,” he sighs. “They were getting irritating, anyway.” He looks up at you and sees nothing but sheer love and desire all over your face, a far cry from the heartwrenching grief he saw earlier. “Something you want to say, mésh'la? You look like you have something on your mind.”

You shake your head softly, a gentle smile riddled upon your lips. “Nothing much, Echo, other than I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I mean every word of it. There really aren't many words that can describe how much I love and value you.”

The way he breathes your name in response sends a tremor of anticipation through you, the hunger for him sitting heavy in your chest. Without saying a word, you pick up his legs, immediately surprised at how lightweight they actually are. Echo watches as you get up and stand his prosthetics against the wall, making sure they won't topple over. “Quit fussing with them, love. If they fall, they fall. Get back here so I can feed on that exquisite pussy of yours.”

Your ears start to burn at the sound of his vulgarity, and you turn to take a few steps before jumping onto your bed. You can't help but peek between his legs and see that he's half hard, and steadily growing firmer with each passing second. Fluffing up your pillows, you sink back into them while keeping your knees up and legs tightly closed, wanting to make Echo work for his prize. He sits up and positions himself before you, your feet between his legs so closely that you nudge his balls with your toe. Echo closes his eyes and exhales sharply, waiting to see if you'll do it again. You push your toes forward a little until you can feel the heat of his perineum, and when he doesn't stop you, you smoothly circle them around the thick root of nerves.

“M-mésh'la, please...” he groans through clenched teeth as his cock flexes hard from this new form of stimulation. “You'll get your turn, I promise. Just be a good girl for me and be patient.”

The tip of the scomp-link slots itself just below your knees, his hand resting on one of your shins. Slowly, he wedges the attachment down farther, pushing one leg to the side while he pulls on the other. Like a rare and extraordinary flower blooming at the first light of day, you bare yourself to him, the soft and glistening wet folds of your pussy reminiscent of petals blanketed in morning dew. He drapes your legs over his thighs before reaching between your folds with the flat of his thumb, taking his time as he draws it all the way up, watching in fascination as it's coated in your wetness. Stopping short of your clit, he takes his thumb away, a long bead of your juices trailing along behind it.

You watch intently as he slides his thumb into his mouth and sucks it clean, the husky groan coming from him utterly sinful. “That's all for you, baby. Come and get your dessert,” you coax, tapping your fingers on your mound. He looks down to see you retracting the hood of your clit, fully engorged and waiting to be teased. “Look at this tasty little pearl, Echo. See how hard I am for you already?”

“If you stay just like that, I have a little something to show you,” Echo replies, a deviant little grin emerging as he brings the scomp-link down and holds the tip a hair's breadth away from your clit. “You said I have your permission to make you come any way I'd like, with toys being one of the options. How about a little warm up with...this?” You hear a gentle hum, not recognizing what's making the sound until Echo touches the attachment to one side of your clit.

The loud gasp followed by, “cold, cold, COLD!!!” sends Echo into a bout of laughter, but his concentration never falters as he tenderly moves the makeshift vibrator around and underneath your clit. Each nerve ending feels like it's sizzling with electricity, and at this rate, you know it won't take him long to pull the first orgasm out of you. He draws the tip around you with care while his index finger breaches your folds and stops short of your entrance. You snake your hips to and fro, silently begging him to penetrate and stroke your depths until you're a sobbing, quivering wreck. A tiny squeak comes from you as Echo pushes his finger in and finds your G-spot, massaging it gently with his fingertip.

“What's that, mésh'la?” he asks, watching your mouth drop open and contort when he strokes the soft tissue a little harder. You're speechless, only able to focus on how much stronger the pulsing in your clit becomes. “I can feel you squeezing the life out of my finger, baby. Tell me what you need,” he coaxes.

“I...I...” comes your breathless reply, back arching off the mattress and fingers clawing at the sheets as the scomp-link brushes under your clit. “Fuck...'m close, Echo, don't stop...”

He chuckles darkly and maneuvers his middle finger toward your entrance. “I can see that, but you didn't answer my question. Do you want to finish like this? Or do you want my mouth? You know how much I love it when you come all over my face.”

You unleash a fervent moan as your walls tightly stretch around his thick fingers that have taken to pumping themselves in and out of you at a languid pace. The scomp-link continues its assault, threatening to tip your scales at any moment and send you headlong into ecstasy. A vision flits behind your eyes of Echo pulling out his fingers and holding his mouth against your pussy, his moans vibrating through your core as he swallows every last drop of your juices. You let go of the sheets and scrabble for his thighs, digging your nails into them as you force yourself to speak.

“Mouth! Want your mouth,” you gasp, bucking your hips in time with each deep plunge of his fingers. “Make me come, Echo...make me come, baby.”

In one swift motion, he pulls the scomp-link away and brings it under your leg, resting it on your hip as he awkwardly positions himself onto his stomach. His breath is hot and ragged against your still-throbbing clit, and you can't tear your eyes away from his lips closing around the tiny bud, tongue picking up where machinery left off. He flicks his tongue relentlessly over the swollen flesh, each slippery pass sending bolts of pleasure racing through you. Echo thrusts his fingers into you faster, a choked moan coming from him as your walls contract around him and rhythmically squeeze. Your legs take on a mind of their own, twitching uncontrollably the closer he summons to you release, the scomp-link tightening around your leg to pin it against his shoulder. A sharp cry erupts from you when he changes his tactics, firmly sucking on your clit while letting the tip of his tongue continue its gentle skimming from below.

“Not...far...now...” you rasp, shutting your eyes as each intense wave ripples out from your center. Mindlessly, you reach out and rest a hand on the top of Echo's head, hearing him exhale audibly through his nose followed by a deep, rumbling moan. “Just a little more...fuck me, Echo, please...”

Echo takes your directive to heart, hooking his fingertips up into you as he pistons his digits at a blistering pace. Heat rapidly pools between your legs, and he can feel your juices leaking out around his fingers. Your wanton cries grow louder, begging him for release as your whole body tenses up, trembling as he drives you to the precipice. He buries his fingers deep within and applies pressure to your G-spot with short strokes, feeling you clench around him. Echo pulls his mouth away and returns to sweeping his tongue across your clit, looking up at you when he hears your breath hitch, only to see you watching him wide-eyed with your mouth agape.

“Like that...keep going,” you urge, your voice trembling. “Yes...yes...I'm gonna...oh, Echo, I'm gonna—”

You hear him give the command without ever speaking the words. The tightly wound coil in your core shatters into a million pieces, hoarse cries bursting from you as you cascade over the edge. There's nothing but white noise buzzing in your ears as the shockwaves of your climax begin oscillating through your body, every nerve ending blazing with light. You roll your hips as Echo starts pumping his fingers into you again, pushing harder and faster with every depraved utterance of his name. Your juices soak his hand and run down your ass cheeks in a hot torrent, and Echo doesn't hold back a carnal moan of his own, watching you grind on his fingers with reckless abandon.

“That's it, cyar'íka. Come all over my face like a good girl. You can do it,” he urges. “Give me everything you've got, sweetheart.”

You watch his tongue emerge, mouth open and eager to catch every last drop while thrusting his fingers deeply into you. He looks up at you expectantly when he feels you bearing down, another flow of wetness seeping from you while trying to push him out. Dragging his fingertips along your G-spot, Echo closes his eyes and then pulls his fingers out, hearing a feral cry of elation accompanying the river unleashing all over his face. He grabs your thigh and squeezes, moaning loudly as he gets a mouthful of your nectar, swallowing greedily while the rest runs down his chin. His mouth latches onto you, tongue seeking out your entrance and imploring for more. One of his fingers slips back inside and tickles the soft tissue, wringing out a last spurt of fluid that he downs with gusto.

“Fuck, Echo, that's enough,” you pant, trying to catch your breath while your heart threatens to slam its way out of your chest. “That's enough, baby... Holy... Fucking... Shit...”

Echo pulls away and sits up, licking your spend off his lips before taking the back of his hand to his chin, wiping away residual wetness. “Should've warned me I needed a rain coat,” he chuckles while disengaging the interface for his cybernetics. He pulls the unit off his head and shakes it off, watching curiously as you cover your face with both hands out of embarrassment. “I thought Kamino was the wettest place in the galaxy, but I think you're the new contender!”

“Echo, don't make fun of me,” you groan. “It's not my fault that—”

“That, what? That you get worked up so much that you can't help but squirt all over me? Hmm, is that it? Ner cyaré, do you even realize how jealous the others would be if they knew you do this for me? Crosshair, for starters.”

You uncover your face and scramble into a sitting position, Echo registering a fleeting moment of panic in your expression. “Don't you breathe a word of this to any of them, Echo! Promise me! Oh, Maker...if Crosshair ever found out I would never hear the end of it.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, smirking. “You know I'm teasing you, right? I would never willingly divulge one of many things about you that makes me insatiable. In fact, I think you should see what you've done to me.” His cock stands proudly at attention, pre-come dribbling out in a lengthy trail. He takes the base between his thumb and first two fingers, stroking slowly and watching you get to your knees.“Now it's your turn, love. What were you thinking?”

You close the gap and sit cross-legged before him, looking up into his pale amber eyes while running your hands back and forth along his sinewy thighs. “Mm, let me suck your cock for a little while, and then I'll get the wedge out so I can ride you. Would you like that?”

“Help me lie down, and then it's time for dessert,” comes his cheeky reply, followed by wickedly deviant laughter.

You reach back and grab a few pillows, arranging them near the foot of the bed. Moving to Echo's side, you slip an arm around his lower back, the other around his shoulders. He touches your cheek with the scomp-link, turning your face until your lips connect with his for a slow, passionate kiss. His mouth parts when your tongue caresses his lower lip, letting you slide in and flick playfully over his tongue. Echo moans deeply into your mouth when the hand on his lower back reaches around to grasp his aching cock, stroking it gently. Now you take to sucking on his tongue at the same unhurried rate, swallowing each lecherous sound he makes each time he pushes himself through your fingers. You finally release his captive tongue, kissing the corner of his mouth before pressing your cheek to his, looking down to admire your handiwork and the hot, pulsing organ in your hand.

“Mm, I think you like this, baby...don't you?” you purr in his ear, his only response a truncated sigh. “You have such a beautiful cock, Echo, and I think it'll look even better when it's in my mouth. Don't you agree?”

The pleasure radiating through his core is beginning to cloud his mind, words becoming unnecessary because his actions speak volumes. He lifts his hips up into you faster, his breathing quickening when you shift behind him to rest your chin on his shoulder with your arm slung across his chest. A sharp gasp comes from him as your fingers graze over one of his nipples and tweaks it firmly. “Harder, mésh'la, please...nngh, just fucking touch me,” he whispers. “Want to come so hard for you.”

“I know you do, honey...I know. Soon,” you murmur into the hollow of his cheek, pressing your lips to the heated skin. Your grip on his cock tightens and he moans, thinking only of how constrictive you're going to feel around him. The muscles of his abdomen ripple under your fingers the harder he snaps his hips, and you feel him growing tenser by the second. “That's it, baby... Just think about how much better it's going to be when you're fucking me.”

Echo can feel his orgasm slithering up on him quickly, and he brings the scomp-link down to touch your hand. Without asking, you let go of him, a noise of confusion dying on your lips as he sags back against you. You can feel his heart slamming in his chest from the exertion, each breath rapid and shallow. Positioning yourself back at his side, you rest a hand between his shoulder blades and the other on his lower back, guiding him down. His head sinks into the pillows and he sighs contentedly, reaching up to pet your cheek with his hand. You lean into his warmth, closing your eyes while his thumb ghosts its way across your chin. He watches you take him by the wrist, bringing your lips to his palm for a heartfelt kiss.

“Too much, too quickly, I know,” you mumble, shifting your attention to his fingertips as you kiss each one. “'m sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for, cyar'íka. Whenever you're playing with my cock, words kind of go out the window,” he chuckles.

“Gee, I never noticed that before,” you reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. You look at him and a few seconds pass in silence before you crack a grin and start laughing. “I think I lost track of how many times I made you moan, Echo. Maybe this time I should pay attention.”

“Maybe you should,” he says, his voice dropping roughly. “This thing isn't going to go away by itself, so if you'd be so kind?” He spreads his thighs out, waiting for you to slot yourself between them. “Just one thing. Before we do this, the scomp and the interface come off. I want you to feel me. Are you all right with that?”

You rest your palms on his thighs, easing them north until they rest on his hips. It's clear to you that his old insecurities want to shine through, and after all he has done to boost you up tonight, you want to do the same for him. “Do whatever you need in order to be comfortable, baby, and I will keep saying that for as long as you need to hear it.” You lean over to kiss a path down his stomach, smiling to yourself when he shivers beneath you. The head of his cock is within reach of your mouth, pulsing hot and slick with his own arousal. The moment you press your lips to his frenulum, there's a sigh of relief. “That's what I want to hear. Now take them off, and then let me take care of you. I'm going to make you feel so good, Echo.”

There's another minuscule hiss as the scomp-link releases; you gently pull it away from his body and wait for him to disconnect from the interface. He lifts his head, pulls off the unit and hands it to you, waiting patiently as you set both pieces next to his legs. Stepping over to your closet, you dig around until you find the special low angled wedge – a custom made piece of sex furniture you had gotten for Echo early on in your relationship to help make sex easier and more enjoyable for him. You leave it at bedside and return to your rightful place between his legs, resting on your stomach as one arm slides underneath and around a thigh to hold him steady. Your lips meet the soft skin of his other thigh, leaving ethereal kisses while your free hand sneaks up to encompass his balls.

Echo sucks air in through his teeth sharply as you gently palpate, rolling each testicle between your fingers. “Fuck..keep going, mésh'la,” he groans, winding his fingers into your hair and pulling you closer until he feels the heat of your breath dancing across his skin. “Give me that mouth.”

“Mm, with only the greatest of pleasure, my love. Look at you, so thick and full for me,” you purr, applying a little more pressure as you squeeze, drawing out a low growl from him. “I can't wait to taste you.”

You brush your nose against his balls, giving them a gentle nudge before planting tiny, chaste kisses upon each one. Your tongue snakes out to lick a wide stripe up his perineum, causing him to buck involuntarily at the sudden intrusion. You wrap your other arm around his thigh and sling it over your shoulder, leaving him wholly at your mercy. Echo shuts his eyes, cursing under his breath as you tease him with each silken flick of your tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your lips graze over one of his balls before you draw it into your mouth, in no great hurry as you suck on him languidly. His fervid moaning rushes straight to your core, arousal bursting into flame with each breathless utterance of your name.

Echo lets go of your hair and takes the first few inches of his cock in his fist, jerking himself slowly as you turn your attention to his other testicle. This time, you add a new dimension of pleasure for him by pressing the flat of your thumb against the perineum, massaging in a gentle circular motion while you suckle. His thighs tremble against your shoulders from the tension of trying to maintain control, but it's a losing battle. He strokes himself a little faster and you can feel his pelvic floor tensing up. Realizing he's going to finish quickly thanks to your aggressive edging, you release him. He lets go of his cock, the tip weeping a sticky trail of pre-come onto his stomach.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he pants, covering his face with his hand. “I don't know where you learned how to do that, but you've got to do that more often!”

You shrug nonchalantly, pretending it's no big deal. “What can I say? I watch a lot of holoporn vids when we're not together. Contrary to popular belief, they actually can be educational.” You look up at him and he's looking right back with an unreadable expression.

This time Echo cracks first, breaking into an open guffaw. “You are such a little shit, cyar'íka, you know that? What am I going to do with you?”

“Hmm...I think you're going to let me stay the course and let me finish,” you reply slyly, getting to your knees. Your hand closes around his cock, holding still for a moment while it throbs in your hand. Echo takes you by the wrist and you let go. “Or not? Are you okay, Echo? Did I do something wrong?”

“Everything's fine, love...you don't need to give me a blowjob. If it's all the same to you, I would much rather you get on top and let me fuck you. I've never seen anything more beautiful than when I'm buried in you, with the look in your eyes screaming that I'm your man. Come on, mésh'la, let me worship you...I'll give you whatever you need.”

Echo watches as you reach over the side of the bed to pick up the wedge. Maneuvering it under his thighs, you help him adjust his position until he's at a comfortable angle. Being cautious not to jostle him out of place, you swing a leg over him and lower yourself, moaning softly when his cock nestles between your outer lips. Echo's first inclination is to rut himself into you, coating himself with your juices while his hand seeks out your hip. Your hands slide under his back and over his shoulders as you lie down upon him, and bring your forehead to his. You can feel him trembling a little, and you give a reassuring squeeze while your parrot his words back to him.

“Echo, I've never seen anything more beautiful than you when you're buried in me, with the look in your eyes screaming that I'm your woman. Enter the temple and worship me...I'll give you whatever you desire.”

Echo pushes down on your hip, guiding you into position as he slowly rocks himself upward, slipping through your slick channel. Your lips tussle with his for a feverish kiss the moment the head of his cock presses against your dripping entrance, a soft whine coming from you as he finesses his way inside. Echo consumes every gasp and moan from you the deeper he sinks into your cleft, taking his time to let you stretch out around him. At long last he fully sheathes himself, a lusty groan rumbling out him when the head of his cock greets your cervix and you respond by clenching your walls around him. Your head seeks sanctuary in the crook of his neck, and for a split second, Echo has the strange sensation of being able to feel his missing hand upon your back. He dismisses the notion when you distract him, lips tattooing him with kisses while you start moving yourself forward along his length.

“You feel so fucking good, baby...wish you could feel what I do,” you mewl, pausing as his tip breaches your entrance and spreads it wide. “Just breathe, Echo.”

You quickly rock back and slide down his length, forcing him all the way into you. Echo gasps like he's had the wind knocked out of him and he grabs your ass hard, digging his fingers into the supple flesh. “Fuck...do that again,” he whispers hotly. “Take my cock like it's nothing...”

You're more than happy to oblige, rising slowly while your walls drag against him and feeling a tremor pass through him when the head of his cock splits you open. With no hesitation, you spear yourself on him, moaning deeply when you're greeted by a single hard flex. You pull your arms out from under his shoulders and right yourself, planting your hands on his chest. Echo lets go of your ass, skimming his hand along the curvature of your spine and wishing his eyes were a camera so he could capture in perpetuity the exaltation before him. Eyes glossy and heavy lidded with arousal look back at him, your mouth going slack as you churn your hips. He reaches up and strokes your cheek, brushing your lips with his thumb.

“You couldn't look more beautiful even if you tried, ner cyaré...I love you.”

With that, the power shifts to you; Echo remains motionless while you set a languorous pace. You rock to and fro upon him, noisily moaning each time the head of his cock massages your G-spot. Tendrils of pleasure lick like flame deep within as you exploit the angle of your bodies and hungrily grind your clit against him, the beginning of another orgasm already creeping up on you. You chase the sensation, riding him faster and feeling the tingling in your clit grow exponentially. Echo groans, his cock twitching and stiffening while your walls flutter around him and his self-control finally cracks. He takes command, waiting for you to lift yourself only to catch you on the way down with a hard thrust. You cry out in surprise and his hand returns to your ass, gripping roughly while he takes you faster, using the wedge for leverage to snap his hips up into you with ease.

“So perfect, Echo...like you were made for me, baby...”

Echo reaches up to touch your back, already damp with a fine sheen of sweat. “Come here, sweetheart,” he huffs, bringing you back down toward him. You cradle his face between your hands and rest your forehead against his. “Fucking kiss me,” he orders, each word a hot puff of air against your lips.

Without hesitation, you drag your tongue along his lower lip, his mouth automatically parting to grant you access. A low, throaty moan comes from him when you claim his tongue as your own, sucking rhythmically on it in time with each strong pump of his hips. Echo's hard thrusting tapers off into long, slow strokes when you break the seal of your mouths to dot his face with tender kisses. Your lips travel from the corner of his mouth along his hot, crimson-flushed cheek until you reach his temple, kissing not only the skin but also the embedded plugs. Echo reaches for the back of your neck, his fingertips winding up into your hair to massage the nape, mouthing your name when your lips ghost across each eyelid. He turns his head as you make your way down his other cheek, nuzzling at your earlobe as he pushes himself all the way in and abruptly stops.

“What? Echo...?”

“On your side, cyar'íka,” he murmurs into your ear. There's a tiny noise of protestation from you as Echo pulls his cock out with a creamy trail of your slick following right behind, leaving you feeling strangely empty. “I don't want to finish you like this.”

“Anything you want, baby,” you reply, dismounting him and slowly working the wedge out from underneath, dropping it over the bedside.

Sliding your hand under his lower back, you help him onto his side before you recline with your back against him, propped up on an elbow with your hand resting on his terminated arm. Echo's hand glides down your thigh and slips under the back of your knee, lifting your leg into position. You turn your head back to him and his mouth is immediately on yours, but this time there's no urgency behind his kisses. The gentle curling of his tongue around yours is sensuous, each slippery pass making your clit pulse in anticipation. You sling your arm around the back of his thigh, leaving him free to take his cock and re-align himself with your entrance. Echo moans into your mouth as he pushes his way back inside with one smooth motion, welcomed back by your walls clenching around him.

He breaks the kiss and drapes his arm over you, palming your breast while rubbing your nipple with his thumb, feeling the sensitive flesh quickly grow to a stiff peak. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he whispers in your ear, sending frissons racing down your spine like a bolt of lightning. “So fucking beautiful, and worth absolutely everything, ner cyaré.”

“Echo, I...”

The rest of the words lodge in your throat, robbed of breath as Echo starts to move, rolling and grinding his hips with each slow thrust. Your eyes close the moment his mouth dances over your neck in a dizzying array of licking and kissing, with his thumb and forefinger tweaking the pebbled bud of your nipple. A husky groan comes from him as your hand gravitates from his hamstring to his ass, letting your fingers trace over its well-defined contours before cupping it and giving a firm squeeze. He releases your breast and runs his hand down your stomach until it reaches the soft swell of your mound and the hard nub of your clit. You can feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck as he takes his first two fingers and calmly rubs in small circles, taking care not to launch you over the edge too quickly.

“Such a good girl, letting me play with your clit while I fuck you,” he croons, rocking himself into you a little faster and stifling another moan when your walls tense around him. “Come all over my cock, mésh'la. Think you can do that for me?” You hum in response and he chuckles, applying more pressure as his fingers caress the tiny bundle of nerves. “That's what I want to hear. Now...” His lips are searing hot against your pulse point as he kisses a path from your ear down your neck. “Move with me, baby.”

You turn your head back again and press your cheek against his, closing your eyes when he withdraws and pushing your ass against him as he sinks all the way in. You hear him exhale sharply through his nose as you constrict around him on his way back out, with a huffed sigh on the return. It doesn't take long before you're mirroring each other perfectly, your cries of ecstasy and Echo's deep-chested moaning harmonizing with the lewd sound of wet skin on skin. He switches from rubbing your clit to flicking the pad of his middle finger underneath it, making your legs shake helplessly and your pussy tighten around him with every stroke. Once more, Echo shortens his thrusting so that the head of his cock massages your G-spot, feeling yourself slipping headlong toward another orgasm.

“Just a little more, honey...I know you're close. So 'm I,” he chuffs as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple.

“Touch me, Echo,” you whimper, digging your fingers into the hard musculature of his ass.

Echo lets out a hiss and a labored moan when minute contractions start plucking at his cock in a steady pattern, your walls closing solidly around him. Your vision blurs as hot tears begin to flow outward and down your temples, triggered by the intense waves of pleasure coursing through you. “That's it, baby...just let everything go. I've got you,” he murmurs, taking your clit between his thumb and index finger to roll the delicate skin of your hood over it.

You surrender to his ministrations with a loud sob, body quaking violently as your back arches into a taut bow. Echo gasps as you writhe and buck, your pussy squeezing the life out of his cock all while trying to push him out. He quickly slips his arm under your knee and your hand leaves his ass, grabbing him by the forearm and sinking your nails into it. Echo curses under his breath and starts pumping himself into you, feeling a gush of your juices drenching him and the sheets. He fucks you hard and fast, each deep thrust tightly winding the knot of arousal in his core. You beg for him to come and Echo presses his nose and lips against your cheek, shutting his eyes as he nears his peak. He drives himself in fully and goes still, moaning your name in orgasmic bliss while his cock throbs, unloading hot streams of his seed into you.

Echo wraps his arm around your waist and grunts softly, putting his weight against your back until you're sprawled out on your side. You can feel him affectionately ruffle your hair with his nose while he slides his hand up your stomach and rests it between your breasts, feeling your heart still racing. Placing your hand over his, your fingers interlace and squeeze, and Echo reaches over to leave heartfelt kisses on your cheek and jawline. Both of you bask in the residuum of your coupling, still lying merged for neither of you want to be parted from the other. Here in his arms you feel safe and sheltered, always protected by his love and inimitable strength.

“You were incredible, ner cyaré,” Echo praises, loosening your grip so he can take your chin in his hand and turn you to face him. “How do you feel? Better, I trust?”

“Better than better,” you reply with a smile so big, Echo can't help but to return it. “I feel...restored, if that makes any sense.”

“It does, and that's all that matters,” he agrees, kissing the corner of your mouth as he starts to lift himself off you. Blissful numbness floods your body and you scarcely notice when he pulls his cock out. You can hear him chuckle and clear his throat as he looks down between your legs to witness milky droplets of his spend dripping out onto your inner thigh. “As much as I love seeing myself run back out of you, mésh'la, I think we should get cleaned up and change the sheets, then get some sleep. It's late, and there is absolutely no way you aren't exhausted.”

Slowly, you push yourself up into a sitting position and before you can stop it, a huge yawn escapes you. “Yeah...yeah, just give me a moment...I feel like I got hit by a speeder,” you reply with a grin. “Go sit at the edge of the bed and I'll grab your legs.”

Echo shifts to your side and wraps his arm around your shoulder and you don't see his golden eyes fill with tender care when your head drops wearily against him. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you're very tired. We'll make this quick.”

You swing your legs over the side of your bed and cautiously get to your feet, legs wobbling as you shuffle to retrieve Echo's prosthetics and the interface. You lie back down while he reassembles himself and takes initiative, heading to your bathroom where you hear the water running and the sound of your linen closet opening and shutting. He comes back with a warm, damp cloth and clean bed sheets tucked in the crook of his arm. Setting the sheets aside, he takes you by the knee and pulls your legs apart to wipe your inner thighs, then gently holds the cloth against your folds. The warmth is incredibly soothing and you find yourself wiggling your hips to push into his hand.

“Still hungry?” Echo asks with a chuckle. “You're going to have to wait. Hold still, cyar'íka, I'm almost done.”

He finishes cleaning you up and returns to the bathroom to rinse out the cloth. You've already gotten the sheets stripped by the time he returns and in no time, the two of you are back in bed. You settle in with your head on his chest, your fingers idly tracing patterns over his skin. Echo kisses the crown of your head and brings his arm around you, closing his eyes as he hears your breathing slow and deepen. You're almost asleep before you feel Echo brushing his fingers over your cheek to get your attention, accidentally startling you.

“I'm sorry, love. I didn't know if you had fallen asleep yet. Did you remember to set your alarm?”

“No, and I'm not going to set it. I made up my mind. Fuck that place and those people, Echo. I'm never going back.”

He sighs softly and says your name, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Are you sure this is the kind of decision you want to be making, well, now? Something like that needs a little more consideration.”

Echo lets go of you as you prop yourself up on your elbow and bring your other hand to his cheek. Your eyes bore into his and you swallow hard, knowing you're about to speak the truth that you've denied yourself from believing for years. “I know what I'm doing, Echo. I'll be okay. I've got more than enough to live on while I look for another job. I'm done wasting time somewhere that I'm not appreciated. Life is too short for bullshit like that, and...” You stop, feeling a lump trying to build in your throat.

“And...?” he replies softly. “Hey. It's okay. You know you can tell me anything.”

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, and Echo's hand closes on your hip, giving you the courage you need to finish. “You said that you would support my decision no matter what I decided to do, right?”

“I do, and I will always stand by that.”

“I know what I want to do with my life, Echo, because I did something I shouldn't have. Really, I did something no one should do. I poured everything into my career and neglected my well-being. But it's time for me to stop being afraid and do what needs to be done.”

“What might that be?”

“Live.”

Echo puts his hand on your shoulder, easing you down until your head rests over his heart. Its strong, steady beat has a soporific effect on you and it's not long before your eyelids grow heavy. He strokes your arm softly and presses one last kiss to the top of your head. “That's it...just let it happen. Get some well-deserved rest, and I'll be right by your side when you wake up. I love you, mésh'la.” His words fall on deaf ears, for he hears a faint snore and glances down to see you're completely out. “The galaxy is yours,” he whispers. “It always was. Time to shine, baby.”

#star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch echo #tbb echo #tbb echo smut #comfort smut #tbb echo x reader #tbb echo x you

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