#mikael boghosian x y/n

[freelancearsonist]

Put Your Emptiness to Melody

Mikael Boghosian x fem!Reader

Rated MA for a comfort blowjob, indirect references to ptsd, maybe unhealthy coping mechanisms for said ptsd, and allusions to pregnancy/ttc

1,141 words

A/N: the first few paragraphs of this has been sitting in my wip folder for nearly a year and i finally got around to finishing it 😂 this is basically just porn without plot with a title taken from a hozier song (to noise making (sing)) and i regret nothing 😂i hope you all enjoy this quick little thing 🥺

“Mikael, my love. It is late,” you state with a soft smile. “Come to bed. Please. I cannot sleep without you, and I know my embrace relaxes you.”

Your husband sighs deeply but musters a smile, eyes flickering up to meet yours as he marks the page of the book he’s reading and sets it aside.

“I suppose you’re right,” he murmurs. You can hear the exhaustion in his tone, and it breaks your heart a little bit.

It breaks your heart even more that his swirling thoughts keep him awake even when he’s this tired.

You take his hand and pull him into the bedroom with little resistance, a soft smile on his worn face as your hands gently help him out of his clothes.

“Thank you again for making dinner tonight,” you tell him as you plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

He gets this way when he remembers too much. He needs to use his hands—keep himself busy to keep himself distracted. So you knew right away when you returned from errands and smelled dinner on the stove earlier that evening that he was having a bad day.

“It was nothing,” he shrugs bashfully. “Just wanted to do something nice for my beautiful wife.”

“How was your day?” It’s whispered against his collarbone between scattered kisses as you push his shirt off his shoulders.

He takes a moment, losing a deep sigh before he answers. “Long.”

“I can tell you had a rough day,” you tell him gently. “I’m sorry, my love. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just… stay with me.”

The poor darling is always so scared of losing you, as if he’ll wake up and you’ll have vanished completely. You can’t blame him, after everything he’s been through, but you wish you could help him know that you’re not going anywhere.

“I’m here,” you tell him as you tug on his belt. “I’m always gonna be here. I’m yours ‘til death do us part.”

He doesn’t tell you that you never know exactly how soon death may part the two of you—he doesn’t want to ruin the mood. Not when you’re helping him out of his pants and hooking your fingers in the waistband of his boxers.

“We’re a bit uneven here,” he points out with a boyish grin—it warms your heart to see his mood lifting already. “May I help you out of this nightgown?”

“You may,” you giggle. No matter how many times you do this, how long you’ve been together, he always makes you feel like a lovesick teenager.

You hum happily when he gently pulls your nightgown over your head, but you stop him when his lips instinctually fall to skim over the tops of your breasts.

“Let me take care of you, darling,” you insist gently as you push him back onto the mattress. “You’ve already done so much for me tonight, let me return the favor.”

Normally, Mikael loves to focus his attentions on you and bringing you pleasure—but he can’t deny that being the center of attention sounds nice right now. He wants to lose himself in your ministrations, and he’s sure you’ll be able to quiet his mind.

He lets out a muffled moan when your tongue slowly traces up his half-hard length, swirling around his tip before your lips envelope him.

It takes a matter of seconds before he’s completely hard and aching in your mouth, and you’ve always been proud of how quickly you can get him there.

“Ohhhh, darling…” it’s not spoken so much as it’s moaned, a companion sentence to the way his hands wind into your hair and and gently urge you to take him deeper.

“Is this what you’ve been needing today?” You purr before taking him a bit deeper, and a glance up has you smiling around his cock because all he can do is nod his head vigorously and hope it gets his point across.

He goes to squeeze his thighs together against the onslaught of pleasure but your hands are quicker and you push his legs further apart, spreading him open in a way that most men would find slightly uncomfortable but that Mikael has come to love.

He adores when you take control—when you position him exactly how you want him and do what you please. He always ends up satisfied when he lets you take charge.

And he’s certainly satisfied now, even before he’s reached his peak. You can see in the way his chest heaves and his legs twitch and his toes curl while you suck him as deep as your throat can handle. His curls are a mess from thrashing about against the pillow behind his head and you can’t deny that this is your favorite version of him. Nearly completely undone because of you, disheveled and not thinking about the life he’s lost or the worries of tomorrow.

He’s truly himself like this, and you think he’s beautiful.

You crawl up and sink down on his cock right as he’s about to finish and it does him in twofold—he bucks up against you and you have to seat most of your weight on his hips to keep him from flinging you across the room with the power of his thrusts as he fills you with load after load of his thick, warm cum.

“Christ,” he pants after a long few minutes of trying to regain his breath, and you can’t help the giggle you emit when you see the blissed out grin on his face.

You lean down and press your lips firmly to his, moaning against his mouth when his hands come around you to pull you down harder on his softening cock.

“You know, the whole ‘we can’t waste a drop’ thing was truly only for before you were with child,” he teases breathlessly, and it pulls an easy laugh from you.

“Maybe I just like feeling you fill me.”

“I like feeling me fill you.” He hums as he nuzzles into your neck, so sated that he can barely keep his eyes open. You’re sure he’s falling asleep so you go to roll to his side when his hands grip your hips firmly to keep you in place.

“Can I stay… within you tonight?”

“Of course, my love.” You press another kiss to his lips as his eyes flutter shut, the day’s stress finally vanishing from his expression. Like this, nestled safely within your folds, it’s hard to imagine you vanishing while he sleeps. It’s why he can finally drift off as your fingers gently pet and play with his hair, and why he sleeps all the way through the night for the first time in a long time.

THE END

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[freelancearsonist]

‘Til Death Do They Part

Mikael Boghosian x fem!Reader

Rated MA for graphic sexual content and use of language

7,122 words

A/N: I just have so much to say about this. It’s my longest piece to date. As such, it’s the piece I’ve consistently worked on for the longest amount of time. I fell in love with this character instantly, and I seriously have to thank @damndamer0n and @damerondjarin for listening to me ramble about this incessantly for the past week. I really hope you all enjoy this, and I would seriously appreciate any feedback you’re willing to leave :)

A year can’t erase a decade of history. You know this better than anyone.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to believe that you’re still on Mikael’s mind after all the months he’s been gone.

Not that you can blame him for leaving. He had hopes and dreams, and they couldn’t be fulfilled in Siroun. Still, the announcement of his journey to Constantinople broke your heart.

Actually, the announcement of his engagement broke your heart.

Again, you can’t blame him for it. If he wanted to go to medical school, he needed money. It was a price your own father couldn’t afford.

You always knew things would never work for the two of you, anyway. It was a nice dream, but it wasn’t realistic. It was a childish fantasy. You always knew it would pass you by eventually.

You wish you could say that you’ve moved on in the year he’s been gone. That you found someone who loves you as much as he used to. But that’s not possible. No one will ever love you like Mikael Boghosian. And you’ll never be able to love anyone else the way you love him.

And maybe, deep down, he knows this. Maybe this knowledge is why he shows up on your doorstep, bearded and dirty, a desperate and lost sheen to his normally bright brown eyes.

He cries as you pull him into your arms, and you want to scold yourself. Whatever the two of you had is gone. He’s betrothed now.

But you’re willing to push Maral far out of your mind when he’s clutching desperately at your shoulders and pressing his face into your neck. He’s chosen you over his fiancée, even after all this time.

“How are you here?” You sigh, taking his handsome, dirty, bearded face in your hands. “The Turks... they’re everywhere. How did you get past them?”

He just shivers and sinks further into your embrace, and you realize that you might not want to know. All that matters is that he’s here, right now.

“Mikael, you stink like a dead cow,” you deadpan, and he snorts into your shoulder. “Let me draw you a bath.”

“Okay.” His voice is weak and tired, and your heart breaks for him all over again.

Your little bathroom is just big enough for the two of you, and Mikael doesn’t shy away from stripping down in front of you. Still, you divert your eyes—you’ve always dreamed of seeing him naked, but this doesn’t seem quite right.

You look only at his face as you go about fetching him soap and a towel, but how desperately you yearn to let your eyes flicker down his chest and over his legs, even as the water absorbs the dirt and grime from his skin and distorts your view.

“I missed you.” His voice is gravelly and rough, and although it’s different than you’re used to, you love it. You love him.

“You shouldn’t have,” you sigh, scooting behind him so you can pour water over his gorgeous curls. “You have other priorities now, no?”

He tilts his head to look up at you, rather looking like a wet horse with his hair flattened against his head. “You have always been my priority.”

And then he leans his head forward, groaning pleasantly as your fingers work into his curls and start massaging soap into his scalp.

“My engagement doesn’t change my feelings for you.”

You can’t help laughing at that. Mikael is a sweet man, and he would never hurt anyone on purpose. He doesn’t realize that he’s stabbing you right in the heart.

“It should, Mikael. You’re not engaged to me. You shouldn’t love me.”

“And yet I do.” His voice is the firmest it’s been since he entered your home, and you have no doubt he’s telling the truth. And even if he isn’t, it’s a nice lie to believe.

“You’re an idiot,” you sigh, but your smile contradicts your tone. “An absolute fool, and I love you. I’m so glad you’ve come home.”

He shivers when he feels your breath on his neck, and a year’s worth of tension and stress rushes out of his body when he feels your lips on his skin. He reaches behind himself and grabs your arms, pulls them tightly around his chest, and you gladly hold him as you kiss his neck.

Siroun isn’t his home. You are.

And yet...

“I am to marry Maral tomorrow.”

You pull your hands away from him like he’s an errant flame; like he’s burned you. He has.

“No,” you whisper, feeling foolish for believing that the two of you could finally have a moment with no complications. “Mikael, please.”

“I have no choice in the matter,” he insists, but it does little to make you feel better.

“Please,” you repeat. “Don’t do this.”

He sighs heavily, his head bowed because he can’t bring himself to look at you. “If you had said this one year ago, I would not have hesitated to call off the engagement. I would have stayed here with you and never breathed another word of schooling. It’s too late now. I can’t repay the dowry. The gold... it’s gone.”

You wipe your hands dry on your skirt as you push yourself to your feet.

You know he would’ve stayed if you asked him to. That’s why you never asked.

“I’ll leave you to finish bathing,” you announce, your voice thick with pent-up tears. “Take as long as you need.”

He grunts his protest as you slip out the door, but there isn’t much he can do naked and slippery.

Besides, he knows you better than you know yourself. He knows you’ll be better off with a few minutes alone to cool down.

He takes his time, working the dirt and grime of nearly six months out of every crease and pore. The water grows cold long before he’s done, but he can’t be bothered to care. When he arrived last night, he was far too exhausted to clean himself. Now that he’s gotten a good night’s sleep, he can focus on finally unclogging himself of dust and mud.

His mind is plagued with regret. More than anything, he wishes he had never gone to Constantinople. So much suffering, so much pain, could have been avoided. A year ago, he thought it would be a prison to stay in Siroun as an apothecary. Now, he’s sure he could’ve done it. He would have married you and stayed with his family. He never would’ve had to worry about Maral or forced labor or anything but caring for his people.

It’s too late, though. His fate is sealed now. And it’s taking him far away from you.

When the water’s too cold and he’s confident that the dirt is gone, he dries off with the towel you left and he goes to find you.

The last thing you expect to see when you turn around is the man you love, with only a towel wrapped tightly around his wide hips. You indulge yourself for only a few seconds—you let your eyes dart over his toned chest and absorb the sight of his bronzed skin and the dark hair below his belly button. And then you quickly turn back around, leaning against the counter as you watch the flames from the cooktop gently lick at the base of the kettle you’ve put on.

“Why are you here, Mikael?” Your voice wavers, defeated. “Why... why even bother with me? Surely you should be preparing with your wife.”

He shakes his head firmly, even though you’re facing away from him. “She’s not my wife. Not yet.”

“That doesn’t mean you should be any less devoted to her.”

Your words sting a little bit, and he knows you’re right. You always are.

“One year ago, I told my mama that I could grow to love Maral,” he sighs heavily, taking a step closer to you. “But... I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know if I can fall in love again when my heart belongs to you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, tears clogging up the ability to speak. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he promises, his voice low and apologetic.

“I know,” you sigh. You brush your fingertips over your eyes and turn to face him, wiping your sweaty palms on the front of your skirt. You busy yourself with collecting two teacups, and you can feel his eyes on you as you speak. “I know. You... you don’t have any choice. You can’t break your promise.”

Mikael holds himself to an incredibly high standard. He’s a good man. He wouldn’t seriously consider breaking such a weighty vow.

“I just... I wish things were different,” you sigh, bowing your head so he can’t see the tears that now flow freely down your cheeks.

Mikael’s touch is gentle as he carefully takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “If I could, I wouldn’t hesitate to repay the dowry. No matter the repercussions. Even after all this time, I want your hand more than anything.”

You’ve never doubted his devotion to you. And that’s what hurts the most. Mikael is an honest and loyal man. You know that his dedication will focus on Maral once their vows are exchanged.

She couldn’t ask for a better husband. And the second they’re married, he won’t think of another woman without genuinely feeling guilty for it. He’ll love her. He’ll learn to love her.

But they aren’t married. Not yet. And that’s the exact point Mikael was trying to make earlier, before you realized what this situation allowed.

Tomorrow, he’s Maral’s. For the rest of her life—‘til death do they part. But today... today, he’s yours.

“Why are you here, Mikael?” Your voice is considerably softer as you repeat your previous question. It’s different now, though. It’s different because you already know his answer. You’re just desperate for him to say it. You’re desperate for the words to materialize—to be spoken rather than implied.

“If I live the rest of my life without knowing your touch...” He takes a deep breath and a step closer, nearly eliminating all the space between your bodies. “I’ll never have lived at all.”

This is it. This is the only chance you’ll ever get to truly love the man you love.

You extinguish the flame on the cooktop; tea is the furthest thing from your mind right now.

Perhaps you should feel terrible. Maral’s a nice girl, after all, and she doesn’t know about you and Mikael. But as his lips crash down to yours and your hands desperately clutch at the back of his neck to pull him closer, guilt is the furthest thing from your mind. This feels right. Of all the stolen kisses you’ve shared with him, none of them have ever felt so perfect. So necessary.

“If you don’t want me-“

But you cut off his worries with another searing kiss, your tongue swiping against his own as you desperately try to probe deeper and memorize every detail of him you can. After all, this one moment will have to last you for the rest of your life.

Besides, how ridiculous is it for him to think you wouldn’t want him? You’ve spent the greater portion of your life sneaking around with him. Now, in the privacy of your home, you’re finally able to have him. You would be a fool to pass up this opportunity.

His fingertips are gentle against your cheeks as he slowly wipes your tears away, and then he turns you around and presses his lips to the base of your neck. You feel his hands on the buttons of your dress, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“May I?”

You nod as he hooks his bearded chin over your shoulder, delighting in the way your hand smooths over his scratchy facial hair before reaching up into his soft curls.

Suddenly, it feels ridiculous that the two of you have never taken this step in your relationship before. You’ve loved him for many years—thought about what this connection with him might feel like when you’re too pent up to sleep.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against the back of your neck as his fingers work quickly at your dress’ fastenings. “Many nights I’ve dreamt of undressing you.”

“Have you thought of touching me?” You ask quietly, sighing at the feeling of his lips as they travel up your neck to your pulse point.

“More times than I can count,” he mumbles. And then his thick fingers are pushing your dress over your shoulders—letting the material drop to the ground and pool at your feet.

His eyes rove hungrily over your exposed shoulders, but he doesn’t move to remove your slip just yet. He’s taking his time, memorizing the way you look and feel. He needs to make this memory last.

“I’ve thought about you, too,” you hum as his fingertips ghost over your skin. “I’ve thought about how you’d feel. How you’d taste. I only regret not doing this sooner. Years ago, when we would’ve had plenty of time to do it again and again and again.”

You exhale sharply when you see the tears on his face. Your fingers are gentle as you brush over his cheekbones, the coarse hair of his beard slightly scratchy but not entirely unpleasant.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he mumbles as he wraps himself around you, his face burrowing into the crook of your neck. “I wish I never had.”

You know he’s telling you the truth. If there’s one thing that Mikael isn’t, it’s a liar. He’s a good, honest man.

“Make love to me,” you beg, your voice little more than a whisper as you run your fingers through his damp curls. “Just this once. Before you leave my life forever.”

“I’ve wanted nothing more for years,” he mumbles against your skin. But then his words turn to kisses, languid licks against your collarbone as his fingers shift to work at your undergarments.

You press your lips eagerly to his as you feel heat growing in the pit of your stomach. His mouth is warm and welcoming, excitedly accepting your tongue when you lick at his full bottom lip.

You clutch tightly to his strong shoulders as you step out of your dress and slip, left in nothing but a pair of panties and a soft silky bra.

Mikael groans when your lips disappear from his, dark eyes fluttering shut to see why your touch has vanished from his body.

He sees you on your knees for him, preparing for the ultimate act of worship. Your fingers skim over his calf and up his knee, nearly ticklish. But you don’t stray under the towel at all—you focus on the tent forming under the soft fabric at the apex of his legs, all because of you.

“I wish to taste you,” you whisper, skimming your fingers up his thigh and over his hip to gently grasp the little section of towel that’s folded to hold the makeshift garment in place. “I want to pleasure you with my tongue.”

He groans quietly at your offer, a hand smoothing over his thick beard as you watch his cock twitch beneath the towel.

“You... don’t have to,” he reminds you, and you gently capture one of his hands with yours.

“I know,” you reassure him with a soft smile. “I’d like to.”

His dark eyes shine with adoration as he nods, and you gently pull on the knot to let the towel fall to the floor.

His cock stands proudly even though he’s not completely hard yet, and your mouth instantly starts watering. He’s big, thick and long, his smooth head already pearling with precum. You can almost hear the prominent veins of his shaft thrumming with blood under your gaze.

His fingers intertwine with yours as your other palm flattens against his hip, gently caressing all of the new skin that he’s never revealed to you before.

You’re not entirely sure how to do this. You’ve lived in Siroun all your life, where the men are godly and fornication is virtually unheard of. You’re supposed to be saving yourself for marriage.

The thing is, though... there’s no one else you could even consider marrying. Your chances of being happy will die when Mikael exchanges vows with Maral.

This is the closest you’ll ever get to him. There is no more sacred bond than the joining of two bodies.

The first lick is tentative, a slight flick of your tongue against the head of his cock, and it draws a quiet moan from his lips. His taste is sweet, a nectar you’ve never experienced, and it makes you hum contentedly.

And then you gently take him between your fingers and run your tongue from the very base of his underside all the way up to his frenulum. His groan is louder this time, his grip on your hand tightening for a second.

“My love,” he gasps, hips unconsciously chasing your mouth when you lean back to take a breath. “Please.”

You smooth a hand over his hip and around his backside, digging your nails gently into his backside to tug him closer. Your lips finally envelop his head, your tongue tracing around the swollen muscle as you take him in.

And then you pull back again. “How does that feel?”

“Wonderful,” he laughs shakily. “Heavenly. Please... don’t stop.”

You obey willingly, dipping your mouth back to his throbbing cock. You take him deeper this time, nearly testing your throat, before bobbing along the first few inches of him.

And then you take him as deep as possible, and he nearly sobs when he brushes against the back of your throat. You try your hardest not to gag on him—you want so desperately to prove yourself the perfect woman—but you get a bit too ambitious and you have to pull off before you choke on him.

His free hand brushes over your hair and down your cheek, eyes shining with awe and adoration.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice wavering like a man speaking to God himself. “So beautiful. May I pleasure you now?”

You nod, leaning into his touch, and he lets go of your hand so he can help you to your feet.

His lips crash to yours once you’re standing, arms wrapping around you and gathering you as close as he possibly can. You can feel his prominent length against your hip as his tongue slides against yours.

“Mikael,” you gasp, melting readily into his wonderful touch. “Please. I need you.”

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, nuzzling his bearded face into your neck as he trails tender kisses over your heated flesh. “Will you lay down for me?”

You nod and reluctantly pull out of his grasp, putting a bit of a swing in your step as you head towards your bedroom. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk, hungry and ravenous and desperate for you. Drinking in the sight as if he’ll never see it again—because he won’t.

“How would you have me pleasure you?” He asks softly as you fall backwards onto your mattress, the metal frame protesting the sudden movement as you bounce further up to lay against the pillows.

“However you’re willing to,” you mumble. It seems silly to feel so self-conscious under his intense gaze when you still have your undergarments on and he’s completely bare, but you automatically clasp your legs together and cross your arms over your chest.

“Spread yourself for me, then, so I can taste you,” he instructs with a soft smile. “Please.”

His hand is gentle on your ankle as you lay back and part your thighs wide enough to let him between them.

The bed frame squeals underneath his weight as he crawls onto the bed and kneels between your thighs, lips just barely ghosting against your shin and up your thigh. Your breath hitches as he reaches the apex of your legs, but he kisses around your hips and up your belly, straight through the valley of your breasts until his mouth finally finds yours again.

The kiss is slow and deep while still burning like a fire, like the first few embers to light before the whole forest is ablaze. His tongue runs flat along each of your teeth, taking time to feel out each dip and imperfection. He wants to touch and feel and taste every part of you possible.

His hands slide over your sides, pawing at the soft fabric of your bra, and you sit up to assist him with removing it when he lets out a helpless huff of laughter.

His touch remains gentle as he lets his fingers ghost over your breasts, your body the first softness he’s encountered in something like six months.

“Mikael,” you moan, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip and arching your chest towards him when his fingers carefully pull at your nipples.

“Does that feel good?” He asks quietly, a smile lighting his eyes when you nod frantically. He dips his mouth to your chest—lets his teeth graze against one of the sensitive buds before enveloping it between his soft lips and giving it a hard suck. His beard tickles the flesh of your lower rib cage as his teeth again ghost against your flesh, pulling another moan from you.

One of his large hands splays across your ribs, right below your breasts, and it sends a shiver down your spine when it slowly starts to move downward. But he halts at the waistband of your underwear, dark eyes darting up to yours and seeking permission.

“Are you sure?” His voice is raspy with lust and adoration—raspy with need.

You nod firmly as his fingertips grasp the fabric. “I need to know you in this way.”

He takes the garment off slowly, eyes darkening considerably as he takes in the sight of your soaked folds. His tongue unconsciously darts out to wet his lips, letting your underwear fall to the floor without a care for where the piece of clothing lands. His eyes are glued on you yet roaming, darting between your slick heat and your heaving breasts and your gaping mouth.

And then he leans down, lips glinting so delicately against your thigh that you’re not even sure he makes contact. He touches you like you’re brittle, like you’ll break if he’s too rough with you. Perhaps you will. Perhaps he’s breaking you even though his hands are careful and cautious.

With surgical precision, he finally levels his mouth with your cunt. The first lick is tentative—trying to find what makes you tick because he can only learn so much from anatomy textbooks. He knows exactly where your clit is, though, and he puts his fingers to good work against it—delighting in your breathless whines and the way you writhe at his touch.

His beard presses deliciously into your silky thighs, scratching and making you shiver and you know there will be marks later but you can’t be bothered to care of such trivial things when the man you love is between your legs, licking at your pussy like he’s starving. And he is. He’s starving for you.

“Mikael,” you sigh, tangling your fingers into your hair because you don’t know what else to grab onto.

“How does it feel?” He hums into you, sending sparks straight to your spine.

“Good,” you gasp as he delivers a firm lick to your clit. “God, so good.”

He chuckles quietly, satisfied with himself as he licks a long stripe all the way from your slit to your clit. He makes a grotesque, wet noise as he sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, and an even more grotesque noise as he releases it. You can’t be bothered to be embarrassed about how wet you are or the noises you make when your lover is doing such a good job.

And then he delves a finger into your folds, gently probing into your entrance. He groans louder than you do.

“So tight,” he mumbles as he slowly starts thrusting his finger. “Have you never been penetrated before?”

Your face burns as he fucks his digit into you. “Only by my own fingers.”

Such a question for him to ask when he should know that he’s the only person you’d ever dream of letting do this to you.

“Hey.” His hand is soft as it slides up your chest to cup your face. “You need not be embarrassed. I’ve never done this act in its entirety before, either.”

“Such talent for your first,” you groan as he crooks his finger just right. “You didn’t take a lover in Constantinople?”

He shakes his head firmly as he continues massaging you, his lips ghosting against your collarbone now that he’s leveled his body with yours.

“There was a girl. Ana. Not just a lover... a good friend. She let me kiss her the way that you do,” he explains softly.

You bite your lip at his confession. “And you didn’t bed her?”

“I tried to, I suppose. She was good at making me forget... at making the world fade away,” he laughs softly. His dark eyes shine with amusement and a little hint of sadness as he pushes another deliciously thick finger into you.

You bite back a moan, eager to hear if he betrayed your love. “What happened?”

He presses his lips together in a thin smile as the coarse pad of his thumb swipes against your clit. “I moaned your name instead of hers.”

That certainly isn’t betrayal. Not of your love, anyway. The fact that he would think of you with another woman almost makes your heart swell. And the fact that he loves you too much to fornicate with another woman, even just once, does make your heart swell.

“We are both wrecks for each other, then,” you gasp as his two fingers brush against the most delicious spot within you that your own fingers have never been able to find. “Oh, Mikael, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t, my love.” And then he bends his fingers upwards again, brushing continuously at that wonderful spot like an artist trying to capture a likeness on canvas—but he doesn’t believe that there’s any art more beautiful than your pleasure.

“Oh, God,” you whine as your hips involuntarily buck upwards. “It’s... it’s too good. I’m going to—“

“That’s it,” he coos, pressing his forehead to your shoulder as he focuses on expertly manipulating his fingers within you. His thumb brushes over your clit again, and your entire body jerks. “I want you to experience your peak on my fingers.”

Your body jerks again as your orgasm washes over you, fluttering through your very bones like a freshly cast blanket over a mattress. His body’s weight against you keeps you grounded as if you would fly straight into the atmosphere without his head on your shoulder and his hips pressing into your thigh.

“Your touch...” you shutter pleasantly as you feel him rut against your thigh to relieve his own pressure. “Is unlike any other pleasure known to mankind.”

“You could invite to bed a worse lover than a man who studies anatomy,” he laughs softly, pressing his lips to the hollow of your neck and your pulse point and your jaw.

“Thank you,” you gasp, hands clutching onto his face as you pull his lips to meet yours. You control the pace of this kiss—it’s much more heated and desperate, tongues thrashing together as he shifts between your legs.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he sighs as he brushes his thumb through your slick folds. “Bringing you to the height of pleasure is the only worthwhile thing I’ve done.”

As much as he yearns to be inside of you—to feel your walls convulse around him as he brings you back to your peak—he’s hesitant to move on. Every passing moment is a moment closer to the last time he’ll see you. Every step further is a step towards the end for the two of you.

You sense his hesitance, and you tenderly brush your thumb across his cheekbone. “If you don’t want to do this—“

“I want this more than anything,” he tells you firmly, eyes brimming with tears. “But I never want it to end.”

“Sweet, lovely man,” you sigh, laughing a little bit as you feel tears emerging from your own eyes. “Our story has been a tragedy since the very beginning. Better to not waste a moment of our time together than to hesitate too long and regret it.”

He knows you’re right. His parents don’t know where he is, and there are many preparations to make before he and Maral go to the cabin. Each moment he spends with you is stolen, and he can’t take a single second of this time for granted.

“I always figured it would be different,” he sighs as he takes his cock in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, the cords of muscle in his neck shifting as you prop your knees up and plant your feet firmly on the mattress. “I always thought this would take place on our wedding night, after you’ve assumed my name.”

“Make no mistake,” you sigh as you throw your arms up over your head. Your stance is open and inviting, welcoming him to put his hands on you anywhere he will. “We may not be wed, and we may not share surnames. But I will always be yours. Nothing and no amount of time will ever be able to change that complex fact.”

Mikael’s eyes shine with a fresh wave of tears as scoops an arm under you to tug your hips up off the mattress. “And I am yours. No matter what happens... no matter the fact that I must marry another. My heart and my soul belong to you forever.”

He sits up on his knees, your body pulled to his in the form of a bridge, and he slowly guides his cock to enter you.

You gasp at the blunt pressure of him and press your head into the pillows even as your spine arches to accommodate this odd yet wonderful position he’s shaped your bodies into.

“Oh, God,” he chokes. His eyes flutter shut as he pauses halfway inside of you, your walls fluttering as you stretch to fit his size. “So... so tight. Am I... am I hurting you?”

You shake your head, every other muscle in your body locked to hold this position. He falls forward over you, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you lifted to him while he supports his weight with the other arm. His mouth captures the top of one of your breasts, teeth digging in slightly as he fights the urge to throw pretense out the window and start thrusting with reckless abandon.

“Please,” you gasp. Your voice is nothing more than a weak whimper, but you don’t care. He’s splitting you open, and it feels so good. “Please, my love. Move.”

He whimpers as he withdraws himself nearly all the way, the very entrance of your cunt providing an intoxicating friction against the head of his cock. He thrusts back in slowly, but he still holds back his full length. He’s testing the waters—warming you up to take him as deep as you possibly can.

He buries his face in the valley of your breasts as he starts a slow tempo, and he groans when your hands settle into his hair and tug slightly.

“Sorry,” you gasp sheepishly, afraid that you’ve hurt him.

“No,” he pants, rutting into you with a little more vigor. “Do it again.”

He brushes his beard against your ribs as his thrusts gain a bit more depth, and the coarse yet soft texture sends shivers all throughout your body.

“How do you feel?” He asks quietly before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your sternum.

“So good,” you sigh contentedly, hands affectionately brushing through his sweaty curls and over his beard. “So close to you. You... you feel wonderful.”

He smiles proudly, thrusting a bit deeper, and his smile grows even wider at the loud moan you emit. “There? Is that the spot?”

You nod frantically as the head of his cock repeatedly drills into that heavenly little area, the pleasure blooming in your veins like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.

“Right there,” you sob as he slides even further within you. “God, please don’t stop. Please, Mikael, I’m so close.”

He wonders if there’s any sound more beautiful than your begging, even though he’d never make you beg for anything.  He’d give freely to you from his well until he was dry, then continue giving.

“Me too, my love,” he grunts, dreading the words as he says them. The idea of this connection ending terrifies him like nothing else. He knows he won’t find this with anyone else. He can sleep with anyone and they’ll never provide him the pleasure—the affection—that you do. He will never fit to anyone else the way he fits to you.

He gently releases you and lets you settle into the mattress, pressing his weight more firmly against you as he gradually starts to hammer into you without regard for taking it slow. His body feels so good against yours, all soft skin and firm muscle while not being overly-prominent. He’s perfect, you think. You know.

He shifts slightly, shimmying his hips closer so he can sheathe himself completely in you. The base of him smacks against you with each thrust, and it’s an obscene noise but you love it. You love the grunts and moans he makes and the way the rickety bed frame squeals its protest with each hard thrust Mikael gives you. You love the feeling of his smooth chest sliding against yours and the downy hair on his legs against your calves. You love the scent of his freshly-washed hair mingling with the tangy aroma of the sweat that sheens his golden skin.

He presses his second palm firmly to the mattress as he fucks into you and captures your hand with the arm that previously supported his weight. His fingers intertwine with yours and he raises your hand up next to your head as he dips down to press his lips firmly to yours. You let his tongue enter into your mouth and explore to his heart’s content, too focused on the feeling of his cock dragging against your most sensitive spot to resist—not that you would want to put up a fight even if he wasn’t thrusting as deep inside of you as physically possible. You willingly give him everything he wants and more.

You’re wound like a cord, ready to burst at any moment. You try to warn him—to tell him that you’re going to come—but then his second hand lowers and his rough fingers press into your clit and suddenly you’re done for.

If your first orgasm was good, it doesn’t even compare to the pleasure that sweeps through your body with Mikael’s cock pounding into you. He presses his hot mouth to yours to muffle your scream and gathers you tightly in his arms, slamming into you as deep as his hips will allow him to.

“Please, Mikael,” you whimper as you watch his eyes flutter closed. “Let go. I want you to reach your peak.”

But he stops, gently contorting you to your hands and knees.

“I can’t release inside you,” he winces apologetically as he starts pumping his length in his hand.

You’re disappointed but you understand—he’s looking out for you. An illegitimate pregnancy would ruin you. Your reputation in the village would be permanently tarnished. Not to mention, you’d be alone. Mikael will be safely hidden away in the hills in less than twenty-four hours.

So you eagerly dip and accept him between your lips, even as your thighs clench with aftershocks from your own pleasure. He groans at the warm heat of your mouth around him again, not quite as nice as your pussy but still divine in a way that predicts he’ll be disappointed with all future fornication that you’re not a part of.

“I’m... I’m right there,” he gasps. His calloused, work-worn fingers still manage to feel soft as he cups your cheek, thrusting shallowly into the cavern of your mouth. “Just a little more...”

You’re not entirely sure if some form of divine intervention takes place, or if your instincts are just that good, but you suddenly get the inclination to massage his balls. So you take them in your fingers and tug gently, and just like that he’s done for. He whimpers as he comes, fingers threaded tightly in your hair as he holds your head in place and carefully fucks his seed down your throat.

His taste is intoxicating—the perfect mixture of sweet and salty, and you drink him down like you’re parched. You suppose you are parched, in a way. You’re parched for him.

He tenderly brushes your hair behind your ear then collapses to the side, laughing breathlessly at the way your bed frame continues voicing its distaste for all of the movement it has endured. Your heart is still pounding as you lay beside him, and he wastes no time pulling you into him. He curls around you like a cooked shrimp, burying his face in your hair and locking his strong arms around your waist.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into your soft hair as his long fingers splay against your rib cage.

You hum appreciatively as you nuzzle into his warm, clean-smelling chest. “Thank you.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

There are so many things you want to say. You want to say you love him. You want to ask him how much time he has before he has to return home. You want to tell him that even though he’s no longer inside you, you can feel the distinct impressions of him that are left behind.

“I’m sorry, too.”

You feel his chest shaking as he presses his lips firmly to your temple. You want to cry. You want to sob and scream about how unfair this is—how terrible the hand is that God’s dealt you.

But then he yawns, and you tenderly brush a hand over his beard before nudging him towards the edge of the mattress. If he falls asleep in your arms, you’ll never let him leave.

His clothes are still in the bathroom, and your eyes are glued to that tight ass of his as he pads through the kitchen to retrieve the garments. You commit the image to memory, lips quirking into a smile as you let your eyes close and you replay the way his ass bounces as he walks over and over again in your mind.

You don’t even notice you’re crying until Mikael returns, his lips glinting against your cheeks to kiss away your tears. His affection just makes more tears emerge, and suddenly you understand why he was so hesitant. Every moment is one moment closer to the last time you’ll see Mikael.

He’s going into hiding. It’s not like he can just show up on your doorstep any day. And even if he were to remain within the village, he would never gaze upon you like this again. No matter how desperately he wishes he could—once he’s married, he’ll be devoted to a fault. You know, because you’ve been on the receiving end of his devotion for years.

“I feel like a part of me is dying,” he sighs as he scoops you tightly into his arms. He’s dressed now, and your tears soak into his shirt. He can’t be bothered to care, though. He’ll proudly wear them—take any bit of you that you’re willing to give. “Or surely being left behind with you.”

You know what he means. A part of you is leaving with him. In fact, your entire heart is following him.

“I’ll never love again,” you whisper, delighting in the grounding feeling of his beard against your forehead as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

“You must,” he sighs, and you heard his breath catch in his throat. “A love like yours... give it freely. Let the whole Earth know your love. You deserve to share it with someone fitting.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, relishing in the warmth of his hands on your body. “There’s no one more fitting than you.”

“And yet I’m giving you up,” he whispers, voice fraught with tears.

“You’re not,” you insist with a shake of your head. “You... you don’t have a choice. I know you would choose me if you could.”

“I have chosen you,” he promises as his fingers gently trace up and down your spine. “Imagine my betrothed’s surprise if she’s ever to find out that I haven’t saved myself for her.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Perhaps you don’t tell her of our torrid love affair.”

“I would scream it from the mountain tops if I could,” he chuckles quietly as he shifts to rest his head on top of yours. “If there’s one thing I don’t regret, it’s falling in love with you.”

“I will always believe my love for you to be my most sacred possession.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. “I...”

You know what he’s reluctant to say. He has to go. He’s already been gone for too long. His parents are going to ask questions.

“Go, then,” you smile weakly, trying to tease. Trying not to let any more tears escape your eyes until he’s through the door. “Get out of my sight, you beautiful bearded scoundrel.”

He chuckles shakily, then dips down to capture your lips for the last time. You think this is the worst possible thing for him to do, because when he pulls away and straightens his suit jacket, your breath is gone. Your throat constricts and you can’t breathe because he’s your air and he’s leaving.

Lord help you, because you know it’s a sin. But you envy him. He has a fiancée to return to—someone he doesn’t love yet, but has the potential to love. You... you have no one. You’re alone.

But perhaps it’s for the best. Mikael told you that he wishes for you to move on, but you can’t. You have no more love to give, because it’s all about to vanish into the mountains with a dark-haired, wide-hipped man whose fate has been set for him.

THE END

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