#okay but the upper trapezius and his shoulder fuck me now

[billskaarsgard]

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Pull the Blinds - Part Three

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 4k

Tags: Established Relationship, Journalist reader, no Y/N, Established relationship, Dom!Javi, female reader, unprotected p in v sex (don’t do that), fingering (female receiving), oral sex (female receiving), rough sex, name calling, aftercare

Summary: A failed raid sends Javi spinning, desperate to take the edge off. Luckily for both of you, you’re also in need of something to take your mind off work. This is the third in a series, but they can be read individually.

Huge thank you to @keeper0fthestars​ for the encouragement, brainstorming/co-thirsting, and beta’ing when I couldn’t look at this anymore. Love you babe! 😘

Part One - Part Two - My Masterlist

Read on Ao3

“God damn it,” you slam your folder shut and tear your glasses off to pinch the bridge of your nose. You’ve hit a dead end on this assignment and even taking the day to work from home, all your papers spread out on the kitchen table before you, hasn’t helped. Tension is radiating down your neck and shoulders, lines of stress and pain only worsening the harder you try to force yourself to think through the problem. Pressing a thumb between your brows eases that tension somewhat, and you’re just standing up to take a well-earned break when you hear someone pounding at your door.

You freeze. You’re not expecting anyone. Normally you wouldn’t be so concerned (it’s the middle of the afternoon, after all, and you live in a decent neighborhood), but between your career as an investigative journalist and the drug war tearing Colombia apart at the seams, it never hurts to be cautious. Reaching behind the sofa, you pull out a baseball bat before inching towards the door. The door rattles on its hinges, the knocking louder and more insistent than before. This is no casual visit. 

“Who is it?” Your voice is level, even as your knuckles tighten around the aluminum and you take a deep breath in, out. Your mind is already spinning through potential scenarios- has someone clocked your undercover work, tracked you to your home? Adrenaline surges through you, your body screaming at you to be ready for anything, and you only relax a fraction when you hear a familiar, muffled, “It’s me.”

“Javi?” A glance through the peephole confirms that it is Javi, palms braced against your door jam, his dark brown hair slick with sweat and his green, DEA-issued tactical vest wrapped around his chest. His gun is holstered, hanging from the leather belt slung low around his narrow waist. No immediate danger, then. 

Setting the bat down you open the door, eyes wide with concern. “Everything okay?” You look behind him, expecting to see the street lined with official vehicles and men bristling with guns, but there’s just his Bronco, parked rushed and crooked against the curb. 

Javi’s already brushing past you so you shut the door and follow him. None of this is like him, not the disheveled state of his hair or the sweat-drenched pink shirt clinging to him, and certainly not him barging in, looking like he’s just come from a raid. You get in front of him, taking in his wild eyes, the way he can’t seem to keep still. It’s unnerving, and not doing a damn thing to reassure you that he’s remotely okay or to calm your own racing heart, but you adopt your calmest tone and say “Javier. Talk to me.”

Finally seeming to actually see you, Javi stops pacing for a moment to answer you. “We had them, we fucking had them!” 

You’ve never seen Javi like this. It’s not that he never brings the work home with him- how could he not? You’ve seen him exhausted, worn out from lack of sleep and endless hours spent chasing leads that go nowhere. You know what it’s like when the seeming futility and endless bureaucracy wear him down, seen him stressed and frustrated and devastated by loss. But you’ve never seen him like this- electrified, explosive. It’s all you can do to meet his raw, frayed energy with your own carefully constructed calm. “Slow down. Tell me what happened.”

Javi gives you the gist. Nothing confidential, nothing that would put either of your professional ethics in jealousy, but enough to see the shape of the thing. A raid, weeks in the planning, turned up nothing but an empty warehouse. Someone must have tipped the targets off, warning them before the DEA could spring their trap.

You wince. You know the effort that had gone into it, the countless hours of sifting through transcripts, painstakingly confirming scraps of rumors whispered through hushed calls. Weeks of work, wasted, all gone to ashes in mere moments. No arrests to show for it and worse, a potential leak. Javi’s desperation makes sense to you now. If one of your investigations had imploded this catastrophically you’d be out for blood, too. 

But of course, there’s nothing he can do about it. Not yet. Not until the dust has settled and the analysts can come up with new leads. Until then, Javi just has to sit with the knowledge that his last several weeks of work have been utterly wasted, that the cartel has slipped from their grasp yet again, and are likely laughing their heads off about it from a safe distance, all while plotting their next devastating move. It’s eating him alive.

His story finished, Javi heaves a sigh and scrubs his hands over his face, still coated in a sheen of sweat. Belatedly, he takes in your scattered papers, the chair shoved away from the table where you were working when he burst in. “Shit, you were in the middle of something, sorry. I shouldn’t have burst in on you like this, I just-” he shrugs vaguely, still looking bewildered and only half present.

“Hush.” You lay a hand on his chest, can feel it rising with every heaving breath beneath the solid tac vest, and tip his face up so his eyes meet yours. “What do you need?” 

You’re assuming it’ll be something like ice water or, more likely, a shot of whiskey. Maybe a shower to cool off. He’s got some clothes in a drawer in your bedroom, maybe he’ll feel better if he changes…?

While you’re brainstorming potential solutions, Javi is staring at you with all the intensity of a panther sizing up its next meal. Before the thought can properly register, he surges toward you, so suddenly your back hits the counter, its edge digging into your lower back as his arms surround you. His broad hands clutch at the fabric of your dress, making the skirt ride dangerously high up your thighs. His lips crash against yours, slanting and molding to you as he grabs the back of your head. When you gasp he deepens the kiss, his hand clenching in your hair as he tips your head back, plundering your mouth so aggressively you feel teeth. It’s only after those teeth nip sharply at your bottom lip that he pulls back, his breathing ragged. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not- I should go.” He hunches his shoulders like he’s ashamed to be seen like this and makes for the door. 

Oh. So that’s what he needs. You can picture it now- him bending you over the counter and taking you, hard, right then and there, using you to work the sharp edge off his temper. Just the idea of it, Javi pouring that frustration into fucking you, is thrilling. Besides, turning your brain off for a bit, giving yourself over to all that fury is exactly what you need right now, and he thinks he needs to shield you from that impulse? Hell, no.

You stop him with one touch of your hand. “Don’t go.” Javi’s head jerks up and he stands rigid as you press yourself against him, your hips touching, your hands moving over the taut lines of his arms. “You clearly need to take the edge off.” He hisses as your lips close on his trapezius, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin. “And I could use a distraction,” you croon. 

“I’m too worked up- I don’t want to hurt you, cariño,” he bites out, even as he looks at you like he could eat you alive and spit out your bones, still hungry for more. 

Javi knows you like it rough. Hell, he’s fucked you through gritted teeth and snarls enough times to know you love it that way. This is different. This is burning rage and rough hands, the difference between training rounds and live fire. 

You want all of it.

Your lips curl in a knowing smile and you straddle his thigh, denim-clad muscle taut against the scrap of cotton separating your bodies beneath your skirt. You grind down on him and meet his burning gaze. “Not even a little?” 

He growls at your challenge, a caged jungle cat, all sleek, bunched muscle and barely checked savagery. He eyes you up and down, assessing, his knuckles tightening against the counter. He runs a thumb over his lower lip and that’s when you know he’s genuinely considering it. You clench and shudder in anticipation, eyes locked on him as he demands “give me your safeword.”

“Javi, you know what it is.” The two of you had chosen it months ago, a reminder of the vacation you’re always meaning to take but never quite get around to.

He leans closer, eyes dark and grin darker. “Remind me,” he rumbles, clutching the edge of the counter he’s got your back up against. 

Your throat bobs as you swallow. He’s so close. You can see the sweat sliding down the planes of his neck, feel the edge of his tac vest digging into you, practically taste the bitter tang of unspent adrenaline. The thrill of the hunt rolls off of him in waves, the livewire burn of his need sparking an answering flare in your blood. You have to lick your lips before answering in a whisper “It’s Aruba.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his voice the inescapable rumble of an impending landslide. His nose drags against your cheek, his lips ghosting over your jawline. “And you’ll use it if you need to.” He’s no longer asking. He’s telling. 

 “Yes, Javi.”

His teeth close on your earlobe sharply. “Yes, what?”

Another shiver runs through you. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s fucking right.” Without further warning, Javi grabs you by your upper arm and shoves you towards the bedroom. 

Your heart rate spikes, blood thrumming in time with Javi’s heavy tread marching you down the hallway. His grip is fierce, his expression fiercer, and you suddenly wonder what it’s like to go toe to toe with this man, Agent Peña, in the field. For all his honor and dedication to justice, there’s a streak of ruthlessness running through the heart of him, a need to see the mission through to the end, no matter the cost. Javier is a good man, better than he’ll admit to himself, but that darkness is there. Not a flaw, not really. A smoky occlusion in the ruby heart of him, one more facet in the complex matrix of his inner self.

This knowledge isn’t new to you, but Javi letting you see it firsthand is. It doesn’t scare you. Nothing about him ever could. You trust him, know him, too well for that. No, you’re honored that Javi is willing to show you the jagged edges of himself, to trust you to handle these broken pieces without either of you winding up bloodied.

As you step through the doorway to your bedroom, Javi pushes you towards the bed. “Strip.” His eyes rake over you hungrily, devouring every new bit of skin you reveal as you obey, dropping one garment after another on the floor of your bedroom. He watches, arms folded, still fully clothed, still wearing that tac vest that shorts your brain out. In no time you’re completely naked before him, your body on full display in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows, but he makes no move to undress. He sits in the middle of your bed, leaning his back against the headboard like he owns the place and crooks his finger at you. You crawl to him on hands and knees, letting him pull you into his lap.

“Tell me what you want, querida.” His voice is low and sweet, amber honey dripping into your ear while he noses at your cheek, the deep rumble of his voice reverberating through you. Fuck if that voice doesn’t go straight your cunt.

You squirm in his lap, shifting to straddle his waist, your naked sex molded to the bulge swelling beneath his tight jeans. “I want you to fuck me, Javi. Let me help you get rid of all that tension.” You reach up, start kneading his shoulders, but he tsks and pushes your hands aside.

“Not yet. Not until you’re ready.”

You jut out your lip in a mock pout. He’s the one who pounded on your door, amped up and aching, so it hardly seems fair that he’s turned the tables on you this easily, and yet... 

You’d expected him to take you quickly, to burn through you wildfire fast, but now that he’s got you where he wants you he’s intent on breaking you down slowly. 

Your fingers curl over the edge of his vest, clinging to him while he kisses you breathless. He’s in complete control, every gasp and jut of your hips unfolding at his urging. He tastes every part of you, his teeth closing over pulse points, tongue flicking over every dip and hollow of your body. You lose all sense of time when he reaches your breasts, drowning in sensation, only pulled back to the present when he pinches a nipple or bites down on the full moon swell of your breast. 

He leaves marks as he goes, livid reminders of his claiming every inch of you. You submit to all of it, your fingers scrabbling for purchase over the expanse of that heavy vest as Javi bears down on you. Heat is building in you with every bite and suck and caress, but your body is screaming out for more, more, more. It’s then that it finally hits you- the bastard is doing this deliberately. He wants you as keyed up as he is. That realization pitches you headlong into the blaze he’s been stoking all along and you moan, desperate for more. 

He indulges you, still painfully slowly, more fuel for the fire raging in both of you. Reaching down between you, he drags his fingers over your thighs, already slick with the desire dripping from you. “Christ, you’re so wet from just this. You like letting me do this, don’t you? Getting so worked up being my good little slut.” 

You gasp and nod, whimpering now that he’s so close to where you need him but still not quite there. He rewards you by finally pressing those thick, clever trigger fingers against your weeping cunt. He moves in slow, torturous circles, and you reach for him, try to kiss him, to beg wordlessly for more. He pulls away, chuckling at your eagerness. “No. Let me do this for you.” 

He knows damn well what he’s doing, pushing you to see when you’ll get impatient. You try to wait him out but forget yourself when he slips one finger into the molten clutch of your sex. It’s so good but you need more. “Please,” you murmur, moving to kiss him once more, your hand dropping between you, needing to feel him. Besides, a wicked, wanton part of you wonders what he’ll do if you disobey him like this. 

Your answer comes swiftly. Javi flips you onto your back with a snarl, one hand behind your head to cushion the sudden move. Grabbing your wrists in one hand, he hauls them above your head, pinning you in place. “What did I tell you? Hold still!” He slaps your pussy once, twice, three times in rapid fire succession, each hit harder than the last, leaving you stinging and aching for more. You moan and writhe in his hold, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some kind of release. 

Javi watches you mercilessly. “Yeah, you like that? Filthy thing. Want me to do it again?” Your toes curl and he takes that as your answer, delivering one more slap to your cunt. He leaves his hand there, tracing slow, deliberate circles around your clit. The sudden tenderness, the tantalizing possibility of finally gaining some relief has you practically sobbing.  

“You gonna be a good girl and keep those hands to yourself?”

“Y-yes, Javi.” 

He pulls his hand away at once and you whimper, realizing your mistake as his expression darkens. “I know I didn’t just hear you forget your manners.”

“Sir,” you correct yourself quickly. “I meant, yes sir.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You know from experience that he loves this, temporarily reducing you to a pleading, pliant mess. He knows the trust this requires, and the way it frees you to give yourself over to pleasure completely. It’s a responsibility he never takes lightly. He always knows just how far to push, what boundaries to test or limits to prod, knowing that’s half the fun. As for the other half...

He works you open, one thumb on your clit, his fingers probing deeper and deeper inside you. Your breath hitches when he’s knuckle-deep, massaging that spot that makes you clench and shudder. He gets you off like this more times than you can count, sending waves of pleasure rippling through you from your curled toes to your tingling scalp. He strokes you and finger fucks you for what feels like an eternity, all the whole whispering sweet filth into your ear. Dark promises of how he intends to take you, to use you, all without filling you the way he knows you crave.

“Please, please fuck me. I need you so bad baby, I don’t think I have another one in me like this.” He’s made you cum so many times you’ve lost count, worked your clit until you’re completely over stimulated and begging for mercy. 

He has none. Instead of giving in, he delivers another harsh smack to your abused cunt. “Tell me who owns this pretty pussy.” 

“You do, Javi, please...” 

“Then give me one more.” He spits and you feel it land, slipping over your swollen folds. It’s lewd and obscene and forgotten the instant Javi lowers his head and licks the sting of the latest slap away. His broad tongue works you mercilessly, ripping another shuddering cry of his name from your lips as he brings you to the edge and shoves you over it once again.

“Get on your knees.” He makes you wait, arms trembling, pussy drenched and waiting while he gets up to undress. He misses nothing, clocking the instant when you clench, your throat bobbing, as he unbuckles his leather belt. Javi quirks an eyebrow and, folding it in half, he swats it once, hard enough to be loud but not enough to truly hurt, against your ass. An experiment more than anything else. You let slip a filthy moan, confirming his suspicion that you truly are this comfortable with rougher treatment. 

“Maybe next time, querida,” Javi chuckles. He tosses the belt aside, along with those tight jeans and every other bit of clothing, rejoining you on the bed. He takes his place behind you, hands clutching your hips as he teases your entrance with the fat head of his cock. You can feel how hard he is, the length of him like steel as he pushes himself lazily against your folds. It’s more agonizing buildup, and even when he finally, finally starts to fuck you, he does it with just the tip of his cock, thrusting shallowly, enough to make you clench without being filled. It’s torture. You try to push your hips back to take him deeper, but his firm grip holds you motionless.

“Something the matter, baby?”

You grit your teeth. If he doesn’t fuck you properly right the fuck now you might actually combust. “I need more Javi, please,” you beg. 

“Yeah, think you can take it?” 

Your only response is a desperate whine, met with a harsh chuckle. “You asked for it.” 

He shoves himself inside you in one savage thrust. Even with all of his teasing, the orgasms he’s already pulled from you, and the slick practically dripping from your swollen pussy, it’s a shock. You gasp, his thick cock plunging into you with a filthy squelch, and the sudden overwhelming fullness forces another climax from you without warning. You clamp around him and cry out, barely even registering the flood of wetness practically squirting from you, soaking the rough curls at the base of Javi’s cock. 

“Fuck that’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good - fucking - girl.” He thrusts into you in time with his words, working you through the sudden orgasm. As if your release was some sort of signal, this is the moment when Javi finally lets the leash of his control slip, fucking you like a man possessed. His hands grabbing your hips hard enough to bruise, he pulls you onto him as his hips slap against you, setting a brutal, punishing pace. 

You’re dimly aware that the harder the fucks you, the more your body slips against the sheets and away from him. Frustrated, Javi shifts his grip, pulling you up, your back flush against his chest and his arms bands of steel around your breasts. His breath is ragged in your ear and even when his teeth close on your shoulder, it does little to muffle his harsh grunts. 

Time slips away again and all you know is the bone-rattling ferocity of Javi fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. You’re so overwhelmed with pleasure you hardly know when one orgasm rolls into the next, all you know is that Javi has you in a death grip and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Finally, through a haze of sweat and bliss, you feel him stiffen behind you, his hips stuttering and a strangled groan escaping him as he drops his head to your shoulder, his cock spitting deep inside you. You bury your hand in his hair, mutter soothing nonsense as he spills himself into you. When he finally stills, the two of you collapse into a heap on the bed, his body a comforting weight on yours.

You lay there, in a sweaty, blissed out tangle for several minutes, both trying to catch your breath. Javi recovers first, rolling off of you and gathering you into his arms. He pushes the hair from your eyes, his own going concerned when you’re still too boneless to respond to him calling your name.

Giving you some time to recover, he gets the arnica gel from your nightstand and is already smoothing it over the livid marks on your hips when you come back to yourself enough to speak.

“Mm, feels good,” you slur, rolling onto your side to give him better access. You’d introduced him to this particular remedy when he’d shown up with bruises after a particularly difficult arrest, and it had quickly become a favorite aftercare ritual whenever things turned rough in bed. Javi’s thick fingers glide soothingly over every ache and sting, though you catch his wrist when he moves to smooth the gel over the bite marks he left on your breasts. 

“Oh, baby, was I too rough here?” His eyes are soft with concern and the beginnings of apology, so you’re quick to shake your head no. You roll closer and brush away the sweat-slick curls threatening to hide his face. 

“It’s not that, Javi. I just… kind of like seeing the marks. The gel makes them heal faster, so leave a few for me, would you?” 

He kisses you. “Ok, wild thing,” he says affectionately. “Give me your wrists though, unless you want everyone at your office seeing what I did to you.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you tease, but offer him your wrists nonetheless. He’s so gentle, cradling the back of your hand in his own massive palm, his fingers rubbing the gel into your wrist in slow, circular strokes. When he’s finished, he raises your hands to kiss your palms, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes you melt. 

“C’mere, baby.” Javi pulls you to lay on top of him, running his hands over your hair and pressing kisses to your face. “You good?”

It’s sweet, the way he fusses like this after having just taken you entirely apart, soothing you with the same single-minded determination he brings to every other part of his life, and you bask in the glow of his care. “Yeah Javi, I’m perfect.”

Javi huffs out a laugh at that. “I'll say.”

You shift in his arms to get a better look at him. He seems more like himself now, less agitated, more present. “Feeling better?”

“Much. I feel like I could sleep for a week.” He drops a kiss to the crown of your head and breathes out. You can feel his body relaxing as he does it, proof that he’s telling the truth. 

“Sleep then, I’m sure you need it.” He nods, his breathing already turning slow and even as he drifts towards rest. You close your eyes, about to join him when the solution to your work problem flashes through your mind, clear as day. As soon as you’re sure Javi has drifted off, you slip out of bed and back to work. 

Maybe you both could use that vacation after all…

[notyetneedcoffee]

Spa Treatment

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut

Naughty Date Night Series

 Steve Rogers opened the door to his suite, the unexpected scent of lavender and mint filling his nose. Most of the lights were off, all but the light streaming from the bathroom suite off his bedroom. Nat King Cole crooned over the speakers. He dropped his gym bag by the front door, calling out. “Sweetheart?”

“In the bathroom, Steve!” You answered. “Pour yourself a glass of wine and read the note next to the bottle, then come join me.”

He kicked off his shoes before venturing into the little kitchen. A bottle of merlot breathed on the counter next to a waiting glass. A small slip of paper from the date jar was unfolded beside them. It read, ‘Spoil your sweet with something they would normal never do for themselves’.

Steve poured a glass and took a sip, swirling the rich flavors around in mouth, wondering what you had in mind. The list of things he did not do for himself, according to you, was endless. You could be planning anything. Best to just find out.

A huge bath sheet covered the bed, and a small table waited nearby with its contents hidden by another towel. Steve peeked into the bathroom. A smile spread across his face and warmth bloomed across his chest. You were adorable.

Swaying to the music, you mixed something up in a little bowl. You wore a fluffy white robe. Your hair was piled messily atop your head. No make-up, no fuss, you looked beautiful. Steve sighed, “Hey there, gorgeous.”

“Hey, handsome.” You set down the bowl and pushed up on your toes to kiss him. “Now, stripe and lie down.”

“I like how this is starting.” His brow quirked up.

You chuckled. “Whoa, boy. Just follow orders.”

Steve began to remove his clothes. “Everything?”

“All of it.” You left the room and he pouted at your back. When you returned, with a soft blanket fresh from the dryer he was on his side, head propped on his hand. “On your back, please.”

Steve rolled over and you tucked the warm blanket around him, feet to hips. A long sigh escaped his lips. “What are planning?”

“A little pampering.” You removed the towel from the table. “Close your eyes, babe.” You placed cool pads over his eyes.

“Sweetheart, really, I don’t…”

“No arguing.” You pressed your lips to his forehead. “I promise if you just relax and let me do this, you’ll like it. And then,” you breathed against his ear, “we can both have a happy ending.”

He smiled. “Okay, Sweetheart. Relax. I can do that.”  

Steve inhaled sharply as you began to spread the facial mask over his cheeks. “Oh, cold! What is that?”

“Mud mask. Relax.” You massaged it into his skin, thoroughly covering his forehead, nose, cheeks and chin. “Now, this is going to feel like it’s tightening up as it dries. It’s supposed to.”  Steve hummed. You wiped your hands clean before pouring a clean smelling oil into your hands. You started along the strong trapezius muscles of his shoulders.

Steve groaned, as your thumbs rubbed in deep. You massaged his neck and shoulders. Taking each arm, you paid attention to every inch down to the tips of his fingers. He kept taking deep breathes, long sighs. “Oh, wow, that feels so good.”

With a soft cloth you wiped his face clean before massaging in another face cream. Your fingers released those frown muscles. Smiling to yourself, you marveled at how young he looked when so relaxed.

You slipped out of your robe, and took the bottle of massage oil with you to the other end of the bed, First you uncovered one leg, massaging it with the same slow detailed attention. When you moved to the other leg, you allowed yourself to venture a little higher to his upper thigh.

Steve let out a low moan, but stayed passive and pliant on the bed.

You removed the blanket altogether, rubbing your oil slick hands along his hips but not touching his half hard cock. Pouring another handful of oil, you rubbed your hands together before you touched his chest. Throwing a leg over him, you straddled his hips.

Steve’s hands slid up to your thighs, and his eyes cracked opened as your warm core slipped over his cock. “Shit, Sweetheart.”

“Mmm, no.” You smiled. “Relax.”

Steve’s hands fell back to the bed and he closed his eyes as you rubbed warm hands into his powerful chest. Your body rocked as you worked, and you felt him harden. As your hands moved down his stomach, you were careful to avoid where you knew he was ticklish. He bit his lip when your finger slid between you and wrapped around his girth.

Pumping him slowly, you leaned forward running your tongue along his lower lip. His hand came up to the back of your neck, to pull you in for a slow deep kiss. Steve’s hips rock against you in a lazy rhythm. Your wetness spread over him. You hard nipples slid along his oil covered chest.

With an arch of your back and a tip of your hips, you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. Steve breathed a plea as you lowered yourself onto him. You moaned into each other’s mouths at the feel.

Rocking slow, you concentrated on feeling all of Steve’s cock slipping nearly all the way out before burying deep again. Every sensation of hot skin slipping along hot skin, the stretch, the strength in his hold, the taste of his kiss, quickly built into a fire.

“So good,” Steve breathed against your neck. He held you close as you rocked on top of him. “You feel so good.”

“Yes.” You panted, running your hands through his hair. Steve’s hands dug into your hips, moving you slow and deep. A coil tightened low and deep. Your cunt clenched. He groaned, kissing you deep again. You lifted your head, just enough to look into his eyes. “Feels amazing.”

“You’re amazing. You’re perfect for me.” Steve’s blue eyes bore into your soul. “So good to me.” His breath washed over your face. “Take me so well.” His hips lifted off the bed, meeting yours in a deep increasing pace. “Love to watch you come apart for me.”

You clutched the bedding beside Steve’s head, feeling tension build. Heat gathered. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his. The intensity nearly stole your breath. A whine crawled up your throat. Your legs shook.

“Fuck, yes.” Steve’s tongue wet his lip. “Yes, Love, yes.”

A wave crashed over you, heat spread across your body, your limbs tingles and shook. You flooded over Steve and pulled you closer, clinging to desperately, fucking into with deep groans. His hips twitched, he pulled you impossibly close and emptied himself with your walls.

You clung to one another, holding on with both strength and lax muscles. Steve’s lips pressed against your ear. His fingers began to make lazy circles on you hips. When you began to move, he murmured. “Not yet. Stay. Stay just like this for a bit longer.”

Resting your head back down, you lay atop him with your muscles loose and bodies connected. “This is perfect.”

“Mm-hm.” Steve sighed, speaking quietly. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-0h.” You giggled lightly, and Steve hummed at the feeling it sent through his body.

“You know how much I love you.” His lips brushed your ear. It was not a question.

“Yes.” Your face buried into his neck as his arms tightened around you. “I love you, too.”

“So then,” Steve took a deep breath. “If someday I ask you to be my wife, you’d say yes?”

You pushed up to look him in the eye. A dozen responses flew across your mind at once, but you said, “If someday you ask me to be your wife, yeah, I’d say yes.”

A beautiful smile lit his face and his pulled you flush against him again. “Good to know.”

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[sharkboygirlish]

Chapter One

There must be something there that wasn’t there before.

‘It felt like she was dreaming.

For the last eight years she’d been living in sheer hell. Hope was a foreign concept when hers had been gunned down right in front of her eyes. At ten years old she was forced to grow up and take on the role of protector that Bellemere had previously played. Freedom became a legend she could no longer afford believe in.

Still, Arlong would offer it to her; keeping it just barely out of her reach so she’d obey his every order. If she drew enough charts, if she saved enough money -she could save her village. There was only a slim chance that she’d be successful and it would take a long time - but she didn’t care. She would do it. She had to, or else her mother would have died for nothing. 

Her future looked bleak, with only the tiniest pinprick of light shone at the end of the tunnel. Then... A teenager with devil fruit powers quite literally fell into her life bringing with him an explosion as bright as the birth of a star and suddenly - she was free. For the first time ever, somebody had showed up to defend her; to slay the monsters she never could.’

Nami sighed quietly, leaning one of her shoulders against the alley wall, observing the party her villagers had thrown to celebrate. The last time they’d felt joy like this she had only been as tall as Genzo’s knee, and their family was still whole. It felt indescribably wonderful to know that she would never have to worry about her home again. The Arlong pirates had been defeated and the prison she lived in destroyed. ‘She was safe now.’

Her gaze swept along the crowded street from face to smiling face until they landed on Luffy.

‘Luffy.’

Her heart surged into her throat like it did when she thought about Bellemere. How could she ever hope to express to him how grateful she was for what he did? ‘He would probably say, just buy me lots of meat.’ 

Nami’s lips quirked into half a grin. Luffy was so noble, and brave - and yet at the same time he was the goofiest human being she’d ever met. He made her smile. He’d protected her when she thought that the only person capable of that had been killed a long time ago. She didn’t have to fight alone; she’d never have to fight alone again so long as she had her friends.

‘Her friends… She had friends now.’

The navigator searched for them. She spotted Usopp standing on top of one of the tables near Luffy with his hands on his hips. He seemed to be spinning one of his less than truthful tales to entertain anyone who would listen. 

She found Sanji a little way further doting on Nojiko who looked amused. Her head shook side to side but she was grinning to herself.‘So typical of them.’  

Continuing her search, as there was one more crew member that she hadn’t seen since the battle, she frowned when she couldn’t find Zoro. ‘Maybe he was still being treated… He had been injured pretty horribly before he even got to Cocoyashi-“ 

Nami winced when the memory of her socking him in the gut and stomping on his chest flashed through her head. The look on his face, and his labored coughing as he doubled over... He must have been in an unimaginable amount of pain. ‘But that hadn’t stopped him from fighting with every last ounce of his strength to save them. To save her.’ 

She should apologize…

The navigator went to snag a bottle of sake from one of the tables laden with food and drink, then made her way towards Dr. Nako’s infirmary. The doctor probably didn’t want him drinking but it would make the swordsman happy – and she loved to see him smile.

                                            ***

Zoro was resting his eyes when he heard the clinic door open, but paid it no mind since he assumed the old man had come back to check on him. He listened to the footsteps as they crossed the room, but they were a lot lighter than the doctors. Click-clack, click clack, click clack.

‘They sort of sounded like heeled sandals.‘

“Zoro? Are you awake?”

‘Oh. It was Nami.’

His stomach did a little backflip, and his heart thundered just a bit faster. But he couldn’t let her know the effect she had on him or else she’d use him like that stupid cook. He pretended to be sleeping deeply but she didn’t leave. ‘Maybe he should say something mean to make her go away-‘

“I brought you a present.”

Now he was interested. Zoro cracked one eye open to see what she had for him and then grinned stupidly. “Sake!”

“I knew you were faking it,” she wrinkled her nose, lowering herself beside him on the mattress as he sat up to take the bottle from her. Almost instantaneously he cracked it open and gulped a couple mouthfuls down. “Jeez, would you have acknowledged me if I hadn’t brought you booze? You damn alcoholic.”

He narrowed his eyes at her because she better not have only come here to pick a fight with him – sake or not. “Don’t you try and guilt trip me, woman- hey!” Zoro yelped when Nami pinched his cheek, though it didn’t really hurt. He grabbed her hand and yanked it away from his face. ‘Knock it off.”

“I was only teasing you, dummy.” Her eyes shifted to his bare chest and traced their way down the length of the freshly stitched wound that crossed his entire torso. She still couldn’t believe he’d fought so valiantly in this condition. Sometimes the intensity of his ambition and determination were almost frightening.

“Do I need to put a shirt on, Nami? You look like you’re getting distracted.”

The smirk that dressed his face was so arrogant that she wanted to pinch him again but when she went to move her hand – he was still holding onto it, ‘Why did that make her feel like there were butterflies fluttering around inside of her?’ Nami turned her head to the other side as her face flushed with heat, hoping some of her hair would hide it.

Zoro gave her a quizzical look before he noticed his grip on her fingers. ‘Oh, shit. He was such a fucking idiot.’ Clearing his throat and bringing the bottle to his lips, Zoro let go of them hastily. ‘Just pretend it didn’t happen,’

“So… Why’d you come all the way over here to give me this, anyway?” He asked to change the subject, leaning towards the side table and setting the sake onto it.

Nami clasped her hands together in her lap, not yet turning her head because it felt like her face was getting hotter. “Well… Um. Actually…” she peeked at him, and he had one eyebrow cocked, “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“…..Sorry for what?”

‘Was he being serious?’ Nami finally looked at him and his expression was still stumped. “For punching you! And…” Her head bowed in shame, shoulders rounding as she went on, “And stomping on you, while you had an injury like this,” a deep frown began to settle into her mouth and forehead, “I should have known better, I should have guessed that you were injured pretty badly-”

“Nami.”

“-you were covered in bandages, after all, but I was so worried that they’d kill you if they thought we were friends-“

“Nami.”

“-so I hurt you to make it seem like I didn’t care about you, but I shouldn’t have hit you so hard, maybe if I’d been gentler you wouldn’t have been in so much pain-“

“Nami.” Zoro cut her off firmly and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her in a delicate manner and pulling her towards him. She finally lifted her head back up and looked him in the eyes, but hers were welled with tears that she was trying desperately not to shed. A sharp pang stabbed all the way through his heart. ‘Was she really crying because she felt so bad about hurting him? Did… She care about him that much?’

“It’s fine,” he murmured, sliding his hands down to her triceps and squeezing them tenderly as if to reassure her, “I’m fine, okay?”

Nami didn’t believe him for one second, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. Especially not when he was gazing at her with so much genuine concern written into his brow line. It surprised her. ‘Did he care about her so much that he was lying about the pain to ease her guilt?’

A tidal wave of intense affection crashed over her entire being. “Oh, Zoro-“ she cried out and tossed both of her arms around his neck, hugging him as tightly as she possibly could. Her chin found a perch on his shoulder. Tears squeezed out of her blinking eyes to clear her vision and dripped down her cheeks onto his skin.

Zoro sat there, frozen, having not at all expected her to do something like this. When she didn’t let go of him - he curved his arms around her waist, pressing one of his palms against her upper back. His head bowed slightly. and he leaned the side of his face on her hair, eyelids slipping closed. He wasn’t very good at comforting people with words, but he knew how to be a warm shoulder to cry on thanks to Luffy and his occasional night terrors.

For a few minutes no one said anything… They just held each other. Until Nami whispered something in a voice so quiet that he almost didn’t hear her. Almost.

“You’re my hero.”

His heart started to beat unevenly and his stomach did a double backflip. ‘Why was he so nervous all of a sudden?’

“…Nami,” she started to pull away from him but stayed close enough to rest her elbows on his trapezius muscles. His fingers splayed between her shoulder blades and pressed into her shirt. For some reason his voice rumbled like thunder when he spoke, “I’m not a hero...”

“You are to me.”

“……” The way she was looking at him stirred up far too many feelings for him to account for. Zoro’s gaze flickered down to her mouth then back to her eyes. ‘She was such a beautiful person. Not just her face, but the content of her character. Her soul. Kuina had been beautiful like that, too.’ 

Even though he knew he probably should, he didn’t want to let go of her. A burning flood of passion captivated him with the urge to kiss her. ‘Wait - kiss her?’ His heart jumped into his throat. ‘What?? Had he turned into the damn cook?!’

She was sitting so close to him, closer than she’d ever been in the past. He could count each of her freckles and draw constellations on them. If he tilted his head down, they’d knock foreheads. And she smelled so sweet… ‘Like freshly peeled tangerines.’

Nami watched his expression shifting steadily from one emotion to the next. ‘What was he thinking? Why hadn’t he pushed her away yet?’ Not that she wanted him to. Quite the opposite, actually. Her gaze darted to his lips when he wet them, then moved back up to find his eyes half-lidded. He unconsciously bumped the end of his nose against hers.

“Nami, I…”

Was... He going to kiss her?

“I..”

It certainly seemed like he wanted to. ‘Did she want him to?’ Nami shivered but not because she was cold. She’d never thought about kissing Zoro prior to this moment but now that she was… ‘She kind of wanted to kiss him, too. She kind of wanted to kiss him a lot.’ All he had to do was lift his chin a few more centimeters. 

He closed his eyes and started to, slowly...

WHAM! The clinic doors burst open followed by a shouting voice they both recognized.

“ZOOOOOOOROOOOOOO!”

Nami shoved herself off of her crew mate and the mattress at the same time that he practically ripped his arms from her torso. She took a step back just as their captain came bounding in holding a large plate piled with food.

“Oh hi Nami, why’re you here?” Luffy noticed her standing somewhat awkwardly beside the bed but his gaze shifted to Zoro and he forgot all about it. “Oh yeah, look Zoro!” He beamed at his first mate, scrunching both of his eyes closed and holding the plate up, “I brought you meat.”

The navigator chose this moment to slip away. Her heart was beating so fast that it felt like a hummingbird was trapped in her rib cage. ‘What had just happened! Well - what had just nearly happened?! Were they about to kiss?? If Luffy hadn’t run in, would Zoro have kissed her?!’ It had happened so slowly yet so quickly at the same time.

‘But they were just friends… Right?’

Question after question danced through her head until she shook it violently to clear it. She told herself that it must have been the sake that made Zoro act the way he did, because they were just friends. If he had another chance to kiss her she was certain he wouldn’t take it.

‘And yet… A small part of her wanted to give it to him anyway.’

                                                                          ***

Zoro had trouble settling down after Luffy left him to find more food(he’d eaten almost everything that he originally brought for his first mate.) He just... Couldn’t stop thinking about Nami - about what he’d almost done. ‘What the fuck had come over him? He’d never wanted to kiss her before tonight, so where the hell did he even get that idea from?’

“I’m drunk,” the swordsman said out loud to the empty building, like he was trying to convince himself, even though he knew it took at least two bottles to get him tipsy – and he’d barely drunk half of the first one. “I’m drunk,” he repeated, glaring at the foot of his bed where Luffy had left the mostly empty plate. All that was left were a few tangerines. 

‘He and Nami were friends.’ 

Zoro picked one up and held it in front of him, expression unreadable.

‘What had happened tonight was a fluke, and there was no way it would ever happen again.’

With only a few rays of moonlight seeping through the curtains above his head, he could just make out the normally much brighter orange sheen of the fruit’s skin.

‘They were just friends. But… Was that all he honestly wanted them to be?’

[hisgirlwonder]

Wicked Games - Part One

Length: 3.6K words Warning: Smut (sex, mention of degradation, Michael secretly is a cuck?, etc etc) and angst   Synopsis: Every lawyer is given a case they would rather not work on and you’re no exception to this. Someone you know all too well ends up being your latest client, how will you cope under the pressure? You’re the best of the best in the world of law but you are, after all, only human. Notes: Today comes the day when I finally publish something about a character other than Michael. I’ve been staring at it for days because I didn’t want to ruin Duncan (I haven’t seen HOC) so hopefullyyyyyy this is okay! I’m kind of nervous in writing other things because my heart lies with Michael but I have been feeling such a pull to write for Cody’s other characters (I have some of an outline for another series for Michael x Reader x Jim so keep an eye out for that! It’s going to be a bit angsty from what I have so far) (also this is probably my favourite version of Y/N I’ll write about to date because we love a strong woman)

“Hello, Mrs Langdon,” Michael purrs, grinning at the sight of you coming through the front door. You plant a kiss on his cheek and apologise for the late arrival home; telling him those idiots at work were to blame.

Taking off your jacket feels like an effort with all of the buttons and a pair of tired hands; eventually you get there and hang it up on the coat stand. Michael asks if you had a rough day and your response is a heavily exhale of exhaustion followed with a remark of you have no idea as you’re kicking off your heels.

He closes the door and asks if you’ve eaten. You nod, explaining that you ordered in sushi earlier. It was unfortunate because having dinner together was one of the things that helped you unwind after a long day and today you had to miss it. It turns out your newest client held you back for much longer than intended and when you finally got to pack up for the day night, you leave feeling deflated because all you’ve done is run in circles and achieved nothing.

Michael sinks his warm thumbs into your trapezius muscles to try and massage the tautness out. You were never one to give up a fight because you thrived on winning but the weight of this was so heavy and it was only day one.

You feel those smooth hands glide down to rest on your upper arms and Michael tells you he’s going to get you a drink. A sigh of dejection erupts from your lungs, and you push past it to thank him before he disappears into the kitchen.

*

Michael re-appears with a drink in hand and as you’re taking it from him, you smile weakly and mouth thank you. You swallow a few mouthfuls to calm yourself before offloading onto your husband.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to be dumped with this case. I just, I mean, I just really wanted to slap the shit eating grin off of his face. He’s even more unrelenting than I remember.” You say, dumbfounded in disbelief at how anyone could have that kind of attitude.

“Oh, so you know him? Obviously, you can’t tell me specifics about the case but, might I ask, who is it?”

“Duncan Shepherd.”

You and Duncan ran in the same circles ever since your rise to power in the world of law so you’d been around each other more times than you’d like to admit. You couldn’t forget the first time you met – it was an opening for an art gallery where he gave you nothing but grief about being married all the while trying to win you over. It was almost like he forgot you were a lawyer who was well-versed in reading people. That, or he just didn’t care. Duncan did like a challenge.

Michael stays silent, making an oh face. He knew exactly from your recollection of stories and meetings what Duncan was like. Being the best of the best when it came to your profession had its perks but it also had its downfalls, like old men trying to buy their way into spending a night with you or pretty boys with more money than sense.

You’d represented your fair share of guilty people in passing but never one who got on your nerves as much as Duncan did. Maybe it was his comment about Michael being a “ball and chain” for you that did it, or perhaps it was more than that.

“I get the feeling you’re going to need something stronger than just a cocktail, I’ll be right back.”

*

As your eyes are scanning over the photographs on the mantelpiece waiting for Michael to return, there’s one that takes your interest and sends you headfirst into the throes of nostalgia.

It was from the engagement party where one of your best friends had styled you - she’d commissioned a very famous designer to create a black, cinch-waisted dress with a sweetheart neckline. Oh, you felt so glamorous and had no idea what life had planned for you following that night.

You smile to yourself when remembering how adamant she was for you to have curls and for them to be done by her; she spent what felt like hours perfecting them. The makeup was polished off with a deep plum coloured lipstick and she’d joked about how you looked like her very own masterpiece. Completely biased though because she’d always reiterate her belief that you didn’t need makeup since you possessed such natural beauty.

Your heart feels as if it has sunk to your feet when you recall what else happened. How could you forget? The joy of that evening fell short when your mother decided to pull you aside and snap, asking why you felt the need to dress the way you did. She was referring to how dark your dress and makeup were, because in her mind her own flesh and blood should take after her, dressing in shades of salmon and lilac. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time she’d called you out like this and it wouldn’t be the last.

Her serpent-like mouth had bitten you one too many times and now, older and wiser, your heart had become cold towards her. Every person you meet remarks about how your parents must be so proud of you and you want to laugh in their faces and admit the truth – that your father is nowhere to be found and your mother will never be satisfied with anything you do. It’s as if you were an aversion to her eyes as well because she was constantly telling you that no man would ever love you if you were to dress like you’re always going to a funeral. Even Michael professing his love in front of the room full of people wasn’t enough.

*

Either Michael must have been stealth-like or you were too engrossed in what you were thinking about because you didn’t hear the bottle of vodka on the table nor did you hear him come up behind you. The fixation on your younger self in the picture was interrupted by the feeling of his arms encasing you and the warmth of his chin resting on your exposed shoulder. “What are you doing?”

You point to the photograph, pained with a longing in that moment for how things used to be. Before law school, before all of this stress, before Duncan fucking Shepherd came into your life.

“This simultaneously feels like a lifetime ago yet so recent I can almost taste the entrees we ate that night. She’s ruined so many things. It was the beginning of some of the best things to happen to me,” you look down at the diamond ring on your finger before continuing, “But when I get like this, I’m reminded of her disapproval. Life would be much easier if my father didn’t decide to abandon me and leave me with her.”

“M/N is and will always be jealous of you, Y/N. You looked radiant that night and she was just projecting her own insecurities onto you. Do you remember the day we were introduced? I was wearing god knows what but I will never forget the sight of you in those ripped black jeans and boots. It gave me a raging hard-on to see you dressed like that. You’re even more beautiful now because you’re my wife.” He squeezes his arms around you in comfort before continuing, “Let’s forget about that and focus on something else. You’ve had enough drama for one day. Work was hard, wasn’t it? I think I know a way we can relieve some of this pent up energy.” As he’s talking, the bulge trapped in his pants is pushed into your ass and all of a sudden you become distracted.

You place the now empty glass beside the photo in question and guide a hand upwards to stroke at Michael’s face. You knew what he wanted but decided to play along, questioning him in a coy voice, “Oh? And what might that be, Mr. Langdon?”

Michael’s unwraps himself from you, positioning his hands on your hips and caresses your lower back. “Maybe we can go to the bedroom and I can fuck the frustration out of you.”

/

Hands are travelling up your sides to meet at the top of the zipper, pushing your locks over to one side. “Let me.” The slider glides down, parting the teeth and allows the dress to fall to the floor. He touches his lips on the curve of where your shoulder meets your arm; he’s planting kisses on your skin while eager fingers are unhooking the clasp on your bra.

By now you’re standing only in a small pair of underwear and the moment you turn around Michael snatches you up; hands digging into the flesh of your ass. He’s smirking in enjoyment, almost salivating at the thought of what next comes out.

“I was thinking about you in that pretty red dress of yours I like at work today. You’re innocently knocking files off my desk as you’re trying to place them in front of me like a clumsy little girl. You’re bending over to grab them but your feet are apart enough so everything is exposed…” he pulls you in even closer before continuing, lowly growing in thirst, “…and it’s obvious to see your slit is glistening for me; ready to be fucked.”

If you didn’t know you were alive before, you sure knew now because you feel your heart quicken and nostrils becoming flared as you expel out hot breaths of want. Those few words forced you into a state of submission - one where you’d do anything no questions asked.

Your mouths meet in what starts off as a slow, loving kiss but quickly transforms into a salacious mess; lips turning red, swollen, and spit covered. Both of you were becoming drunk on the other. He instructs you to get on the bed and you follow through without hesitation.

*

With eyes glued to him, you watch as he’s sitting on a chair nearby undoing his tie. You become occupied with the thought of how you’d rather them around your throat than loosening the item of fabric he now throws on the ground. Michael teases in the hopes it’ll set you off by warning not to get too excited because he’s staying dressed for what he has planned.

He was right to think that way because with his comment you transform into a brat, rolling your eyes and whining, “Can you not? You’re strangely looking like Duncan did earlier.”

Michael reaches down to untie his shoes and every now and then looks up at you and the only reaction to your words is a silent smile; one that said you just wait. Once his shoes are off, he walks over to the bed and towers above you, asserting you in dominance. He grabs your face in a hand and breaks his reticence, telling you, “I think you’re forgetting who makes the rules.”

In the blink of an eye, Michael has ripped off your underwear and runs a single finger up your slit to feel the slick leaking from your folds. You’re ignorant enough not to realise Michael wasn’t the only reason your body was behaving this way. He, however, does know and pushes your thighs apart to see what he’s dealing with. Tips of his digits are drawing shapes against your bud - you think he’s letting them wander aimlessly but Michael was actually spelling out the word Duncan.

“Duncan really makes you mad, doesn’t he?” Michael teases with words laminated in a devilish tone. He could see how you were visibly responding to him and it drove him wild. Michael noticed at the mention of Duncan’s name you did jerk your legs shut but there was a brief moment where you bucked your hips and Michael could read between the lines; he knew precisely what it meant, even before you did.

Forceful hands pry your legs apart as if to say I’m the one who is in charge and when he begins to touch you again, he changes it up and uses all four fingers. The blood rushes in between your legs, swirling around and causing tumescence in your loins.

“He makes you red hot, doesn’t he?” The deliverance of those two words made you wonder if he was insinuating something entirely different. Something that you’d never considered until now. Maybe your brain had kept this revelation hidden away until Michael decided to open your eyes to it. Maybe, just maybe, this was for your own benefit because there’s no way you would have willingly accepted your own want for him of all people.

Michael slips two of those four fingers inside, curling around and massaging your soft spot in a continuous but inviting come here movement. Not leaving any part ignored, he light grazes his thumb against the surface of your already stimulated bud and it makes you writhe around in pleasure. All attempts at trying to keep composed and innocent fail as your words become broken and you’re a stuttering mess, “W-w-what a-are yo-o-ou d-d-doing?”

Then suddenly, an unfamiliar feeling washes over you and you’re not sure if you like it but you have no choice because it’s consuming you; the want need for Duncan to be committing unspeakable acts against your body. Michael’s almost gagging over you coming undone from a few simple wo­rds and figures it’s the perfect time to take himself out of his pants knowing you’d be pathetic and desperate for a cock inside you.

*

The old adage goes “silence is golden” but this was the exact opposite. You needed something to stop you dissipating into the fever that was burning deep within your core. You wanted to snuff out the fire inside because you had absolutely no idea how you were going to work with this lingering.

Michael positions his body between your legs to stroke the head of his throbbing cock against your slit, mixing what was leaking out of himself with your own wetness. He takes it up a notch by sliding in a minuscule amount and taunting you, with words like you know, your body is giving me the answers your mouth wouldn’t dare speak.

His icy blues are locked onto you as he pushes past your entrance, gauging your reaction while giving you more of the thing you yearned for. Michael’s having too much fun being a tease but it becomes too much and you spit angst at him, “Can’t you just fuck me already?”

Michael provokes you even further and suggests, “If you want it so bad, why don’t you just behave and bend over the bed like a good girl. Bad girls don’t get what they want.”  He knew what being called a good girl did to you and used it to his full advantage whenever you were in a state like this.

You don’t know whether to laugh or feel bad that this exact situation was what Duncan had predicted at that party. Goosebumps hit your skin as you can hear him. “I can already see it now – one day you’ll be bent over a bed, pussy soaked with your own filth and you’ll be begging for him to fuck you when really you wish it was me.”

And that’s exactly what is happening. You were bent over and beginning to be fucked, like a cock-deprived slut. It was more than just your usual lust over Michael but it also included being wrecked and ruined by Duncan, and you hated yourself for it.

“If you really do want this, there’s only one thing I want in return.” Michael tells you, rubbing a hand over your ass, “I want you to tell me exactly why he’s so bad. I want you to feel it.”

“Duncan Shepherd is a sanctimonious, smug asshole. He thinks he’s a hot piece who can get whatever he wants whenever he wants. He-“

Your outburst is interrupted by Michael moving back inside. You’re wondering when he’s going to fuck the neediness out of you because he was deliberately holding back and moving very slowly. “Keep going. Remember, I want you to feel it.”

“He always thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants and not get away with it. This is why I’m stuck with him, because of his actions, and now I have to see him every single day until this damn trial is over and done with.”

There it is, your distaste for him. You thought it was stronger than the urges that reverberated throughout your body. The truth is you wanted to fuck Duncan out of hatred, then make him watch as you fuck Michael out of adoration, and for both men to pour load after load into your open mouth; deep down your willing throat. You wanted to be defiled but only by your own control.

Michael’s hands are gripping into your thighs to say your body is mine and he picks up his pace. He grunts, “More. Tell me more. Feed it to me, baby.”

“He’s such a pig. He treats me like I should beg to be the ground he’s walking on. Remember his ex? She said he’s so vain that he likes to fuck in front of a mirror so he can watch himself.”

Your pussy twitches at the very clear image in your head of him pounding away at you like he did with her, almost as if it had happened in real life. Were you jealous? You couldn’t deny that Duncan was hot, because he was, but he knew it. You also knew that he’d be good in bed despite the disgusting ego. The thoughts of being used and abused by a man like this, specifically Duncan, drove you mad in every way possible.

“Do you ever think it’s because he wants to fuck you?”

That slight twitch turns into a full-on throb and every muscle within the confines of your cunt begin to tighten around Michael’s cock – your body growing unfaithful with its admission of the things you were trying to remain tight-lipped about. It’s one thing to find someone attractive but it’s another entirely for it to be someone you’ve spent years loathing. Duncan was everything you couldn’t stand in a man yet your entire existence was begging to be destroyed by him.

“My bet is he’d like to turn you into an incoherent mess. His hand is probably lathered in fake slick right now and he’s fucking himself to the thought of you in the dress you wore today.”

Your knees were growing weak and you were barely holding on. You being sent in a direction you’d never been before. Before tonight, Michael was the only thought and person which brought you pleasure in all the ways. The truth was that Michael wanted you to feel this. He secretly had lusted after this for so long and now he finally got his chance.

And that’s when it came. The words that would tear you in two, causing the same reaction in your body akin to a dam bursting its banks.

“I can guarantee that Duncan would love to be here right now, seeing your pussy full with this cock and us taking turns on you all night, filling every hole.”

Michael was the filthiest and there was no doubt about that but it’s as if the events of tonight had given you a key to a hidden lock inside him – you opened it and it unleashed something wild and untamed. His mouth and his member cause you to explode as if you’re a supernova; stars littering your vision as evidence of the intensity.

A lustful growl emits from Michael’s lungs as you drop to the mattress, knees weakened completely. “I knew exactly what that meant.”

It seems like your climax transforms him into some other being. He begins pounding away at you mercilessly, throwing caution into the wind and slamming his body into yours like he was trying to punish you for thinking such dirty thoughts.

Michael’s positioned now with his torso against your back, taking in your mixed scent of perfume and sweat. He thrusts a few more times and you both cry out in enjoyment – you’re still swimming in the pool of your orgasm and he meets you there, unloading himself inside your pussy. Once the last drop is spilt he rolls off your body and onto his back.

He breathlessly throws an idea at you, “Maybe we should make our own game, Y/N. Duncan Shepherd needs to atone for his sins of the flesh. You should play with him, make him bend to you however you see fit, and, when the time is right then we can take it even further. There are only two rules.”

“Which are?”

“Number one, have fun. Number two, fill me in on everything. Also, remember, it’s Duncan.”

You knew what it’s Duncan meant because you knew Michael all too well. It meant don’t worry, nobody is going to believe someone as manipulative as him if he tries anything.

You didn’t care. Your impulses took over and you agreed to his game, asking when you were to start.

“Tomorrow.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @sevenwondr @langdonsdemon @queencocoakimmie

[soysauceharry]

once upon a time i started this ALOTO drabble that @primetimewritings sent me the idea for....then i forgot about it! so here you go!!!

the time that annie and harry reviewed some anatomy.

“That’s the one with really long and weird name, right?”

Annie fingers are tracing down the front of Harry’s neck as she watches his Adam’s apple bob while he swallows. “Sternocleidomastoid,” she murmurs, admiring the view from her perch atop his hips. Her textbook lays open to a diagram of all the muscles in the human body, and her live model is directly underneath her in only his pants.

Harry’s tapping the tips of fingers along Annie’s thighs as she gazes over the pages of her book, trying to identify which muscles she can easily palpate. When Eva suggested a general review of musculature, Annie figured she could just use one of the players to help her visualize all the muscles. But the first-team squad had left for a European tour for the next two weeks and Annie had no other resources left.

Harry, always eager to help, immediately volunteered with no hesitation when she brought it up.

“These are your scalenes--there’s three different portions,” Annie says, pressing the pads of her fingers into the sides of Harry’s neck. “Your trapezius, upper and middle...”

“Use that machine quite a bit at the gym,” Harry grins. “Mine are quite toned, are they not?”

“This isn’t going to be me complimenting you on how buffed out you are, Harry.” He snorts in response. “Flip over.”

She lifts herself a bit so Harry can turn onto his stomach, settling into the mattress and huffing into the pillow. He moves his arms up so they’re cushioning his head--Annie finds herself dragging her eyes over his shoulders as he moves, naming the muscles in her head.

“On with it, you,” he mumbles once he’s still. Annie shifts forward so she can sit right on the small of his back, glancing once at her textbook before continuing where she left off.

“Upper and middle traps, which elevate and retract the scapula. Rhomboids, levator scapulae, latissimus dorsi...”

“Mmm, yes. Sounds so good, love.”

“Harry.”

“What?” Harry’s got a shit-eating grin on his face when he lifts himself up and turns his head to look at Annie. “I’ve been waiting quite some time for you to give me an anatomy lesson. Don’t think I won’t take advantage of this moment.”

Annie glares at him. “You’re so gross.”

“Got you in bed with me, didn’t I?”

“Can you--please, lay back down.” There’s a flush that’s taking over, her face heating up with the implication that this could go further than just a review session. Which--if she’s being honest--would be totally fine. More than fine, actually. But only after she finished.

“Okay.” She blows a breath out of her mouth, letting her hands drift to Harry’s spine. “Transversospinalis, deep back postural muscles. Erector spinae--”

Harry snorts. “Erect is right.”

“Stop.” Annie pinches his side, eliciting a yelp from Harry. “I’m trying to study and you’re being distracting!”

“And you’re not being distraction You’re sittin’ on my back in nothin’ but my t-shirt! You can’t blame me for my natural reactions!” Harry argues, pushing himself back up on his elbows. His back arches spectacularly, all of his sinewy muscles contracting with the movement. “I’m drowning here, baby.”

“If you can’t control yourself, I can just find someone else--”

“--No! No.” Harry pushes up onto his hands, but the motion sends Annie flying backward with a yelp. “Oh, fuck. Sorry, Annie.”

Annie huffs, blowing some hair off her face. “It’s fine. Can we continue?”

“I’ll be good, I swear. Go on, palpitate me some more.”

Annie lips quirk upward a bit as she sits up. She crawls back into Harry’s lap and sits right between his legs with her own draped across his hips. “It’s palpate, you numpty,” she giggles, tugging on his earlobe. “Now, hold still--I’ve lost my place.” She shifts on his lap so she can grab her text book and pull it closer, going back to her spot where she left off. “Now. Pectoralis minor originates at the coracoid process...”

She dips her thumbs in the spaces under Harry’s collarbones, just where the tails of his swallows begin. She makes note of the way his pecs jump at the contact, trying to hide her grin at the way he reacts to her touch. He’s been her model countless times, always volunteering to help her practice new skills and techniques she’s picked up at work. Harry gets his back manipulated for free now that Annie’s learned all sorts of different mobilization techniques, so he stopped complaining about some of the more...uncomfortable methods a long time ago. 

“Pec major sits superficial. Serratus anterior, inserting on the ribs... hey, do your scapulas wing?”

Harry frowns, his attention drawn from the feeling of Annie’s fingers tracing along his skin. “What does that mean?”

She lifts up off his lap, encouraging him to turn so he was sitting back on his haunches facing away from her. “Lift your arms up to the ceiling, babe?” she asks, keeping her hands on his shoulder blades. Harry does as she says, raising his arms so his fingers point to the sky. “Not bad, actually,” she comments, giving his shoulders a squeeze. “Strong boxer’s muscles, those are.” She punctuates her comment with a kiss to the back of his neck.

Harry turns to look back at her over his shoulder, his lips curved into a smirk. “I do try,” he murmurs, turning back around fully. He sits up on his knees, mirroring Annie’s position as his hands find their place on her hips. “Let’s have a kiss, then.”

Annie makes a face. “I don’t think so.”

“”ve been so good, Annie. I want a reward.”

“Har--”

He cuts her off and kisses her anyway, because he doesn’t care and he knows she wouldn’t mind either way. His lips are cool and slightly chapped, but Annie finds that she doesn’t mind anyway. When his tongue pokes out to slide against her bottom lip, she pulls away. “I really need to finish this review, baby,” she murmurs.

“I know y’do.” Harry steals one more kiss before plopping back down on his bum. He pats his thighs invitingly. “C’mon. I’ll be still now, promise.”

She manages to get through the rest of the chest and thorax with minimal interruption. The satisfaction she gets from tickling Harry’s sides as she presses along his obliques makes her night. “Okay,” she sighs, breathless from all of the laughing. “Upper extremity?”

Harry holds out his left arm. “Palpate away.”

She starts at the shoulder. The inked flesh calls to her in the most alluring way. “Deltoids--anterior, middle, superior. Insert at the deltoid tubercle on the humerus...” Her fingers trail down his upper arm. “Biceps brachii, long and short head... coracobrachialis... triceps brachii...”

Harry sucks in a breath when her fingers scratch across the boat inked on his arm. Goosebumps litter his flesh, she notes. The air changes between them.

Annie maneuvers Harry’s arm so that his elbow is bent and resting against his torso. “Brachialis, brachioradialis--make a fist for me?” Harry obeys, and the muscle pops out nicely. His mermaid tattoo seems to swim with the effect. “Okay, wrist and finger flexors...”

She lists them all, recalling her mnemonics from school to remember the order. Harry’s eyes follow the movement of her fingers as they trace the tendons to their attachment points. Finally, she reaches his hand. “Is it weird for me to say I’m obsessed with your hands?” she asks, moving his arm again so his hand is up by her face.

“No? I don’t know.” Harry purses his lips, watching Annie turn his hand over to look at the veins protruding from the back of it. “I’m obsessed with your mind, if that’s worth anything.”

Annie makes a face. “Too much.”

Harry grins unabashedly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Annie can’t help but smile lightly, planting a kiss to the back of his hand. Her nose skims his flesh as she plants another kiss by his wrist. “And this poor little scaphoid that needed an operation.” More kisses to each of these knuckles. “These lovely metacarpophalangeal joints that get bruised when you box...”

Harry’s breath catches with each kiss she presses to his hand. His cock is starting to take interest in his pants--which, he doesn’t know if that’s entirely appropriate for the situation. “Baby... what are you doing?”

Annie looks up from underneath hooded eyes. Her cheeks are going rosy, she can tell--it always happens right before she starts getting needy. “Just lovin’ on you,” she says lowly, kissing his palm.

Harry gulps, unable to move. Her hair is messy from running her fingers through it repeatedly, his shirt is hanging off her shoulder, exposing smooth, caramel colored flesh. Lips full and pink, eyes bright--Harry is enamored.

He’s snapped out of admiring his girl when the tip of his finger dips into Annie’s mouth. “Oh, shit,” he breathes when her tongue swirls around it. “Baby, I--”

She removes his finger with a little pop. “I think we’re ready for some... different anatomy review, hm?”

Harry blinks. Then, he pounces. “Too much,” he laughs against her mouth, rucking up her shirt as she smiles into their kiss. He’s sure they can actually finish their session some other time.

[c-valentino]

Lighter Next To Your Coffee Mug VIII

“Yes?” Neil ran his fingers down Andrew’s chest before he took his hands back. “Or no?” 

Damn this guy… This had gone so well until now. Even though Andrew could still feel the aftermath of last night’s high, the dull feeling that wouldn't leave him for a while, this meeting had gone down surprisingly smoothly. He could say no. Maybe he should. End it on good terms for once and continue later this week. He could. But he also wanted more; wanted to push his limits with the man lying below him and see how far this would go. Dammit.

  He leaned in and kissed Neil again, delaying his answer. Neil’s mouth was hot and inviting, his skin under the fabric of his shirt warm; a plane of firm, lean muscles covered in ruined skin that spoke of violence and survival. Who was this guy? Why was he so interested in him? Why did he think of him when Neil wasn't around, even when sex was not on his mind? He knew next to nothing about this man. Andrew knew he was in trouble. He knew he liked this guy. It made him angry, but that changed nothing. The fact that his drugged brain had convinced him that he needed to talk to Neil last night was a warning sign with hazard lights flashing on top.

  His body didn’t seem to care though. He was still hard from giving Neil a blowjob, from making him lose control and moan his name. He could get up now and finish this in his bathroom. He was sure, it wouldn't even take him five minutes with those memories still fresh on his mind, but doing it here… He frowned again and bit down on Neil’s lower lip, a little too harshly. He could feel those gentle fingers grabbing his hair in response, pulling and letting go again, when he ran his tongue over the abused lip almost apologetically, but in truth to make sure he hadn't broken the skin and drawn blood.

  Andrew knew what could happen if he stayed and things went wrong. He could black out for a second. It would be enough. He knew what kind of damage he could cause in a short amount of time in this close proximity. One wrong move from Neil, one careless touch, one flashback and he could seriously hurt the guy. He even wore his single remaining knife out of habit right now. He had returned the others to Renee on the day their ways had parted again; but she had insisted that he kept at least one of them. He had.

  Somewhere between kissing, stalling for time, and trying to make up his mind, Andrew felt those hands leaving him, and he noticed Neil getting rid of the used condom. Right, he had forgotten about that. Well, problem solved. Neil was efficient enough to avoid any kind of awkwardness. Those strong arms encircled his neck again, one hand tangling in his hair, the other holding onto his shoulder, while Neil leaned up and kissed his neck again. It made the short hairs on Andrew’s neck raise and his skin prickle. He liked it, but it could get a little overwhelming at times. Right now, it made his cock twitch. Dammit, if Neil ever found all of his sensitive spots he would be a shuddering mess in this man’s arms. The thought was provocative, somehow enticing, but also ridiculous. The chances of him being able to experience that were next to nothing.

  Neil’s fingers followed his trapezius down and dug into the taught muscle next to his spine. It caused the sweet kind of pain of having a sore, post workout muscle massaged. Andrew flexed his shoulders and leaned into the touch, seeking more. He could feel Neil’s lips curl upward into a smile on his neck but he didn't protest as the man’s other hand joined his left on the other side of his spine and copied the motion. It felt too good. How many times had he seen his teammates getting massaged after workouts or matches, knowing he would never allow a stranger to touch him like that? It was those simple things that reminded him of how much he was missing in his life, of how different he really way.

  He put a hand on the back of Neil’s neck and pulled him back a little. Their eyes met and Andrew didn't look away, because he needed to make sure that he would get his point across right now.

  “Listen,” he said and Neil’s fingers stopped moving and his hands came to rest on Andrew’s back, “if I–” What? If he freaked out? If he attacked the man in front of him for no apparent reason? He had tried this only once before and it had ended badly in a painful, bloody way that had kept him from trying again.

  “If you try to hurt me,” Neil guessed, reading his goddamned mind, sounding so calm and serious about it. I hate you. Andrew frowned down on him, anger rising. But Neil had his answer and nodded. “I’ll be ready,” he said. No, you won’t.

  There was no backing off now. He thought about getting off the sofa, about changing their position, but he didn't want Neil on top of him and even standing next to each other, with Neil being taller than him, made Andrew worry that it would make things worse. Right now he had Neil below him and maybe that wasn't the most favorable position for the young man to defend himself, but Andrew would need one arm to keep his balance and the other to touch himself.

  He leaned down and kissed Neil once more and the taller man didn't hesitate to kiss back.

  “Can I touch you?” Could he? Andrew wasn't sure. Would it help or do the opposite? He didn't know.

  “Just my hair,” he said and Neil nodded. Andrew could feel those blue eyes looking at him, searching his face for changes and warning signs. Andrew wasn't even sure if he would have those. People always told him that he was hard to read. He didn't like to be watched while he was doing anything sexual; he didn't feel confident about, but he also needed Neil to watch him closely this time. It was uncomfortable and he kept his eyes above Neil’s head, staring at the sofa for now. He wasn't sure this would work. He was getting too nervous about the whole thing.

  “Hey,” Neil said quietly and Andrew looked down at him. “It’s okay. No rush. Just come back here for a sec.” He reached up and gently pulled Andrew down into another kiss, fingers running over the goalkeeper’s scalp. Andrew followed his request willingly, relaxing a bit into the familiar feeling of Neil’s lips moving against his own. His hand moved without him thinking about it. It found Neil’s chest and rubbed one of his scars through the shirt before his fingers found an already hard nipple and started teasing it. Neil hummed against his lips, his tongue finding Andrew’s. The goalkeeper pinched him and Neil gasped, arching his back a little, body as responsive as usual. Do you really like pain, Andrew wondered not for the first time. He didn't think so. How much of all of this was acting?

  And then Neil was reaching down, grabbing a fold of Andrew’s pant leg and pulled a little to get his attention, without breaking the kiss. Andrew let him and followed the pull, until their legs were re-arranged with one of Neil’s between his and the taller man pulling again, down this time, until he felt Andrew sliding down against his raised thigh. He let go of Andrew’s sweatpants then, returning to just touching his hair, leaving it up to Andrew to move against him if he wanted to. Andrew closed his strong thighs around Neil’s leg and moaned a little, grinding his hips against Neil, while keeping their upper bodies apart. He was hard again, and it didn't take him long this time to reach into his pants and close his hand around his own erection. He still used Neil’s leg for pressure and friction and kissed the man one last time before he drew back, so Neil would remember and watch out for himself.

  He could feel unwanted memories lurking somewhere in the back of his mind. They were tightly attached to the worry that he could hurt the man in front of him. He couldn't get rid of them without disregarding his caution, and he couldn't afford that most of all. Andrew tried to concentrate on Neil, tried to remember making him come in all those little details his mind usually provided him with. He inhaled deeply, smelling the mixture of the lingering scent of body wash and post sex sweat on Neil and looked down at the man.

  Neil was watching him closely, eyes on Andrew’s face, no traces of worry in his expression but no dismissive smile either. Andrew avoided his gaze again quickly, grimacing a little, because he couldn't hold it and it felt like a failure he couldn't hide. He looked down at his own hand, half hidden inside his sweat pants, moving up and down with harsh movements. He was never gentle with himself. He had noticed it again, when he had been touching Neil, watching the young man’s responses. He instinctively touched him more gently than himself.

  His gaze got caught on something else. He couldn't figure out what right away. It took him a moment to link that rising, cold feeling with the image he saw, but when it clicked in place, it was like a punch to the gut. It was the image of a naked lower body with another man on top of it, a shirt partly pushed upward to reveal bruises underneath and a hand grabbing an erection. It was a picture from another time, parts of a memory, distorted, overlapping a child’s body with that of a young man and Andrew couldn't look away, even as his eyes widened in horror and his throat tightened against the threatening nausea.

  Not real, he told himself, it’s not the fucking same. He was going to be sick. He fought it down –everything. He wanted all of it gone. This whole situation felt so disgusting, he couldn't stand it.

    Neil watched Andrew closely and caught the moment the man above him lost his touch with reality for a second. He prepared himself for violence, to fight off any demons Andrew was battling at the moment, but none was forthcoming. Instead, he saw Andrew fall apart on top of him, saw him shudder and heard a pathetic sound escaping his mouth that reminded him of a strangled sob. He took his hand from Andrew’s hair and pushed himself halfway up with one arm, frantically searching for words. Andrew’s hand was still between his legs but his erection was completely gone. He couldn't see the goalkeeper’s face. The man was tense and didn't move. He looked like he was ashamed. That’s what you get for pushing him, Neil told himself.

  He wanted to tell Andrew that he had no reason to feel ashamed, but he knew the man wouldn't listen. No man had ever listened to that argument with his limp dick in his hand. Dammit. Neil sat up all the way and Andrew sat back on his heels, his face a terrible blank mask that didn't display any of the emotions he must have been feeling right now. Not your fault, Neil wanted to tell him. I made you try. He pulled his leg free from beneath Andrew and cocked his head a little, willing the goalkeeper to look at him but Andrew didn’t.

  “Get dressed,” were the first words out of Andrew’s mouth, quiet and flat, concealing every emotion underneath. Neil did as he had been told, then sat down again, keeping some distance between them. He didn't want to leave Andrew like this. Not while the man wouldn't even look at him.

  “Andrew,” he began, uncertainly. Don’t beat yourself up. The goalkeeper stood up, shoulders and back tense. He stalked over into the kitchen, grabbed a glass, cupboard door slamming shut with a resounding bang, and filled it with water at the sink. Neil got up slowly and crossed the room halfway, watching him. The goalkeeper drank half of the water, one hand braced against the kitchen counter.

  “Leave,” he told Neil without turning around. Neil grimaced but didn't move. Andrew waited a moment, then turned and glared at him. “I said leave,” he growled.

  “Andrew, let’s just–“ The half-empty glass flying across the room and smashing into the far wall, showering the sofa with water and broken pieces made him shut up.

  “Get the fuck out,” Andrew hissed. Neil could tell he wanted to be intimidating as he came back into the living room, facing Neil, trying to get him to back off. It almost worked and he took halt a step back. 

  “Hey…” This was getting out of hand. Andrew was overreacting.

  “Out,” he repeated. “We are done. Take your money and go. What the fuck are we even doing?” He was furious, and Neil could see the aversion in his face.

  “Calm down. Why are you trying to twist this into something ugly?” He needed to calm him down. He understood that Andrew didn't want to be seen like this, no one would, but he needed to understand that it didn't matter.

  “Twist it? This whole thing is disgusting,” Andrew snarled and Neil felt hurt and resignation welling up inside against his better judgment. A client’s words shouldn't hurt him like that.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way.” The goalkeeper didn't want to listen. He growled and turned around, about to run away once again. This needed to stop. Neil couldn't let him hide right now.

  “Andrew, wait!” He reached out to grab Andrew’s shirt. He couldn't just let him leave like this. But before he even made contact a blinding pain exploded inside his head, making him see stars. Andrew’s elbow had hit him in the face and had him stumbling backwards, crashing into the wall. He must have blacked out for a few seconds, because the next thing Neil noticed was that he was sitting on the floor, making out Andrew’s blurry shape in front of him.

  “Hey. Can you hear me?” Yeah, he heard him and he was about to fucking shout at him for hitting him in the face, because the pain made his temper flare up through the dizziness. And then he remembered what had actually happened and all he did was curse at himself. He touched his aching face, covering it with his hand. Blood was dripping from his nose, down his chin onto his shirt. Andrew had shut up and just looked at him in a mix of anger and concern.

  “I’m fine,” Neil managed to get out and winced. He tilted his head back. The taste of blood in his mouth was thick and nauseating and he wanted to spit. Instead he swallowed hard. Andrew didn't seem convinced at all. He reached out to pull Neil’s hand away. He couldn't see how bad it actually was with his hand covering half of his face and blood running through his fingers.

  “Let me see. Did you bite your tongue?” He would think so with the slur in his words. Out of reflex, Neil jerked his head back when he saw Andrew’s slightly blurry hand reaching for his face. The goalkeeper cursed, pulled his hand back and let it hover in the air between them awkwardly, unsure what to do in the situation. “Did I break your nose? Talk to me, dammit!”

  “I said, I’m fine.” He realized it wasn't the most convincing argument he had ever made with all the blood running down his face. Carefully, he pinched his nose but it wasn't broken. Thank god for small favors. “You just caught me off guard.” He was still angry with himself for being such an idiot.

  Andrew’s face came back into focus glaring at him, more anger than concern this time. “Move your hand,” he ordered, still crouching in front of Neil.

  “No, Andrew, it’s dripping everywhere.” Besides, it hurt like a bitch and the pain had made his eyes water. “Just give me a minute.” With an annoyed growl, Andrew stood back up, went into the kitchen and grabbed a clean dishtowel. He threw it at Neil. The dark haired man took it and wiped at the blood on his face. “Calm down. It’s just a bloody nose.”

  “I could have–“

  “You didn’t,” Neil cut him short. “I’m fine.”

  “You are not fine,” Andrew screamed at him.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Neil glared back at him. He used the wall for support and got back onto his feet. Wiping at the blood under his nose one more time, he took the towel away and let Andrew see his face. “Just shut up!” The goalkeeper gritted his teeth. “Do I really have to tell you that I’ve had worse? Huh? Do you need to hear that?” He took a few steps forward to close the gap between them but Andrew wouldn't have it.

  “Get the fuck out.” His voice was cold as ice.

  “You know what? Fine!” Neil threw the bloody towel at his feet and turned around. He couldn't do this right now. He needed to get a grip. He went down the hall and slammed the apartment door shut behind himself.

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