#still rotating them around my head like a rock tumbler

[greykolla-art]

What do you mean her name is Mary Gibbs?

[avintagekiss24]

The Art of the Deal - Part One | Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes{

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4,181

Warnings: stripping/strip club

Summary: Steve - Steve and Sam’s tenth anniversary is weeks away, but another trip to Paris isn’t exactly what Steve has in mind. While showing a prospective business associate a night on the town, Steve links eyes with a long haired stranger - a gets a brilliant idea.

Bucky - It’s a normal night at work for Bucky - free drinks, loud music, drunk, horny men. He’s twenty bucks into a lap dance when he spots a new, handsome face, sparking his interest immediately. They link eyes, and boy, is Bucky a sucker for blue eyes.

Sam - Sam? Sam’s just along for the ride (if you catch his drift).

A/N: This is my submission for the Marvel Reverse Big Bang! This was inspired by the gorgeous art of @heyboydraws​. I’m so excited to share this with you guys! You’ll find a few familiar supporting characters in this first part. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

Tags are open! For my current tags, if you don’t want to be tagged in this, just let me know!

Bucky tucks his hair behind his ears as he smiles coyly down at the man between his legs. He rolls his body into him, holding onto the man’s shoulders before pulling his face into his abs. Bucky bites his bottom lip as hands and fingers creep up his sides and along his back as he sways his hips. He slows down as the dark haired man slips a twenty into his jockstrap and proceeds to shove his hands into Bucky’s unzipped pants.

Bucky slaps his hand away before wagging his finger back and forth, “No touchy,” He warns as a seductive smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “Not for twenty bucks anyway.”

The man grunts in return, although still happy and content with Bucky gyrating on top of him. Bucky scans the crowd as he climbs onto the man’s lap, his knees pressing into the couch. He spots a square-chinned blonde in the corner that immediately piques his interest. He’s leaned into another man, their conversation looking serious against the loud music. A bottle of Johnny Walker sits on the tall, round table in front of them, two tumblers half full next to it. Bucky can eye a Tom Ford suit and Christian Louboutins from a mile away. 

This guy means business.

He keeps his eyes on the blonde stranger as more money is shoved into his jockstrap as he moves to the beat of a cliche 80s rock song. The blonde laughs as his eyes move around the main stage. He’s gorgeous, Bucky’s decided. Blue eyes, strong chin, broad shoulders, long legs, rich - Bucky’s favorite concoction of trouble. 

He glances down at the man below him and pries his wandering hands out of his pants a second time, “Do it again, and I’m leaving,” He says sternly, also giving himself a quick out, “I mean it.”

“Oh, come on baby, don’t be like that.”

The man reaches in and squeezes his package again. Bucky pushes away from him, swinging his leg over him as he stands and motions for the security guard to take care of his light weight. He steps aside as Big Tony sweeps in, not even waiting to hear a side of the story and stands the handsy man up on his feet. Bucky wiggles his fingers at the now angry man as Big Tony pulls him off, and returns his gaze back to the leggy blonde. 

His breath hitches in his throat. 

He finds a pair of piercing blue eyes on him. Bucky drops his eyes quickly, suddenly and weirdly nervous under his glare. He clears his throat, regaining his composure, and starts to move forward. He pulls his hair into a sloppy bun as he keeps his eyes on the stranger, a smirk creeping onto his face. 

The blonde’s counterpart is now face deep into the Black Panther’s abs, his hands full of ass, completely unaware of Bucky approaching. 

The blonde’s smile widens as Bucky stops in front of him, their knees touching as he tilts his head to the side, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Bucky points toward the Johnny Walker and grabs the small, square shaped tumbler, “May I?”

“Please.”

Bucky keeps the light smile on his face as he pours himself a stout glass, throwing his head back and swallowing it all in one fell swoop. The blonde’s blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles harder, his eyes dropping down the length of Bucky’s toned body. 

Bucky slides into his lap, biting his bottom lip as he throws his arm around the man’s neck. He smells expensive. Another box ticked, “I’m Bucky.” He whispers, leaning into the man’s ear as The Weeknd’s Worth It slides into rotation. 

“Steve,” Blondie answers simply, “Steve Rogers.”

Bucky rolls his hips into Steve’s crotch before leaning back and tilting his head and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip again. He moves slowly with the beat of the music, swaying his hips back and forth before rolling his body into Steve’s. He takes in a sharp breath as he presses his body into Steve’s sturdy one. He flattens his palms to Steve’s chest and rakes them down to his stomach, happy to find a full set of abs underneath his crisp white collared shirt. 

Steve leans back into the plush seat, plucking out a handful of cash from his jacket pocket. Bucky’s eyes grow wide as Steve holds up a brand new hundred dollar bill between his index and middle finger, wiggling it quickly before another smile covers his lips. Bucky leans up on his knees and grabs Steve’s hands, placing them flat on his chest. He pushes Steve’s large hands down his sculpted chest and abs while pulsing his hips all the while, pushing his dick into Steve’s stomach. 

He pushes Steve’s hands into his still open pants, letting them circle around his hips to palm his ass. He hears Steve inhale sharply. Bucky’s smile broadens as he looks down at Steve, wiggling his eyebrows to make him chuckle.

“Very nice.” Steve says softly, slipping the fresh, green bill into his jockstrap. 

Bucky keeps a tight grip on Steve’s shoulders as his hips grind and sway as The Weeknd continues to croon. He lets Steve’s hands wander, his fingers pushing up his back, gripping his flesh lightly as his muscles flex. Steve flattens his hands on Bucky’s back, a thin, slightly cool strip of metal pushing into his skin. Bucky grabs his hand and brings it to his face to eye the gold band around his ring finger. 

He throws his eyes toward the other man in the booth before leaning into Steve’s ear, “That’s your husband?”

“Oh God, no,” Steve laughs heartily, tickling Bucky’s chest with a fifty dollar bill, “I’m trying to close a deal here.”

“Oh,” Bucky coos, grinding his hips into Steve’s again, “Hubby doesn’t know you're here.”

Steve shakes his head from side to side, tutting, “Oh, my husband knows exactly where I’m at. His wife on the other hand…”

Bucky rolls his hips into Steve’s again, “Either way, I won’t tell if you don’t, baby.” Bucky whispers, lowering his mouth over Steve’s ring finger. 

Steve arches his eyebrows, staring back at Bucky as he sucks his finger from his ring to the tip. Steve leans forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulling him even closer, “You are just perfect, aren’t you?” He whispers, his brilliant blues bouncing between Bucky’s.

Bucky shrugs, a coy look in his eye, “I try Stevie.”

Steve chuckles again and falls back into the booth, his head resting on the back. He stares at Bucky, a dreamy look on his face as the wheels in his head turn, “Will you do me a favor?” He asks after a minute or two. 

“Depends, baby.”

He reaches into his jacket pocket again, pulling out another hundred dollar bill, “How about now? More inclined?”

Bucky smiles widely, jutting his hip toward him and dipping his eyes to Steve’s fingers as they push the folded bill into his jockstrap, “Thank you. What’s the favor, Stevie?”

Steve digs into his jacket pocket again and pulls out a thin, white business card, holding it between his index and middle finger, “Will you call me tomorrow? Around 11?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky hums, sending his eyes off to the side as he pretends to think it over.

“I think I may have a deal for you.”

Bucky laughs lightly as he locks eyes with Steve again, “You’re full of deals tonight, aren’t you?”

“That’s my job, darling.” Steve smirks, “So?”

He wiggles the card, smiling all the while as Bucky plucks it from his fingers, “Steven G. Rogers,” he reads aloud, “Senior Chief Officer of Acquisitions. Sounds fancy.” 

A loud crash sounds beside them, causing them both to snap their heads toward the commotion, “Shit,” Steve grumbles, reaching for his drunk client. 

Steve stands, picking the man up off the floor as he mumbles and laughs incoherently. Big Tony rushes over, but Bucky stops him, throwing the drunk man’s arm over his shoulder, “We’re good Tony. I’m just gonna help them outside.”

Steve and Bucky push their way to the door and out into the cool Atlanta night, sandwiching the third cohort between them. Steve hands over his ticket to the valet, and within minutes a brand new, black Ferrari is pulled up in front of them. They hustle the nearly passed out man into the passenger side, Steve slamming the door before he turns to lean against it.

“Are you gonna call me?” He smiles, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bucky smiles hard, tossing his eyes to his left, “I don’t know man. I don’t want your hubby showing up at my apartment in the middle of the night to beat my ass.”

“Something tells me that’s happened to you before.” Steve laughs.

Bucky sucks his teeth playfully and shrugs, “I ran track in high school.”

“So did my husband.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open, his eyes widen as Steve’s laughter fills the parking lot. Bucky eyes him as he moves around the front of the ridiculously expensive car, and throws open the drivers door. The engine purrs to life seconds later and the passengers window rolls down, inviting Bucky to bend down.

“Please call me tomorrow. No funny stuff, I promise.”

Bucky laughs before pushing a breath through his nose, “What do you want from me, man?”

Steve winks, digging into his pocket and handing another handful of cash toward him, “Half for you, half to Mr. Panther,” Steve quips, “As an apology for my friend here.”  Bucky pockets the money and steps away from the car as Steve throws is into first gear. 

“Call me!” Steve shouts as he pulls away from the curb.

Bucky smirks as his eyes follow the car out of the parking lot, the tires screeching as he turns onto Peachtree Avenue and roars out of sight. Bucky turns his attention to the crisp one hundred dollars bills in his hand, counting them as he heads back inside. 

He heads straight for the dressing room, tossing three green bills at his friends’ station, “An apology.”

T’Challa’s eyes widen as he grabs the money, “That’s one hell of an apology. Thanks bud.”

Bucky nods absentmindedly, pulling out the thin business card and turning it between his fingers. He glances at his reflection in the mirror, tapping it lightly against his index finger while he contemplates what exactly Steve could have in mind for him. He rolls his eyes and laughs at himself before he stands and shoves the card back into his pants. Who is he trying to kid? He knows he’s gonna call - even if he ends up having to dodge another angry husband.

----

“Thank you for calling Carter & Fury, this is Miranda. How may I direct your call?”

Bucky clears his throat nervously as he glances around the small coffee shop, “Um, hi. I’m trying to reach Steve.”

“Who may I ask is calling?”

“Umm, Bucky.”

“Bucky?” She asks with a hint of suspicion in her voice. 

Bucky nods as if she can see him, “Yeah, we uh, he gave me his card, asked me to give him a call.”

“Regarding?”

“Uh,” Bucky laughs nervously, “You know what, never mind. He probably doesn’t even - sorry.”

A muffled voice sounds in the background of the phone, followed by a hushed conversation. Bucky squints as he hears his name faintly in the background, “I’ll put you through to Mr. Rogers.”

“I- wow, ok,” Bucky says more to himself than to Miranda as the phone rings twice more before clicking.

“You called.”

Bucky can’t help but smile as the familiar deep voice fills his ears, “What can I say? I like a little danger.”

Steve laughs, “How did I already know that about you?” He sounds like he's smiling, “So, my schedule is suddenly clear for lunch. You wanna meet at my office so we can talk?”

“So, you made me call you just for you to tell me you want to see me again?” Bucky teases, spinning his coffee cup slowly, “A private dance will cost ya, mister.”

“Hey, I promised no funny stuff, didn’t I? I mean it, I honestly have a proposal for you. I’ve worked out the details already, I just need you to agree.” Steve waits a few seconds as silence greets him on the other end, “Come on, you’re really going to pass up a free lunch? I have Sushi on the way.”

“Damn it,” Bucky mutters as another smile creeps onto his face, “You’re rich, you’re hot, and you have good taste in food? Too good to be true, my man. You’re probably a serial killer.”

“Ah, well,” Steve starts, “You’ll just have to find that out for yourself. This is your cell, yes?”

“Yeah, why?”

Steve goes quiet for a second or two. Bucky’s about to ask if he’s still there when his phone buzzes in his hand with an incoming text. He pulls the phone from his face and smiles as the address to Steve’s building flashes across his screen.

“I’ll see you in a half hour Bucky.”

The line goes dead. 

Bucky pulls his phone from his face and stares at the black screen in disbelief. He never lets men boss him around like this. He’s usually the one on the other end of the phone, bribing some horny, gullible sap to his apartment for a mid-morning romp. He’s certainly not used to the role reversal, but he likes it. The allure. The secrecy of it all. It’s the daredevil in him. He stands and tosses his untouched blueberry muffin in the trash before heading back out in the bright Atlanta day. Mustn't be late. 

Exactly thirty minutes later, Bucky steps off the elevator into an elaborate, spacious lobby. Carter & Fury is scrawled across the back wall in big, gold letters, three immaculate receptionists perched at the computers below it. Bucky moves towards the brunette, and flashes a quick, “Hi, I’m here to meet Steve.”

She runs her finger down what Bucky assumes is Steve's appointment book before standing from her chair, “Right this way Bucky.”

Steve is on his feet, pacing behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest as he listens intently to the voice over his speaker phone. A soft knock rings through the office, pulling Steve’s attention from his call to the door. Miranda holds the door as Bucky steps in, his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket. Steve smiles quickly and waves him further in before turning his attention back to his call.

“Tom, listen to me. We’re 80% done with this acquisition, it’s too late to back out now, alright? Lawyers will have to get involved, and you’ll just end up throwing millions down the drain for no good reason. You don’t want to do that, do you?” Steve glances up at Bucky again, motioning him toward the chair sitting in front of his desk as the stressed man on the phone begins to apologize, “It’s not a problem Bruce, ok? Listen, my lunch meeting is here, I have to run. I’ll give you a call a little later this afternoon, okay? Alright, just relax. Talk to you soon.”

Steve takes a breath before tilting his head and looking Bucky over, his eyebrow hitched toward the ceiling, “It’s ninety degrees out and you’re in a leather jacket?”

Bucky shrugs, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head, “I’m a slave for fashion.”

“God,” Steve laughs again as he sits behind his desk, extending his hand for Bucky to do the same, “Sam is going to love you.” 

A quick knock comes from the door before the brunette pushes back into the room, her hands full of food. Steve stands to help her as Bucky reaches for a stray rubber band, pulling his hair into another sloppy bun. Bucky leans forward as the gourmet sushi is laid out on Steve’s desk before him. He takes a deep breath and gives a toothy smile as Steve pours two cups of sparkling water. 

They both eye Miranda as she moves back to the door and slips back out to the lobby. Steve brings his cup to his lips, glancing at Bucky over the rim as he reaches for a pair of chopsticks. A loose strand of hair falls into his face as he breaks the chopsticks apart. He absentmindedly tucks it behind his ear as he reaches for a piece of the California rolls, laying it on the small plate in front of him before dousing it in soy sauce. 

Steve sips on his water slowly as he watches Bucky discreetly. Everything about him is effortless. He’s overtly sexual, wearing his prowess on his sleeve but there’s just a hint of modesty and dare Steve say, shyness, creeping just under the surface of him. Maybe he’s just nervous, a little out of his league around Steve, but it all works well together. He’s not exactly sure if Bucky knows what he’s doing, but if he does - it makes him all the more dangerous.

Bucky glances up and finds Steve’s intrigued eyes on him. He smiles slowly, and pops a piece of sashimi in his mouth before leaning back in his seat, “Hi.”

Steve chuckles, sitting his glass down gingerly on his desk, “Hey there.”

“So,” Bucky starts, glancing around the spacious office, “I called you, like you asked, I then showed up here, like you asked, and the only thing you’ve given me is a mysterious quip about somebody named Sam loving me. Looks like I’m the only one holding up my end, here.”

“Straight to the point, I like that.” Steve nods, “First things first, what’s your real name?”

Bucky flicks his eyes back toward Steve, smirking again, “Bucky.”

Steve tilts his head as a skeptical look fills his eyes, “Come on. We’re going to have to trust each other here.”

“I mean it,” Bucky laughs, “It’s James Buchanan Barnes, but, not even my mom calls me James.”

“Wow, my apologies.” Steve concedes, throwing up his hands, “Bucky is just so oddly erotic,” He chuckles, “I was sure it was a stage name.”

“Erotic, huh?” Bucky flashes another grin before leaning up to rest his elbows on the desk, “You think I’m erotic?” He bites his bottom lip, adding yet another layer of sexual tension in the room. 

Steve smirks, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyes the mischievous Bucky, “You know I do.” He answers softly.

Silence drops over the room as both men keep their gaze on one another. Steve tips his head towards the small frame in the corner of his desk, “That’s my husband, Sam.”

Bucky grabs for the frame, lifting it to his eyes as he falls back into the chair, “Wow,” He starts as his eyes bounce over the brown-skinned man, Sam’s warm smile making him smile, “He’s gorgeous.”

“Isn't he? That was five years ago, I surprised him with a trip to Paris on our fifth wedding anniversary.”

Bucky can’t take his eyes off of him. He’s tall, just as tall as Steve, and lean, but you can tell he takes great care of himself. His arms and chest are thick, his shoulders broad as he leans into Steve. His eyes are dark and deep, full of warmth and happiness as he stares back at Bucky. Even through a picture, Bucky can tell Sam is a good man.

Bucky swallows, his head dipping slightly as a tinge of sadness washes through him. He’d thought he had found that once, happiness. For a split second, whenever his phone rings, he still thinks it’s Rhodey. He takes a quick breath and shakes his head, shaking the memories of his life in New York away before he plasters another smile on his face and sets the picture down.

“That a great story, but uh, I’m failing to see what it has to do with me.”

“Next Thursday is our tenth wedding anniversary and I was thinking, instead of another trip around the world, we could um,” He squints slightly, trying to find the right words, “Explore our bedroom, if you catch my drift.”

Bucky’s lips part, his eyes widening as he starts to piece together what exactly Steve wants from him, “What makes you think I do that kind of thing?” He asks after a moment, not wanting to give away that he totally does that kind of thing when the money is good and the boys are hot. 

Steve drops his eyes and licks his lips, wanting to tread easily, “I don’t mean to offend you.” He says softly. 

“I’m not offended,” Bucky answers simply, shrugging nonchalantly, “I just want to know what gave me away so easily.” He quips.

“God,” Steve laughs as he places his hand to his chest, “Don’t scare me like that. This is... hard.”

Bucky leans forward again, a soft smile on his lips, “I know. I can tell you love each other a great deal.” He smiles widely, “This is a big step. I’m honored.”

“Thank you.” Steve returns a smile of his own, “So, I’m willing to pay you, whatever you want, if that’s how you handle this kind of stuff. I mean, you do get paid, right?”

Bucky nods, “I do.”

“So, you’ve obviously done this before?” Steve laughs nervously.

“Only when it’s worth it.” Bucky chuckles, tucking more loose hairs behind his ear, “I work for an escort service sometimes, but I usually just, freelance my services.” He watches Steve as he drops his eyes from his, his jaw tightening slightly,  “I’m totally clean, I can email you all my test results if that’ll make you feel better.”

Steve nods slowly, “It would, thank you.”

“Not a problem.” Bucky reassures softly, “Listen, don’t be nervous. It’s kinda weird, I know, but you couldn’t have picked a better slut for your first threesome.”

Steve chortles, shaking his head as Bucky flashes another brilliant smile before going into his spiel, “Ok, so money-wise, you obviously know it’s straight cash, right?”

“I figured as much.”

“You want me for just a couple hours? The whole night?”

“Um,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, “The whole night? Sam and I have thought about this for a long time, so we might, uh, not be able to get enough.”

“Oooh,” Bucky coos, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can definitely handle that. Do you want me to focus on him or both of you?”

“Both of us.”

“Top? Bottom?” Bucky asks, his eyebrows raised, “I’m vers, myself.”

“Umm” Steve chuckles again. He can’t lie, it’s a huge turn on seeing Bucky take control like this. Steve is usually the one closing all the deals around here, but Bucky will be getting all the commission on this one, “I usually top, but Sam is also vers.”

“Control freak,” Bucky winks playfully, “I got it. You guys into any freaky stuff? Whips? Chains? Toys? Biting costs extra.”

“For who?” Steve asks, completely amused, “The biter or the bite-ee?”

Bucky appreciates Steve’s playful sense of humor, “The bite-ee of course, which I'm hoping is me.”

Steve laughs again, dropping his head quickly before glancing back up at the confident Bucky Barnes, “I hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I?”

“Indeed you did, Stevie. So? What are you guys into?” Steve smiles again, his eyes nervous, “It’s okay,” Bucky laughs, “What did you tell me when I walked in here? We’re going to have to trust each other, right?”

“You’re right. Um, I like it a little rough. I like to bite, I like to choke.”

“Lovely,” The word leaves Bucky’s lips softer and fuller than he honestly intended, “And Sam?”

“He’s about the same. He’s a little more into bondage. Have you heard of shibari?”

Bucky quirks his eyebrow, his chest drawing tight as he tries to hide the excitement bubbling within him. If he wasn’t completely sold on this before, he certainly is now, “Of course. I’m down for that.”

“Well, he likes to be the one that's tied, but I can certainly get some more rope.”

God, Bucky loves him a couple of freaks, “I’ll take it easy on ya cuz I like you,” He starts, “Three thousand buys you all night and whatever you guys wanna do to me. Deal?”

Bucky holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers as he waits for Steve. Steve grabs his hand, shaking it lightly as another smile spreads on his lips, “Deal. I have dinner reservations at Dominics at six, and then we’re meeting some friends for drinks. We’ll probably be home around ten thirty, eleven o’clock maybe. I’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds good.”

Steve taps his lips with his index finger, trying but failing to wipe the smile from his face. Thursday can’t come fast enough, “Wonderful. Now, finish your lunch, hm?”

“Are you always this bossy?” Bucky asks coyly, squinting his eyes as he picks up another piece of sashimi.

“Yes.” Steve answers matter-of-factly.

Bucky smiles, “God, I like you.”

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 2 of 30]

Summary: Erik opts to keep his distance from Yani and focus on Klaue and getting to Wakanda. Erik also meets his new temporary roommate...

NSFW. Mature audience only. As always, thanks for reading and please comment/reblog if you enjoy the series. Hi new readers, happy to meet you on this new Erik journey. Part 3 on the way....

"To every hundred niggas that came and gone missing Only a handful will go the distance I swear I seen this shit coming as if I was living up under the plumbing While niggas was riffing and mumbling 'bout, what they could do I was cooking gumbo whipping the voodoo I was in the jungle running with Zulu's We was looking past the struggle while life was moving so fast You had to be shopping at Ginsu To the top of the food group Doing what I want and how I should too

Stepped in the waters The water was cold Chi in my body But it didn't touch my soul Stepped in the waters The water was cold…"

Anderson.Paak – "The Waters"

He tells her his name, his real name, and the girl who talked to animals allowed her big wide eyes to ease up on their sharpness.

Yani sat back and allowed the water to catch her back as her body disappeared under the small wave of balmy liquid that lifted her away from him. Erik stayed put, watching her backstroke away from him and further out into the sea. He wanted to follow her, felt his toes grip the sand under his feet to cast off after her, but he felt stalkerish and remained where he was.

She was real.

Yemanjá.

Erik felt the blood in his body coursing through him, the thrumming of searing red in his veins making him clench and unclench his fists.

Disǎ.

He sat back in the water and let it buoy him up, his eyes following the path of Yani's body swimming. He found it odd that he could look at this woman and think of his ex-girlfriend Disǎ who he left behind in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

No, maybe it wasn't odd, because the way he was reacting to this young woman treading about in open water was the same way he reacted to his first love…Disǎ.

The voice.

Like Yani, Erik had only heard Disǎ's voice before he met her, and something about the tone, the lilt, the inflections, the sonic soothing he received from it made him weak for her before he even saw her face. He felt a weight drift down on him. He put Disǎ through hell, denied her things that she wanted, made promises he couldn't keep, and she left him. Refused to connect with him ever again. Walking into that relationship had been an exercise in self-flagellation. Love was something he never sought out because he knew he was not made to love and settle down.

He was a mover, a nomad…he had no real home, not really, no place to lay his head and call his own. Rootless. He had to be rootless in order to finish the path that had been laid out for him. A path that started when he found his father dead in his apartment. Dead and alone.

Erik had to keep himself emotionally dead inside and alone too. All that love ever did for him was rend his body in half and grind his bones into dust. So he knew something was wrong when he heard Yani's voice speaking to a damn lizard in a tree, recognized the tell-tale signs of that dangerous pursuit into madness. He had only ever felt that way before with his ex. All that fucking back and forth with Disǎ when he graduated from M.I.T., joined the Navy, made Special Ops, and then headed into the work of a mercenary for a greater good…it stripped away a relationship he held dear and couldn't hold onto because he was never around. And that feeling, that feeling of wanting someone was seducing his conscious mind as he watched this girl swim.

Life was about choices.

And sometimes choices meant letting things be.

The heat and the dazzling sunlight and the beauty of the pale blue sea were probably just fucking with him anyway. Plus, he hadn't gotten his dick wet in a long time, and to come across a woman with a body like that…naked, on an isolated beach…well shit, no wonder he was feeling punch drunk with lust.

Nigga, get your shit together.

Yani wasn't feeling him anyway, every time she looked at him it was like she had an extra sour lemon in her mouth.

Erik dragged himself out of the water and put his trunks back on.

He didn't bother to look back at her when he left.

###

After lunch, Klaue left a message on Erik's cell to meet him in the third house. His private abode.

Erik meandered down the compound walkway toward the house. It was perched closer to the edge of the hillside overlooking the sea. Erik caught breathtaking views and when he entered the house after a retinal scanner cleared him, he felt like he was entering an ancient Zulu enclave. Nothing in the house matched the light-colored airy Caribbean theme of the other houses. The dark shadowed interior of dark-grained wood and dark furniture enveloped South African artwork, with a plethora of large carved wooden masks, and plenty of drums. Djembes, dunduns, a three drum bata set, bougarabous…

Erik stepped in front of a djembe and rubbed his fingers across the skin. His fingers ticked up and he began beating out the rhythms he learned as a child from his Uncle Bakari when he used to drum for his grandfather and mother when they taught capoeira back in Oakland. The heel of the palm, then his fingers struck the skin harder, faster, and the acoustics picked up the sound and drowned the room with the ferocity he slapped down.

Erik rocked his shoulders and let his head droop forward, his locs flopping over his eyes as he allowed the drum vibrations to move through him. He let his head bob as he remembered days back in Oakland on school lunch tables, pounding out beats with his fists when there were no drums, or finding the hollow parts in his chest or thigh when he would strike his own body with his open palm to create the percussive boom bap to help his childhood friends spit bars in ragtag cyphers. He felt the moist sensation in his mouth as he shaped his lips to beatbox in time to his drumming. It all came back to him vividly, joyfully, and he couldn't help the curling of his bottom lip as he bit into it, thinking of his days running the streets, just being hood wild and free.

He ended the cadence with a slowing down of his hands until only his fingertips were caressing the edges of the drum.

"Well look at you."

Klaue's voice brought him out of his reverie and Erik stepped away from the djembe.

"Hope that wasn't some artifact," Erik said.

Klaue shrugged and headed over to a round old-world wooden globe. He pulled the top back and inside of the globe was a hidden bar filled with various liquors and libations.

"Share a whiskey?" Klaue asked.

"Sure."

Klaue poured them healthy amounts in crystal tumblers and handed one to Erik.

"Interesting décor."

"I wanted to have a bit of home away from home. Of all my hideaways, this place is my favorite."

"It's pretty sweet. Quiet too."

"Not for much longer. Once everyone is here, I'll need you to keep your foot on their necks."

"Newbies?"

"Most you know from the Kabul job. Is your man Tahir still a no show?"

Erik took a deep drag of the whiskey. It was aged to perfection. He let a bit of it linger over his teeth before swallowing.

"They still got him on that no-fly list. He's chillin' in Damascus. He can do any other jobs you got, but Africa is a no go."

"Too bad. Good man. And that is what we need. Good men."

Erik studied Klaue's face.

"What's the problem?"

Klaue glanced at him.

"You can always read me so quick. It's Huntsman. I really don't want to use him, but I can't find anyone else with experience on the borders."

"Tahir will probably be tied up the next six months—"

"Too long to wait."

"W'sup with Huntsman?"

"He has issues…with you."

"That's his problem. He don't even know me."

"Ah, but he knows your reputation. Something about you sticks in his craw."

"You don't have to use him."

"With no Tahir available, I'm afraid I do. Unless you have someone else."

"Nah. I culled away my last team. I only have three that I stick with now and we freelance for DynCorp most jobs. Those guys are already under contract."

"Timing is key with these next two jobs."

"You still toying with using submersibles?"

"I will need our pretty blue metal for that."

The holy grail. Vibranium.

"I got some leads that I hope will pan out soon," Erik said. He could sense Klaue chomping at the bit.

He really did have some leads.

One was from a friend of his mother's who worked with the British Museum. She had passed on some information about some museum exchanges up on the horizon, a collection of fifteenth-century West African armaments and masks. It wasn't the collection he was looking for, but it was part of an exchange program originating out of Benin. Erik and Klaue would be heading to Angola in a month to set up an arms deal and then slip into the Northeastern part of Nigeria to covertly meet with some members of Boko Haram and the Nigerian government. Klaue played both sides of every deal he made. Erik planned on slipping into Benin and checking out the newly constructed Royal Benin Museum. His research uncovered plans for the museum to start receiving indigenous stolen art on a rotating basis from European museums that held plundered artwork from an 1897 British invasion in Dahomey. Erik needed to see for himself if any pieces contained vibranium.

His tongue gently tapped against his tattoo inside his lower bottom lip. He could feel the irritating cutaneous sensation tickling his gums from the traces of vibranium used in the vibram tattoo ink. The itchy tickling only happened when he was near pure vibranium. Like the pure vibranium emanating from Klaue's prosthetic arm.

Klaue picked up the whiskey bottle again and Erik took another half tumbler of the dark amber liquid.

"I want you to move down here in this house when all the men are here. There are some conversations we need to have in private."

Erik didn't question him. It took him this long to be invited to stay at any of his safe houses. That meant that he was now part of the trusted inner circle. He would just have to watch out for Huntsman. He was Klaue's boy for the last seven years, but Erik was aiming to be the only righthand man. Getting to the safe house was the culmination of meticulous, deliberate, and patient planning. Their first meeting in Iraq gave the man an intro to who Killmonger was. They didn't meet again until an arms deal in Kosovo proved fruitful when Erik's new team was able to assist Klaue through a mutual trustworthy middle man. It was then that Erik first showed Klaue a small amount of vibranium he stole from some arms dealers he tracked down to a small forgotten village in Iraq.

Erik ignored Klaue after that, turned him down for several jobs before Klaue started hinting that he may need to return to Wakanda and steal again. Then and only then did Erik drop word that he was down for any excursions into his father's country. The two men teamed up within months to help one another scour the earth for any pockets of vibranium they could find. On those missions, they only worked with each other and two other men, Tahir and one of Klaue's boys, a fellow South African who asked very little about the blue magic. A year later, Erik was now sipping brown liquor in the man's private home.

"Let's take a walk," Klaue said.

Erik followed him down a pathway that led to another section of beach hidden from where Yani's cove jutted out.

Klaue took off his sandals and his feet touched the sand.

"Hot!" he said slipping the sandals back on.

Erik's flip-flops felt too thin for the sand in this particular area that was littered with a few broken seashells.

"What do you want out of life, Killmonger?"

Erik stared at Klaue. The whites of the man's eyes were a little pink, and there were tiny spiderwebs of broken blood vessels cresting his nose. The man did like the sauce a little too much. Erik had personally witnessed him overconsuming alcoholic beverages to the point of falling over and having to be carried off by Erik or his other men.

"Money. What else?" he answered.

Klaue let his eyes trace the horizon of ocean before him.

"You know, at one time I was a billionaire."

"Really? How you fuck that up?"

Klaue guffawed and his laughter made him rock back in his sandals and clutch Erik's arm for balance, spilling a little of his drink on the sand.

"I sold my entire cache of vibranium to a Tony Stark creation."

Erik's eyes fixed on Klaue. He had a history with Tony Stark himself, but he didn't let on about it.

"I was operating out of an old shipping tanker in Johannesburg. Had my entire supply of vibranium warehoused there. Perfect set up. And then these fucking enhanced bastards show up with this thing…"

Klaue's right wrist rubbed his left arm while still holding his drink. His eyes grew course looking and his accent flared up.

"I'm no fool. I make a deal and billions are dropped into my offshore accounts. I'm set. Ready to retire and live out the rest of my life here. But then Sokovia goes down, and fucking Stark goes back and…."

Klaue's jawline clenched tight and his left arm closed up his mechanical fist.

"Billions wiped out. Like it never happened. And I'm left to start all over again."

"You kept your entire supply in one spot?"

Erik wanted to laugh at the man, but Klaue was tipsy, and a tipsy Klaue could get agitated and rachet up to bastard behavior in mere seconds.

"I had a fortress set up on that tanker. It was safe. After everything was taken away, I learned of a small portion hidden away in what I thought was a discreet location…"

"The Mosul statues…"

"I still don't know who really took it. S.H.I.E.L.D. maybe. The Pentagon. Perhaps even that ass Stark…fucking Iron Man…Iron Prick."

Klaue raised up his tumbler toward Erik's face.

"When I ask you what you want, Killmonger, I need to know the God's honest truth, because when I finish off these next few jobs, I'm going back to the source. With your skills and mine, we could steal even more vibranium than the first time I went in. I'm the only person who went into Wakanda…and lived to tell the story."

Erik's jaw clenched.

The first time Klaue went in.

With the help of his father, Prince N'Jobu, a man who only wanted to bring the vibranium out to help his woman and her people. All those in the diaspora.

Erik gulped down all of his whiskey.

Focus.

Erik fought back the whispers in his mind to kill Klaue where he stood. Because of this cretin, his father was killed. Because of this shit stain of a human, his father was unable to save his mother. Because of this devil, his family had been destroyed.

"What's the story on that place?" Erik asked.

"It's my white whale. But that's a story for another day. I want to talk Angola logistics now."

Erik wrenched his eyes away from Klaue and gazed out at the water. He had to hold onto his mental acuity. His own temper could carry him over the edge and destroy all of his plans. This was the long game. He had to hold on and not give in to the rage festering in his belly. He couldn't wait to crush this weak maggot. And like his Uncle, King T'Chaka, Erik would take great pleasure in destroying Ulysses Klaue.

###

Yani stood by the intercom at the front gate. The guard on duty, Jamie, watched her try her best to carry on a discreet conversation with her cousin Kendall who stood on the other side of the gate.

"Twyla just said she couldn't watch her today. C'mon now Yani, take your baby!"

Yani could hear her Sydette babbling a mile a minute behind the thick metal divide.

"Can you keep her for me, just for a couple of hours? I have to finish one more house and then I can leave," Yani said, the pleading in her voice not moving Kendall one way or the other.

"I would if I could, but I'm going to hang out with Bunny and Gregory. They might let me record some things at their place. I can't have a baby there with me. You know they smoke—"

"Kendall, please—"

"Yani, I can't watch you pickney. Sir, please open the gate."

Yani and Jamie could see Kendall on the security viewscreen holding Sydette in her car seat with her baby bag slung on his shoulder.

Yani's eyes glanced at Jamie.

"Open the gate please, Jamie," Yani said, defeat and weariness in her voice.

Jamie punched in the gate code and it slid open.

"I'm sorry, Yani," Kendall said. His deep dark chestnut skin was shiny and he sported a fresh baldie cut. He shoved Sydette's car seat handle into her hand and Yani grabbed the baby bag.

Kendall ran back to his idling work truck and hopped in with gardening equipment uncovered in the rear.

"Don't be late tomorrow. Tell Freddie Mr. Klaue wants the trees and the bushes by the front and middle house trimmed."

Kendall just waved and drove off, his truck backfiring as he left.

Yani rubbed her hand gently over her daughter's soft dainty curls. Sydette was sweating from the heat, the dampness making her baby hairs stick to her scalp.

"Mommy is glad to see you, but I have to work. I need you to be a good girl today for me. Yeah?"

Jamie gave her a serious look.

"Don't tell anyone she's here, please Jamie? I don't want to cause my Auntie trouble."

Jamie nodded and Yani scurried with her daughter to the apartment under the first house.

Leona was feeding dirty sheets and towels into the washing machine. A huge stack of clean sheets waited to be folded and put away.

"Auntie," Yani said with Sydette clutching her chest.

"What she doing here?"

Yani felt her spirit sink from the sound of her Aunt's annoyed voice.

"Kendall brought her. Twyla can't watch her today and he has somewhere to be so he can't keep her for me—"

"Call your mother—"

"You know I can't do that—"

"What you expect me to do?"

"Can she stay up here with you? I need to finish the second house—"

"And I need to finish this bedding and get ready for dinner. You have to take her with you."

Yani sucked her teeth. Sydette balled up her fist and sucked on it then dropped her head down on Yani's left breast and tried to suck through the t-shirt. Leona gave a sympathetic look but then continued putting sheets into the washer.

Moving swiftly back to the middle house, Yani entered it slowly.

"Inside," she called stepping in and looking around. Thank God, no one was there. The soft bristle broom she was using to sweep the floor was leaning against the couch. She tossed the baby bag on the floor near the couch and plopped her butt down with the car seat. Sydette's saliva had soaked Yani's shirt.

"Hold on, gyal," Yani said hoisting up her shirt and releasing her left breast. Sydette latched on her nipple and Yani cradled her head and watched her daughter suckle like she was starving.

"I know I left you plenty of milk with cousin Twyla. Why you so greedy? Huh? Where you put it all?"

Sydette's cheeks puffed and hallowed as she fed on Yani. A thousand thoughts went through Yani's head. What if Twyla couldn't watch Sydette over the weekend? She had plans to go out, the first time in a long time. Her cousin Kendall was set to perform for the first time in a club that hadn't seen Yani's face since she first got pregnant with Sydette. She didn't even have to sneak into it anymore now that she was finally of legal age. It was a tourist trap for sure, but the D.J.s there were really good and played a good mixture of Hip Hop, Soca and other types of music that she enjoyed.

She couldn't be too mad at Kendall. He really wanted to make music and the local producers Bunny and Gregory were giving him a chance to record something. They helped her baby's father get his first and only record deal. Maybe her own cousin could do better and go further.

Sydette's lips slowed down, her sucking not as desperate. Yani kept an eye out for Klaue's men in case they were returning. Wednesday was cleaning day for the compound, and the regulars knew to stay busy while she and Leona worked the place. There really wasn't too much to do, in Klaue's place or the first house, but Hunstman and Polk were slobs. She hated touching their sheets or towels because she once found obvious semen stains on them. Nasty.

Yani lifted Sydette up to check her diaper. She smelled okay and was dry, so no need to change her. When her eyes were drooping and her lips fell away from Yani's nipple, she was gently burped. Yani allowed her baby to sleep in her arms for a bit. She was tired herself, still thinking of all the things she had to do. Friday morning and afternoon she was scheduled to work her third job at the Eco Tours company giving kayak tours through the mangroves. Unlike Klaue's compound, she couldn't hold Sydette to her breasts while she paddled through mangroves and oversaw hermit crab races.

Something had to give soon, she was wearing herself out. And that something was Chez. She felt her stomach knot and tension crease her forehead as she thought of Sydette's wayward father. He paid no decent child support, promised to at least help with babysitting (which he never did), promised to seek better work so that she could drop one of her jobs and care for Sydette on her own and not pass her baby girl off to various relatives. It was hard not to hate Chez, especially since he had another baby with another woman only three months after Sydette was born. Worse still, he was living with that baby's mother and paying her rent while Yani had to share a bedroom with Sydette and Twyla.

She knew it was mean, but she was so happy that Sydette looked like her and not like him at all. She would hate to think how she would feel if she had to look down at a child on her tit who had that man's face, no matter how fine he was. And Chez was fine. And selfish. And a bully. And abusive at one time…

Yani shook her head from the thoughts. She needed to get the middle house clean and vacate the premises before Klaue or anyone knew she had a baby around. She had to coat the floor tiles with a protective tile cleaner that prevented sand and grout damage.

Just get through the next two hours.

She wished she could be back out in the warm water floating on her back. Naked. At peace. Alone. Not responsible for anyone or anything.

"Oh, Sydette. I wish I had done better. I wish I had done so much better."

She kissed her daughter's sweat-laden forehead. Standing up she turned on the air conditioning and tried to focus on the task at hand.

Two hours.

###

The middle house smelled clean and was quite cool when he entered it from spending time with Klaue. Erik kicked off his sandals and left them by the front door. The tile looked polished and a less dingy from when he first arrived. He was ready to relax and maybe lounge by the pool.

His mind was still calculating all the things he had spoken to Klaue about in planning their Angola run. The base of operation that they would work from in Angola still needed to be prepped and ready, the warehouse that was to be used to house the new crop of munitions and rocket-propelled grenades had recent fire damage, and when Erik looked at satellite photos of the landing strip where they would import the black market goods, he discovered an uneven and unsafe landing zone. Large potholes and depressions peppered the ground. There was a lot to take care of in a short period of time. A political problem sprang up also because of a new governor in the province who was flexing a bit of muscle to try and intimidate Klaue. This new guy was not playing the game of allowing their crew to circumvent the regulatory and oversight systems they were used to bypassing with monetary incentives to look away like previous government officials had done. Erik already decided if the man became a problem, he would nickel his brain and keep it pushing. Klaue had no problem with that. Erik knew how to dispose of problematic bodies and loose lips. He had the scars to prove it.

Erik turned down the air and went into his room. Taking off his shirt he folded it and placed it on the dresser by the window. He was about to power dive on the bed when he noticed a baby lying on it.

The hell.

The baby, a girl by the looks of the butterfly barrettes pinned to her curls, was sound asleep on her stomach, her backside up in there air a bit as if she woke up suddenly, moved, then fell right back to sleep.

He walked over to the side of the bed staring at her. He could hear someone moving in the kitchen, there was the sound of sink water rinsing down. Leona or Yani perhaps still working.

Erik crawled onto the covers trying not to rock the double bed too much with his big body. He laid back resting his head on a pillow. When he turned to look at the baby again, her eyes were open and she was staring at him. Looking about eight or nine months old, she didn't cry when she saw that a stranger was right next to her. Instead, she gave him the biggest toothless smile, a stream of slobber falling from her mouth onto the blanket, and he saw that she had dimples like him.

"Hey, Lil Mama. What's your name?" he whispered, making his voice as soft as he could. She babbled something and more clear saliva dribbled down her chin. Her chubby arms spread in front of her and she bounced her body and grunted like she needed help.

Erik reached over and picked her up and that startled her and her fat cheeks twisted up and she started crying.

"Aww, why the tears? We was cool just a second ago—"

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Yani swept into the room and scooped the baby out of his arms.

"I didn't think anyone was using this room. It was so clean. I didn't even touch it. Give me a few minutes and I can go through here—"

"Nah. I'm good. I clean my own room. You don't have to do all that for me. I'm self-sufficient."

"I wish the other men were like that."

He watched Yani's lips get tight after she said that.

"Don't tell them I said that."

"I didn't hear a thing. She yours?"

"Yeah."

"What's her name?"

"Sydette."

"She's cute. Looks like you."

"Thanks. We'll get out of your way—"

"You can leave her in here with me if you still need to finish. I think she finds me acceptable. She's not crying anymore."

He reached out and stroked the girl's cheek and Sydette touched his finger, then grabbed it.

"Sydette," Yani said pulling her hand away from Erik's finger.

Erik found himself staring at Yani's face.

"My babysitter fell through, so I had to take her…please don't say anything to the others. I'm not supposed to have her here while I'm working."

"Won't say a word."

"I'm done, so..."

"Will you be working here tonight?"

Why the hell did he ask that?

She had a baby, so obviously she had a man too…

"No. I have another job I do at night, and I need to leave now so I can get ready for that."

"Oh. Okay," he said.

He was still sitting on his bed, and she was holding her baby in front of him. He was feeling hella awkward. Sydette stared at him, and then she smacked her lips and turned back to Yani.

"Oh…Sydette!" Yani squealed when the baby started sucking on her chest, her head moving around searching for a nipple. Erik couldn't help but laugh. Yani lifted up Sydette's chin and the baby began to fret wanting her mother's milk with urgency. Erik stood up and walked into the living room, slipping on his flip flops and heading for the front door.

"I'ma let you handle that and give you some privacy. I'll be by the pool. Before I forget, I'll take the afternoon shift on the beach if you want to keep the mornings."

"Okay," she said.

Her daughter bounced in her arms and Erik could see a mixture of what looked like embarrassment and something else on Yani's face. Weariness.

He didn't see a ring on her finger. She worked two jobs too. She was probably still just a baby herself.

"Sorry about the room," she whispered. Her eyes looked watery like she was about to cry.

"Don't even trip. Sorry for being so neat. I felt like Goldilocks for a minute there."

He tried to lighten the mood for her.

"Goldilocks?" she asked.

"Muh…muh…muh…" Sydette said waving her chunky fingers in her mother's face.

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed because it was just right…the three bears…?" he said.

"Oh!" Yani said. Her face lit up and she smiled, her dark sloe eyes no longer welling with tears.

"Bye, Sydette," Erik cooed out. The baby could only focus on Yani's face, "Bye Yani."

He stepped back out into the sunlight and tried to shake the lingering need to stay in the same room as her. Her baby was so adorable. Sydette's dimples are what sold him. That initial gummy smile. The puffy little curls mashed down on one side of her head. Her little blue t-shirt that couldn't cover her fat little belly all the way. Her little outie belly button.

It was a tough job and he wasn't cut out to do that ever. Take care of a baby? Pfftt. It was probably why his mother only had him. Too much work. And Lil Mama looked like she could be a little pushy the way she was going for Yani's breasts.

Shit.

Erik sat on a lounger by the pool still wearing the trunks he had on that morning with an added t-shirt. He felt a thickening in his trunks, his dick getting a little chubby thinking about Yani's breasts that he saw down in the sea. No wonder they seemed extra ripe. She was full of milk and those big ass dark nipples of hers were making his shit tent in his shorts. Fuck.

Erik reached down and tugged on his bulge, trying to smooth it down from being too obvious. But the minute he touched it, a spark ran down his length, making him rock hard in seconds. No one was around. His eyes scanned the area to be sure and he grabbed the towel hanging behind his head and placed it over his lap. His right hand slipped under the covering. His trunks were loose enough where he could get access to his erection by lifting up a little of the swim trunk material from the bottom.

Damn, his dick was so hard, the thick head firm between his rough fingers. He kept his eyes open and alert for others as he replayed images of Yani in the water.

"That big fat ass…fuck…" he groaned low and into his chest as he plucked at his tip as it pressed against his thigh. The warm ooze of his pre-cum dripped down his leg. He felt his right leg jerk from the sensation. He could see the slight dimpling in her ass cheeks and that layer of fleshy softness around her belly that he loved on women. That space to place his head when he wanted to rest in softness. The faint lines of stretch marks he saw on the sides of her breasts made his mouth chuff, his breath revealing the arousal he got from staring at the beauty of skin breaking to make room for more…more thighs…more ass…more stomach…more big ass titties.

He imagined placing his length in between her breasts and fucking the shit out of her tits, pinching those nipples, making his balls squeeze out a hot thick nut that would drench her neck and chin—

"Oooooh shit!" He gasped as he felt heavy spurts shoot all over his leg and the towel covering him. His eyes rolled back and he was left wondering if that big nut happened because he hadn't had pussy in so long, or if this girl put a spell on his dick. The fuck he look like beating his meat by a pool over some young baby mama he just met? Fuck outta here with all that.

He needed to get out. Go to a bar or club and be around some grown ass child-free bitches. Get his dick wet properly. Chase that nut the right way.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and headed out toward the beach again. Yani was leaving and he could have the cove to himself to rinse the cum smeared all over his leg away. His trunks were soaked with it.

Damn.

From now on he was going to focus on Angola, getting that airstrip ready for Klaue in the next two weeks, and finding a way to get Tahir to St. Thomas.

New rules: Stay the fuck away from Yani.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]   [Part 4]  [Part 5]  [Part 6]

Tag List:

@fonville-designs​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse

[missgeek83]

The Homelife Series - Part Two

TITLE: The Homelife Series - Part Two - Decadent AUTHOR: @missgeek83 RATING: NC-17 SUBJECT: Ed Sheeran AUTHOR’S NOTE: GUYS. This. Is super smutty. Straight pr0n. 17+/R/RR - you get the point. Icing, lingerie, and gin. Read at your own risk. Do not read at work. Do not read near others (unless, you know, they’re into that.) BUT - by all means, enjoy…

I sit the last cupcake down on the bed and stand back to admire my artwork. A heart made of red velvet and Oreo cupcakes trails around the black silk sheet, at the center a bottle of Ed’s favorite gin. It was chilling on ice, along with two tumblers and plenty of lime. It had been a long couple of weeks without him and I was past ready for some quality time. The cupcakes were just for giggles. I pull at the bottom of the red lace corset I’d invested in just for this occasion, trying to keep everything from spilling out. While I know he would appreciate a little overfill, it was still a bit chilly in the house. A thought I hadn’t taken into consideration when I decided to also wear the matching red lace thong and fishnets. I’m rolling my eyes at myself when I hear a ‘DING!’ echo from my phone beside the bed. Excitedly, I snatch it up to read the message.

TEDDY i’m five minutes away, love. can’t wait to see your beautiful face. My heart thuds in my chest, anxious to see the object of its desire. I slip on the matching robe to my outfit, a scant black lace with silk trim number, and tread carefully from the bedroom to the living room downstairs. I tap my toes against the hardwood in the foyer until I hear a car drive up. Taking a peek behind the curtain, I see Ed gathering his bags from the trunk of a cab. He’s causally dressed, in his standard jeans and a white tee under his black jean jacket. The wind has picked up slightly and it’s blowing his hair around as he reaches in to pay the cabbie. He waves him off and turns to grab his things and make his way toward the door. When he’s close, I unlock the deadbolt and pull the door open, hiding behind it. “Oh, thanks love. Blimey it’s cold out there.” He lets go of his suitcases and shuts the door. Immediately his eyes widen, then he smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Well, innit this a nice surprise?”“Welcome home,” I say, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He growls playfully, pulling me close. “Been waiting to ravish you ever since I got off the plane, you little minx.” His voice is breathy in my ear, his wind-chilled lips landing on my warm collar. “Oh, but Teddy, wouldn’t you like some dessert first?” “Hmm? Seems I got a perfectly good dessert right here…” He starts to nose his way up my neck but with a giggle I slip under his arms and dance toward the staircase. I look back to see him start after me, so I take off toward the bedroom and start to fill the tumblers with ice. When he enters, I coolly hand him a glass from my cross-legged position at the end of the bed. His eyes scan the scene in front of him. “There’s no way we can eat all these.” “Well, we’ll just have to find some way to use them.” I clink my glass to his and he shakes his head with a smirk before toeing off his shoes and sitting on the floor beneath me. I set my glass down on his night stand and run my fingers through his messy hair. It’s falling in curls at the nape of his neck, twirling around his ears and forehead, and his beard has grown considerably since the last time I saw him. Post-tour-Ed is often times my favorite version of him. He’s tired from the road and for the first week or so only wants to cuddle and hang out around the house. Usually by the end of the second week he’s restless, and I have to trade in my snuggle buddy for trips to the studio or out to see friends. That first night is always a good one, though, and I’ve learned to cherish the peace that comes with having him back. “So what have you been up to? Besides ordering the sexiest outfit on God’s Earth and trying to fatten me up?” He says this, but he’s reaching for an Oreo cupcake. “Besides that? Nothing. Finally hung the canvas though.” He turns to look behind him and chuckles. “Glad to see it fit. Best painting yet, if I do say so.” “Well, it’s the one you were physically the most involved with so I’m sure it holds a special place.” “Very good point.” He takes a massive bite of the cupcake, nearly half. “Mmm, dis is gewbt.” “I’m sorry, what now?” He laughs, cake crumbling down his shirt and onto the carpet. He holds up a finger, making a show of chewing what’s left in his mouth. “I said, this is good. Best bloody cupcakes I’ve had. Where’d you get them?” “I made them. I��ve also been baking a lot while you were gone.” “Damn. Got me a wee pastry chef. Aren’t I a lucky boy?” “Oh, you have no idea.” Tossing his empty wrapper aside, he looks me up and down. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” He sits up on his knees, wrapping his arms loosely around my hips. He bends his neck down to grab at the tie to my robe with his teeth, pulling it out of its bow easily. The pieces fall down between my legs and he uses his nose to part the two sides, trailing upward until he reaches the top of the corset. One hand leaves my back and he languidly traces the red lace, the tips of his fingers ghosting across my skin. “Tied yourself up all nice and neat huh, love? Best welcome home present a bloke could hope for…” He trails off as he slides a finger under the fabric of the corset, then across my nipple, and the rest of his fingers follow as he gently lifts a breast up and over the material. I let my head fall back when he takes it into his mouth and flicks his tongue slowly up and down, hardening my skin to a point. His other hand creeps down my inner thigh and I feel him trying to gain entrance to his favorite spot. Leaning back on my hands, I let my knees fall open further, allowing him to slide two fingers past the thin lace covering my sex. He traces the outline of my outer folds, and I can feel myself getting wetter with every pass. It takes no time for him to get the message and he delves a single finger inside, testing the waters. I look down at him to see him gazing up at me, his mouth still on my nipple. He gives me a wink and adds another finger. They curl upward with each stroke, but every time just barely miss where I need him most, and I whimper in frustration. “Shh, kitten. We’ve been apart too long, I’m gonna take care of you.” He pulls away and reaches for my panties, pulling them down and off before sticking them in his back pocket. I raise an eyebrow. “Saving those for later?” “Got all sorts of plans for you. Can’t spoil 'em now.” He pauses for a second, then reaches for a cupcake. Red velvet this time. He has a mischievous grin on his face, but not for long because he quickly takes a pass over the top of the icing to remove the sprinkles before dipping a finger into it. My brows knit, confused. “Trust me,” he says. Then he gently spreads the icing around my clit and the sensation alone jump starts my heart. I watch as he sucks the excess off of his finger and a shiver runs down my spine, straight to the place currently covered in cream cheese icing. I close my eyes, bracing myself, when suddenly his tongue sets to work cleaning up his mess. He hooks his arms under my thighs and it gives me an anchor just in time because the way he’s licking and sucking has my hips rotating. “Uhn, Teddy, yes.” I risk my balance to thread a hand through his hair, using the leverage to grind myself against his mouth. He responds by closing his lips around the area and sucking gently. It’s just the right amount of delicious pressure and I feel warmth starting to spread to each limb. He adds his fingers back, curling them up and pumping in and out in time with his tongue. “Pleaseeee. Oh, God, baby, please…more.” Without losing contact below, he uses his free hand to gently press on my stomach, signaling for me to lie back. For a moment I despair at losing sight of his curls, but he soon makes up for it by switching up his tactics. Deft fingers rub frantic circles against my clit while his tongue travels through each fold before dipping in and out of my sopping wet center. The bed is rocking with my movements, and a few cupcakes tumble off the end of the bed and onto the floor. I don’t have the capacity to pay them any mind as the fire from my limbs starts to culminate in my chest. After a few more strokes of his hand I can’t hold on anymore and fall off the edge completely. Months of missing him come together in a shout of his name and a sharp buck of my hips against his face. “FUCK! TEDY YES!” The sound reverberates off of the walls, and the black sheet rips away from the top of the bed, clutched tightly in my left hand. Tremors are still rolling through me as I relax on the bed, heaving. When I can finally open my eyes and sit up I see Ed downing the last of his drink. He stands up and bends over me, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another one. Directly below my shoulders, I can see the outline of his hard on straining against his jeans. The thought of it has me licking my lips and itching for round two. I reach out and begin to undo the button, catching a look from Ed, drink poised at his bright pink lips. Our eye contact holds as I push his jeans to the floor and start to slide his boxers over his erection. There’s a tremble from him, the ice in his glass rattling against the sides, when it’s freed and standing straight up in front of me. I grab one of the remaining cupcakes. “Wh-” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “What’re you gonna do with that?” With an innocent wink, I smear the icing up the length of his cock. Then, with no warning, I take his entire length down my throat. He sputters and the tumbler joins the three or so cupcakes on the carpet. His hands reach under my ears and grip the hair at the base of my skull to hold on as I take him down, his head hitting the back of my throat each time. He’s moaning loudly, using the momentum to fuck my mouth as hard as he knows I’ll allow. I snake a hand up his thigh and press my thumb to the spot just behind his balls, applying a decent amount of pressure. He responds spectacularly, throwing his head back and pulling hard at my hair. I release him for a second, watching his glossy eyes roll down to meet mine. “Mmm, Teddy, you gonna cum for me?” I dive back in for more, but he pulls my head back, then looks as if he immediately regrets it. “No, not yet. Get on your knees.” I do as he says and feel him run his hand over my side, then down my ass. Shortly after it leaves my skin, he slaps it back down, hard, and the sting makes me jump. I feel his head poke at my entrance and after an up and down pass, he starts to push inside. My hands clench the sheet in front of me and every synapse in my brain sings at finally, FINALLY, being full. It was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes, the feeling of being completely engulfed after so many nights alone. Each of his hands come to grip my sides, planted firmly at my hips. He doesn’t spend a second on a slow rhythm, choosing instead to steadily pummel my slick channel. I take the beating for a few minutes, relishing in the sounds coming from his pretty mouth. Then I start to squeeze. His strokes become deeper, harder, but I can hear his breath hitch with each pass. He all but growls when I use all the muscles I can muster to trap him, making it as difficult as possible for him to pull out. “Over.” He turns me on my side and lefts a leg over his elbow. He kneels down behind me and positions himself before slipping back inside and the new sensation brings a moan from deep in my throat. The first few strokes are tentative, gauging how far out he can go and how fast, and then his tempo picks up considerably. Using my leg to keep us close together, he slams his pelvis against mine with fervor. “Look.” It’s an order. “Watch me fuck that pretty little cunt.” My eyes snap down to where our bodies are connected, watching his girth pound in and out. I whimper. “You wanna cum, baby?” The whimper turns into a cry and I nod. “Touch yourself. Want you to go with me.” He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Immediately a hand shoots out to rub my over-sensitized nubbin and we both work at a frantic pace. He’s cursing under his breath, his words being cut off by the exertion of each thrust. Sweat drips from his forehead down his face, and I feel it hit my thighs as it’s flung off the point in his chin. I’m wailing by now, brain frying orgasm imminent and unstoppable. “Fuck-baby-cumming-so-hard-FUCK-YES-FUCK-FUCKKKKKKKK!” His last frenzied drives differ in speed as he spills his load inside me. Watching his face pinch in ecstasy couples with the last pass over my clit before my vision burns white hot and I strangle him inside me. He falls behind me, huffing, and I hear the entire ice bucket tilt sideways and crash to the floor. My face sinks into the sheet and I start to laugh, despite still being short of breath. “Room is a disaster,” he mutters. Then a groan. “And now I have icing in my arse.” Rolling over, I see him move a stray sweet from under his backside and chuck it at the trashcan. He misses. “It’s ok, cleaner comes tomorrow.” I pat his arm condescendingly. “Besides…round three?” He looks at me like I’m crazy. “How about instead we take a nice shower and snuggle with some telly, yea?” His goofy smile is infectious. “Mmm. Sounds perfect.” After the time we’ve spent apart, it actually sounds like the best idea ever. --------- Part one here.  Masterlist here.

[slimyscrivener]

Test of Mettle Pt 1

A short story based on a dream, various adventurers seek their heart’s desire in an eldritch Test of Mettle. But what those desires are and how far they are willing to go is yet to be determined.

Beginning    ~~~   Next

The subterranean lair of the Octolich was filled with the lingering wails of the hopeless, the lost adventurers that had fallen there, leagues beneath the earth. Traps of each shape and stripe filled its endless halls: spikes, arrows, gases, and every awful contrivance a Dwarven mechanist could be convinced to create. And a few that would only be devised in their fevered dreams, neon mushroom foam at their lips as they scrawled their arcane blueprints. It was as though the Octolich had a near inexhaustible supply of gold for such elaborate pitfalls. Though apparently not much to spare for bodyguards. Aside from the telltale traces of sorcerous cephalopod slime upon the floor there was little indication of habitation.

Or perhaps any villainous militia had proven as incapable of dealing with the traps as the adventurers that perpetually failed to raid the depths.

“Well… what do you think Boa...?”

A figure with the sort of build designed for squeezing through broken windows, their carefully pinned bun of dark hair hidden behind a standard grey green rogue’s cowl, was addressing the garish shawl around their shoulders. The shawl, or boa as they called it, uncoiled and lifted a reptilian head. It squeaked, and the Thief nodded.

“Hm, yea that’s what I thought.”

Some surprising number of yards away through solid rock and, until recently, locked doors a Sorceress groaned. Looking through her familiar’s eyes, she squinted the little beady orbs at the Thief. The creature squeaked again, this time with a noticeably impatient air.

“Ah huh”, knowing that the Sorceress had slipped back into the creature’s head the Thief turned their attention to the absurdly complex locking mechanism in front of them. There before them was a vast tract of tumblers, alien spirals of pins that rotated on klein-bottled springs. The Thief had absolutely no idea what sort of key would be used in this lock, something with more dimensions than they had fingers most likely. Of course, the Thief was much more pragmatic than to try and pick this sprawling mess.

Metallic whining echoed in the hallway, the tortured sound heralding the din that followed. Steel bracings and plates slammed into the floor tiles, eaten away by carefully applied acids. Their supports had been chiseled and drilled by a perhaps not graceful but very tenacious rogue. It was a riot of noise as though a busy kitchen had been turned upside and shaken, cast iron pots thrown free and soaring like so many flakes in a snow globe. The chintzy reptilian boa around the Thief’s neck squawked with significantly more indignance at this. The Thief gave a shrug in response and blew a raspberry at the mess.

As though to throw the entire enterprise into farce one final plate slid to the floor and spun, gently, on its side until wobbling to the floor. The Thief winced at this, favoring the familiar with a tight-lipped smirk, then began to dig through their various pockets. They pawed through their belt pouches and selected a plain grey vial, then shook it in the Sorceress’ familiar’s face.

Elsewhere the Sorceress cursed, midway through standing and rousing her waiting companions. A heavily armored man with such accoutrements as to simply scream warrior for hire nodded and sat up. He and his accomplice pushed away from the long table their party had sequestered for planning, heavy timber squeaking under so much tinned meat. The Cleric, fourth member of the party, finally opened her eyes from meditation when the Sorceress’ voice started traveling from aggravated to indecently shrill.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare you worthless scum su-”

On the other side of her familiar’s eyes the cowled figure popped a tiny cork from the bottle, a sound lost to the thumping of… 7… possibly 8 tentacled legs? The Thief prodded the Sorceress’ familiar’s beaky snout and then swallowed the draught. Immediately, the Sorceress’ vision through her familiar’s eyes went dark and she cursed loudly, expansively. Sheer audacity causing the tiles under her feet to discolor a sickly yellow as the tips of the Warrior’s manicured mustache hissed and popped with sudden heat. He gasped and swatted at his own face with an audible THAP.

Midway through beginning her protective prayers, the Cleric passed a hand over the Warrior’s face to calm the tiny flames and reddening imprint of a gauntlet across his cheek. She smiled, tired but confident, and patted him on a pauldron.

“It looks like it’s time for us, love”, said she.

He nodded cheerfully, bringing a broadsword up to rest on his armored shoulder. The great blade’s hanging charms began to glow a healthy incandescent red as the Cleric began her chant again.

“Yupper, looks like it luv. No worries though right? It’s just some fish zombie that slings ancient eldritch fire. Nothing unusual about that.” He winked at the Cleric who responded with another tired smile, lifting her holy symbol to her chest.

“Thing I don’t understand is”, he went on, “does it need to stay wet...? You know, being that it does magic, stands to reason that it reads books, books being notoriously ill served by water… but it’s still a squid, right? It’s just a great fish with robes on and tentacles. How does it…”

He gaped.

“How does it turn the pages...?”

“MAGIC” the Sorceress screeched, one hand pulling at her cropped hair while the other traced sigils in the air, activating the plethora of her own traps that she’d added to the hallway most likely for the lich to traverse.

“Magic, magic, it’s always magic. Mage hand, easy, look...!” She demonstrated by creating a phantasmal hand in front of the warrior and having it make a rude gesture.

The Warrior blinked, then squinted at the hand.

“What uncouth ghosts this place has, honestly, I don’t think it’s the sort of place for a lady like you.” This was directed at the Cleric who was attempting to stifle a chuckle.

“Don’t encourage him…” The Sorceress sighed, her own preparations complete, she moved to the back of the gallery they’d holed up in. Furniture and sundry magical means barred all the entrances, leaving only one exit for the Warrior to set his bulk into. She ambled back a bit further and preened the dark feathers sprouting at her cheeks. Squawking altogether too much, she noted mentally, it was starting to bleed through.

Wet slapping upon expensive tiling echoed down the corridors, a sound edging closer and closer to the adventurers filled the gallery.

“I really…” The Warrior began, Sorceress rolling her eyes in the rear.

“I really want to see how in the world that thing walks around…”

In a whisper designed to be just barely audible to the Sorceress, the Cleric said,

“Magic.”

***

A wobbling shadow disappeared around the corner, and the Thief allowed themself to breathe again. Being invisible was no excuse for being sloppy about hiding, there were plenty of creatures that could pierce right through such a simple obfuscation draught. They had better, but this wasn’t the time for it. They had quite a selection of magical trinkets and potions in fact, but they were being saved for ‘the right time’. Which had yet to come, and their bag was getting quite heavy.

Settling down into a crouch, they tilted their head to watch the corridor an eight-legged lich had just skulked down.

“We should probably follow along eh...?”

The Thief’s boa gripped their collar in tiny claws, then squeaked. Somewhere far off a nightmare of oily tentacles was cursing in a dead language, accompanied by the sound of lightning bursting from hidden floor runes.

“Well, we want to give em some space so they can trip ALL the traps for us. Then we sneak up and deal some well-placed hits from the safety of being nowhere near the blast zone.”

‘The blast zone’, being their nickname for the Warrior of which he was altogether quite fond.

Lazily, the Thief unfastened two thick staves from their pack. They screwed together in the middle, forming a long staff of mottled olive wood. Angling the head of bristles behind them and the crooked knob to the front, they mounted the worn traveling broom just as the sounds of battle began in the distance.

“Alright Boa, I think we’ve let them dangle for long enough now. Hang on, I want to make a good entrance.”  

Boa, which was not the name of the Sorceress’ familiar as she had never actually named the creature at all, dug its little talons into the Thief’s leather jerkin. As a familiar the pseudodragon was the relatively low class option. Essentially it was a chimera of different animal parts smashed together with magic and glitter glue. The kindergarten art project of magical familiars. This one was a bit more of a feathered snake than dragon but, it’s six little legs could cling tenaciously when it had a mind to do. Its pink feathers fluttered in the sudden rush of wind as the Thief lifted into the air on their broom, shooting down the corridor ringing with eldritch cursing and the din of fierce melee.

***

“Boots!”

Fire snapped, throwing cinders up in a spray as the Warrior howled with laughter.

“Two tentacles to a boot...!” He was shaking his head, prodding the fire with a stick before merrily tossing it in.

“And…” Covering his face, another peal of laughter causing him to visibly shake with the sound.

“And pants, the bleeding thing had pants on!”

“Well.” The Cleric smiled, leaning on the Warrior’s side, “I mean it wouldn’t have been polite to walk around without pants on, but I feel the ruffled fencing shirt was a bit much.”

“Oh…?” The Warrior snickered, “I thought it made him look rather rayfish.”

Squinting at the fire the Cleric murmured, “I thought it was an octopus...?”

“It was a none-a-pus when I got done with it...!”

“Well...” She tugged on the Warrior’s mustache playfully, “...just let me know if you ever one-a-pus.

“OH, MY GODS” Squawked the sorceress, savagely stoppering her ink well and glaring at her companions.

“The Octolich job was weeks ago, don’t either of you cretins remember what tomorrow is...?”

The Warrior grinned, tucking the Cleric up under one meaty arm. “Sure, that magical wish test thing, right?”

“The Test of Mettle.” Said the Sorceress, leafing through her scrolls and finding her composure in explanation.

“And I can’t go with you clods so you’d better be ready for it.”

“We can back out at any time correct, and killing is not… necessary, is it?” Said the Cleric, looking rather comfortable in her robes and muscle arm scarf.

“It isn’t necessary, but things get very heated. No one wants to give up their heart’s desire when they finally have it in their hands.”

There was quiet around the fire, nothing but the gentle crackle and snap. A wind played through the leaves overhead, ruffling the Sorceress’ shock of white hair. Both the Cleric and the Warrior were staring at her, the former more surreptitiously than the latter. She was a walking reminder of what could be achieved through the test. Having won it years, though the Cleric suspected it was closer to decades, ago the Sorceress had complete mastery of her own shape. That she opted to keep herself looking like indigo scaled dragon woman spoke quite a lot to her personal tastes. For a magic user capable of perfect shape change she still spent very little time in melee, but there was such a thing as style even to something such as she.

“Not sure what the test can do for me, I’m already the most handsome person I know.” Said the Warrior, releasing the Cleric and standing to stretch. Absently, he pushed his hand up through his bangs to expose an old scar, thumb feeling the tiny groove. Letting his bangs fall back into place he hesitated, pensively eyeing the clouds overhead.

The Cleric watched him, her expression growing concerned, before standing with him.

“It’s my watch with… them. Tonight, but… did you want to talk a little...?

The Warrior shrugged, but his face did not reflect the same jocular motion.

“Sure love…”

Watching them leave, the Sorceress attempted to sight through her familiar’s eyes again. Once more, there was nothing but pitch black. The Thief was purposely sitting in the dark, she was certain, and of course her familiar didn’t have dark vision… or infravision or any sort of magical vision. Really, its best trick was that it managed to keep functioning at all. If her plan for tomorrow didn’t work out she resolved that it was time to get a replacement that could measure up to her needs.

When she was young, which was quite a long time ago, it had been an excellent familiar. But now she was dealing with liches and lesser demons. The only real function it served her was being able to keep tabs on the Thief. And she was starting to get concerned that the two of them were bonding more than was appropriate for what was little more than a magical puppet.