#ulysess klaue x reader

[eupheme]

— kitten’s got klaue(s)

ulysses klaue x f!reader

rated e - 7.6k

Tags: fun filth, flirting, annoyance-to-lovers, mention of alcohol, masturbation, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, sub/dom elements, fingering, one pussy slap, light choking, oral, dirty talk, sort-of degradation, rough sex

A/N: this is a request from ao3! And so inspired by the amazing Klaue fics by @tarrenterror25 and @the-eyes-of-andyserkis - please check them out! 💕

“Are you looking for anything else tonight, princess?”

You frown, “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

“I was thinking along the lines of dinner.” Klaue clarifies, before his voice lowers conspiratorially, “I do I love eating out.”

(You can’t stand him. So why can’t you stop thinking about him?)

He drove you mad.

You hated how he always seemed to press your buttons, wind you up. With everyone else, you were professional, and they returned that courtesy.

They’d meet you in clean-cut suits, never daring to let their eyes drag down your form like his did. Showing up to your meetings with a cocky grin and a wink - wearing khaki shirts that were half-unbuttoned.

Teasing you. Stepping a little too close, letting his voice lower until it was rough, husky rasp and you were imagining him saying other things to you, instead.

As if it wasn’t hard enough to negotiate, to keep your wits about you. Ensuring the family business was kept running smoothly.

Klaue was a wild card.

But he got you the things you needed, things that no one else could.

Unable to help dangling them, with narrowed eyes and a curving smirk, before handing them over.

Tonight, in your private office, he lets his hip bump yours. His chin sweeping against your shoulder as he opens the metal case. Letting you check through it, though you can feel the brush of his chest against your back with each breath, smell the sharp curl of his cologne.

Pointing out the details as you nod, noting with satisfaction that he’s managed precisely what you’re looking for.

All that was left was to agree to a price.

“It will do,” You sigh, putting on a show.

Turning, until you’re facing him. His hands shove into his pockets then, the shirt pulling tight across his chest.

His brow quirks, and your head tilts, “What are you looking for it?”

“Half-mil.”

You scoff at his answer, the sound sliding from your throat before you can stop it. A mark deepening between your brows, as your lips purse, “I thought you told me four.”

“I’ve told you a lot of things,” He shrugs, his eyes glittering, “You’re not the only one looking for this. Price’s gone up.”

It’s a bluff, you think.

Your eyes scan his, the sharp chips of bright blue. Down to the crisp white of the dress shirt he wears today. A loose tie that matches his eyes - a vest a few shades darker.

His jacket missing, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark ink on his arm - showing that he’s not like them. He’s his own man, not constrained to stuffy suits, pointed leather shoes.

Your fingers lift to his tie, tracing the knot. Carefully straightening it, before smoothing it down against his chest. It’s a soft attempt to gain the upper hand, to distract him - letting your eyes sweep over the flash of his tattooed sternum, the curl of grey-flecked hair peeking out.

“Four.” You repeat, an upward tilt of your chin, until you’re meeting his gaze again.

Where he’s watching, with half-lidded eyes. Curious and amused, the peek of his tongue as he wets his lips.

A long pause, a moment where you hold your breath - waiting for his answer. Before it comes, sliding through his lips with a grin.

“Fine.”

The two of you shake on it, biting back your own smile - your hand dwarfed in his. Trying not to think too much about it, the pressure of his grip, his thick fingers.

"There now. Aren't you going to thank me?" There's a lilt to his voice, the slight sweep of his thumb against the back of your hand.

"Thank you?" Your answering laugh is a short, derisive thing, "For accepting the price we had originally agreed upon? I don't think so."

You haven't thanked him before, and you certainly weren't about to start now.

He grins with a shrug, as the handshake lingers for just a moment longer - until your hands drop, and you’re closing the case. The money will be wired over tonight, the item shipped out in the morning.

Your job here is done.

But Klaue still hovers, arms crossed over his chest. Displaying his thick forearms, his hip pressing into the sturdy table.

Silently watching, until that glint in his eye is back. Until he’s asking, “Are you looking for anything else tonight, princess?”

The words drawn out, a suggestive lilt to the end. His little nicknames should probably make you bristle - a jab at your put-together veneer. But instead, his words make your stomach flip, butterflies taking flight.

You frown, “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

“I was thinking along the lines of dinner.” Klaue clarifies, before his voice lowers conspiratorially, “I do I love eating out.”

His tongue pinches between his teeth as he smirks, the look hungry. Amused with himself, how he flusters you so easily.

“I’m, um-” It’s difficult to find words, to tear your eyes away from his mouth. Even harder still, not to read into his words - to imagine hands pushing up the hem of your pencil skirt.

Wondering if he’d sink to his knees for you, right now.

What that hair would feel like, as your fingers wrapped in the curls and tugged. If you’d find out just how sweet his tongue is - even with security waiting right outside the door, ready and waiting to escort him out.

You think he would. His devil-may-care attitude has gotten him further than most, this would be nothing. It’s almost… thrilling.

Finding your voice, you finish lamely, “-I have another meeting, after this.”

He’s undeterred, moving closer. Stalking almost, two smooth steps with rolling shoulders, fingers touching down on your desk, framing your hips.

It had your mind wandering again, resisting the urge to arch into him, to close that small bit of space between you.

“Drinks then?” The gold in his teeth glint off the low lamp light as he grins. His voice lowering again, smooth as silk, “Or we could just cut to the chase, and go back to mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his boldness. Always circling with looks and teasing words, the slightest of touches, never a direct offer like this.

And god, it was tempting.

But the push-and-pull had always been a game you both played - you were not one to start agreeing so easily now.

“Inappropriate,” you murmur, but all he does is laugh.

His arms move then - spreading out wide.

Stepping back as he grins.

“Oh, princess. Are you going to tell daddy what a bad man I am?,” He challenges, “Go on then, call your dogs on me.”

Your lips are parting, his words doing something to you. A warmth curling in your stomach - stealing your words and your sharp tongue.

His look is knowing, “I thought so.”

The smug tone to his words being you back. Giving him your own look - annoyed and amused and oh so very curious.

A beat, before you ask, “Which bar?”

“The Andromeda.” The look in his eyes soften, along with his smile, “No business darling, just pleasure.”

You knew the place. It was new, trendy. Expensive, and you wonder if he’s trying to impress you, or if it was a genuine attempt to take you somewhere nice.

It was also popular with a number of your clients.

You consider him for a long moment. Before you surprise yourself, the words sliding from your tongue, “How about Neon Blue? 9pm. Less prying eyes.”

“Excellent,” Klaue smiles, and it’s a little different than others he’s given you. Missing a sardonic edge - almost as if he really is pleased.

“It’s a date, princess.”

You don’t know why you spend so much time primping. Still unable to believe that you had spoken up, agreed to meet with him.

But part of you knows why.

You’re curious.

Wanting to know what he’s like. To give into the silver-tongued compliments. See if the innuendos and insinuations are as accurate as he’s hinted at.

Because there’s no illusions to your meeting. An intent to his invitation, a clear resolution to the evening.

He’s a mercenary, an arms dealer.

God knows what else.

But tonight, you don’t really care about that. You’ve been circling each other for months, and there’s something freeing, knowing what he wants.

No strings attached. Just one night.

It was a win-win. Either you had a good time, and your fingers were crossed that it would be good - or if it went poorly, at least you’d stop imagining him late at night, when you were alone.

Wondering, replaying certain phrases. The looks he gives you, the ones you give in return. Gasping into your pillow, eyes screwed shut as you imagined your fingers were thicker. Longer.

You get to the nightclub early, sneaking out to take a cab instead of letting one of the drivers take you.

Thinking you’d scope the place out, find a nice little corner. A place to watch and see if he’ll really show up.

When you get inside, it’s already full. Rows of deep leather booths and glossy tables on one side. The light turned down low, a hazy blue. White neon script flashing with the music - some club tune you don’t recognize.

Furtively glancing around as you move deeper. Scanning the crowd until you land on a pair as bright as the namesake.

He’s already here. Already waiting.

A broad hand cupping his chin, just watching. A lazy grin, a crook of two fingers when you start to move his way.

Stepping out of the dark corner booth, letting you shrug off your fuzzy winter coat. Folding it in the corner as you slide in, and he fits himself in right next to you.

A waitress stops by a few minutes later. Dropping off a short glass with elaborate cuttings, filled with an amber liquid. A taller one - pretty and garnished with a bright red cherry, a little umbrella.

She beams at him as he slips her some extra cash, a wink. You try not to think about why your stomach flips, as he passes you the glass.

“How did you know what I drink?” You ask, peering down, into it. An exact replica of your usual, the same fruity tang when you take a sip.

His eyes are dark, watching. Another one of those smiles, the glint of his gold teeth, “I make it my business to know everything.”

Enigmatic. Infuriating.

Part of you should be concerned that he knew - but you knew how this world worked. How knowing and secrets were collected, used.

Instead, it has you interested. That he took the time to find this out about you, to order it in advance for your arrival.

“Well,” You allow, fingers tracing them stem, "I appreciate it."

He looks pleased, his eyes swooping over you, lingering, “You look beautiful. I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up.”

Your eyebrow arches, a low weight starting to warm in your belly, “Why is that?”

“You work too hard.” He comments idly, “Did you eat before you came here?”

It feels like a genuine question, his words holding none of the humor or sardonic edge that usually laces it. But it’s the first part that captures your attention, as you decidedly ignore the second.

“I didn’t know you were privy to my work schedule.” Your elbow presses into the glossy table top, your palm propping up your chin.

Angling yourself to look at him. Watching as he takes a drink from his own glass - the way his head tips back, the flex of his neck as he swallows.

All that skin, disappearing down to the buttons popped on his white dress shirt. The peek of hair and dark shadow of his tattoo - the tie discarded sometime between before and now.

You wonder what it looks like, the ink that swirls across his chest. You’ve only gotten glimpses of it. Wondering where else those tattoos spread.

Eyes flicking away when his hand drops, not wanting to be caught staring. Still catching the peek of his tongue as it swipes over his lip. A low hum, before he answers - a tilt of the glass in your direction.

“You answer my emails in the middle of the night.”

It’s not the answer you’re expecting. It throws you off balance, as you scramble for a response, “You travel constantly. How would you know what time it is here?”

The curl of his smile is knowing. Ignoring your question like you had his, as he copies your pose. Fingers stroking the edge of his beard.

“It’s always made me wonder, princess. Would you say it’s your work ethic?” He muses, before he leans closer, his voice dropping, “Or have I just made that much of an impression?”

You scoff, eyes rolling away. Focusing on your drink instead, head dipping to catch the straw - take a long sip.

“Why did you ask me to meet you then, if you know how busy I am?”

He sighs, then. Fingers drumming on the tabletop. A ruse, as his lips part - tongue brushing over teeth.

“Thought you could use some good stress relief.”

You scoff, “Is that right?”

An eyebrow cocks - that smile back,“You’re the one up at 4am, sweetheart. You tell me.”

Your eyes lock for a long moment. Flustered by the attention, not quite sure how to play this game.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

You muster up an answer, trying to match his cryptic answers, “I give you the same attention I give everyone else.”

“Is that right?” Klaue’s head cocks, a shift as his spread thigh brushes yours.

Too close, in this cramped booth. It has you distracted, watching the roll of his shoulder as his arms slings along the back of the booth.

“Who did you meet with after me, then?” He asks conversationally, as you suck the last of your drink through your straw, “Who else is so worthy of your time?”

Your eyes flick towards him, considering your answer, “I thought you said this was pleasure, not business.”

“I find that they have a tendency to mix,” His drink swirls in his glass, his eyes on yours as he tastes a long swallow. Your own drawn down to his mouth as his tongue peeks out to pass across his lower lip.

“Though, if it’s pleasure you want…”

You cut him off, with a little cock of your head. Fishing out a name just to see what he would say. A way to tease him back, even if it’s small.

“What if I said it was with Tony Stark?”

The grin on his face turns sharp, his eyes narrowing - calculating. A slight edge to his voice when he answers, “I didn’t know you did business with Stark.”

With Stark. With his shiny cars, and tailored suits and well-known playboy reputation.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“No.” Klaue scoffs - though he’s watching you.

He’s thinking about it, as his eyes jump between yours. Down to your mouth. Down, even further.

Amending his answer, with his gaze fixed on where one of your thighs crosses over the other - the expanse of skin where the short fabric pulls.

“Only if you let him taste you before I got the chance.”

They rise then, his look heated. Your own matching his, as he leans even more into your space.

Daring you to close that little gap between you. It would be so easy, to take what you know you both want. To tip your mouth up to his, to finally find out what it feels like.

But - you can’t deny it. That you want him to come to you.

So instead, your fingers dip inside the rim of your glass. Fishing out the cherry - letting him watch the way your lips curve around the plump fruit. Before you tug on the stem, a soft moan at the sweet taste.

His exhale is rough, a low noise in his throat as he leans forward. A wide hand cupping your jaw, the drag of his thumb across your lower lip, left glossy from the cherry.

Before your eyes flutter closed, and his mouth presses hungrily against yours.

You groan into the kiss, the brush of his tongue as you let him in. Months of tension finally snapping, as a spark ignite in your belly. Fingers reaching for him, grasping at a sleeve, anything you can reach.

Klaue leans into you, his hand tilting your jaw up to him. Pulling back the smallest bit so he can see how your eye lashes flutter, a grin as his other hand curls around your waist, pulling you closer.

Your hand on his sleeve sliding to brace against his broad chest.

Only breaking to suck in a breath, lips kiss-swollen as you glance up at him from under your eyelashes.

To where he grins with half-lidded eyes of his own - the bright flash of something cherry-red between white teeth, before he bites down.

Stolen right from your mouth, with a hot swirl of his tongue.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your words coming out soft and breathy, “I wanted that.”

He laughs, a rough sound that makes goosebump raise on your skin - making you want to kiss him again. Words low and slow and he leans in.

“I will get you more.”

His lips brush yours.

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

Kissing you again, tasting of whiskey and candy-sweet cherry.

Crowding you towards the back of the booth, in the dim corner. A hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you close - the other bracing against the edge of the table.

Your own wandering, brushing over a thigh, across his chest. Finding the deep cut of his open shirt, fingers slipping over ink and grey-peppered whorls of hair.

He licks into your mouth and you sigh - fully giving into him now. Wanting to feel his press of his bare fingers against your skin. Wanting to trace every inch of his tattoos - find out just where they go when they disappear under his shirt.

A brush then, of fingers. His grip loosening on the table, tracing a pattern against your knee. Curling against your thigh, his thumb sweeping across sensitive skin as your legs seem to nudge wider on their own.

His groan is filthy, deep and rasping. A slow inch of a fingertip just a little higher, towards where you’re aching and molten.

It’s dark, in this corner. The lights dimming as the evening goes on. You think you’d let him, in this moment. Let him touch you the way he’s thinking, with that teasing sweep of his fingers. A mutual testing of the water.

A dark look that passes across his face, when the kiss breaks. The tilt of his head, as he considers you - his fingers still firmly fixed in place.

Your lips part, but a voice interrupts you.

A man, calling out his name with a crisp familiarity. Klaue’s head turning, a short greeting barked out.

An impatient twitch of his fingers, the chill of his rings pressing against your thigh.

Against his will, he is pulled in. Unwilling to make a scene in such a public place, not with you in tow. It’d be different if it was in his office - over the phone. The man never would have stood a chance, then.

You wait, one minute sliding into the next. His thumb resumes its sweeping after one more, slowly inching upward.

Just brushing where you need it, where your heartbeat thuds.

It’s then, that you get another idea.

Your coat tucked across your lap, as if you’re cold. Not unusual, with the weather outside - all whipping, icy winds through the tall glass skyscrapers.

One more minute before your hand is slipping beneath. The nudge of your thighs as they widen just a little more. The press of your fingers as they map his.

Bringing him to bridge that final gap, a stifled moan when you push his palm to cup the heat of your cunt.

His hand freezes, for the briefest second. All four fingers curving against you, brushing against that pretty fabric, the heel of his hand nudging against the spot that seems to throb.

Just catching a sharp inhale of breath, a tightness in his shoulders. Before his fingers twitch - the slightest pull back so the tip of the middle strokes across your clothed slit.

Pressing against the fabric that you know he can feel is damp. The twitch of the others as they brush that overlap of warm skin and the cut of the elastic.

Each movement achingly slow, winding you up further. A fingernail catching under the edge of your panties, your own fingers gripping his arm in anticipation.

Almost dripping at the thought of his fingers sinking into you, right here. For him to feel how wet he’s made you, how easily it would be to fill you.

Thrilled with his split attention, knowing it’s more on you than the man’s questions, with the constant press and circle of his fingertips.

It has your eyes - your thoughts - drifting, as his touch continue. The lazy sweeping press against the soaked fabric. Swirling in soft circles as you feel yourself clench.

Unable to help the shift of your hips into his hand. Increasing the pressure, eyes unseeing as you lean into the pleasure, the secrecy. Both of them fueling the fire that roars in your belly.

The fingers pause for the briefest second. Pulling back - before landing a soft tap right against your cunt.

It makes you jerk - thighs pressing together as a spark arcs up your spine. Trapping him against you as your eyes flash to his.

Catching the curl of a smile and a heated look from the corner of his eye.

You think you can read it. The expression on his face.

“Behave.”

Or, perhaps it’s - “Eyes on Me.”

Yes, that seems more likely. Wanting your focus fully on him, taking what you had asked for.

So, you lean into it. Into him, that heavy bulk of a thick arm. The muscles flexing as you wraps yourself around it, with each press of his fingers.

The one that used to have tattoos - now replaced with dark seams that travel and split down his forearm.

A story that you haven’t been told before, but had heard whispers. Clinging to him like a second skin.

Leaving you to wonder, as your chest presses against him. The fingers of your other hand tracing over the deep crease in his trousers, where hip meets thigh.

Muscles tense under your fingertips.

The conversation now wraps up quickly. Funny how that is, as you stroke a path that slowly moves inward.

Those bright, hungry eyes back on yours the second the man turns.

Your low sigh, as your chin presses into his shoulder, “Thank god. I thought he’d never leave.”

At that, he smiles. White and gold and sharp, his eyes sweeping down to where you press against him.

“I was hoping he’d stay longer.” Klaue confesses, his voice low. Going lower - rougher - as he adds, “Wanted to see if I could make you come, right in front of him.”

His words catch in your chest, as heat burns in your face. The images flashing in your mind as his fingers twitch against the tight nub of your clit. Your thighs clenching around him as you think about it - him bringing you to the edge right there, and then crashing over.

“Is that right?” You try to match his tone - daring him, “Is that all you wanted to see?”

His grin sharpens, and his fingers leave you. Pulling up, before passing over his mouth in contemplation. As he inhales the scent of you, after.

“No. Not just that. And not here,” Klaue rasps, “Come with me.”

You let him take your hand as he slides from the booth. Hauling you up easily, as your coat tucks under your arm. Guiding you in front of him, as he ushers you towards the dark hallways in the back.

The thudding reverb of the music matching the one between your thighs. The press of him, hard and curving, against your ass every time you have to wait - pausing for people getting out of their booths.

The fingers on your hip pinching, squeezing. Letting him move in front as a bouncer steps aside with a nod, letting you both past.

A hand closing around your wrist again - a tug as you’re pulled into the first open room.

It’s dim as you enter - mood lighting bathing the room in light blue neon. An old disco ball turns, refracting the light in a bright glitter across the room. The back wall looking out into the city through a tinted window - framing the rounded booth beneath, the table set close in front of it.

The rest of the room blurring as the door snaps shut behind you. His hand splaying against the wall as he boxes you in - as you melt from the way he surrounds you.

A slow lean forward, as your hands brace against his chest, watching as your eyes drop to his mouth. Your own sliding shut after, as he closes the gap. Stepping into you, as his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The slightest pinch, before he’s kissing you. Devouring you - so much more than before, at the table. Broad hands that cup your face, holding it in place. A palm that smoothes down your neck - wide enough to span the length, a thumb that rests in the hollow of your throat.

Your own hands finding thick shoulders - your coat dropping to the floor as his hips roll against yours. Teeth and tongue as the hard length of him digs into the curve of your hip, your breathing barely audible over the muted beats outside.

Hands wander again, palming your ass to press you flush against him. You own snaking down to cup him, feeling where he strains.

Klaue groans into your mouth. Pulling away with an effort, his eyes dark as you both stumble towards that rounded booth.

You wonder if he’s going to cage you in again - lay you down on the leather cushion as he stands between your thighs.

Instead, his hands are on your hips. Lifting you into the sleek top to sit. Your hands splaying across the glass as he slides into the booth proper. Hands catching under your thighs - a gentle push to spin you until your knees press into his ribs.

His eyes drag over your form, lingering where your breasts are near-level with his face - his tongue peeking out over his lower lip. Wide hands coming to trace the curve of your hips, fingertips that stroke the bare skin of your thighs.

“Didn’t know you were so filthy,” Klaue rasps, toying with the hem of your dress. The pretty fabric trapped between fingers that could tear it - you - to shreds.

Your teeth sinking into your lip as you bite back your smile. Trying to make it not seem too obvious when you shift into his touch - wanting more, as you tease back.

“I thought you knew everything.”

His laugh is rough and low - you don’t even notice the slow rucking up of your skirt, how the fabric bunches in his grip.

“I suppose not.” Klaue allows, “I also don’t know how you sound when you come.”

The wrist at your hips twists, knuckles brushing against your mound. That grin again, as a thumb strokes the silky fabric of your panties - his voice pitching low.

“But I think I’m going to find out.”

You’re nodding - eager to have his hands on you again. In this darkened room it feel easier to lean into it, into him. Into how much you really want this.

“Please.” You breathe as his head tips - his teeth scraping against your jaw. Moving towards your ear, goosebumps prickling across your skin.

His hand catches yours, dragging it down. To where his fingers tease and trace the elastic waistband.

“Hold this for me.” Klaue husks, and you’re taking what he offers without question.

The balled-up fabric of your dress. How it bunches up around your waist now, wrinkling in your tight grip. Putting yourself on display.

It feels filthy - holding it up, as he leans back in the booth to look. Fingers dragging down until they’re pressing against sticky, damp fabric.

Humming with you as you whine at his touch, feather-light as he traces you. Finding that spot like before, one that has your other hand reaching forward - curling around the back of his neck for balance. Fingers sliding over the velvet-short undercut, the strong curve where shoulder meets neck.

Pressing circles against your clit - the sensation damped by the thin layer, but the fact that it’s him, that he’s already there and touching you in a way that feels so intimately familiar - it’s an accelerant.

Your teeth clenched as you whine, the sound pitiful. Unable to escape the way he watches each and every expression. You try to match him, keep yours on those bright blue eyes, but you find your head tilting back - your eyes fluttering shut as your free hand fists in the fabric of his shirt.

A twisting and winding in your belly. Little unconscious jerks of your hips, matching the pace of his fingers. Until they’re curling - hooking around the gusset. Tugging it to the side, fingers now sliding over slick skin.

You groan, and he grins. A tug at shirt pulls him closer, until his lips are brushing against yours again. Not quite a kiss - hovering, like his fingers are.

Nudging the tip of one against your entrance. A tease, as a thumb swipes over your clit.

“So wet, princess.”

You can feel his lips move against yours. As he sinks into the knuckle, as you feel yourself clench around him. His teeth bared at the sound of your choked moan - withdrawing, only to push deeper with his next thrust.

Giving you something to tighten around, as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. Your arousal slicking up his palm as he starts a slow pace, a second teasing at your entrance before there’s the sweet stretch as he works it inside. Curling and dragging the pads of his fingertips against a spot that sends up sparks.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, as you tug again. Feeling the smile before his mouth presses against yours - letting yourself arch into him now. Chasing the slick plunge of his fingers, feeling the metallic chill of those thick rings when he presses deep.

He deepens the kiss when you gasp, when he feels the way you’ve started to go tense in his arms. A messy sweep of his tongue, drawing back to watch the pretty pinch of your brows.

“You’ve thought about this.” Klaue husks, his head tilting. Honeyed words mixing with the sticky, curling pump of his fingers - his expression knowing, “Thought about my tongue earlier, weren’t you? I could see it on your face.”

You think back to then - when he was in your office. That moment when you thought about him on his knees, that mouth of his between your thighs.

It’s almost too much. A tremor in your legs, as they try to close around him, but his hand is too broad, too strong.

He laughs then - each word enunciated, even to your hazy mind, “Tell me you want my mouth more than my fingers.”

You’re close. Each press of his heel perfectly timed, dreaming about how sweet that silver tongue would feel instead.

“I want-” You can barely gasp, “Fuck, I want your mouth.”

His lips press against your cheek, another to your jaw. The scruff of his beard as he groans in your ear.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to last that long,” He mock-sighs, the words almost wistful. “You feel like you’re about to come all over my fingers.”

The tiny part of your brain that is still functioning mourns the loss of his mouth. The barest flicker of thought before your vision starts to go blurry, the neon lights turning into streaks.

But Klaue appears merciful, after all - a hand coming up to press against your stomach, pushing your back down to the tabletop as he leans forward.

The wet, warm drag of his tongue replacing the press of his heel. A low groan right into your pussy as the angle of his fingers change, all the better to drag the tips against the spot that makes your toes.

All you can manage is a weak warble of his name, almost a warning. The sounds stuck in your throat as the room grows even more dim, each breath cut short and sharp.

“Come for me.” He growls, his lips shining with you. His voice no-nonsense, one you’ve heard him use on the phone.

It tips you over. The thudding of the music slowing and becoming dull, as you clench around him. Your release slick on the fingers that continue to pound into you, as you cry out. Both hand gripping onto him, as his lips close around your clit.

Feeling the pulse of your orgasm against the press of his tongue, until you’re left limp and boneless on that glass table.

His mouth presses against you in a lewd kiss as his fingers slip free. A wet drag of his tongue from your hole to your clit, his eyes bright and piercing as you slowly push yourself up onto an elbow.

Still breathing hard, your dress still clutched so tightly in your fist. Still hauling the fabric up to your belly, near-bare beneath. Too far gone to think about doing anything other than hanging on.

Klaue breaks the silence first, as he leans back against the bench. Looking a little less put-together as a hand rakes through his curls, buttons popped on his shirt from the way you had yanked on the fabric.

“I told you I’d give you anything.” His eyes are dark from this angle, glinting in the low light, “What do you want?”

It’s a surprisingly unselfish question. Putting the reigns in your hands. You swallow for a second, as you let your eyes wander. Still trying to find your tongue.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” He grins, “We are far past that, darling.”

You can see where his thighs spread wide, under the table. The long and hard curve of his cock, straining against the dark blue fabric of his trousers. Stiff from your mouth and your cunt and the way you gushed on his tongue.

The dress drops, so you can reach beneath. A lift of your hips as you peel your panties from your legs, holding them out between you like an offering.

His fingers brush yours as he takes them.

“Good girl.” Klaue husks, tucking them into his pocket. Offering a hand that you take, as he tugs you towards the edge of the table, and then into his lap.

You start to straddle him, but his hands find your hips instead. A careful shuffle as he flips you around, a gentle nudge forward that has you hovering, elbows resting on the table.

Giving him enough room to work open his belt. To close slick fingers around his heavy cock, groaning at the contact.

His other hand pushing your dress up again. Baring you fully, the fabric bunching up at your waist.

Pumping himself as he sees where you glisten, angling himself to press the blunt head against your slit.

You whine as he slides himself against you. Just pressing against your greedy hole before drawing back, slicking a fist over the tip.

“You drive me fucking crazy. You know that, darling?” He growls, as if you were the one teasing him. As you’re the one stopping him from taking you, from burying himself in the tight channel of your cunt.

“Ulysses, please-” You whine, and he laughs at that - his hand going still.

“Oh, it’s Ulysses, now?” There’s a grin in his voice that you can hear, amused “Not just Klaue?”

Teeth sink into your lip, as you try to rock back against him. As his thighs press against your knees, holding you firmly in place.

“Say it again, princess, and I’ll fuck you.” He rasps, his fingers sinking into the curve of your ass, “Just like you want me to. Come on.”

You do. For him, you do - the first syllable barely past your lips before he’s lining himself up, and then pulling you down to meet him.

The rest of his name strings out - breaking at the end on a high moan as you impale yourself on his cock, your back arching as he fills you.

It feels like he’s in your throat, a hand flattening unconsciously against your belly as if you could feel him there, inside you.

His answering groan is filthy in your ear, a guttural grunt as you rock yourself on his lap. Broad hands gripping your hips as he coaxes you back and forth, your own gripping onto the edge of the table for leverage.

The sound of skin slapping fills the air, his breath warm against your neck. A thought flickering - a realization that you could have had this for weeks now. This morning even - the briefest vision of yourself, bent over your own desk.

A hard thrust has you moaning his name, as your feet slide against the floor - trying to find purchase. Trying to keep up the pace, as you ride him.

A plea in the way your lips forms around the letters, as a thick arm hooks around your waist. Tugging you back, pushing him flush and deep as your back presses against his barrel chest.

His hand sliding up, between the valley of your breasts. A broad palm wrapping carefully around your throat like a necklace, the pressure holding you against him. As his beard scrapes against your jaw, his voice low and silky in your ear.

“You still begging for more, even though my fingers still taste like you?” He husks, as his right hand raises.

Fingers pressing against your lower lip, until they’re parting for him. Scraping past teeth, until you’re closing around him. Sucking.

Tasting yourself, like he said.

A pleased tone to his words, as he sighs, “Greedy girl. What am I going to do with you?”

Sliding his fingers from you then - spit stringing between glossy fingers. Dropping down to tap against your clit, the tips slipping against slick skin.

Then circling slowly, as his feet plant on the floor. Using the leverage to thrust up into you - the angle dragging his cock against your walls.

A moan bursting from your chest, your hips trying to flex into his touch. But he holds you firm. Makes you take what he gives you.

The pressure of his fingers increasing, a tingling in your guts that drops low and spreads. Your nails sinking into his arm - across those tattoos, feeling the muscles tense under your grasp - but he leans into it, as your breathing turns sharp.

“Klaue.” You bite out, between panting breaths, “Ulysses, please let me-”

Half-expecting him to slow. Or stop, his laugh ringing out - just to fuck with you.

Instead, his nose drags against the column of your neck. The thumb resting on your skin twitching, where he can feel your heart hammering beneath. A groan, as his lips ghost against the hollow under your ear.

A shiver running through you, at the tender contact. His voice coming after, pitched low.

Almost a growl.

“Oh, I’ll let you come again.” He tells you, “And this time, you are going to thank me.”

The words hang. Intent to recieve what you had so denied him before. The flood of relief blocked by an urge to protest, just because it’s him, and that’s what you do.

“Understood?” Klaue presses.

You don’t know if you have a choice. Everything drawing up tight as you squirm in his embrace. The press of his fingers unrelenting. Each one winding, winding, winding.

“Oh, fuck-”

Not even aware of the words as they slide from your lips. Concentrating too much on way he’s about to make you come, with steady pound of his cock, the wet swipe of his fingers.

Your body stringing tight, the words rushed, “Thank you, thank you-”

Toes curling, as it crashes into you. Your head tipping back as you moan, pressing into his shoulder.

“Such a good girl. See how easy that was?” He coos, as his hips still. Feeling how you pulse around him, his fingers still drawing the sensations out, “That’s it, cream on my fucking cock, princess.”

It’s all muted, as your head spins. As your vision goes hazy, your limbs limp and heavy.

You haven’t come that hard in a long time. Had forgotten how good it feels to have a cock nudged deep inside you, even as he tips you towards overestimation.

Each sound you make is a little gasp. Moving with him as he nudges you forward, your elbows pressing against the tabletop.

As he manages to stand behind you - a hand planting on the glass next to your hip. The other pressing down against the small of your back to hold you in place.

“Christ, you’re pretty when you come.” He groans, with a thrust of his hips, “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this.”

Starting as a slow and lazy as you feel, working his way up as his hips snap against yours, his heavy sack kissing against your clit again and again.

Somewhere in your mind you think about answering him - an admission that you’ve thought about it, too. That there’s been nights where you stretched yourself out on your own fingers, wishing they were his.

But he fills the silence for you. With low gasps and grunts that punctuate the intoxication drag of his cock.

“How you’re always running that pretty mouth of yours. Bossing me around in your office like the little spoiled princess that you are.”

You moan, rocking back to meet the grind of his hips, your cheek pressing against the cool glass. Too far gone in the haze of bliss and the continual pounding of his cock to form words, your answers coming in contented moan.

“But listen to how sweet you are now.” His voice goes honey-smooth, as he coos, “Just needed my thick cock, is that it?”

A whine rips through your throat, a broken fracture of his name woven in. He hums in amusement, unable to stop the filth that slips from his mouth. Goaded by the way you seem to grow slicker with his voice, the way you’re starting to clench down hard around him.

“Christ, if we were there now. I’d make you scream, darling.” The words are growled out, possessive. His body curving over yours, hands molding against your flesh as his lips press against your cheek. Those wild curls tickling your ear, each breath a ragged groan.

“Let those guard dogs of yours hear how you sound getting fucked like a man like me.”

The new angle of his cock has you seeing stars. His cock slick as he ruts into you, stroking along your inner walls. Bringing you closer as the head bumps against that spongey inner spot - you think you’re about to come again and he’s not even touching you, like before.

“Please-” You whimper, your fingertips making marks against the glass. A tight winding in your belly, your eyes closing.

Still able to see the glitter of those neon light as they slowly spin, reflecting off your skin.

But all you can feel is him.

It eclipses everything else, the spark that starts a flame - catching you off guard as it rips through you. A muffled half-laugh that you dimly register comes from him, as your promised shout is drowned out by the club beats.

A tight pulsing, as your thighs press together. Klaue’s praise gritted out in your ear as his thrusts turn sloppy - pleased and possessive and winding throughout the flicker of thought that still remains in your head.

“Fuck. Look at you, coming again.”

“That’s my good girl-”

And all too soon he’s pulling from you - leaving you empty. A split second as he yanks the panties from his pocket, wrapping it around his cock as he spills messily into the gusset.

His chest pressed against your back, as he stains the fabric, each pulse of his cock leaving him leaking into the gift you gave him. Grinding himself against the spot that’s still wet from your cunt.

That arm wraps around you again, as he sits back. Tugging you onto his lap, as your head tips against his shoulder, his hand splaying across your belly. A deep breath of contentment that matched you own, and you’re both brought back down.

An eyebrow quirking when you give him a look - your underwear still curled in his free hand. A smile, then - glinting, again.

“Didn’t think you wanted me dripping out of you.” It’s almost gentlemanly, as he shifts beneath you. His cock still pressing against the bare curve of your ass, his trousers pooled around his thighs - before he amends, “Not here, anyways.”

You don’t tell him, but you wouldn’t have minded. A little shiver at the thought of how it would have felt, to feel him - pressing tight against you, the pulse of his cock as he emptied himself into you.

“Not here?” You turn, where he’s watching - fingers tracing a pattern against your dress, “Is that an invitation?”

He growls, “God, yes.”

You can feel him twitch against your ass, still flushed and heavy.

“This was just a taste, love. I think our night is just beginning.” He coos, “Besides… you still need to have your dinner.

Klaue’s grin turns dark, as his fingers slowly start to drift down, settling between your thighs.

“And I haven’t had my dessert.”

I have been chipping away at this since December - if you made it this far, thank you so much! 🥺💖 hope you liked this!

[the-eyes-of-andyserkis]

"Bringin' Home the Rain" - Part One - Masterlist

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F!Reader Chapters: 5 Word count: 25.4K (Complete!) Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're no stranger to taking risks, in fact you prefer the unknown, however when you happen to cross paths with a certain black market arms dealer you find it uncharacteristically difficult to find your balance. (aka "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, he walks into mine.")

Warnings: Explicit Rating, Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Minor Injuries, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Age Difference, Reader is Late 30s, Masturbation, Smut, Smutty Smut, The Smutty Kind of Smut, Smut With Accidental Feelings, PWP, But Also A Bit of Plot, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Teasing, Oral (M! Receiving), Reference to Predator/Prey, Vaginal Fingering, Soft Dom, Hair pulling, Begging, Finger Sucking, Spanking, Nipple Play, Oral (F! Receiving), Cock Warming, Mild Size Kink, Daddy Kink (Chapter 5), Unprotected PIV, Rough Sex, Creampie, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Needy Dom, Aftercare

A/N: Well, here I am with my first foray in the fanfic writing in almost two decades!

In my mind this is set somewhere between "Avengers" and "Age of Ultron". I wanted to give myself somewhere to go since I do have plans beyond this, and while this part can still function as a standalone, I'm currently working on a part two in what is now a series (which I have mostly figured out)! More updates on that as I chip away, but I'm hoping to be able to post Chapter One in the next few weeks!

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy. 😊

[Masterlist - Part Two - Salvation is a Deep Dark Well] ✨ [AO3 Link]

Title is from the song "Bringin' Home the Rain" by The Builders and and Butchers

Chapter One - "Storm" - 2.8K

Chapter Two - "Tides" - 2.8K

Chapter Three - "Demons" - 5.9K

Chapter Four - "Flame" - 5.1K

Chapter Five - "Foundations" - 8.8K

[stargirlfics]

phone sex with klaue 😭 he’s so nasty I would die!! His lackeys would still be in the room too lol

losing my shit just thinking about hearing his voice over the phone ahh! it would be so growly, so filthy sounding! klaue would nottt hold back, doesn’t matter if he isn’t alone either yep! he’s big on being descriptive with his dirty talk, he’s determined to get you off and, likes making you repeat things back to him, just likes making you respond to him in general!

god I want him! 🥵

[celestianstars]

JESS WHEN I SAY I WAS SHAKING, BREATHING HEAVY, LOSING MY MIND WHILE READING THIS?! WHEW! 🥵💓 you did that! @eupheme I need this man to ruin me forever, im obsessed with how vocal and sexy he is through every bit of this, my knees are actually weak!!!!!

Love the tension between them from the start, their back and forth with each other was so good I was biting my nails like…y’all want each other soooo bad ahh!

Her comment about what if it was Tony Stark omfg, got him! And I love how full of excitement the writing feels, you can feel things starting to spark and it’s the best, the chemistry is dripping off them!

The little details about the club, how it’s her choice of place, KLAUE ALREADY BEING THERE AHHHH NO I BREATHED IN SO HARD cause of course he would be and him asking if she’s eaten…bestie I wouldn’t be able to resist either. I love a man who isn’t shy about his desire but still cares, is still thoughtful!

THESE LINES HAD ME FANNING MYSELF

“I will get you more.” “I’ll give you anything you want.”

“I also don’t know how you sound when you come.” “But I think I’m going to find out.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to last that long,” He mock-sighs, the words almost wistful. “You feel like you’re about to come all over my fingers.”

“Such a good girl. See how easy that was?” He coos, as his hips still. Feeling how you pulse around him, his fingers still drawing the sensations out. “That’s it, cream on my fucking cock, princess.”

“But listen to how sweet you are now.” His voice goes honey-smooth, as he coos, “Just needed my thick cock, is that it?”

WHEN HE SAID “Fuck. Look at you coming again.” I think I actually squeaked

Klaue’s spoiled princess vibes forever 💗 the way you write dialogue is so addictive my friend and he’s so incredibly hot like just imagining him saying all this, I need several moments to collect myself! That ending too, the way he said this was just a taste, I would have collapsed, I just love how filthy hot the vibe of this is, Klaue’s ability to always say something to fluster you and turn you on is crazy, I love him, I love you!!!

Amazing, delicious and sultry all over, I’m obsessed and keep going back to read this again and again! As always your writing leaves me in awe every single time! 😏😵‍💫❤️‍🔥

— kitten’s got klaue(s)

ulysses klaue x f!reader

rated e - 7.6k

Tags: fun filth, flirting, annoyance-to-lovers, mention of alcohol, masturbation, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, sub/dom elements, fingering, one pussy slap, light choking, brief oral, dirty talk, soft sort-of degradation, rough sex

A/N: this is a request from ao3! And so inspired by the amazing Klaue fics by @tarrenterror25 and @the-eyes-of-andyserkis - please check them out! 💕

“Are you looking for anything else tonight, princess?”

You frown, “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

“I was thinking along the lines of dinner.” Klaue clarifies, before his voice lowers conspiratorially, “I do I love eating out.”

(You can’t stand him. So why can’t you stop thinking about him?)

He drove you mad.

You hated how he always seemed to press your buttons, wind you up. With everyone else, you were professional, and they returned that courtesy.

They’d meet you in clean-cut suits, never daring to let their eyes drag down your form like his did. Showing up to your meetings with a cocky grin and a wink - wearing khaki shirts that were half-unbuttoned.

Teasing you. Stepping a little too close, letting his voice lower until it was rough, husky rasp and you were imagining him saying other things to you, instead.

As if it wasn’t hard enough to negotiate, to keep your wits about you. Ensuring the family business was kept running smoothly.

Klaue was a wild card.

But he got you the things you needed, things that no one else could.

Unable to help dangling them, with narrowed eyes and a curving smirk, before handing them over.

Tonight, in your private office, he lets his hip bump yours. His chin sweeping against your shoulder as he opens the metal case. Letting you check through it, though you can feel the brush of his chest against your back with each breath, smell the sharp curl of his cologne.

Pointing out the details as you nod, noting with satisfaction that he’s managed precisely what you’re looking for.

All that was left was to agree to a price.

“It will do,” You sigh, putting on a show.

Turning, until you’re facing him. His hands shove into his pockets then, the shirt pulling tight across his chest.

His brow quirks, and your head tilts, “What are you looking for it?”

“Half-mil.”

You scoff at his answer, the sound sliding from your throat before you can stop it. A mark deepening between your brows, as your lips purse, “I thought you told me four.”

“I’ve told you a lot of things,” He shrugs, his eyes glittering, “You’re not the only one looking for this. Price’s gone up.”

It’s a bluff, you think.

Your eyes scan his, the sharp chips of bright blue. Down to the crisp white of the dress shirt he wears today. A loose tie that matches his eyes - a vest a few shades darker.

His jacket missing, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark ink on his arm - showing that he’s not like them. He’s his own man, not constrained to stuffy suits, pointed leather shoes.

Your fingers lift to his tie, tracing the knot. Carefully straightening it, before smoothing it down against his chest. It’s a soft attempt to gain the upper hand, to distract him - letting your eyes sweep over the flash of his tattooed sternum, the curl of grey-flecked hair peeking out.

“Four.” You repeat, an upward tilt of your chin, until you’re meeting his gaze again.

Where he’s watching, with half-lidded eyes. Curious and amused, the peek of his tongue as he wets his lips.

A long pause, a moment where you hold your breath - waiting for his answer. Before it comes, sliding through his lips with a grin.

“Fine.”

The two of you shake on it, biting back your own smile - your hand dwarfed in his. Trying not to think too much about it, the pressure of his grip, his thick fingers.

"There now. Aren't you going to thank me?" There's a lilt to his voice, the slight sweep of his thumb against the back of your hand.

"Thank you?" Your answering laugh is a short, derisive thing, "For accepting the price we had originally agreed upon? I don't think so."

You haven't thanked him before, and you certainly weren't about to start now.

He grins with a shrug, as the handshake lingers for just a moment longer - until your hands drop, and you’re closing the case. The money will be wired over tonight, the item shipped out in the morning.

Your job here is done.

But Klaue still hovers, arms crossed over his chest. Displaying his thick forearms, his hip pressing into the sturdy table.

Silently watching, until that glint in his eye is back. Until he’s asking, “Are you looking for anything else tonight, princess?”

The words drawn out, a suggestive lilt to the end. His little nicknames should probably make you bristle - a jab at your put-together veneer. But instead, his words make your stomach flip, butterflies taking flight.

You frown, “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

“I was thinking along the lines of dinner.” Klaue clarifies, before his voice lowers conspiratorially, “I do I love eating out.”

His tongue pinches between his teeth as he smirks, the look hungry. Amused with himself, how he flusters you so easily.

“I’m, um-” It’s difficult to find words, to tear your eyes away from his mouth. Even harder still, not to read into his words - to imagine hands pushing up the hem of your pencil skirt.

Wondering if he’d sink to his knees for you, right now.

What that hair would feel like, as your fingers wrapped in the curls and tugged. If you’d find out just how sweet his tongue is - even with security waiting right outside the door, ready and waiting to escort him out.

You think he would. His devil-may-care attitude has gotten him further than most, this would be nothing. It’s almost… thrilling.

Finding your voice, you finish lamely, “-I have another meeting, after this.”

He’s undeterred, moving closer. Stalking almost, two smooth steps with rolling shoulders, fingers touching down on your desk, framing your hips.

It had your mind wandering again, resisting the urge to arch into him, to close that small bit of space between you.

“Drinks then?” The gold in his teeth glint off the low lamp light as he grins. His voice lowering again, smooth as silk, “Or we could just cut to the chase, and go back to mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his boldness. Always circling with looks and teasing words, the slightest of touches, never a direct offer like this.

And god, it was tempting.

But the push-and-pull had always been a game you both played - you were not one to start agreeing so easily now.

“Inappropriate,” you murmur, but all he does is laugh.

His arms move then - spreading out wide.

Stepping back as he grins.

“Oh, princess. Are you going to tell daddy what a bad man I am?,” He challenges, “Go on then, call your dogs on me.”

Your lips are parting, his words doing something to you. A warmth curling in your stomach - stealing your words and your sharp tongue.

His look is knowing, “I thought so.”

The smug tone to his words being you back. Giving him your own look - annoyed and amused and oh so very curious.

A beat, before you ask, “Which bar?”

“The Andromeda.” The look in his eyes soften, along with his smile, “No business darling, just pleasure.”

You knew the place. It was new, trendy. Expensive, and you wonder if he’s trying to impress you, or if it was a genuine attempt to take you somewhere nice.

It was also popular with a number of your clients.

You consider him for a long moment. Before you surprise yourself, the words sliding from your tongue, “How about Neon Blue? 9pm. Less prying eyes.”

“Excellent,” Klaue smiles, and it’s a little different than others he’s given you. Missing a sardonic edge - almost as if he really is pleased.

“It’s a date, princess.”

You don’t know why you spend so much time primping. Still unable to believe that you had spoken up, agreed to meet with him.

But part of you knows why.

You’re curious.

Wanting to know what he’s like. To give into the silver-tongued compliments. See if the innuendos and insinuations are as accurate as he’s hinted at.

Because there’s no illusions to your meeting. An intent to his invitation, a clear resolution to the evening.

He’s a mercenary, an arms dealer.

God knows what else.

But tonight, you don’t really care about that. You’ve been circling each other for months, and there’s something freeing, knowing what he wants.

No strings attached. Just one night.

It was a win-win. Either you had a good time, and your fingers were crossed that it would be good - or if it went poorly, at least you’d stop imagining him late at night, when you were alone.

Wondering, replaying certain phrases. The looks he gives you, the ones you give in return. Gasping into your pillow, eyes screwed shut as you imagined your fingers were thicker. Longer.

You get to the nightclub early, sneaking out to take a cab instead of letting one of the drivers take you.

Thinking you’d scope the place out, find a nice little corner. A place to watch and see if he’ll really show up.

When you get inside, it’s already full. Rows of deep leather booths and glossy tables on one side. The light turned down low, a hazy blue. White neon script flashing with the music - some club tune you don’t recognize.

Furtively glancing around as you move deeper. Scanning the crowd until you land on a pair as bright as the namesake.

He’s already here. Already waiting.

A broad hand cupping his chin, just watching. A lazy grin, a crook of two fingers when you start to move his way.

Stepping out of the dark corner booth, letting you shrug off your fuzzy winter coat. Folding it in the corner as you slide in, and he fits himself in right next to you.

A waitress stops by a few minutes later. Dropping off a short glass with elaborate cuttings, filled with an amber liquid. A taller one - pretty and garnished with a bright red cherry, a little umbrella.

She beams at him as he slips her some extra cash, a wink. You try not to think about why your stomach flips, as he passes you the glass.

“How did you know what I drink?” You ask, peering down, into it. An exact replica of your usual, the same fruity tang when you take a sip.

His eyes are dark, watching. Another one of those smiles, the glint of his gold teeth, “I make it my business to know everything.”

Enigmatic. Infuriating.

Part of you should be concerned that he knew - but you knew how this world worked. How knowing and secrets were collected, used.

Instead, it has you interested. That he took the time to find this out about you, to order it in advance for your arrival.

“Well,” You allow, fingers tracing them stem, "I appreciate it."

He looks pleased, his eyes swooping over you, lingering, “You look beautiful. I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up.”

Your eyebrow arches, a low weight starting to warm in your belly, “Why is that?”

“You work too hard.” He comments idly, “Did you eat before you came here?”

It feels like a genuine question, his words holding none of the humor or sardonic edge that usually laces it. But it’s the first part that captures your attention, as you decidedly ignore the second.

“I didn’t know you were privy to my work schedule.” Your elbow presses into the glossy table top, your palm propping up your chin.

Angling yourself to look at him. Watching as he takes a drink from his own glass - the way his head tips back, the flex of his neck as he swallows.

All that skin, disappearing down to the buttons popped on his white dress shirt. The peek of hair and dark shadow of his tattoo - the tie discarded sometime between before and now.

You wonder what it looks like, the ink that swirls across his chest. You’ve only gotten glimpses of it. Wondering where else those tattoos spread.

Eyes flicking away when his hand drops, not wanting to be caught staring. Still catching the peek of his tongue as it swipes over his lip. A low hum, before he answers - a tilt of the glass in your direction.

“You answer my emails in the middle of the night.”

It’s not the answer you’re expecting. It throws you off balance, as you scramble for a response, “You travel constantly. How would you know what time it is here?”

The curl of his smile is knowing. Ignoring your question like you had his, as he copies your pose. Fingers stroking the edge of his beard.

“It’s always made me wonder, princess. Would you say it’s your work ethic?” He muses, before he leans closer, his voice dropping, “Or have I just made that much of an impression?”

You scoff, eyes rolling away. Focusing on your drink instead, head dipping to catch the straw - take a long sip.

“Why did you ask me to meet you then, if you know how busy I am?”

He sighs, then. Fingers drumming on the tabletop. A ruse, as his lips part - tongue brushing over teeth.

“Thought you could use some good stress relief.”

You scoff, “Is that right?”

An eyebrow cocks - that smile back,“You’re the one up at 4am, sweetheart. You tell me.”

Your eyes lock for a long moment. Flustered by the attention, not quite sure how to play this game.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

You muster up an answer, trying to match his cryptic answers, “I give you the same attention I give everyone else.”

“Is that right?” Klaue’s head cocks, a shift as his spread thigh brushes yours.

Too close, in this cramped booth. It has you distracted, watching the roll of his shoulder as his arms slings along the back of the booth.

“Who did you meet with after me, then?” He asks conversationally, as you suck the last of your drink through your straw, “Who else is so worthy of your time?”

Your eyes flick towards him, considering your answer, “I thought you said this was pleasure, not business.”

“I find that they have a tendency to mix,” His drink swirls in his glass, his eyes on yours as he tastes a long swallow. Your own drawn down to his mouth as his tongue peeks out to pass across his lower lip.

“Though, if it’s pleasure you want…”

You cut him off, with a little cock of your head. Fishing out a name just to see what he would say. A way to tease him back, even if it’s small.

“What if I said it was with Tony Stark?”

The grin on his face turns sharp, his eyes narrowing - calculating. A slight edge to his voice when he answers, “I didn’t know you did business with Stark.”

With Stark. With his shiny cars, and tailored suits and well-known playboy reputation.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“No.” Klaue scoffs - though he’s watching you.

He’s thinking about it, as his eyes jump between yours. Down to your mouth. Down, even further.

Amending his answer, with his gaze fixed on where one of your thighs crosses over the other - the expanse of skin where the short fabric pulls.

“Only if you let him taste you before I got the chance.”

They rise then, his look heated. Your own matching his, as he leans even more into your space.

Daring you to close that little gap between you. It would be so easy, to take what you know you both want. To tip your mouth up to his, to finally find out what it feels like.

But - you can’t deny it. That you want him to come to you.

So instead, your fingers dip inside the rim of your glass. Fishing out the cherry - letting him watch the way your lips curve around the plump fruit. Before you tug on the stem, a soft moan at the sweet taste.

His exhale is rough, a low noise in his throat as he leans forward. A wide hand cupping your jaw, the drag of his thumb across your lower lip, left glossy from the cherry.

Before your eyes flutter closed, and his mouth presses hungrily against yours.

You groan into the kiss, the brush of his tongue as you let him in. Months of tension finally snapping, as a spark ignite in your belly. Fingers reaching for him, grasping at a sleeve, anything you can reach.

Klaue leans into you, his hand tilting your jaw up to him. Pulling back the smallest bit so he can see how your eye lashes flutter, a grin as his other hand curls around your waist, pulling you closer.

Your hand on his sleeve sliding to brace against his broad chest.

Only breaking to suck in a breath, lips kiss-swollen as you glance up at him from under your eyelashes.

To where he grins with half-lidded eyes of his own - the bright flash of something cherry-red between white teeth, before he bites down.

Stolen right from your mouth, with a hot swirl of his tongue.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your words coming out soft and breathy, “I wanted that.”

He laughs, a rough sound that makes goosebump raise on your skin - making you want to kiss him again. Words low and slow and he leans in.

“I will get you more.”

His lips brush yours.

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

Kissing you again, tasting of whiskey and candy-sweet cherry.

Crowding you towards the back of the booth, in the dim corner. A hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you close - the other bracing against the edge of the table.

Your own wandering, brushing over a thigh, across his chest. Finding the deep cut of his open shirt, fingers slipping over ink and grey-peppered whorls of hair.

He licks into your mouth and you sigh - fully giving into him now. Wanting to feel his press of his bare fingers against your skin. Wanting to trace every inch of his tattoos - find out just where they go when they disappear under his shirt.

A brush then, of fingers. His grip loosening on the table, tracing a pattern against your knee. Curling against your thigh, his thumb sweeping across sensitive skin as your legs seem to nudge wider on their own.

His groan is filthy, deep and rasping. A slow inch of a fingertip just a little higher, towards where you’re aching and molten.

It’s dark, in this corner. The lights dimming as the evening goes on. You think you’d let him, in this moment. Let him touch you the way he’s thinking, with that teasing sweep of his fingers. A mutual testing of the water.

A dark look that passes across his face, when the kiss breaks. The tilt of his head, as he considers you - his fingers still firmly fixed in place.

Your lips part, but a voice interrupts you.

A man, calling out his name with a crisp familiarity. Klaue’s head turning, a short greeting barked out.

An impatient twitch of his fingers, the chill of his rings pressing against your thigh.

Against his will, he is pulled in. Unwilling to make a scene in such a public place, not with you in tow. It’d be different if it was in his office - over the phone. The man never would have stood a chance, then.

You wait, one minute sliding into the next. His thumb resumes its sweeping after one more, slowly inching upward.

Just brushing where you need it, where your heartbeat thuds.

It’s then, that you get another idea.

Your coat tucked across your lap, as if you’re cold. Not unusual, with the weather outside - all whipping, icy winds through the tall glass skyscrapers.

One more minute before your hand is slipping beneath. The nudge of your thighs as they widen just a little more. The press of your fingers as they map his.

Bringing him to bridge that final gap, a stifled moan when you push his palm to cup the heat of your cunt.

His hand freezes, for the briefest second. All four fingers curving against you, brushing against that pretty fabric, the heel of his hand nudging against the spot that seems to throb.

Just catching a sharp inhale of breath, a tightness in his shoulders. Before his fingers twitch - the slightest pull back so the tip of the middle strokes across your clothed slit.

Pressing against the fabric that you know he can feel is damp. The twitch of the others as they brush that overlap of warm skin and the cut of the elastic.

Each movement achingly slow, winding you up further. A fingernail catching under the edge of your panties, your own fingers gripping his arm in anticipation.

Almost dripping at the thought of his fingers sinking into you, right here. For him to feel how wet he’s made you, how easily it would be to fill you.

Thrilled with his split attention, knowing it’s more on you than the man’s questions, with the constant press and circle of his fingertips.

It has your eyes - your thoughts - drifting, as his touch continue. The lazy sweeping press against the soaked fabric. Swirling in soft circles as you feel yourself clench.

Unable to help the shift of your hips into his hand. Increasing the pressure, eyes unseeing as you lean into the pleasure, the secrecy. Both of them fueling the fire that roars in your belly.

The fingers pause for the briefest second. Pulling back - before landing a soft tap right against your cunt.

It makes you jerk - thighs pressing together as a spark arcs up your spine. Trapping him against you as your eyes flash to his.

Catching the curl of a smile and a heated look from the corner of his eye.

You think you can read it. The expression on his face.

“Behave.”

Or, perhaps it’s - “Eyes on Me.”

Yes, that seems more likely. Wanting your focus fully on him, taking what you had asked for.

So, you lean into it. Into him, that heavy bulk of a thick arm. The muscles flexing as you wraps yourself around it, with each press of his fingers.

The one that used to have tattoos - now replaced with dark seams that travel and split down his forearm.

A story that you haven’t been told before, but had heard whispers. Clinging to him like a second skin.

Leaving you to wonder, as your chest presses against him. The fingers of your other hand tracing over the deep crease in his trousers, where hip meets thigh.

Muscles tense under your fingertips.

The conversation now wraps up quickly. Funny how that is, as you stroke a path that slowly moves inward.

Those bright, hungry eyes back on yours the second the man turns.

Your low sigh, as your chin presses into his shoulder, “Thank god. I thought he’d never leave.”

At that, he smiles. White and gold and sharp, his eyes sweeping down to where you press against him.

“I was hoping he’d stay longer.” Klaue confesses, his voice low. Going lower - rougher - as he adds, “Wanted to see if I could make you come, right in front of him.”

His words catch in your chest, as heat burns in your face. The images flashing in your mind as his fingers twitch against the tight nub of your clit. Your thighs clenching around him as you think about it - him bringing you to the edge right there, and then crashing over.

“Is that right?” You try to match his tone - daring him, “Is that all you wanted to see?”

His grin sharpens, and his fingers leave you. Pulling up, before passing over his mouth in contemplation. As he inhales the scent of you, after.

“No. Not just that. And not here,” Klaue rasps, “Come with me.”

You let him take your hand as he slides from the booth. Hauling you up easily, as your coat tucks under your arm. Guiding you in front of him, as he ushers you towards the dark hallways in the back.

The thudding reverb of the music matching the one between your thighs. The press of him, hard and curving, against your ass every time you have to wait - pausing for people getting out of their booths.

The fingers on your hip pinching, squeezing. Letting him move in front as a bouncer steps aside with a nod, letting you both past.

A hand closing around your wrist again - a tug as you’re pulled into the first open room.

It’s dim as you enter - mood lighting bathing the room in light blue neon. An old disco ball turns, refracting the light in a bright glitter across the room. The back wall looking out into the city through a tinted window - framing the rounded booth beneath, the table set close in front of it.

The rest of the room blurring as the door snaps shut behind you. His hand splaying against the wall as he boxes you in - as you melt from the way he surrounds you.

A slow lean forward, as your hands brace against his chest, watching as your eyes drop to his mouth. Your own sliding shut after, as he closes the gap. Stepping into you, as his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The slightest pinch, before he’s kissing you. Devouring you - so much more than before, at the table. Broad hands that cup your face, holding it in place. A palm that smoothes down your neck - wide enough to span the length, a thumb that rests in the hollow of your throat.

Your own hands finding thick shoulders - your coat dropping to the floor as his hips roll against yours. Teeth and tongue as the hard length of him digs into the curve of your hip, your breathing barely audible over the muted beats outside.

Hands wander again, palming your ass to press you flush against him. You own snaking down to cup him, feeling where he strains.

Klaue groans into your mouth. Pulling away with an effort, his eyes dark as you both stumble towards that rounded booth.

You wonder if he’s going to cage you in again - lay you down on the leather cushion as he stands between your thighs.

Instead, his hands are on your hips. Lifting you into the sleek top to sit. Your hands splaying across the glass as he slides into the booth proper. Hands catching under your thighs - a gentle push to spin you until your knees press into his ribs.

His eyes drag over your form, lingering where your breasts are near-level with his face - his tongue peeking out over his lower lip. Wide hands coming to trace the curve of your hips, fingertips that stroke the bare skin of your thighs.

“Didn’t know you were so filthy,” Klaue rasps, toying with the hem of your dress. The pretty fabric trapped between fingers that could tear it - you - to shreds.

Your teeth sinking into your lip as you bite back your smile. Trying to make it not seem too obvious when you shift into his touch - wanting more, as you tease back.

“I thought you knew everything.”

His laugh is rough and low - you don’t even notice the slow rucking up of your skirt, how the fabric bunches in his grip.

“I suppose not.” Klaue allows, “I also don’t know how you sound when you come.”

The wrist at your hips twists, knuckles brushing against your mound. That grin again, as a thumb strokes the silky fabric of your panties - his voice pitching low.

“But I think I’m going to find out.”

You’re nodding - eager to have his hands on you again. In this darkened room it feel easier to lean into it, into him. Into how much you really want this.

“Please.” You breathe as his head tips - his teeth scraping against your jaw. Moving towards your ear, goosebumps prickling across your skin.

His hand catches yours, dragging it down. To where his fingers tease and trace the elastic waistband.

“Hold this for me.” Klaue husks, and you’re taking what he offers without question.

The balled-up fabric of your dress. How it bunches up around your waist now, wrinkling in your tight grip. Putting yourself on display.

It feels filthy - holding it up, as he leans back in the booth to look. Fingers dragging down until they’re pressing against sticky, damp fabric.

Humming with you as you whine at his touch, feather-light as he traces you. Finding that spot like before, one that has your other hand reaching forward - curling around the back of his neck for balance. Fingers sliding over the velvet-short undercut, the strong curve where shoulder meets neck.

Pressing circles against your clit - the sensation damped by the thin layer, but the fact that it’s him, that he’s already there and touching you in a way that feels so intimately familiar - it’s an accelerant.

Your teeth clenched as you whine, the sound pitiful. Unable to escape the way he watches each and every expression. You try to match him, keep yours on those bright blue eyes, but you find your head tilting back - your eyes fluttering shut as your free hand fists in the fabric of his shirt.

A twisting and winding in your belly. Little unconscious jerks of your hips, matching the pace of his fingers. Until they’re curling - hooking around the gusset. Tugging it to the side, fingers now sliding over slick skin.

You groan, and he grins. A tug at shirt pulls him closer, until his lips are brushing against yours again. Not quite a kiss - hovering, like his fingers are.

Nudging the tip of one against your entrance. A tease, as a thumb swipes over your clit.

“So wet, princess.”

You can feel his lips move against yours. As he sinks into the knuckle, as you feel yourself clench around him. His teeth bared at the sound of your choked moan - withdrawing, only to push deeper with his next thrust.

Giving you something to tighten around, as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. Your arousal slicking up his palm as he starts a slow pace, a second teasing at your entrance before there’s the sweet stretch as he works it inside. Curling and dragging the pads of his fingertips against a spot that sends up sparks.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, as you tug again. Feeling the smile before his mouth presses against yours - letting yourself arch into him now. Chasing the slick plunge of his fingers, feeling the metallic chill of those thick rings when he presses deep.

He deepens the kiss when you gasp, when he feels the way you’ve started to go tense in his arms. A messy sweep of his tongue, drawing back to watch the pretty pinch of your brows.

“You’ve thought about this.” Klaue husks, his head tilting. Honeyed words mixing with the sticky, curling pump of his fingers - his expression knowing, “Thought about my tongue earlier, weren’t you? I could see it on your face.”

You think back to then - when he was in your office. That moment when you thought about him on his knees, that mouth of his between your thighs.

It’s almost too much. A tremor in your legs, as they try to close around him, but his hand is too broad, too strong.

He laughs then - each word enunciated, even to your hazy mind, “Tell me you want my mouth more than my fingers.”

You’re close. Each press of his heel perfectly timed, dreaming about how sweet that silver tongue would feel instead.

“I want-” You can barely gasp, “Fuck, I want your mouth.”

His lips press against your cheek, another to your jaw. The scruff of his beard as he groans in your ear.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to last that long,” He mock-sighs, the words almost wistful. “You feel like you’re about to come all over my fingers.”

The tiny part of your brain that is still functioning mourns the loss of his mouth. The barest flicker of thought before your vision starts to go blurry, the neon lights turning into streaks.

But Klaue appears merciful, after all - a hand coming up to press against your stomach, pushing your back down to the tabletop as he leans forward.

The wet, warm drag of his tongue replacing the press of his heel. A low groan right into your pussy as the angle of his fingers change, all the better to drag the tips against the spot that makes your toes.

All you can manage is a weak warble of his name, almost a warning. The sounds stuck in your throat as the room grows even more dim, each breath cut short and sharp.

“Come for me.” He growls, his lips shining with you. His voice no-nonsense, one you’ve heard him use on the phone.

It tips you over. The thudding of the music slowing and becoming dull, as you clench around him. Your release slick on the fingers that continue to pound into you, as you cry out. Both hand gripping onto him, as his lips close around your clit.

Feeling the pulse of your orgasm against the press of his tongue, until you’re left limp and boneless on that glass table.

His mouth presses against you in a lewd kiss as his fingers slip free. A wet drag of his tongue from your hole to your clit, his eyes bright and piercing as you slowly push yourself up onto an elbow.

Still breathing hard, your dress still clutched so tightly in your fist. Still hauling the fabric up to your belly, near-bare beneath. Too far gone to think about doing anything other than hanging on.

Klaue breaks the silence first, as he leans back against the bench. Looking a little less put-together as a hand rakes through his curls, buttons popped on his shirt from the way you had yanked on the fabric.

“I told you I’d give you anything.” His eyes are dark from this angle, glinting in the low light, “What do you want?”

It’s a surprisingly unselfish question. Putting the reigns in your hands. You swallow for a second, as you let your eyes wander. Still trying to find your tongue.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” He grins, “We are far past that, darling.”

You can see where his thighs spread wide, under the table. The long and hard curve of his cock, straining against the dark blue fabric of his trousers. Stiff from your mouth and your cunt and the way you gushed on his tongue.

The dress drops, so you can reach beneath. A lift of your hips as you peel your panties from your legs, holding them out between you like an offering.

His fingers brush yours as he takes them.

“Good girl.” Klaue husks, tucking them into his pocket. Offering a hand that you take, as he tugs you towards the edge of the table, and then into his lap.

You start to straddle him, but his hands find your hips instead. A careful shuffle as he flips you around, a gentle nudge forward that has you hovering, elbows resting on the table.

Giving him enough room to work open his belt. To close slick fingers around his heavy cock, groaning at the contact.

His other hand pushing your dress up again. Baring you fully, the fabric bunching up at your waist.

Pumping himself as he sees where you glisten, angling himself to press the blunt head against your slit.

You whine as he slides himself against you. Just pressing against your greedy hole before drawing back, slicking a fist over the tip.

“You drive me fucking crazy. You know that, darling?” He growls, as if you were the one teasing him. As you’re the one stopping him from taking you, from burying himself in the tight channel of your cunt.

“Ulysses, please-” You whine, and he laughs at that - his hand going still.

“Oh, it’s Ulysses, now?” There’s a grin in his voice that you can hear, amused “Not just Klaue?”

Teeth sink into your lip, as you try to rock back against him. As his thighs press against your knees, holding you firmly in place.

“Say it again, princess, and I’ll fuck you.” He rasps, his fingers sinking into the curve of your ass, “Just like you want me to. Come on.”

You do. For him, you do - the first syllable barely past your lips before he’s lining himself up, and then pulling you down to meet him.

The rest of his name strings out - breaking at the end on a high moan as you impale yourself on his cock, your back arching as he fills you.

It feels like he’s in your throat, a hand flattening unconsciously against your belly as if you could feel him there, inside you.

His answering groan is filthy in your ear, a guttural grunt as you rock yourself on his lap. Broad hands gripping your hips as he coaxes you back and forth, your own gripping onto the edge of the table for leverage.

The sound of skin slapping fills the air, his breath warm against your neck. A thought flickering - a realization that you could have had this for weeks now. This morning even - the briefest vision of yourself, bent over your own desk.

A hard thrust has you moaning his name, as your feet slide against the floor - trying to find purchase. Trying to keep up the pace, as you ride him.

A plea in the way your lips forms around the letters, as a thick arm hooks around your waist. Tugging you back, pushing him flush and deep as your back presses against his barrel chest.

His hand sliding up, between the valley of your breasts. A broad palm wrapping carefully around your throat like a necklace, the pressure holding you against him. As his beard scrapes against your jaw, his voice low and silky in your ear.

“You still begging for more, even though my fingers still taste like you?” He husks, as his right hand raises.

Fingers pressing against your lower lip, until they’re parting for him. Scraping past teeth, until you’re closing around him. Sucking.

Tasting yourself, like he said.

A pleased tone to his words, as he sighs, “Greedy girl. What am I going to do with you?”

Sliding his fingers from you then - spit stringing between glossy fingers. Dropping down to tap against your clit, the tips slipping against slick skin.

Then circling slowly, as his feet plant on the floor. Using the leverage to thrust up into you - the angle dragging his cock against your walls.

A moan bursting from your chest, your hips trying to flex into his touch. But he holds you firm. Makes you take what he gives you.

The pressure of his fingers increasing, a tingling in your guts that drops low and spreads. Your nails sinking into his arm - across those tattoos, feeling the muscles tense under your grasp - but he leans into it, as your breathing turns sharp.

“Klaue.” You bite out, between panting breaths, “Ulysses, please let me-”

Half-expecting him to slow. Or stop, his laugh ringing out - just to fuck with you.

Instead, his nose drags against the column of your neck. The thumb resting on your skin twitching, where he can feel your heart hammering beneath. A groan, as his lips ghost against the hollow under your ear.

A shiver running through you, at the tender contact. His voice coming after, pitched low.

Almost a growl.

“Oh, I’ll let you come again.” He tells you, “And this time, you are going to thank me.”

The words hang. Intent to recieve what you had so denied him before. The flood of relief blocked by an urge to protest, just because it’s him, and that’s what you do.

“Understood?” Klaue presses.

You don’t know if you have a choice. Everything drawing up tight as you squirm in his embrace. The press of his fingers unrelenting. Each one winding, winding, winding.

“Oh, fuck-”

Not even aware of the words as they slide from your lips. Concentrating too much on way he’s about to make you come, with steady pound of his cock, the wet swipe of his fingers.

Your body stringing tight, the words rushed, “Thank you, thank you-”

Toes curling, as it crashes into you. Your head tipping back as you moan, pressing into his shoulder.

“Such a good girl. See how easy that was?” He coos, as his hips still. Feeling how you pulse around him, his fingers still drawing the sensations out, “That’s it, cream on my fucking cock, princess.”

It’s all muted, as your head spins. As your vision goes hazy, your limbs limp and heavy.

You haven’t come that hard in a long time. Had forgotten how good it feels to have a cock nudged deep inside you, even as he tips you towards overestimation.

Each sound you make is a little gasp. Moving with him as he nudges you forward, your elbows pressing against the tabletop.

As he manages to stand behind you - a hand planting on the glass next to your hip. The other pressing down against the small of your back to hold you in place.

“Christ, you’re pretty when you come.” He groans, with a thrust of his hips, “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this.”

Starting as a slow and lazy as you feel, working his way up as his hips snap against yours, his heavy sack kissing against your clit again and again.

Somewhere in your mind you think about answering him - an admission that you’ve thought about it, too. That there’s been nights where you stretched yourself out on your own fingers, wishing they were his.

But he fills the silence for you. With low gasps and grunts that punctuate the intoxication drag of his cock.

“How you’re always running that pretty mouth of yours. Bossing me around in your office like the little spoiled princess that you are.”

You moan, rocking back to meet the grind of his hips, your cheek pressing against the cool glass. Too far gone in the haze of bliss and the continual pounding of his cock to form words, your answers coming in contented moan.

“But listen to how sweet you are now.” His voice goes honey-smooth, as he coos, “Just needed my thick cock, is that it?”

A whine rips through your throat, a broken fracture of his name woven in. He hums in amusement, unable to stop the filth that slips from his mouth. Goaded by the way you seem to grow slicker with his voice, the way you’re starting to clench down hard around him.

“Christ, if we were there now. I’d make you scream, darling.” The words are growled out, possessive. His body curving over yours, hands molding against your flesh as his lips press against your cheek. Those wild curls tickling your ear, each breath a ragged groan.

“Let those guard dogs of yours hear how you sound getting fucked like a man like me.”

The new angle of his cock has you seeing stars. His cock slick as he ruts into you, stroking along your inner walls. Bringing you closer as the head bumps against that spongey inner spot - you think you’re about to come again and he’s not even touching you, like before.

“Please-” You whimper, your fingertips making marks against the glass. A tight winding in your belly, your eyes closing.

Still able to see the glitter of those neon light as they slowly spin, reflecting off your skin.

But all you can feel is him.

It eclipses everything else, the spark that starts a flame - catching you off guard as it rips through you. A muffled half-laugh that you dimly register comes from him, as your promised shout is drowned out by the club beats.

A tight pulsing, as your thighs press together. Klaue’s praise gritted out in your ear as his thrusts turn sloppy - pleased and possessive and winding throughout the flicker of thought that still remains in your head.

“Fuck. Look at you, coming again.”

“That’s my good girl-”

And all too soon he’s pulling from you - leaving you empty. A split second as he yanks the panties from his pocket, wrapping it around his cock as he spills messily into the gusset.

His chest pressed against your back, as he stains the fabric, each pulse of his cock leaving him leaking into the gift you gave him. Grinding himself against the spot that’s still wet from your cunt.

That arm wraps around you again, as he sits back. Tugging you onto his lap, as your head tips against his shoulder, his hand splaying across your belly. A deep breath of contentment that matched you own, and you’re both brought back down.

An eyebrow quirking when you give him a look - your underwear still curled in his free hand. A smile, then - glinting, again.

“Didn’t think you wanted me dripping out of you.” It’s almost gentlemanly, as he shifts beneath you. His cock still pressing against the bare curve of your ass, his trousers pooled around his thighs - before he amends, “Not here, anyways.”

You don’t tell him, but you wouldn’t have minded. A little shiver at the thought of how it would have felt, to feel him - pressing tight against you, the pulse of his cock as he emptied himself into you.

“Not here?” You turn, where he’s watching - fingers tracing a pattern against your dress, “Is that an invitation?”

He growls, “God, yes.”

You can feel him twitch against your ass, still flushed and heavy.

“This was just a taste, love. I think our night is just beginning.” He coos, “Besides… you still need to have your dinner.

Klaue’s grin turns dark, as his fingers slowly start to drift down, settling between your thighs.

“And I haven’t had my dessert.”

I have been chipping away at this since December - if you made it this far, thank you so much! 🥺💖 hope you liked this!

[tarabyte3]

I've read this twice now and the visceral reaction I had to it even the second time.

First, the dialogue. Klaue has a filthy mouth and is so shameless and I LOVE it! And the teasing?! Like calling her Princess and teasing her about his name? Or when he makes her say "thank you" first??? My god. I could basically copy and paste every one of his lines here and rave about them.

Second, when he taps her to get her attention was the moment this fic went from amazing to "I'm in danger." He didn't even have to say anything!! 😭🥵 That was brilliant.

Lastly, the panties. The PANTIES. The. Panties. The grinding into the wet spot. That is going to live rent free in my head until the day I die. I will be on my deathbed, upsetting some poor nurse by talking about it.

Incredible work, Jess, as always. Everything you write is so sexy and fluid, and I am left sweaty and in awe.

— kitten’s got klaue(s)

ulysses klaue x f!reader

rated e - 7.6k

Tags: fun filth, flirting, annoyance-to-lovers, mention of alcohol, masturbation, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, sub/dom elements, fingering, one pussy slap, light choking, brief oral, dirty talk, soft sort-of degradation, rough sex

A/N: this is a request from ao3! And so inspired by the amazing Klaue fics by @tarrenterror25 and @the-eyes-of-andyserkis - please check them out! 💕

“Are you looking for anything else tonight, princess?”

You frown, “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

“I was thinking along the lines of dinner.” Klaue clarifies, before his voice lowers conspiratorially, “I do I love eating out.”

(You can’t stand him. So why can’t you stop thinking about him?)

He drove you mad.

You hated how he always seemed to press your buttons, wind you up. With everyone else, you were professional, and they returned that courtesy.

They’d meet you in clean-cut suits, never daring to let their eyes drag down your form like his did. Showing up to your meetings with a cocky grin and a wink - wearing khaki shirts that were half-unbuttoned.

Teasing you. Stepping a little too close, letting his voice lower until it was rough, husky rasp and you were imagining him saying other things to you, instead.

As if it wasn’t hard enough to negotiate, to keep your wits about you. Ensuring the family business was kept running smoothly.

Klaue was a wild card.

But he got you the things you needed, things that no one else could.

Unable to help dangling them, with narrowed eyes and a curving smirk, before handing them over.

Tonight, in your private office, he lets his hip bump yours. His chin sweeping against your shoulder as he opens the metal case. Letting you check through it, though you can feel the brush of his chest against your back with each breath, smell the sharp curl of his cologne.

Pointing out the details as you nod, noting with satisfaction that he’s managed precisely what you’re looking for.

All that was left was to agree to a price.

“It will do,” You sigh, putting on a show.

Turning, until you’re facing him. His hands shove into his pockets then, the shirt pulling tight across his chest.

His brow quirks, and your head tilts, “What are you looking for it?”

“Half-mil.”

You scoff at his answer, the sound sliding from your throat before you can stop it. A mark deepening between your brows, as your lips purse, “I thought you told me four.”

“I’ve told you a lot of things,” He shrugs, his eyes glittering, “You’re not the only one looking for this. Price’s gone up.”

It’s a bluff, you think.

Your eyes scan his, the sharp chips of bright blue. Down to the crisp white of the dress shirt he wears today. A loose tie that matches his eyes - a vest a few shades darker.

His jacket missing, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark ink on his arm - showing that he’s not like them. He’s his own man, not constrained to stuffy suits, pointed leather shoes.

Your fingers lift to his tie, tracing the knot. Carefully straightening it, before smoothing it down against his chest. It’s a soft attempt to gain the upper hand, to distract him - letting your eyes sweep over the flash of his tattooed sternum, the curl of grey-flecked hair peeking out.

“Four.” You repeat, an upward tilt of your chin, until you’re meeting his gaze again.

Where he’s watching, with half-lidded eyes. Curious and amused, the peek of his tongue as he wets his lips.

A long pause, a moment where you hold your breath - waiting for his answer. Before it comes, sliding through his lips with a grin.

“Fine.”

The two of you shake on it, biting back your own smile - your hand dwarfed in his. Trying not to think too much about it, the pressure of his grip, his thick fingers.

"There now. Aren't you going to thank me?" There's a lilt to his voice, the slight sweep of his thumb against the back of your hand.

"Thank you?" Your answering laugh is a short, derisive thing, "For accepting the price we had originally agreed upon? I don't think so."

You haven't thanked him before, and you certainly weren't about to start now.

He grins with a shrug, as the handshake lingers for just a moment longer - until your hands drop, and you’re closing the case. The money will be wired over tonight, the item shipped out in the morning.

Your job here is done.

But Klaue still hovers, arms crossed over his chest. Displaying his thick forearms, his hip pressing into the sturdy table.

Silently watching, until that glint in his eye is back. Until he’s asking, “Are you looking for anything else tonight, princess?”

The words drawn out, a suggestive lilt to the end. His little nicknames should probably make you bristle - a jab at your put-together veneer. But instead, his words make your stomach flip, butterflies taking flight.

You frown, “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

“I was thinking along the lines of dinner.” Klaue clarifies, before his voice lowers conspiratorially, “I do I love eating out.”

His tongue pinches between his teeth as he smirks, the look hungry. Amused with himself, how he flusters you so easily.

“I’m, um-” It’s difficult to find words, to tear your eyes away from his mouth. Even harder still, not to read into his words - to imagine hands pushing up the hem of your pencil skirt.

Wondering if he’d sink to his knees for you, right now.

What that hair would feel like, as your fingers wrapped in the curls and tugged. If you’d find out just how sweet his tongue is - even with security waiting right outside the door, ready and waiting to escort him out.

You think he would. His devil-may-care attitude has gotten him further than most, this would be nothing. It’s almost… thrilling.

Finding your voice, you finish lamely, “-I have another meeting, after this.”

He’s undeterred, moving closer. Stalking almost, two smooth steps with rolling shoulders, fingers touching down on your desk, framing your hips.

It had your mind wandering again, resisting the urge to arch into him, to close that small bit of space between you.

“Drinks then?” The gold in his teeth glint off the low lamp light as he grins. His voice lowering again, smooth as silk, “Or we could just cut to the chase, and go back to mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his boldness. Always circling with looks and teasing words, the slightest of touches, never a direct offer like this.

And god, it was tempting.

But the push-and-pull had always been a game you both played - you were not one to start agreeing so easily now.

“Inappropriate,” you murmur, but all he does is laugh.

His arms move then - spreading out wide.

Stepping back as he grins.

“Oh, princess. Are you going to tell daddy what a bad man I am?,” He challenges, “Go on then, call your dogs on me.”

Your lips are parting, his words doing something to you. A warmth curling in your stomach - stealing your words and your sharp tongue.

His look is knowing, “I thought so.”

The smug tone to his words being you back. Giving him your own look - annoyed and amused and oh so very curious.

A beat, before you ask, “Which bar?”

“The Andromeda.” The look in his eyes soften, along with his smile, “No business darling, just pleasure.”

You knew the place. It was new, trendy. Expensive, and you wonder if he’s trying to impress you, or if it was a genuine attempt to take you somewhere nice.

It was also popular with a number of your clients.

You consider him for a long moment. Before you surprise yourself, the words sliding from your tongue, “How about Neon Blue? 9pm. Less prying eyes.”

“Excellent,” Klaue smiles, and it’s a little different than others he’s given you. Missing a sardonic edge - almost as if he really is pleased.

“It’s a date, princess.”

You don’t know why you spend so much time primping. Still unable to believe that you had spoken up, agreed to meet with him.

But part of you knows why.

You’re curious.

Wanting to know what he’s like. To give into the silver-tongued compliments. See if the innuendos and insinuations are as accurate as he’s hinted at.

Because there’s no illusions to your meeting. An intent to his invitation, a clear resolution to the evening.

He’s a mercenary, an arms dealer.

God knows what else.

But tonight, you don’t really care about that. You’ve been circling each other for months, and there’s something freeing, knowing what he wants.

No strings attached. Just one night.

It was a win-win. Either you had a good time, and your fingers were crossed that it would be good - or if it went poorly, at least you’d stop imagining him late at night, when you were alone.

Wondering, replaying certain phrases. The looks he gives you, the ones you give in return. Gasping into your pillow, eyes screwed shut as you imagined your fingers were thicker. Longer.

You get to the nightclub early, sneaking out to take a cab instead of letting one of the drivers take you.

Thinking you’d scope the place out, find a nice little corner. A place to watch and see if he’ll really show up.

When you get inside, it’s already full. Rows of deep leather booths and glossy tables on one side. The light turned down low, a hazy blue. White neon script flashing with the music - some club tune you don’t recognize.

Furtively glancing around as you move deeper. Scanning the crowd until you land on a pair as bright as the namesake.

He’s already here. Already waiting.

A broad hand cupping his chin, just watching. A lazy grin, a crook of two fingers when you start to move his way.

Stepping out of the dark corner booth, letting you shrug off your fuzzy winter coat. Folding it in the corner as you slide in, and he fits himself in right next to you.

A waitress stops by a few minutes later. Dropping off a short glass with elaborate cuttings, filled with an amber liquid. A taller one - pretty and garnished with a bright red cherry, a little umbrella.

She beams at him as he slips her some extra cash, a wink. You try not to think about why your stomach flips, as he passes you the glass.

“How did you know what I drink?” You ask, peering down, into it. An exact replica of your usual, the same fruity tang when you take a sip.

His eyes are dark, watching. Another one of those smiles, the glint of his gold teeth, “I make it my business to know everything.”

Enigmatic. Infuriating.

Part of you should be concerned that he knew - but you knew how this world worked. How knowing and secrets were collected, used.

Instead, it has you interested. That he took the time to find this out about you, to order it in advance for your arrival.

“Well,” You allow, fingers tracing them stem, "I appreciate it."

He looks pleased, his eyes swooping over you, lingering, “You look beautiful. I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up.”

Your eyebrow arches, a low weight starting to warm in your belly, “Why is that?”

“You work too hard.” He comments idly, “Did you eat before you came here?”

It feels like a genuine question, his words holding none of the humor or sardonic edge that usually laces it. But it’s the first part that captures your attention, as you decidedly ignore the second.

“I didn’t know you were privy to my work schedule.” Your elbow presses into the glossy table top, your palm propping up your chin.

Angling yourself to look at him. Watching as he takes a drink from his own glass - the way his head tips back, the flex of his neck as he swallows.

All that skin, disappearing down to the buttons popped on his white dress shirt. The peek of hair and dark shadow of his tattoo - the tie discarded sometime between before and now.

You wonder what it looks like, the ink that swirls across his chest. You’ve only gotten glimpses of it. Wondering where else those tattoos spread.

Eyes flicking away when his hand drops, not wanting to be caught staring. Still catching the peek of his tongue as it swipes over his lip. A low hum, before he answers - a tilt of the glass in your direction.

“You answer my emails in the middle of the night.”

It’s not the answer you’re expecting. It throws you off balance, as you scramble for a response, “You travel constantly. How would you know what time it is here?”

The curl of his smile is knowing. Ignoring your question like you had his, as he copies your pose. Fingers stroking the edge of his beard.

“It’s always made me wonder, princess. Would you say it’s your work ethic?” He muses, before he leans closer, his voice dropping, “Or have I just made that much of an impression?”

You scoff, eyes rolling away. Focusing on your drink instead, head dipping to catch the straw - take a long sip.

“Why did you ask me to meet you then, if you know how busy I am?”

He sighs, then. Fingers drumming on the tabletop. A ruse, as his lips part - tongue brushing over teeth.

“Thought you could use some good stress relief.”

You scoff, “Is that right?”

An eyebrow cocks - that smile back,“You’re the one up at 4am, sweetheart. You tell me.”

Your eyes lock for a long moment. Flustered by the attention, not quite sure how to play this game.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

You muster up an answer, trying to match his cryptic answers, “I give you the same attention I give everyone else.”

“Is that right?” Klaue’s head cocks, a shift as his spread thigh brushes yours.

Too close, in this cramped booth. It has you distracted, watching the roll of his shoulder as his arms slings along the back of the booth.

“Who did you meet with after me, then?” He asks conversationally, as you suck the last of your drink through your straw, “Who else is so worthy of your time?”

Your eyes flick towards him, considering your answer, “I thought you said this was pleasure, not business.”

“I find that they have a tendency to mix,” His drink swirls in his glass, his eyes on yours as he tastes a long swallow. Your own drawn down to his mouth as his tongue peeks out to pass across his lower lip.

“Though, if it’s pleasure you want…”

You cut him off, with a little cock of your head. Fishing out a name just to see what he would say. A way to tease him back, even if it’s small.

“What if I said it was with Tony Stark?”

The grin on his face turns sharp, his eyes narrowing - calculating. A slight edge to his voice when he answers, “I didn’t know you did business with Stark.”

With Stark. With his shiny cars, and tailored suits and well-known playboy reputation.

“Are you jealous?” You ask, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“No.” Klaue scoffs - though he’s watching you.

He’s thinking about it, as his eyes jump between yours. Down to your mouth. Down, even further.

Amending his answer, with his gaze fixed on where one of your thighs crosses over the other - the expanse of skin where the short fabric pulls.

“Only if you let him taste you before I got the chance.”

They rise then, his look heated. Your own matching his, as he leans even more into your space.

Daring you to close that little gap between you. It would be so easy, to take what you know you both want. To tip your mouth up to his, to finally find out what it feels like.

But - you can’t deny it. That you want him to come to you.

So instead, your fingers dip inside the rim of your glass. Fishing out the cherry - letting him watch the way your lips curve around the plump fruit. Before you tug on the stem, a soft moan at the sweet taste.

His exhale is rough, a low noise in his throat as he leans forward. A wide hand cupping your jaw, the drag of his thumb across your lower lip, left glossy from the cherry.

Before your eyes flutter closed, and his mouth presses hungrily against yours.

You groan into the kiss, the brush of his tongue as you let him in. Months of tension finally snapping, as a spark ignite in your belly. Fingers reaching for him, grasping at a sleeve, anything you can reach.

Klaue leans into you, his hand tilting your jaw up to him. Pulling back the smallest bit so he can see how your eye lashes flutter, a grin as his other hand curls around your waist, pulling you closer.

Your hand on his sleeve sliding to brace against his broad chest.

Only breaking to suck in a breath, lips kiss-swollen as you glance up at him from under your eyelashes.

To where he grins with half-lidded eyes of his own - the bright flash of something cherry-red between white teeth, before he bites down.

Stolen right from your mouth, with a hot swirl of his tongue.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, your words coming out soft and breathy, “I wanted that.”

He laughs, a rough sound that makes goosebump raise on your skin - making you want to kiss him again. Words low and slow and he leans in.

“I will get you more.”

His lips brush yours.

“I’ll give you anything you want.”

Kissing you again, tasting of whiskey and candy-sweet cherry.

Crowding you towards the back of the booth, in the dim corner. A hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you close - the other bracing against the edge of the table.

Your own wandering, brushing over a thigh, across his chest. Finding the deep cut of his open shirt, fingers slipping over ink and grey-peppered whorls of hair.

He licks into your mouth and you sigh - fully giving into him now. Wanting to feel his press of his bare fingers against your skin. Wanting to trace every inch of his tattoos - find out just where they go when they disappear under his shirt.

A brush then, of fingers. His grip loosening on the table, tracing a pattern against your knee. Curling against your thigh, his thumb sweeping across sensitive skin as your legs seem to nudge wider on their own.

His groan is filthy, deep and rasping. A slow inch of a fingertip just a little higher, towards where you’re aching and molten.

It’s dark, in this corner. The lights dimming as the evening goes on. You think you’d let him, in this moment. Let him touch you the way he’s thinking, with that teasing sweep of his fingers. A mutual testing of the water.

A dark look that passes across his face, when the kiss breaks. The tilt of his head, as he considers you - his fingers still firmly fixed in place.

Your lips part, but a voice interrupts you.

A man, calling out his name with a crisp familiarity. Klaue’s head turning, a short greeting barked out.

An impatient twitch of his fingers, the chill of his rings pressing against your thigh.

Against his will, he is pulled in. Unwilling to make a scene in such a public place, not with you in tow. It’d be different if it was in his office - over the phone. The man never would have stood a chance, then.

You wait, one minute sliding into the next. His thumb resumes its sweeping after one more, slowly inching upward.

Just brushing where you need it, where your heartbeat thuds.

It’s then, that you get another idea.

Your coat tucked across your lap, as if you’re cold. Not unusual, with the weather outside - all whipping, icy winds through the tall glass skyscrapers.

One more minute before your hand is slipping beneath. The nudge of your thighs as they widen just a little more. The press of your fingers as they map his.

Bringing him to bridge that final gap, a stifled moan when you push his palm to cup the heat of your cunt.

His hand freezes, for the briefest second. All four fingers curving against you, brushing against that pretty fabric, the heel of his hand nudging against the spot that seems to throb.

Just catching a sharp inhale of breath, a tightness in his shoulders. Before his fingers twitch - the slightest pull back so the tip of the middle strokes across your clothed slit.

Pressing against the fabric that you know he can feel is damp. The twitch of the others as they brush that overlap of warm skin and the cut of the elastic.

Each movement achingly slow, winding you up further. A fingernail catching under the edge of your panties, your own fingers gripping his arm in anticipation.

Almost dripping at the thought of his fingers sinking into you, right here. For him to feel how wet he’s made you, how easily it would be to fill you.

Thrilled with his split attention, knowing it’s more on you than the man’s questions, with the constant press and circle of his fingertips.

It has your eyes - your thoughts - drifting, as his touch continue. The lazy sweeping press against the soaked fabric. Swirling in soft circles as you feel yourself clench.

Unable to help the shift of your hips into his hand. Increasing the pressure, eyes unseeing as you lean into the pleasure, the secrecy. Both of them fueling the fire that roars in your belly.

The fingers pause for the briefest second. Pulling back - before landing a soft tap right against your cunt.

It makes you jerk - thighs pressing together as a spark arcs up your spine. Trapping him against you as your eyes flash to his.

Catching the curl of a smile and a heated look from the corner of his eye.

You think you can read it. The expression on his face.

“Behave.”

Or, perhaps it’s - “Eyes on Me.”

Yes, that seems more likely. Wanting your focus fully on him, taking what you had asked for.

So, you lean into it. Into him, that heavy bulk of a thick arm. The muscles flexing as you wraps yourself around it, with each press of his fingers.

The one that used to have tattoos - now replaced with dark seams that travel and split down his forearm.

A story that you haven’t been told before, but had heard whispers. Clinging to him like a second skin.

Leaving you to wonder, as your chest presses against him. The fingers of your other hand tracing over the deep crease in his trousers, where hip meets thigh.

Muscles tense under your fingertips.

The conversation now wraps up quickly. Funny how that is, as you stroke a path that slowly moves inward.

Those bright, hungry eyes back on yours the second the man turns.

Your low sigh, as your chin presses into his shoulder, “Thank god. I thought he’d never leave.”

At that, he smiles. White and gold and sharp, his eyes sweeping down to where you press against him.

“I was hoping he’d stay longer.” Klaue confesses, his voice low. Going lower - rougher - as he adds, “Wanted to see if I could make you come, right in front of him.”

His words catch in your chest, as heat burns in your face. The images flashing in your mind as his fingers twitch against the tight nub of your clit. Your thighs clenching around him as you think about it - him bringing you to the edge right there, and then crashing over.

“Is that right?” You try to match his tone - daring him, “Is that all you wanted to see?”

His grin sharpens, and his fingers leave you. Pulling up, before passing over his mouth in contemplation. As he inhales the scent of you, after.

“No. Not just that. And not here,” Klaue rasps, “Come with me.”

You let him take your hand as he slides from the booth. Hauling you up easily, as your coat tucks under your arm. Guiding you in front of him, as he ushers you towards the dark hallways in the back.

The thudding reverb of the music matching the one between your thighs. The press of him, hard and curving, against your ass every time you have to wait - pausing for people getting out of their booths.

The fingers on your hip pinching, squeezing. Letting him move in front as a bouncer steps aside with a nod, letting you both past.

A hand closing around your wrist again - a tug as you’re pulled into the first open room.

It’s dim as you enter - mood lighting bathing the room in light blue neon. An old disco ball turns, refracting the light in a bright glitter across the room. The back wall looking out into the city through a tinted window - framing the rounded booth beneath, the table set close in front of it.

The rest of the room blurring as the door snaps shut behind you. His hand splaying against the wall as he boxes you in - as you melt from the way he surrounds you.

A slow lean forward, as your hands brace against his chest, watching as your eyes drop to his mouth. Your own sliding shut after, as he closes the gap. Stepping into you, as his teeth nip at your bottom lip.

The slightest pinch, before he’s kissing you. Devouring you - so much more than before, at the table. Broad hands that cup your face, holding it in place. A palm that smoothes down your neck - wide enough to span the length, a thumb that rests in the hollow of your throat.

Your own hands finding thick shoulders - your coat dropping to the floor as his hips roll against yours. Teeth and tongue as the hard length of him digs into the curve of your hip, your breathing barely audible over the muted beats outside.

Hands wander again, palming your ass to press you flush against him. You own snaking down to cup him, feeling where he strains.

Klaue groans into your mouth. Pulling away with an effort, his eyes dark as you both stumble towards that rounded booth.

You wonder if he’s going to cage you in again - lay you down on the leather cushion as he stands between your thighs.

Instead, his hands are on your hips. Lifting you into the sleek top to sit. Your hands splaying across the glass as he slides into the booth proper. Hands catching under your thighs - a gentle push to spin you until your knees press into his ribs.

His eyes drag over your form, lingering where your breasts are near-level with his face - his tongue peeking out over his lower lip. Wide hands coming to trace the curve of your hips, fingertips that stroke the bare skin of your thighs.

“Didn’t know you were so filthy,” Klaue rasps, toying with the hem of your dress. The pretty fabric trapped between fingers that could tear it - you - to shreds.

Your teeth sinking into your lip as you bite back your smile. Trying to make it not seem too obvious when you shift into his touch - wanting more, as you tease back.

“I thought you knew everything.”

His laugh is rough and low - you don’t even notice the slow rucking up of your skirt, how the fabric bunches in his grip.

“I suppose not.” Klaue allows, “I also don’t know how you sound when you come.”

The wrist at your hips twists, knuckles brushing against your mound. That grin again, as a thumb strokes the silky fabric of your panties - his voice pitching low.

“But I think I’m going to find out.”

You’re nodding - eager to have his hands on you again. In this darkened room it feel easier to lean into it, into him. Into how much you really want this.

“Please.” You breathe as his head tips - his teeth scraping against your jaw. Moving towards your ear, goosebumps prickling across your skin.

His hand catches yours, dragging it down. To where his fingers tease and trace the elastic waistband.

“Hold this for me.” Klaue husks, and you’re taking what he offers without question.

The balled-up fabric of your dress. How it bunches up around your waist now, wrinkling in your tight grip. Putting yourself on display.

It feels filthy - holding it up, as he leans back in the booth to look. Fingers dragging down until they’re pressing against sticky, damp fabric.

Humming with you as you whine at his touch, feather-light as he traces you. Finding that spot like before, one that has your other hand reaching forward - curling around the back of his neck for balance. Fingers sliding over the velvet-short undercut, the strong curve where shoulder meets neck.

Pressing circles against your clit - the sensation damped by the thin layer, but the fact that it’s him, that he’s already there and touching you in a way that feels so intimately familiar - it’s an accelerant.

Your teeth clenched as you whine, the sound pitiful. Unable to escape the way he watches each and every expression. You try to match him, keep yours on those bright blue eyes, but you find your head tilting back - your eyes fluttering shut as your free hand fists in the fabric of his shirt.

A twisting and winding in your belly. Little unconscious jerks of your hips, matching the pace of his fingers. Until they’re curling - hooking around the gusset. Tugging it to the side, fingers now sliding over slick skin.

You groan, and he grins. A tug at shirt pulls him closer, until his lips are brushing against yours again. Not quite a kiss - hovering, like his fingers are.

Nudging the tip of one against your entrance. A tease, as a thumb swipes over your clit.

“So wet, princess.”

You can feel his lips move against yours. As he sinks into the knuckle, as you feel yourself clench around him. His teeth bared at the sound of your choked moan - withdrawing, only to push deeper with his next thrust.

Giving you something to tighten around, as the heel of his hand presses against your clit. Your arousal slicking up his palm as he starts a slow pace, a second teasing at your entrance before there’s the sweet stretch as he works it inside. Curling and dragging the pads of his fingertips against a spot that sends up sparks.

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, as you tug again. Feeling the smile before his mouth presses against yours - letting yourself arch into him now. Chasing the slick plunge of his fingers, feeling the metallic chill of those thick rings when he presses deep.

He deepens the kiss when you gasp, when he feels the way you’ve started to go tense in his arms. A messy sweep of his tongue, drawing back to watch the pretty pinch of your brows.

“You’ve thought about this.” Klaue husks, his head tilting. Honeyed words mixing with the sticky, curling pump of his fingers - his expression knowing, “Thought about my tongue earlier, weren’t you? I could see it on your face.”

You think back to then - when he was in your office. That moment when you thought about him on his knees, that mouth of his between your thighs.

It’s almost too much. A tremor in your legs, as they try to close around him, but his hand is too broad, too strong.

He laughs then - each word enunciated, even to your hazy mind, “Tell me you want my mouth more than my fingers.”

You’re close. Each press of his heel perfectly timed, dreaming about how sweet that silver tongue would feel instead.

“I want-” You can barely gasp, “Fuck, I want your mouth.”

His lips press against your cheek, another to your jaw. The scruff of his beard as he groans in your ear.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to last that long,” He mock-sighs, the words almost wistful. “You feel like you’re about to come all over my fingers.”

The tiny part of your brain that is still functioning mourns the loss of his mouth. The barest flicker of thought before your vision starts to go blurry, the neon lights turning into streaks.

But Klaue appears merciful, after all - a hand coming up to press against your stomach, pushing your back down to the tabletop as he leans forward.

The wet, warm drag of his tongue replacing the press of his heel. A low groan right into your pussy as the angle of his fingers change, all the better to drag the tips against the spot that makes your toes.

All you can manage is a weak warble of his name, almost a warning. The sounds stuck in your throat as the room grows even more dim, each breath cut short and sharp.

“Come for me.” He growls, his lips shining with you. His voice no-nonsense, one you’ve heard him use on the phone.

It tips you over. The thudding of the music slowing and becoming dull, as you clench around him. Your release slick on the fingers that continue to pound into you, as you cry out. Both hand gripping onto him, as his lips close around your clit.

Feeling the pulse of your orgasm against the press of his tongue, until you’re left limp and boneless on that glass table.

His mouth presses against you in a lewd kiss as his fingers slip free. A wet drag of his tongue from your hole to your clit, his eyes bright and piercing as you slowly push yourself up onto an elbow.

Still breathing hard, your dress still clutched so tightly in your fist. Still hauling the fabric up to your belly, near-bare beneath. Too far gone to think about doing anything other than hanging on.

Klaue breaks the silence first, as he leans back against the bench. Looking a little less put-together as a hand rakes through his curls, buttons popped on his shirt from the way you had yanked on the fabric.

“I told you I’d give you anything.” His eyes are dark from this angle, glinting in the low light, “What do you want?”

It’s a surprisingly unselfish question. Putting the reigns in your hands. You swallow for a second, as you let your eyes wander. Still trying to find your tongue.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” He grins, “We are far past that, darling.”

You can see where his thighs spread wide, under the table. The long and hard curve of his cock, straining against the dark blue fabric of his trousers. Stiff from your mouth and your cunt and the way you gushed on his tongue.

The dress drops, so you can reach beneath. A lift of your hips as you peel your panties from your legs, holding them out between you like an offering.

His fingers brush yours as he takes them.

“Good girl.” Klaue husks, tucking them into his pocket. Offering a hand that you take, as he tugs you towards the edge of the table, and then into his lap.

You start to straddle him, but his hands find your hips instead. A careful shuffle as he flips you around, a gentle nudge forward that has you hovering, elbows resting on the table.

Giving him enough room to work open his belt. To close slick fingers around his heavy cock, groaning at the contact.

His other hand pushing your dress up again. Baring you fully, the fabric bunching up at your waist.

Pumping himself as he sees where you glisten, angling himself to press the blunt head against your slit.

You whine as he slides himself against you. Just pressing against your greedy hole before drawing back, slicking a fist over the tip.

“You drive me fucking crazy. You know that, darling?” He growls, as if you were the one teasing him. As you’re the one stopping him from taking you, from burying himself in the tight channel of your cunt.

“Ulysses, please-” You whine, and he laughs at that - his hand going still.

“Oh, it’s Ulysses, now?” There’s a grin in his voice that you can hear, amused “Not just Klaue?”

Teeth sink into your lip, as you try to rock back against him. As his thighs press against your knees, holding you firmly in place.

“Say it again, princess, and I’ll fuck you.” He rasps, his fingers sinking into the curve of your ass, “Just like you want me to. Come on.”

You do. For him, you do - the first syllable barely past your lips before he’s lining himself up, and then pulling you down to meet him.

The rest of his name strings out - breaking at the end on a high moan as you impale yourself on his cock, your back arching as he fills you.

It feels like he’s in your throat, a hand flattening unconsciously against your belly as if you could feel him there, inside you.

His answering groan is filthy in your ear, a guttural grunt as you rock yourself on his lap. Broad hands gripping your hips as he coaxes you back and forth, your own gripping onto the edge of the table for leverage.

The sound of skin slapping fills the air, his breath warm against your neck. A thought flickering - a realization that you could have had this for weeks now. This morning even - the briefest vision of yourself, bent over your own desk.

A hard thrust has you moaning his name, as your feet slide against the floor - trying to find purchase. Trying to keep up the pace, as you ride him.

A plea in the way your lips forms around the letters, as a thick arm hooks around your waist. Tugging you back, pushing him flush and deep as your back presses against his barrel chest.

His hand sliding up, between the valley of your breasts. A broad palm wrapping carefully around your throat like a necklace, the pressure holding you against him. As his beard scrapes against your jaw, his voice low and silky in your ear.

“You still begging for more, even though my fingers still taste like you?” He husks, as his right hand raises.

Fingers pressing against your lower lip, until they’re parting for him. Scraping past teeth, until you’re closing around him. Sucking.

Tasting yourself, like he said.

A pleased tone to his words, as he sighs, “Greedy girl. What am I going to do with you?”

Sliding his fingers from you then - spit stringing between glossy fingers. Dropping down to tap against your clit, the tips slipping against slick skin.

Then circling slowly, as his feet plant on the floor. Using the leverage to thrust up into you - the angle dragging his cock against your walls.

A moan bursting from your chest, your hips trying to flex into his touch. But he holds you firm. Makes you take what he gives you.

The pressure of his fingers increasing, a tingling in your guts that drops low and spreads. Your nails sinking into his arm - across those tattoos, feeling the muscles tense under your grasp - but he leans into it, as your breathing turns sharp.

“Klaue.” You bite out, between panting breaths, “Ulysses, please let me-”

Half-expecting him to slow. Or stop, his laugh ringing out - just to fuck with you.

Instead, his nose drags against the column of your neck. The thumb resting on your skin twitching, where he can feel your heart hammering beneath. A groan, as his lips ghost against the hollow under your ear.

A shiver running through you, at the tender contact. His voice coming after, pitched low.

Almost a growl.

“Oh, I’ll let you come again.” He tells you, “And this time, you are going to thank me.”

The words hang. Intent to recieve what you had so denied him before. The flood of relief blocked by an urge to protest, just because it’s him, and that’s what you do.

“Understood?” Klaue presses.

You don’t know if you have a choice. Everything drawing up tight as you squirm in his embrace. The press of his fingers unrelenting. Each one winding, winding, winding.

“Oh, fuck-”

Not even aware of the words as they slide from your lips. Concentrating too much on way he’s about to make you come, with steady pound of his cock, the wet swipe of his fingers.

Your body stringing tight, the words rushed, “Thank you, thank you-”

Toes curling, as it crashes into you. Your head tipping back as you moan, pressing into his shoulder.

“Such a good girl. See how easy that was?” He coos, as his hips still. Feeling how you pulse around him, his fingers still drawing the sensations out, “That’s it, cream on my fucking cock, princess.”

It’s all muted, as your head spins. As your vision goes hazy, your limbs limp and heavy.

You haven’t come that hard in a long time. Had forgotten how good it feels to have a cock nudged deep inside you, even as he tips you towards overestimation.

Each sound you make is a little gasp. Moving with him as he nudges you forward, your elbows pressing against the tabletop.

As he manages to stand behind you - a hand planting on the glass next to your hip. The other pressing down against the small of your back to hold you in place.

“Christ, you’re pretty when you come.” He groans, with a thrust of his hips, “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this.”

Starting as a slow and lazy as you feel, working his way up as his hips snap against yours, his heavy sack kissing against your clit again and again.

Somewhere in your mind you think about answering him - an admission that you’ve thought about it, too. That there’s been nights where you stretched yourself out on your own fingers, wishing they were his.

But he fills the silence for you. With low gasps and grunts that punctuate the intoxication drag of his cock.

“How you’re always running that pretty mouth of yours. Bossing me around in your office like the little spoiled princess that you are.”

You moan, rocking back to meet the grind of his hips, your cheek pressing against the cool glass. Too far gone in the haze of bliss and the continual pounding of his cock to form words, your answers coming in contented moan.

“But listen to how sweet you are now.” His voice goes honey-smooth, as he coos, “Just needed my thick cock, is that it?”

A whine rips through your throat, a broken fracture of his name woven in. He hums in amusement, unable to stop the filth that slips from his mouth. Goaded by the way you seem to grow slicker with his voice, the way you’re starting to clench down hard around him.

“Christ, if we were there now. I’d make you scream, darling.” The words are growled out, possessive. His body curving over yours, hands molding against your flesh as his lips press against your cheek. Those wild curls tickling your ear, each breath a ragged groan.

“Let those guard dogs of yours hear how you sound getting fucked like a man like me.”

The new angle of his cock has you seeing stars. His cock slick as he ruts into you, stroking along your inner walls. Bringing you closer as the head bumps against that spongey inner spot - you think you’re about to come again and he’s not even touching you, like before.

“Please-” You whimper, your fingertips making marks against the glass. A tight winding in your belly, your eyes closing.

Still able to see the glitter of those neon light as they slowly spin, reflecting off your skin.

But all you can feel is him.

It eclipses everything else, the spark that starts a flame - catching you off guard as it rips through you. A muffled half-laugh that you dimly register comes from him, as your promised shout is drowned out by the club beats.

A tight pulsing, as your thighs press together. Klaue’s praise gritted out in your ear as his thrusts turn sloppy - pleased and possessive and winding throughout the flicker of thought that still remains in your head.

“Fuck. Look at you, coming again.”

“That’s my good girl-”

And all too soon he’s pulling from you - leaving you empty. A split second as he yanks the panties from his pocket, wrapping it around his cock as he spills messily into the gusset.

His chest pressed against your back, as he stains the fabric, each pulse of his cock leaving him leaking into the gift you gave him. Grinding himself against the spot that’s still wet from your cunt.

That arm wraps around you again, as he sits back. Tugging you onto his lap, as your head tips against his shoulder, his hand splaying across your belly. A deep breath of contentment that matched you own, and you’re both brought back down.

An eyebrow quirking when you give him a look - your underwear still curled in his free hand. A smile, then - glinting, again.

“Didn’t think you wanted me dripping out of you.” It’s almost gentlemanly, as he shifts beneath you. His cock still pressing against the bare curve of your ass, his trousers pooled around his thighs - before he amends, “Not here, anyways.”

You don’t tell him, but you wouldn’t have minded. A little shiver at the thought of how it would have felt, to feel him - pressing tight against you, the pulse of his cock as he emptied himself into you.

“Not here?” You turn, where he’s watching - fingers tracing a pattern against your dress, “Is that an invitation?”

He growls, “God, yes.”

You can feel him twitch against your ass, still flushed and heavy.

“This was just a taste, love. I think our night is just beginning.” He coos, “Besides… you still need to have your dinner.

Klaue’s grin turns dark, as his fingers slowly start to drift down, settling between your thighs.

“And I haven’t had my dessert.”

I have been chipping away at this since December - if you made it this far, thank you so much! 🥺💖 hope you liked this!