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the-horned-pyramids · 4 months

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Love is a killer that never dies (part 2)

Dracule Mihawk x reader. NSFW!! Discussion of dub-con.

Sex Pollen!AU for the short series that began with Built a haven for your love (until I let you fall apart). Can be read as a standalone.

This is part two of four.

Title taken by another song by Beast in Black -Born Again- since it's not part of the main continuity. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

*****

He didn’t know whether the bed he was lying on was his or hers, if they were at the fortress or in his home on Kuraigana or somewhere else; he didn’t need to know. All he cared for was that (name) was next to him, and that they were both naked.

The light of the sun played on her smooth skin, making her appear even more radiant than she usually was; the candid blanket that covered the lower half of her body rustled as she turned on her side towards him, a hand raised in an inviting, enticing gesture.

“Mihawk…” she murmured; she had said his name so many times already over the years, but never like this; never like he wanted her to say it “Mihawk, please… take me, I need you so much…”

He didn’t answer; at least, he didn’t think he did, but a moment later (name) was above him, her legs caging his hips, her lovely face close enough the swordsman could feel her breath on his skin; she was smiling, and he knew that in that moment no other man, and no other woman, existed apart from them. “Mihawk… I’ve waited for you for so long…”

He had no conscience of his body, but he saw his hands raise to hold her hips, then her waist, then the soft and delicate flesh of her chest; he saw pleasure explode in her eyes, the profound and deep awareness of how his body could make her sing. Mihawk cherished that sight for a moment, then he lowered his gaze between her legs, and suddenly found it hard to swallow.

“I am yours.” she murmured; she had started caressing his chest, and even without seeing it Mihawk could feel her fingers exploring his skin, her touch gentle but possessive, and then she was lying on top of him, her nipples brushing against his chest “I have always been yours; Mihawk, please, take me, I need to feel you, I can’t wait anymore…”

Now she was in his arms; Mihawk felt that in a moment he would be kissing her, and he knew there wouldn’t be a happier, or more fortunate, man in the world. He saw her murmur his name again, and he closed his eyes, already tasting the sweetness of her mouth…

Mihawk woke up. So intense and vivid the dream had been, that for a moment he almost thought he could see (name) in the bed next to him; when the illusion finally disappeared the swordsman sighed, an unspeakable feeling of loss filling his heart… and a weird, unpleasant sensation the swordsman quickly traced back to a part of his body that loudly called for his attention.

Mihawk sighed; he hadn’t woken up with an erection since he was a teenager, but thank all the Gods judging from the position of the sun out of his window he hadn’t slept long, and he still had time before dinner. Unfortunately, the nap hadn’t done him the good he had hoped; rather, he felt even worse than half an hour before, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. Perhaps he was sick, an illness he could have caught from someone at the fortress; the timing couldn’t have been worse, but (name) had told him there were excellent doctors on the island, including the ones who took care of her and her mother’s health. The swordsman did not doubt his friend would immediately send for them, but there was something more pressing he had to do…

He turned on his back; a relieved sigh escaped Mihawk’s lips as he took care of his trousers and undergarments, freeing his cock from their constraint, and wasted no time in taking it in his hand. The heavy column was already leaking pre-cum, a beady drop the swordsman scooped up with his thumb to smear it across the tip; he moaned softly, his back arching against the bed, his forehead and chest wet with perspiration.

What would happen if (name) chose that very moment to come in, perhaps without knocking and waiting for permission to enter like she had been taught to do? She would open the door, begin to say whatever she had come to tell him, and then the words would die on her lips -her lovely lips, soft and that would look so pretty stretched around his…- when she saw the state he was in, naked, moaning and tense, busy pumping his length as if his life depended on it.

“(name)...!”

How would she react? Would she blush? Keep looking despite herself, aware of the inappropriateness of her presence but unable to stop? Would she get excited - would she get horny? Would her gaze linger on his pelvis, on the thick, hard cock and wish she was the one taking care of it? Seems like you are having a little trouble, she would finally say advancing into the room, her gaze fixed on him, desire filling her eyes, want me to help? I know a quicker way to do this, than using my hands…

“(name)... fuck, (name)...”

That would be so good; having her kneel by his side to gently take his cock in her hands, marvelling at its length and girth, before bringing her lovely mouth to kiss it, slowly, savouring his taste, one of her hands holding it and the other rubbing between her legs, because she had gotten excited already as well, and they both knew a blowjob wouldn’t be enough to satiate them…

He felt horrible; feverish, a thirst filling his very being that no drink could ever quench; Mihawk’s free hand was rubbing up and down his chest, playing with his hard nipples, imagining it was her hand instead, that (name), his lovely and beautiful and desirable (name), was with him, on him, fucking him and letting him fuck her, because she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she loved him, and no one would ever come between them for the rest of their lifes…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…!” Mihawk panted; he was close, close already, because of her, because he was completely and utterly lost to her beauty and grace and charm, and no woman could and would ever compare to her “Fuck, (name)... I need you, I want you so much…”

Pressure mounted inside him; his hips shuddered, and Mihawk finally reached his climax with the image of (name) sucking him off that filled the space behind his eyelids. He was quick to press a hand to his mouth, but his cry invaded the room - and maybe the space out of it as well? Had someone heard him? One of the servants, who would then happily report the news to the rest of the staff, or, Gods forbid, the lady Veressa? What a man, even a guest, did in his own bedroom was his own affair, but Mihawk wasn’t sure he could bear the shame.

What if (name) had been the one to hear? To hear him scream her name as he climaxed? Who knew, perhaps that would be declaration enough, and in a moment the woman would really come into his room, uncertain but hopeful, and ask whether he felt up to a second round…

The door remained closed; Mihawk sighed before turning to contemplate his body, and the squirts of semen spread on his belly. He fortunately hadn’t stained the sheets, but he had to clean himself immediately, and then make himself decent for dinner; it was getting late, and it would have been discourteous to keep his hosts waiting.

The problem was, even after a nap and what had to be the most intense and at the same time unsatisfying handjob of his life, he didn’t feel any better, at all - nor well rested nor… calm. Rather, he felt horrible, light-headed, his muscles aching, and the recent ejaculation had done nothing to make his desire wither. Far from it.

Gods; his heart was still pounding, and when Mihawk brought a hand to his forehead, he wasn’t surprised to feel himself burning. He must have a fever, he reflected, and he did feel weak, but at the same time he had never felt so aroused in his life, his whole body on fire with need - need for her, for her lovely feminine body, for the way they could give each other enough pleasure to make the world stop around them.

He was hard again - no, he was still hard, even though he had come violently two minutes ago, as the rapidly drying spurts of semen on his belly could attest. Mihawk clenched his teeth; beyond the malaise, beyond the passing relief he had just felt, his thoughts were still focused on (name), on being close to her, under her, inside her. It would have been perfect; it was natural for Mihawk to assume the dominant role during a rapport, but (name) was not a prostitute or one of the women whose face he could barely remember on the next morning. She was special, she was perfect, the only woman he felt he could share his heart with and in whose company he could show the most intimate and fragile part of him; emotional and physical intimacy between them would only match the empathy and understanding they already shared. Knowing her, loving her, had opened Mihawk’s heart and mind to sensations he never thought he could experience; it was scary, in a way, but also something he knew had made his life better.

Also, he simply liked the idea of having her on top of him, kneeling on his lap after she had impaled herself on his cock, a slow, delicious torture that would bring both of them to scream. Mihawk started working himself again, his body immediately responding to the stimulus, as he imagined it, to have (name), glorious in her nudity, rocking above him, her breasts bouncing, her hips trembling with every push, every jolt of ecstasy he was gifting her.

“Oh, Gods… oh, Gods… (name), my (name), you feel so tight…!”

Simply imagining the bliss on her beautiful face, the awareness that him, and no one else, was responsible for making her feel so good and wanted nothing better than to do that again and again for the rest of their lives, was enough to make him come, and come he did, almost violently, this time not even trying to cover the lurid moan of pleasure that escaped his lips as he climaxed.

And again, it wasn’t enough.

He was still hard; still in pain; and still desperate for a relief, both sexual and -how could he put it?- salutary that he felt was just out of his reach, but close. Very close, in fact, probably sitting at the dinner table on the ground floor together with her mother and her very unpleasant cousin, wondering where the hell he was…

Night had started falling out of his window, sensibly lowering the temperature of the room. It was late. He was late, which was new to him, since Mihawk had always made sure to arrive at his various engagements - unless he wanted to be late, like he sometimes did, for his own amusement, when it was the Marines who were expecting him. He didn’t want to keep (name) waiting, but he felt too weak to stand from the bed, let alone wash, get dressed and walk to the fortress’ dining room - not to mention the fact that his erection showed no signs of sagging.

Finally, a discreet knocking came from the door. “Excuse me, sir. Lady (name) sent me to ask you if you intend to join her for dinner.”

Dammit. Just hearing that anonymous voice say her name was enough to make his loins shudder. He clenched his teeth. “I… don’t think I can manage tonight.” he answered in the end, almost curled in a ball on the bed; every single muscle of his body was hurting, the pain seeping through him “Please make my apologies to the ladies; I’m not feeling very well.”

A moment of hesitation. “Would you like me to call a doctor, sir?”

No. It wasn’t medical care he required; he felt it, despite the excruciating torment he was experiencing. What he needed, what he yearned for and what would make everything right, was her - (name). If she came, if she let him take her in his arms, confess how desperately in love with her he was and then fuck her senseless, everything would be fine, he would be fine - and she as well.

If only. Oh, if only.

“There is no need.” he answered in the end, forcing himself to speak normally and not like a man who was being devoured by his sexual impulses “I just need to rest for a while. Tell the ladies I am sorry I can’t join them, and that I will see the lady (name) tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir.”

Alone once more, Mihawk sighed; he didn’t want his friend to worry for his health, but he really was in no condition to present himself in public. Once again, he allowed himself to imagine what would have happened if (name) herself were to come to check on him; she would insist on coming in, deaf to his begging -yes, he would beg. He never had, not even as a young child when his father used a belt on him for some perceived disobedience, but he would do it for her; it was embarrassing to admit it even in the privacy of his heart, but he would be happy to, he would gladly implore for her touch, for a kiss, for the permission to push his hard cock in her warm, tight little pussy- and see the state he was in, horny and agonising in equal measure. For a moment she would remain speechless; then a small, mischievous smile would appear on her lips as she advanced into the room, already untying the knots of her dress, her eyes focused on his throbbing cock. Do you need help, my poor darling? Let me take care of you, I’ll help you relax… hmmm, you’re even bigger than I imagined…

If only.

In the next hours, Mihawk kept feeling worse and worse. What had started as a low-grade fever and a slight muscle pain evolved into a complete calvary, every inch of his body screaming in agony; his sweat-soaked skin burned, his stomach clenched, his heart beat fast enough to make him fear it was going to explode. And in the middle of all of that, among the suffering and the ache, one thing was sure, a simple, unexplainable truth Mihawk would bet his life on…

He needed her.

He had never felt like this. Desirous didn’t begin to describe the way he felt; aroused was a gross understatement. His whole being -his body, his mind, his very soul- was being devoured from the inside, a hungry, avid beast that roared demanding satisfaction. Everything he had done, everything he thought and felt and remembered, everything he was, had disappeared, leaving behind only an excruciating, fierce impulse: the need to fuck, to make her his, to hear her scream his name and know no other man could ever compete for her attention. He couldn’t get her pregnant -but how lovely it would have been? To see her already feminine and luscious body swollen with his child, her lovely breast heavy with milk? What a dream it would be, the coronation of their love, a little heir to raise, a child he would teach swordplay and she could groom to become the next lord of the island- but he would give her so much, make her come so hard, that she would be indifferent to any other advance. They were perfect for each other, more compatible than with any other person in the world, each other’s soulmate and destined partner; they were both sexually experienced enough to be prosaic, even jaded about it, but the pleasure they could create together and gift each other would be something too intense and precious to describe it in words. Mihawk was generally satisfied with his life, even bored, nothing having troubled or interested him for years; and then (name) had come into his life and everything had changed, even though it had taken him a while to realise him. He wouldn’t say his life would have no meaning without her by his side, nor that he would never experience satisfaction or joy again; but in the event that she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, Mihawk knew he would feel a tiny part of him missing for the rest of his days.

Nevertheless, at the moment he did feel like he could die if he didn’t fuck (name), hard, long, and soon. He wasn’t the sort of man to easily give in to panic, far from it, but he felt it; he was sure of it, even though he couldn’t begin to comprehend how this was possible, and how he could know since he had never experienced anything of the sort before.

If he didn’t do it… if he didn’t have sex with (name), it would cost him his life; the agony he was experiencing would become more and more intense, sapping his mental and physical strength, until he went insane, and his heart stopped beating.

It was absurd, completely crazy, because while poems and romance novels were full of lovers who, having lost or been rejected by the object of their affection, died of heartbreak, nostalgia and regret making them waste away faster and more efficiently than any plague or malady could, that was only an overused literary trope, it didn’t happen in real life! Or did it?

No; more probably, he had caught an illness, a particularly virulent form of fever, and his feelings for (name), and the promise he had made to himself to let her know what he felt before the end of his vacation on the island had done the rest. People didn’t die of lack of sex; that sounded like the plot of a particularly tasteless romance novel. After all he was a pirate, he did travel around and came in contact with all sorts of people; it wasn’t unlikely that he had contracted some kind of sickness.

Right?

That night was the worst of his life. The ache afflicting his body was excruciating, but the desire devouring him without any hope for respite was worse. He masturbated two more times, climaxing every time more violently than the previous one, before his cock finally went limp in his hand; Mihawk choked a sob of relief, but that moment of peace was short-lived. His body could have reached its limits, at least momentarily, but his mind hadn’t, and his passion for (name) was still vivid, the desire to make her his and reach heaven with her lovely body writhing under his unyielding; hour after hour, he started feeling himself suffocating, as if his lungs could not process the pleasantly cool air entering through the window.

The bed around him was a mess, spots of semen staining the soft linen sheet; disgusted, Mihawk took it off and threw it on the floor. He didn’t even want to know what the maids who would sooner or later enter to clean the room and make his bed would think, and if those voices were to reach (name)’s ear…

Night had fallen on the island, a crescent moon shining in the sky out of his window, and the fortress was immersed in silence. MIhawk forced himself to crawl out of the bed and walk aimlessly around the room, if only because anything would have been better than tossing and turning without any hope for respite; he wished he had something to keep his mind occupied, a book or a newspaper, but he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on reading in any case, and given the state he was in, slipping quietly out of the fortress and tire himself training with Yoru was out of the question.

He thought about (name), about how lovely and sensual she had to look in that moment, lying in her own bed, completely unaware of his predicament. What did she wear at night? A delicate silk nightgown, only reaching down her tights given the relatively warm night, leaving her shapely legs naked and hugging her curves like Mihawk would have given half of his blood to be able to do, or something else? Perhaps she slept in the nude, the soft fabric of the sheets caressing her naked skin, her plush breasts pressed against the mattress, her legs unconsciously spread apart as if to invite a lover -him- to…

He moaned; he couldn’t help it. He knew where (name) slept; leaving his room, he could reach her door in less than five minutes, slipping unseen along the corridors. He could enter, wake her up gently, hope she would realise he posed no danger before she retrieved her derringer from under her pillow and shot him twice, and confess how much he wanted her. And then -he was sure, sure enough he could bet his life on it- she would immediately reciprocate his feelings, and invite him in her bed; the symphony of their pleasure would fill the air…

Mihawk sighed, all too aware of the inappropriateness of his thoughts as he walked back to the bed, took a pillow and brought it to the window, hoping the cool air would make him feel better; it placed the pillow against the sill and started rocking against it, one of his hands keeping it in place and the other running over his body, stimulating it where and how he wanted her to do. He knew that coming again would mean staining the pillow, adding fodder to his shame, but he couldn’t help it; his legs felt as if they were about to give way, his heart pounding, his vision swimming. He didn’t care if someone, perhaps a guard patrolling the courtyard or a messenger returning from a late assignment, saw him; he needed her, he needed to mate with her so much it hurt, so much it could kill him, but he didn’t want it to be like this. He wanted to court (name), not to seduce her -she was no naive maiden who could become enamoured with anyone who gifted her a flower and spoke sweet nothings to her ear- but to convince her of the depth and intensity of his feelings, and of the happiness they could find within each other. No matter how amazing the sex between them could be, she was no prostitute willing to bat her eyelashes to any client who could pay for her time, nor a tavern wench who would join the patrons in their rooms for a tip; she deserved better - she deserved the world and Mihawk intended to give it to her, regardless that she was strong and resilient enough to take it for herself, if she so desired. He did want to make love to her, all night long, in any way they could think of; but what he needed, what would make him happier than any man in the world had ever been, would be to have (name) give him her heart, like Mihawk had already given her his.

He could feel blood burn in his veins; he raised his gaze at the stars filling the dark expanse above him, and thought that none of them was more beautiful than (name), beautiful and unattainable. The night was silent, a pleasant scent arising from the garden under him, the garden that he should have led the woman he loved to for a night stroll after dinner, had he not been incapacitated by…

And then it hit him, sudden and violent like no blow from an opponent had done in decades.

Garden. Scent.

Of course.

Flowers. The flower!

That’s what had happened to him; not an illness he could have caught through contact with another sick person. That damn plant that (name) received as a gift from her cousin had spurted its grains in his face in what had appeared to be a defence mechanism against predators; he had felt no pain, even though the episode had been somewhat embarrassing, but he had breathed the pollen which, not unlike a toxin, had poisoned him, attacking his organism and making him fall sick.

Did Theon know the danger that apparently innocuous flower represented? (name) had seemed surprised to receive a gift from him, which could suggest the whole matter had been orchestrated by the man as a cruel prank on her. The more he thought about him, the more sinister the whole matter appeared to his eyes; if the woman was the destined victim, did the man -her own cousin, a blood relative- intend to take advantage of her, given the fact she could be unable to say no? Fortunately no harm had been done, but Mihawk would make sure that idiot would regret the day he was born.

He was hard again; knowing where those impulses came from didn’t help, because while his current inability to keep his erection under control was due to the flower’s poison, Mihawk knew his feelings were genuine, and had been for a long time. Rather, that made things even more complicated, because he couldn’t simply ask for (name)’s help, with the tacit agreement they would both forget about it once he had found his relief and carry on as if nothing had happened. He did want her, desperately; this horrible misadventure changed nothing. And he only needed to survive this night -or not? How long would the effects of the flower’s toxin last? Was he destined to feel like this forever, until his body simply couldn’t bear it and his heart stopped?- and then he would come clean about his feelings, making sure she knew how much he cared for and admired…

A sudden stab of pain darted through his abdomen, forcing the swordsman to his knees; he screamed softly as he felt his body revolting against him, begging for a release his hand couldn’t give it.

“(name)... oh, (name), I need you… please, please make me come… darling, I need you…” he moaned, his cock already clenched in his hand; his balls felt heavy, his hips humping against nothing; when he came for the umpteenth time he felt no pleasure, and he barely had the strength to reach for the discarded sheet and use it to clean himself. The pillow had fortunately survived the ordeal unscathed, but Mihawk left it on the floor as he turned to the chair he had left his coat on; he retrieved his Den Den Mushi from the right pocket and then crawled back to the bed.

Thank all the Gods, the person he needed to contact answered almost immediately.

“Mihawk?”

“Shanks. I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

“Don’t worry about that. Are you alright?” the red-haired pirate asked, immediately tense even though he had to have been fast asleep until a moment before; he knew the swordsman wasn’t the sort of man who made courtesy calls, especially not in the middle of the night. Curled with the Den Den Mushi in his hand close to his mouth, Mihawk hesitated for a moment before eluding the question.

“I need your help.” he started urgently; normally he would have bitten his own arm off rather than uttering those words, but Shanks was the only man in the world he felt relatively comfortable admitting it to “I don’t have time to explain. The last time we met, there was a book on the table in your cabin; the cover was dark green, it was about medicinal plants.”

“I think I know the one you mean. It’s one of the doctor’s books.”

The doctor -he called her that, but with the sort of voice and smile who made it immediately clear that their relationship went much above and beyond that between a captain and one of his crewmates- was Shanks’ partner, the woman who also acted as a physician on his ship. Mihawk had only met the woman a couple of times and held no particular interest for her, but for a moment he felt a burning envy towards his friend, who could kiss his partner every time he wanted and had no reason to doubt her feelings for him.

“Why the sudden interest?”

Gods, his stomach felt on fire, the pain so intense he had to actually focus in order to continue the conversation; Mihawk clenched his teeth, ordering himself to carry on.

Mihawk had never intended to share his feelings for (name) with anyone, not even a close and trusted friend like Shanks, but he had just once made the error of mentioning her to him, and the red-haired captain had to have perceived something in his voice, because he had become curious, and insisting relentlessly to know more he had realised something very special existed between the swordsman and the mysterious lady. In the end, thanks to a glass of wine too many, Mihawk had in the end confessed he wanted more than being simply (name)’s friend - he wanted her, to himself, forever.

“There was an illustration I saw; a tall flower with bright pink petals, closed around the centre. Shanks, I-I need you to read all that the book says about the flower.”

“You are so worried about a flower? This late at night?” Shanks asked; he sounded curious, not irritated, but every second they lingered was a torture the swordsman would rather spare himself “Mihawk, what is happening? I thought you’d be with (name), at her island; is this flower something you want to gift her?”

“Not exactly. Shanks, I promise I’ll explain soon. Find that book and read it to me.”

“As you wish. Wait a moment…”

Mihawk did, his heart in his throat. Through the line, he heard the faint rustle of a sheet pushed to the side, and then a hushed conversation; either Shanks was sick as well, and forced to spend the night in the Red Force’s infirmary, or his doctor had gotten lost and ended up sleeping in her captain’s bed. Lucky bastard, Mihawk thought without resentment.

“Alright, I found it. Bright pink, as you said.”

“What does it say?”

“So, the name of the flower is Lily of Twilight… which makes no sense, lilies don’t look like this. In any case they are pretty rare, growing only on a few inhabited islands in the Calm Belt, and… oh…”

Silence fell; Mihawk forced himself to wait while Shanks read to himself, and when he spoke again, the red-haired pirate’s voice was devoid of its usual playful tone. “Mihawk, don’t tell me you, or (name), have breathed the pollen of this flower.”

“I have.”

“... shit.”

Another pause. More than feeling it, Mihawk saw the hand holding the Den Den Mushi begin to shake. “Shanks.” he carefully articulated “What does it say?”

“Well, that this flower sort of spews out its pollen to defend itself against insects, and if a person were to inhale it… it causes fever, vomit, seizures, vertigo, the pain must be excruciating and… it also says here that it has a very intense aphrodisiac effect. Like, err… extremely intense. Unrestrainable, even.”

Silence.

“Are you…?”

“What do you think?” Mihawk asked brusquely “Is there a cure?”

The sound of a page being turned followed. “Just a moment…”

“Is your doctor listening?”

“No, I came out of the room to let her sleep.” Shanks explained quickly, now as worried as his friend “Here it is. There is no cure for the physical distress, but if the hunger is sated, the other symptoms should disappear quickly. You… well, I think you only have one thing to do.”

Mihawk agreed; there was no other solution, but at the same time, the swordsman felt ready to bear the agony that was devastating his body for the rest of time, rather than asking for the help of the only person who could give it to him.

“At least you are in the right place; I mean, with her there with you. Imagine if you were alone on Kuraigana, or in the middle of the ocean…”

“I’m not going to do it.”

“What?!”

Mihawk tried to answer, but suddenly he found himself unable to see; for a few terrifying seconds, his eyes had simply stopped working. He had time to fear this was his end, that his body had started wasting away and he would spend the rest of his life blind, and then suddenly he could see again, although the world seemed to sway in front of him.

He had little time left; he felt it. He didn’t know how much, but little enough he couldn’t afford to think about feelings and tact. Nonetheless…

“I won’t tell (name) what is happening to me.” he stated as calmly as he could - that is, much less than he would have wanted “Nor will I… ask for her help to solve this little problem.”

The little problem had just raised its head between his legs, proudly hard once more; Mihawk sighed.

“Mihawk… I don’t think you realise the danger you’re in.”

“I know what I’m doing, Shanks.”

Shanks grunted. “Forgive me, but I don’t think you do. The book says that if not stopped in time, the pain could kill you, and there have also been victims who, unable to satisfy their appetites -who the hell wrote this stuff?- ended up losing their mind. Is this what you want? To go insane because you didn’t tell (name) you’re in love with her? After all this is also why you accepted her invitation, did you not? You already planned on doing that.”

He did, which made his friend’s words even more reasonable; Mihawk didn’t answer, too focused on the agony he was going through, and for once unable to.

“Of course, it doesn’t necessarily have to be (name) who helps you… scratch your itch; this is not a true-love-kiss situation. I don’t know if there is a brothel on the island, but…”

“I am not asking (name) to procure me a prostitute!” Mihawk exclaimed. He actually screamed, the words echoing in the room, and the swordsman bit his tongue; this was just what he needed, to make the whole fortress aware of his plight “I would never be able to look at her in the face again, let alone tell her how much I want her.”

It was true, and at the same time not the whole truth, since there was another reason, one Mihawk didn’t dare confess, not even to a loyal friend. Shanks was right, love and even just acquaintance were not necessary to find the relief he craved so much; strictly speaking all he needed was a hole to fill, and (name) was probably pragmatic enough to understand he didn’t mean to disrespect her home bringing a prostitute in it, if he explained the situation to her.

Still.

It has to be her. Even if it is only meaningless sex, even if it costs me my life. I want no one else; I will have no one else. Only her, because she is the only one I could ever love.

He didn’t say it, but Shanks seemed to perceive his reasoning all the same, because Mihawk heard him sigh; he imagined his friend was sitting on the floor in the corridor out of his cabin, the book in his lap, since it wouldn’t have been easy for a one-armed man to hold both that and the Den Den Mushi.

“Listen, I’m not saying I would act differently if I were in your shoes.” the red-haired pirate murmured in the end “I’m just saying that (name) wouldn’t want you to die, or worse, for a matter of honour; and I don’t want it either, if you’re interested. If this woman actually cares for you, and if you explain exactly what happened to her, I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Mihawk promised he would remember. “Thank you, Shanks. I’m sorry I brought you into it.”

“Don’t mention it. Call if there is something I can do to help.”

They said good-bye. Mihawk deposed the Den Den Mushi on the bedside table and let himself fall back on the bed, exhausted like no training session had left him in years.

Now he knew what actually awaited him, and he had to admit the consequences of letting his urges get the better of him were even worse than he had imagined; to die before his time was something the swordsman had always known was a possibility, even at least a decade after the last time an opponent had seriously troubled him, but losing his mind was almost too horrible a destiny to consider. A quick, clean death was far preferable, even if he had to give it himself.

A sudden wave of nausea overtook him; a hand pressed to his mouth, Mihawk was able to crawl out of the bed once more and reach the porcelain basin in a corner of the room, full of the still clean water he had used that morning to wash his face. The stomach cramps as he retched were almost unbearable; the swordsman fell to the ground, feeling every ounce of his body beg for mercy.

For the first time, as he waited for his legs to feel steady enough to carry him, Mihawk seriously considered telling (name) the exact nature of his plight, and the only way he had to live to tell the tale; at the very least, he had to warn her of what her cousin might had wanted to do to her.

What would his friend think? Mihawk was confident that, faced with the prospect of having him die under her roof if no one alleviated his suffering, (name) would do everything within her power to help… even though she might not want to do it herself, given the fact there was a house of pleasure on the island and she could easily find him a bedmade.

What if she felt she was taking advantage of him, given the fact Mihawk wasn’t in the condition of saying no, even though and specifically because his life was on the line? What if he couldn’t convince her of how desperately in love with her he already was, and had been for months, and that he wouldn’t want any other woman?

What if she simply wasn’t interested in him, and would therefore rather find him another partner, or worse, what if she would only do it out of an obligation, because she didn’t want him to die, without any emotional involvement? Mihawk wasn’t sure he could bear it.

What could he do? For the first time since he had been old enough to decide for himself and had taken charge of his own life, Mihawk saw no clear, definite answer.And more importantly, what should he do?

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the-horned-pyramids · 4 months

Text

Give (in) and Take (me) - (Beckman x Reader)

Art by shibama_TK9

A/N: *Hasn’t completed a smut in weeks, comes back throwing a niche character at you to spread simpin for him like a virus* plz love him he’s great and while he ain’t my main I’d have nooooooo complaints in partaking 😩 tryin to give @fanaticsnail some morsels cuz the writing for this man is quite devastatingly scant. She also a whole sweetie and wrote me some perfect Buggy when she found out I was doing this. Obviously I am much slower 🥴🥴🥴

Word Count: ~8.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, NSFW, there’s some plot at the front and back, bratty reader, brat-tamer Beckman, he does the Nanami hair grab 👌🏻, semi-public, standing, against the wall, man-handling, clothed sex, p in v, creampie, praise, degredation, lots of teasing on both sides, age gap? (briefly mentioned, ~30 and late 40s), Beckman is a lil mean but don't worry he's Whipped, this some filth filth 🥴 whoops

Now please come enjoy prodding the big gruff man (who just wants to treat you right) until he snaps

(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵)

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’ve had enough of the raucous jubilation in the bar, especially now that you noticed your awaited opening unfolding before you. The rest of the Red Hair Pirates were fully distracted in their jovial whirling, hooting, and playing, leaving a certain silver smoke cloud all by his lonesome. You’d been dancing through his whisps all night, enjoying how they’d wrap and curl around you as you went. It was in their nature to do so. Each brush of a hand got a shiver and a sigh and a trailing stare. Each floated conversation was leaned into, breathed in, savored. Each departure was followed with the turn and lean of his chest, pulled to follow from the sure grip on his thumping heart until his doubts rooted him down and resisted the tug.

You were plagued by your own doubts, mostly of what the “after” would look like, but you were certain of one thing: he was attracted. Along with his need to entwine with your presence, you’d noticed the tell-tale sign of his gaze drawn to lips, neck, breasts, hips, and thighs. You’d noticed the hunger growing his pupils so they could better suck in your image on each glance. You’d noticed how he had to keep flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, mouth dry from restrained need. Most importantly, you’d noticed the way he had to shift and shuffle while he watched you dance, fighting the need to pull you away for himself to join and trying to flush the heat from his body. Whatever it was that was holding him in his seat and keeping his hands and lips and tongue off of you, you were going to drag him right through it until he was fully in your grasp.

First thing’s first, you retook your spot on the stool next to him at the bar. Immediately the smoke tendrils embraced you; your drink was scooted back in front of you, his thigh slid sideways to seek the brush of yours, a lethargic smile took residence on his face to greet you. You responded with a coy smile of your own and then a hearty gulp of your drink. The steady burn and potent taste of liquorice cutting through the muddled mint and lemon centered you and heartened you for your plan of attack.

“Thanks, Becks, glad to have you as my cocktail guard dog,” you said with teasing humor. You gave his thigh a friendly pat that crossed the amicable boundary with a lingering hold and gentle squeeze, before you brought the hand back up to give you another sip of your drink. The taste of touch on his thick muscle had it twitch in delight. Your mouth watered at the feel, not quite sated with alcohol on your tongue when there should be skin.

“Any time, darlin’,” Beckman responded easily and honestly. “Though I don’t think there’s any here who would do much to it. Much more likely one of the fools will steal it to drink for themselves.”

You laughed at the statement, knowing how true it was. When the crew was drunk they got sticky fingers, and when it came to drinks they were the worst - none quite remembering whose was whose and caring even less to get it right. Knowing where you wanted to try and get this night to go, you’d kept yourself far behind them in intoxication. You kept yourself right in the sweet spot of inebriated enough for that coveted liquid courage but not so much that you were out of control of yourself. Besides, if you got your way you didn’t want any of the details to be foggy.

“Even so, it’s appreciated,” you reasserted, giving him a winning smile and stalling his heart. “Now can I ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course you can, darlin’,” he replied instantly. Another cheer rang out in the background, followed by the beginnings of a long and loud drinking song. Beckman used this as an excuse to lean into your space to better hear and see you. “What can I do for you?”

You centered yourself more forward towards the bar, just to force him to lean in even closer to chase you, and peeked at him from the corner of your eye. The look mixed with your mischievous smile had him ready and eager to agree to whatever you had in mind. Not that he’d let you see how easy it was for you to sway him.

“Well…” you trailed off, just to make him squirm, “I can think of lots of things you could do for me. I’m having trouble picking my favorite.”

Beckman’s brows rose at the blatant flirting. Sure, you’d both thrown some flirtatious comments at each other throughout your relationship, but they didn’t feel anything like this. They felt easy, friendly - like something to build rapport and have fun. This felt so much heavier - a gift offered to him that was pulling the possibility of closeness from cloudy dreams down to the ground with the weight of the warm cast of the bar lights, the dark desire in your eyes, and the sultry tone of your voice. He began to recount how many drinks he’d had to check if he was imagining the advances he’d long wished for. Maybe he should check for you too.

“Darlin’, how many drinks you got in you?” There was genuine concern in the question, mixing with a touch of incredulity. You scoffed at it all.

“Not enough to lose my sense, thank you very much,” you answered. To snub his misplaced worries, you downed the rest of your drink. “That was only the fifth of the night, we’ve been here hours, and you know it takes much more than that to take me down.”

“That it does,” Beckmann conceded. The bare affection in his voice and eyes while he said it had you flushing, finding care much more difficult to process than lust. “Now my task?”

Yet again, you took to keeping him in suspense. Instead of answering, you slowly drew your gaze over him, assessing him. He fought against the small shiver it put through him; he felt like you were staring straight through his clothes. He felt like he was getting the most important appraisal of his life and all he had to go on was the burning in your eyes and your cryptic smile. You were doing a better job of reading him; while his expression remained perfectly schooled, you were observant enough to see his tells. Just as when he watched you dance, he shifted in his seat, working through the flush of arousal poured on him from his nervousness and having your eyes glued to him. Between the curtains of his wavy silver hair, you saw his Adam's apple bob with a strong swallow. He started lightly drumming on the bartop with his fingers on the hand closest to you.

Using that to your advantage, you made your next move. Doing it slowly so he could layer each second with his anticipation, you trailed your fingertips across the knuckles of his fidgeting hand, halting the motion. You flicked your gaze up to check in on his eyes. They mostly held confusion, but so so much interest was also packed into his silver irises. Happy with the reaction, you proceeded to move your teasing touch further, traveling over the back of his hand and his wrist to play with the soft hair on his forearm in deliberate circles. Though he was nearly bursting with questions, Beckman kept his mouth shut and resolved to let you lead this at your own pace until you finally decided it was time to reveal your hand to him.

“I’ve decided,” you started, finally breaking the silence with an alluring whisper, “that I want more than one favor.” You stopped watching your fingers touch him to look at him through your lashes. “And I know where you can start.”

Beckman blew out a long breath, hoping to settle down his heart, which was still jumping and kicking. You’re not drunk, but this has to be the alcohol. You couldn’t be propositioning him. Him. Maybe he’s just a curiosity? Perhaps you were interested in trying out an experience with an older lover who’s had more years to learn his way around a woman? Maybe, even though you could have your choice of any of the patrons, you found him to be the easy target.

“And where is that?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.

“You can take me home.” You noticed the real shock in his gaze, and for the first time in the encounter a bit of panic seeped into you. Thinking quickly to soften the blow, you explained, “Don’t wanna walk home alone with even a little alcohol in me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Aye, darlin’, that I will.” The honesty in his words stoked your courage back into a steady burn even better than the one brought on by the hard drinks.

Using the hand that had been trailing over his forearm, you loosely held his wrist, slid smoothly from your seat, and began leading him out of the bar. Beckman followed you easily. You didn’t have to put any pressure behind your hold on him; he wouldn’t let you get more than a step ahead of him. Even with his close hover, you both ducked and weaved with practiced grace through the chaos of your crew and the rowdy celebration they’d whipped up with all the other patrons. By the time you’d reached the entrance, you’d ducked three swinging fists, five drunken “dances”, two frisbeed hats, one flung fork, and a pair of tossed shirts.

The door shutting behind you sealed away the cacophony of the crowd, melding it with the comforting ambience of late night bugsong and strangers distantly living their lives. The outside world felt pleasantly chill and calm, especially in contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. The slight bite to the air only made the small contact between the two of you feel that much sweeter in its skin-to-skin warmth. Both you and Beckman sucked in a deep breath of crisp evening air to savor the moment.

Throwing a cheeky (and, to his worry, slightly plotting) smile his way, you began to head in the direction of the docks. You only made it about eight steps. The moment the alley between buildings opened on your right, you yanked Beckman into the shadows with you. He stumbled after you with barely a fight, continuing his emotional flavors of the night: confused, intrigued, and happy to be here. Once you fell past the full streams of light from the street lamps, you spun around to him and pounced.

You began by rooting him in place, fisting your hands tight into his shirt by his waist and stepping so close that your chests and stomachs and hips and thighs touched. You leaned up to place a kiss right above the point in his v-neck, relishing the heat of his skin against your lips. You shivered at the feeling of a twitch of interest against your lower stomach. His hands quickly found your waist and gripped. He worried the flesh under his fingers, earning his first quiet moan from you. It only made his grip stiffen, warring with himself between his disbelief at your advances and the rabid need to pull you closer and make sure you never stopped.

Beckman began to use his hold on you to ease you back from him. You responded with a frustrated whine and greedy hands. Those hands massaged their way across the packed muscles of his sides and chest before twisting in the fabric over his large pecs and tugging him down to your height. Taking advantage of the untouched skin now within reach, you kissed and sucked your way over his collarbone and up his neck.

His plan of retreat crumbled under your advance, leaving him to paw his grip down to the meat of your hips and try not to succumb to the fierce instinct to grind his aching cock against you. Your head spun with your rushing blood and skipping breaths. The whirl was spurred on by finally getting to know the taste of his skin, the feeling of his coveting hands keeping you close, the sound of his stuttering breaths morphing into panting. Now you just needed to spur him from receiving into action.

“Beck, touch me,” you whispered against his ear. He shivered fully from your lips and breath ghosting over him and filling his skin with addictive tingles. Losing his concentration, Beckman guided your hips in one long, sturdy grind against his straining hardness. You nipped his earlobe in appreciation. “I want you to touch me.”

“You’re drunk,” he weakly protested.

“We both know I’m not,” you shot back. Switching your methods, you crawled your hands up his shoulders, his neck, and into his hair. You led him with sweet and teasing kisses against his cheek and jaw, playing with the way his head always tilted to follow your affections in a wanting daze.

“You should look for another man to share your body,” he tried again, this time managing to sound assertive through the breathiness of his voice.

“Do you really want another man touching me?” you bit back at him.

“No,” he instantly growled. The mere idea had always put a pang in his heart but feeling your touch and hearing the words from you made it more real, and he was no match for the spike of angry possessiveness that overtook him.

“Good,” you cooed coyly, lips back against his ear, “because I don’t want that either.” You took a long moment to tease your nails against his scalp and nip the skin next to his pulse. He succumbed to another torturous grind against you. Each press of him gave you a better idea of what he was hiding and had your mind running rampant trying to figure out how it would feel splitting you open.

“I want you,” you moaned, pushing all the genuine need into your voice that you could.

“Come on, pretty thing, you don’t mean that,” Beckman stubbornly argued. He’d sound much more convincing if he wasn’t moaning the words out with his strained rumble, turning the statement into a plea.

“I do though,” you whined back to him, right below his ear where you were working hard to leave another pretty mark. For all his propriety fueled hesitation, Beckman was still leaning down so you could reach his neck and tilting his stubbled jaw away, pleading for more of your attention. “I do mean it.”

Your own desperation and his unspoken pleas for your touch fueled your boldness. One of your hands left his tresses to wedge between your pressed hips and grab a hold of him. A groan shook through his ribs, only encouraging your hand to press and feel more. His cock twitched and jumped under your slow strokes and palming, begging for your touch when he wouldn’t. His cheek fell to your shoulder and his humid panting caressed your neck.

“Pretty girl, if you keep touching me like that,” his speech was interrupted by a poorly restrained moan, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my head.”

“Then don’t,” you encouraged, voice rushed and ravenous and pulling him to the depths of his urges in his new favorite siren song.

Having felt him in your palm, you became set on getting to feel him skin to skin. You wanted to feel the power of the radiant heat that poured from him so strongly you both felt like you were burning through your clothes. You wanted to see what’s been hidden from you, become privy to secrets that will let your fantasies forever hold more reality. You wanted to know he let you have this piece of him, let you take his body and take control of his pleasure. On top of all of that, you wanted to feel, see, and know the thick hardness that was going to stretch you wide open.

In your rush, you only gave yourself time to trail a few kisses down his chest on your way to your knees. Beckman leaned himself back on the wall of the bar, opening himself up to as much of your touch as you would give. He still attempted to keep his defense under the siege of temptation, taking to opening and closing his hands at his sides to keep them from manhandling you. He wasn’t strong enough, however, to push you away. Each touch of yours was teasing him with the heaven he’d been dreaming of finding under your hands and in your body. Now having had a taste of your touch, It’d take nothing short of a gun to the head for him to break from anything you were willing to give. Doesn’t mean he won’t try to steer it so you’re taken care of the way he wants you to be.

He looked down at you, hypnotized by the radiant image of you and your styled hair and your decorated lashes and your smudged lipstick actually kissing him, treating him with the desire he thought impossible. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness of the alley, blessedly letting him take in this image to hoard forever.

As your knees hit the dirt path, it hit him - alley. You were getting yourself dirty to touch him, basically in public in your rush, stuck in a location with only hard ground and stone walls for comfort. The realization had his cock throb hard, getting an eager moan from you where you were kissing along his length while your fingers made their way under his sash to find the waistline of his trousers. Fuck, this was a dream. It was a dream, but not the one he wanted for you where he takes his time worshiping every inch of skin, treating you like royalty, going slow so when he makes you cum it shakes you from toes to fingertips to the crown of your head-

“Darlin’, you deserve better than some back alley fu-”

“What I deserve is you; now let me have you,” you grumbled back to him, nosing his sash up so you could leave kisses and nips right above the hem of his pants. You inched them lower and lower, following their descent with your hungry mouth and savoring every new speck of skin you could. You got past the ridge of his adonis belt when you realized he had nothing on underneath them, making your mouth water with ever more anticipation. You could tell from the tenseness in his muscles, the tremors in his thighs under your clawing grip, that he was at the end of his rope. Centering a kiss on his happy trail, you looked straight up into his eyes and ordered, “Now fuck me.”

You were just about to get his pants low enough to let his painfully hard cock out to greet with a kiss when an angry hand took hold of the hair at the back of your head. It clamped in a fist and turned, taking absolute control of you. White hot adrenaline poured through your body, bursting fresh with each hard pound of your heart and stuttering your every breath. That iron grip jerked back, forcing you to crane your head back with it and look up at the imposing bulk of Beckman looming over at you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growled dangerously, leering down at you with a growing scowl. Steadily he curled himself down until his nose bumped yours and you were sure you could see how the lighting and lust had turned his eyes from shining silver to dark stone. The light pulsing in your scalp was no match for the shadowed face and piercing eyes of Beckman taking over your every thought and dragging your heartbeat low to drum between your legs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like the slut you’re set on being.”

“I’ll happily be a slut if it's for you,” you breathed out before you could think, sounding nearly in a trance from his sudden dominant behavior.

The declaration had his cock jumping and his knees weak.

“Darlin’,” he moaned, voice stretched thin by his taut, straining need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He surged down, stealing your lips in a bruising kiss, using his hold on your hair to control every tilt and press. Right away, you opened to each other, exploring the flavor of each other’s tongues and indulging in the tingles brought on by sliding the slick muscles over each other. You shivered and moaned when he flicked the point of his tongue on the roof of your mouth and he swallowed the sound down greedily. Never breaking his claim on your lips, Beckman hauled you up to your feet. The action set a pleasant burn on your scalp as you chase the pull of his grip. Your hands went back to work on getting his cock free, but he snatched them up.

“No,” he rumbled against your lips. “You’re just going to take what I give you.”

“Beckman,” you whined back to him between your continued fervent kisses, “let me touch you.”

“Sluts don’t make demands,” he snapped in a bitter taunt. Using his height to his advantage, he pulled out of the reach of your lips. He was still able to lean down over you and keep distance, forcing you to keep your head craned back with his fist in your hair and his gaze holding you hostage. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I want you,” you moaned in complaint. Though your voice was warbly with want, your tone was way too petulant to be considered begging. Even so, it was testing his resolve.

“You’ll have me,” he answered gruffly.

Before you could realize what was happening, you were flipped around and swapped, now facing the rough wall of the bar with Beckman right behind you. He had released your hair so he could trap each of your wrists to your sides. He kicked your feet to spread with heavy boots and settled eagerly against your ass. He anchored you against him by pulling on your wrists, keeping you trapped against his grinding hips. The height difference had him centered at the level of your tailbone. The feeling of having you against his cock was overwhelming, especially with the plush of your ass massaging at his sensitive balls. Quiet grunts accompanied each circle of his hips, always carried with the erotic sound of his heavy breaths.

You tilted forward and arched your hips up, seeking attention against your weeping entrance and swollen clit. The change had his dick nestle between your cheeks, the base of his cock and his tense balls giving you a small piece of the pleasure you were seeking. He stood just barely too tall for them to give any attention to your clit, causing you to shift and shimmy back into him in search of more. Despite the lack of direct stimulation, your body was still in a pleasant buzz; he felt large and heavy and hot against you and your mind was swimming in joy at how hard you made him. The open-mouthed groan you earned from him with your squirming shot enough pleasure through you to have your clit pulsing.

“On your toes, slut,” he ordered.

You listened without thinking about it and were rewarded with the new height lining him up much better to grind against everywhere you wanted him. Well - almost everywhere. Most of all you ached for him to massage you inside out, rub and dig into every slick plush space you could offer. Despite the burn already entering your calves, you tilted your ass up even higher to feel any extra speck of friction you could get from him.

Beckman’s grip on your hips was commanding, he owned your every sway and grind of your clothed cunt and ass against him. The skirt you were wearing was beginning to ride up with each thrust, exposing inch after inch of fresh skin to his hungry eyes. Both of you thanked your choice of garment as he used one hand to shove it up and over your perked ass to hang limply around your waist. It swayed and brushed your legs with each continued motion, hypnotizing Beckman for a moment.

That moment was broken when he instead looked at your ass, smooshed high and round with each grind, your underwear cutting sinful lines across the muscle, making your skin pop around the tension in the most mouth-watering way. It had Beckman moaning from deep in his chest again and thanking whatever lucky stars he had that let him have you in front of him like this. The sight mixed with the new heat from being just that much closer to getting to your bare cunt had a flurry of possessiveness and need overcome him. He nearly bowed forward to the strength of it, but fought the call so he could keep watching your body writhe against him.

You had no doubt you were sopping wet, more than enough to make his slide in slick. Each grind of him against you had your soaked panties dragging with him, causing sharp friction that was just on the right side of too much. You wondered faintly if you were getting his pants wet too, wishing you could easily turn and see to find out. You wouldn’t have been disappointed; a steady dark spot had built on his crotch from a mix of your leaking pussy and his weeping cock. You had gotten him dripping pre-cum the moment you began kissing down his chest. It had only gotten worse with each touch, his body desperate and ready to be inside you.

Suddenly, one of his hands and his hips disappeared from you, leaving you feeling lost. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a whining moan at the loss, sounding fucked out and pathetic without either of you truly being touched yet. The small coherent part of yourself marveled at the number he had done on you.

“Don’t you worry, pretty thing,” Beckman grumbled, half placating and half condescending. The sound of shuffling fabric clued you in to his missing hand’s task. “I’ll give you just what you need.”

His large fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, guiding them over your ass until they fell down. Your slightly spread legs had them catch on your thighs and Beckman huffed at the inconvenience.

“Stay right there,” he rumbled in warning as he crouched down. He dragged the soaked cloth the rest of the way off, guiding you with gentle cues. The slide of his fingertips down your legs sent tingles across your skin, but the delicate hold he put on each ankle to ease them out of the garment had your heart thumping. In this process his touch switched from tyrannical to reverent, making your mind sing with hope. That song only hit a great crescendo when he peppered the backs of your thighs with sweet and slow kisses.

As he rose back up and shoved the ruined cloth in his pocket, Beckman broke you both out of his worshiping trance by giving a playful and slightly mean nip to your left hip. You let out a little yelp despite yourself and he chuckled at the reaction, finding it absurdly cute. You shivered again at the throaty sound, nerves too easily tweaked from your potent anticipation. It only got worse when his hips found yours again.

Both of you moaned at the feeling of finally meeting skin to skin, immediately addicted to the wet heat and heady throb of each other. You sent your hips high with renewed vigor, spurred on by the need to chase more of the feeling of his thick cock against you. You were right about him being thick and long; his grinds spread your folds wide, exposing your entrance and clit to the sweet friction, and he laid across the length of your pelvis. It let him see the leaking red head of his cock peeking out from between your cheeks, the filthy image making his eyes roll back and an involuntary moan of “fuck, darlin’” growl out of him.

Beckman hooked his right arm around your front, nestling it as close to the tops of your thighs as he could get. It let him use your hip bones for stability in his hold, saving you from your weight crushing the limb into your stomach. The anticipation of feeling your legs bounce against his arm while he fucks you had him salivating.

He curled his arm, pulling your lower back flush to his abs. It made him take your weight, the toes of your shoes just barely scuffing the ground when you pointed them. You’d seen his insane strength before, but feeling it used on you had your body lighting on fire along with your cheering mind. Beckman’s other hand slid from your hip down and in on your thigh, spreading and lifting your leg until he was holding the inside of your knee out to the side. It left your cunt exposed to him, each grind of his further mixing your arousal with the pre-cum spreading down his cock.

“Hold that wall and keep your voice down,” Beckman instructed, “Unless you’re such a whore you need an audience.”

You let out a complaining moan at the harsh words but still writhed eagerly against him, unable to deny how they had you fluttering in anticipation. Your hands found purchase on the stone wall in front of you, giving you a sense of balance and security in your barely supported upper body. You were close to it so your arms were bent, allowing you strength and leverage. The force behind his grinds had you sure you’d need it.

Slowly and deliberately, Beckman slid his cock from root to tip between your slick folds, threatening you with his impressive length while he made sure he was properly coated. He only stalled the movement when his thick tip found its way down to your entrance. Unable to help himself, he ground a tight circle around it, groaning out a deep “fuck” at the feeling of your cunt trying its best to suck him in. You let out another keening moan, sounding vaguely like “please”, at the realization that his head was the perfect width to stretch you out right to the edge of your limits.

Angling his hips just right, Beckman followed the catch of your entrance to start forcing his way into you. You were right about the size of him; only his mushroomed tip was in and you already felt like your hips were being pressed wider. His achingly slow sink into you let you both feel every overwhelming bit of contact, every delicious rub of soaked skin on skin. Your mouth hung open, letting out appreciative moans, even though your attempts to hold them back left them clipped and jumbled.

Beckman had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the sensations flooding him. You felt so goddamn perfect wrapped around him. He felt somewhere in his being that you were made to be here with each other and force bliss from your pounding hearts and bodies. He finally fell to the call to curl as close to you as possible, his temple rested on yours, his stubble teasing your cheek, and stray gray hairs sweeping down to tickle your skin.

“So, so good, darlin’,” he praised breathlessly. He made it another inch into you, offering your cunt more firm flesh to clamp down on. “You feel better than a dream -nnngh- got the perfect pussy for me.”

An unrestrained moan tumbled past your lips at his praise, brain too empty and body too happy to care about anything anymore other than him and the feelings he brought out in you. The cheering and music from the bar was loud enough to lightly leak through the walls, so you wouldn’t have worried too much about attracting attention anyway.

He hadn’t prepped you any, but the abundant arousal sitting in your body so long loosened you up and made sure there was more than enough lubrication for him, especially with the addition of his own. His torturously slow press into you helped your body make room for him too. In fact, your pussy was so eager to open for him he felt like your walls were trying to suck him in quicker as they quaked and trembled around him. It made it near impossible to resist the urge to shove as deep into you as he could go, needing the hot grip of you around his aching cock and the pleasure of your plush ass and thighs pressed tight against his hips.

When he finally got there, you were both shaking and gasping. Your head felt light with the amount of bliss swimming through you at finally having him like this, held tightly in you while you shared your bodies. It also helped that he had you feeling so deliciously full; the press of him was potent enough to spread through your sides and up through your chest. It was the biggest stretch you’d taken but his size was just perfect, like he was built just to fit you and you him. The weight of his thick cock rested down towards your stomach, primed to massage your every favorite nerve.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Beckman groaned, starting his first pull back out of you. He continued with his slow speed to make you feel every ridge and vein in detail. Your favorite was the rim of his head dragging across your swollen walls. He sat that head just within your entrance and paused. “Bein’ such a good little slut.”

Right at the end of his praise, he shoved forward to fully sheathe himself back in you. The force of the thrust pressed the air from your lungs, creating a breathy moan, and gave you a taste of pleasure that had you certain that no matter how long he fucked you, you’d always want more of this potent bliss. You could live like this, fucked the rest of your life, just so long as he never stopped taking and touching you. He continued the strong and steady pace, needing to savor every second in your cunt, memorize every twitch and flutter. It had you whining, mind fraying under the threat of how much more he could give you.

“Beckman,” you moaned in frustration. “Give me more, I -ahhh- I need it.”

A punishing thrust had you feel him in your throat and your eyes rolled back in time with your high pitched moan. That moan turned into a rough whine when he stayed sat fully inside you instead of continuing. To tease you further, he began tight circles against you, making his pulsing cock play with every inch of your cunt, earning him a tight clench from you. This tantalizing rub continued as he moved to nip at your ear lobe.

“What did I say about making demands,” he warned, rumbling the words right against your ear. The puffs of his breaths shot goose bumps up your neck. He tilted his head down to tease his teeth over the flesh and continued his maddening little circles against you. With one leg trapped in his grip and the other barely reaching the ground, you had almost no leverage to work yourself back against him. Your abs burned with the effort as you tried to use your grip on the wall to stabilize yourself and grind back, but his iron grip was much stronger than any of your attempts.

You sobbed out a few needy moans at his continued meticulous playing with your body. Though you wanted so much more right away, that steady press of him waking up every inch of your insides was starting to build a pit deeper in your stomach than the one you were used to. Your mouth watered at the thought of what a full body high it could bring you but it felt so far away and you wanted to be smothered in pleasure now.

“Beckman,” you whined out, catching the way it made his breath hitch over your skin. “More, harder.”

Nothing changed and you were stuck spread open and suspended and at the mercy of his whims. It was the most deliciously frustrating thing you’d ever experienced, being forced to take the slow treatment. It made your body and mind agonize over every little sensation, every pulse and throb, every inch of you he reached that you’d never felt before. It made your ears take in the obscene sound of the little motions of his cock pushing drop after drop of your arousal out of your entrance to drip down his balls and your thigh. You flushed at how graphic it sounded, ears, face, and neck burning, especially with your combined heavy breaths and mixed moans and groans.

“You’re gonna have to try much harder than that, pretty little thing,” he goaded. You could hear the taunting condescension in his voice and you cursed the fact that it made your pussy spasm around him. The twitch of his cock that it earned inside you swelled your desperation to feel more from him until it swallowed your pride whole.

“Please,” you gasped, near truly sobbing in need. “Pleeeeease, fuck me harder, Beck, fuck me faster, please, just -hhhah- just need more.”

Beckman sucked harshly on your neck and set about answering your pleas. He changed right to fucking you fast and hard, making you yelp at the immediate flood of sensation. Your thigh and hips jumped in his grasp as you tried to take the onslaught. Every nerve in your pussy burned in the most beautiful way, emptying your head of any thoughts other than Beckman working your body into a quick frenzy. His teeth, lips, and tongue were decorating the sensitive skin of your neck; his hands and arm were clamped, making you feel blessedly trapped; his torso hovered on the back of yours, giving you brushes of his hard working muscles in motion; and his cock - his perfect cock - was bullying you open over and over and lighting every quaking inch of you ablaze.

Through your panting breaths and scattered moans, you could hear the wet slap of his hips against you, each impact making a little more arousal gush out of you. Being spread as you were also let his heavy balls tap against your clit with each hard thrust, ensuring every wired part of your pussy was seen to. You could barely form words but you were sure he caught the slurred praises you sent his way from how he echoed them back and kept adding more and more heat, pressure, grind, suck, and drag on you at your breathless moaning.

Stuck on the start of the encounter, he kept repeating a favored phrase to you - “So good, darlin’, such a good fucking slut”.

“Your slut,” you panted, “only -hnngh- yours.”

The pledge of ownership had his eyes rolling back and his mouth more ravenous against your skin. He needed to keep you locked to him forever, be on your skin forever, brand you as his, and have you mark him as yours.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he rasped, “only mine.”

He dropped your suspended thigh in favor of sinking a bruising grip into your hip. Your thighs clapped together with a wet smack, forcing a yelp from you as it jolted your clit. He placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder and got right back to his tempo. The deep pressure he’d built with his deliberate grinding was now added to by every thrust, creating a shaking warning of the orgasm to come that sat from hip to hip and up to your ribs. It felt like he was fucking you just as deep, each drive of his cock seeming to replace the beating of your heart in your chest.

The new dancing on your toes had your calves, thighs, and abs working in sporadic clenches and twitches, the jerks and shifts causing pulses around your clit and into your trembling cunt. The new position made him feel all the wider as it let your labia relax around him and light up with delicious friction on each thrust in and pull out. The squeeze of your legs and muscles also put constant pressure on your clit, which Beckman would jostle with each forceful fuck into you.

All of it was getting to be too much and you were happily drowning under the rising tide of that threatening orgasm. It was swimming through your body so thoroughly you were sure you could feel each strong thrust pull pleasure from your very bones. Every piece of you that lived between your hips felt blinding white hot and pulsing and alive and so so very good.

The cherry on top of your euphoria were the pieces of the feeling you could hear echoed in Beckman. His voice was deep and groaning but also strained and fucked out as it whispered dark praises against your neck and shoulder. His breath was ragged and just as desperate as his touch, which was trying its best to permanently attach to your skin. His aching cock was just as responsive as your trembling pussy, dripping and twitching and jumping with each move and touch of your body.

Responding to the telling grip of your cunt clamping down constantly around him, Beckman slowed his pace slightly, focusing instead on the strength of each thrust and keeping his angle just right to drag you to your end. It accented the sound of each strong clap of his hips into yours and brought back clarity to the feeling of his thick cock spearing you. Your mouth hung open, panting and watering from the change of pace and unending pound and pull of him fucking your cunt into the shape of him.

“Beckman, Beckman, Beckman -ahh!- so cloooose,” you cried, voice thin and desperate. He cursed and moaned in response, the sound of you nearly making him lose himself and cum before you. He kept his pace pounding into you, each firm fuck lighting up your tightening walls and bouncing through your swollen folds and thighs to drum on your clit. Your head was swimming; despite your fast and canting breaths, you felt like you couldn't breathe, the air escaping you with each thrust beating a needy moan from your open mouth. The burn for oxygen only added to the tightly wound pleasure gripping you from throat to cunt, clawing tightest from your hips in, held steady between his sturdy hands.

Your toes and fingers tingled numbly in anticipation and shook just like the rest of you. Instinct tilted your hips just a degree higher, letting the tip of his dick tap just so against your cervix, ramping the overwhelming build even higher than you thought possible. Your moans yelped out sharper and higher amid sobs of “don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeeeease”, making Beckman groan and curse in his own mind-numbing arousal and frantic fight not to cum first.

A few more thrusts blazing across your cunt and shaking deep in your gut had the tension finally burst. You felt it first in the shot of electricity from your clit down to your toes and up to your buzzing head, before the tight pulse of your muscles took over everything. You writhed and shook against Beckman as he held you like a lifeline, trying desperately to fuck you through every second of heaven you could feel instead of following you over the edge. Each jerk and clench of your body gave you more and more bliss, the squeeze of you so tight and sure that it felt like there was only room for Beckman’s large cock in your body.

He couldn’t manage to pull even an inch out of your cunt, too weak to deny himself the bliss of feeling you cum, so he guided you through with shallow but heavy thrusts. Each tap on your cervix swelled you more and more until you weren’t sure if you had already cum or there was something else building on the other side of this endless screaming song in your nerves. Your answer came with the feeling of a snap that switched your cunt from long pulses into frantic milking down on Beckman’s jolting cock. Each squeeze was powerful enough to cause a full jerk and shudder of your hips, having you slip and grind in Beckman’s clawing hold on your hips.

“Fuck, darlin’, sweetheart, fu-uuuck, you’re too good, too much -ngah!- so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his forehead into the side of your neck, your only anchor in the torrent of sensation ripping through your body. After an eternity, your muscles and nerves began to relax, leaving your body feeling limp and heavy in the wake of your pleasure. You were positive nothing worked anymore except for your clit and cunt, both still drooling and twitching over Beckman’s shallow thrusts. You were thankful your closed legs kept the attention from overstimulating you fully. Beckam felt your body relax, getting an addicting sense of pride from fucking you into a limp puddle, and finally took to chasing his own pleasure.

“Need to see you,” he gasped, flipping you around and desperately pressing his twitching cock back into you. He shuddered at the relief, feeling ravenous and untethered every second he couldn’t be inside you. All his sanity was now held in the taste of your skin, the pleasure in your voice, and the sweet clench of your plush cunt. Pressing your foreheads together, he made it impossible to look anywhere but at each other. Even in the low light that managed to sneak between the buildings with you, Beckman’s silver eyes glowed while taking you in. The color looked sharper pressed thin by his lust-blown pupils and you were hypnotized as his gaze swallowed you whole.

Seeing the needy scrunch of his brows and the way he switched back and forth between clenching his jaw and hanging his mouth open to moan freely sent fresh sparks straight down to your clit. Having your legs spread around him had his racing thrusts teetering you on the edge of overstimulation, but it was well worth the sight and feeling of him rabidly chasing down his pleasure in your cunt. He was mindless and rutting in his need, enjoying your sopping heat contrasting with your nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. The hug of your thighs around his waist kept him close and added to the wondrously tight clench of you that seemed to spread over his whole body. He was so, so close he just needed one little nudge.

“Beckman, please, need you -hahhn- need you to cum in me,” you begged, tone broken from all your moaning.

He was kicked right over the edge, barking out a deep “fuck” at the power of the orgasm shredding through him. He jerked his lips down to yours, holding you in an open mouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and groans. He shoved himself as close as he could get to you, trapping you near painfully tight against the stone wall with his pressing bulk, demanding lips, and throbbing cock. His dick jumped hard with each pump of hot sticky cum deep in your cunt. It warmed you inside out and mixed with the heady knowledge that you’d completely unraveled this imposing man to unexpectedly drag you into a milder orgasm of your own. Each heavy jerk of him helped guide you through your own bliss, bodies working in perfect synch to have every pump answered with a coaxing squeeze. It kept you both suspended in your mindless heaven until you’d wrung every bit of pleasure from each other that your bodies could possibly give.

Beckman was certain that you’d sucked his very soul from him if the numb and clumsy feeling of his body was anything to go by. It wasn’t ready to listen to him, acting like it belonged to someone else and he supposed that was true; it was yours now. You’d held his heart a long time and his mind even longer, so it was only fitting that you owned his body too.

You didn’t seem to be doing much better with being in charge of your body, eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering against the need to close. You were a vision - your foggy and affectionate gaze glued to him from under dark lashes, the flush tinting your sweat-damp skin, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, hair a wild crown around your head, decorating your face with stray strands. He studied and admired the image of you fucked-out and languid with eagerness and reverence. You were doing much the same, enjoying his mussed silver waves of soft locks, his gently shining eyes, the hints of red on the apples of his cheeks and his chest, the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

The sound of a drinking song spiking high in volume snuck through the wall and shattered your illusion of privacy. You were both suddenly back against the side of the bar instead of whatever pocket world you had carved out for just yourselves. Beckman continued to hold you steady as he slowly let your tired legs down, your skirt following after to hang back in place. Your legs shook under you like it was your first time standing and you laughed at their clumsiness. Beckman cracked a loving smile at you, stealing your breath and halting your chuckles. Again the melody within the bar seeped out to you clearly and you laughed even louder this time when you recognized one of Shanks’ favorite tunes. While he tucked himself away, Beckman raised a brow at your cackling until he recognized the song too and added his own gentle laughter to yours.

Looking him straight in the eyes, you fought to sing along properly through your bubbling giggles.

“I took that lass and smacked her ass

Said darlin you’re comin’ with me”

He took your hips and pulled you to him, guiding you in the closest to a swaying dance that your uncooperative legs would allow. He quietly joined you on the next lines, treating you to the deep and raspy parts of his voice that lived in his chest.

“Ain’t got a hall but we’ll use the wall

Just give me an hour or three”

“What do you say, darlin’?” Beckman asked with humor dancing in the light reflections in his eyes. There was a seriousness underlying his tone in his next question, however. “Willing to give me a few more hours?”

You gave him a sweet smile but turned it coy, your attitude sneaking back as your mind stabilized. “You’ve got one to convince me to keep you.”

Beckman huffed out a laugh at your bite coming back and leaned down to kiss your forehead affectionately. He took a moment to rest his cheek atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, delicately tinged with a touch of sweat and sex. It had him shiver and start to twitch back to life. Slowly, he trailed kisses from the top of your head to the tip of your ear. His warm breath made you shiver and begin to heat again as well.

“Sweet darlin’,” Beckman mumbled, lips tickling the rim of your ear, “I’ll have you back to begging for me in half the time. Gotta show you that I don’t just know how to fuck; I can worship.”

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