Greedy ꕤ
Featuring - Wriothesley and Varka
ꕤ You managed to get both the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide and the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius wrapped around your finger. . . Certainly, you can't have both?
ꕤ Author's note: seeing a nauseating lack of wrio and varka fics so i had to take matters into my own hands lol. im awfully out of commission when it comes to graphic smut (and using tumblr), but i did my best and i'm hoping to post a more refined version on ao3 at some point (saying this very loosely) :) username there same as here!!
ꕤ Warnings: nsfw, f!reader, threesome, praise kink, slight asphyxiation?, creampie, piv, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving (wrio), handcuffs, implied age gap but it's not dwelled on, semi-public smut, wrio likes to bite, some fluff cuz i couldn't resist, i suppose there is a fair amount of plot, lots of uses of "good girl"
Word Count: around 7k
Varka’s stop in Fontaine was a shocker. The Grand Master was such a busy man, whether he was offering help all around Teyvat on expeditions or slumped in Mondstadt with mountains of paperwork, he rarely got time to sleep, nevermind take a vacation.
But, it was a tame time of year, and you’ll never forget the first time you saw him, walking around the place you’d grown up, getting a tour around The Court of Fontaine. Everything about him drew you in. His tall height, ever so slightly aged features, tousled blonde hair, every scar that was a beautiful reminder of the battles in which he rose victorious.
And those kinds of scars—Well, you knew them all too well. Not from your own body, no.
From the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide.
How you’d gotten tangled up with him was a mystery to even yourself. An old tale of someone you once held close getting locked up in the warden’s quarters, and for every visit, you found yourself less excited to see them, and instead, Wriothesley was the face you anticipated seeing within those cold, metal walls.
He took quite the liking to you himself. Eventually, you only started showing up for him. And he’d keep you held beside, beneath, or on top of him until the sun came up. Until his name was one you could remember better than your own, and only then would he let up, hold your face in his calloused hand and plant firm kisses all over the surface of your spent body until he soothed you to a much-needed sleep.
The things that initially drew you to him, you saw in Varka, too. The selflessness. The subtle longing in his eyes, one that can only come from prolonged hope held tight even after a life filled with betrayal. A look you wanted to mend. A hope you wanted to fuel.
Then there was the shape of him, the sheer mass of his biceps, a physical strength sculpted beautifully from battle. Broad shoulders, sharp expression, rough hands with the shocking ability to be so gentle when they want to be. When you thought of him, sometimes it was hard to remember who it was on your mind.
Varka or Wriothesley.
You made the most of Varka’s visit. You spoke to him whenever you got the chance, and every so often, something would slip past his lips that sounded an awful lot like flirting, but he’d always cover it up with a cough, a lighthearted joke, or blame it on his habit of day-drinking. He was a gentleman, after all.
For weeks, you were caught between your exploratory conversations, vivid fantasies, and suggestive encounters with Varka during the day, and your deep talks, mind-shattering sex, and worshiping touches with Wriothesley at night.
Guilt caught up fast. Were you betraying your established-non-established relationship with Wriothesley by letting someone else infiltrate your thoughts in the most improper of ways? If Varka lost his self control, finally took your shorter skirts or sultry looks as an invitation to let up the gentleman act for one night, would you even be able to face Wriothesley again after?
Maybe he’d never have to find out. Varka surely had no clue that no matter how much he got you worked up during your interactions, you were getting more than adequately taken care of either way. If you got the chance to have your way with Varka during his visit, it could be your one moment of selfishness. He would have to return home eventually, anyway…
The idea seemed a lot more probable when you were sure they would never cross paths. Varka had no business in the prison, and Wriothesley rarely had reasons to come above the surface. You always went to him, besides the occasional date he’d take you on in The Court of Fontaine, none of which had overlapped with Varka’s vacation so far.
Until you were getting coffee with Varka early one morning, and you were both handed your own respective invitations to a grand party taking place the next night, the event planned by Miss Furina herself, with assistance from the Iudex.
Your heart dropped when you realized who else would 100% be getting an invite, even more when Varka invited you as his date, even more when you said yes, and as if it couldn’t get worse, Wriothesley wasn’t one to give you a break from his antics in public places.
“Shit.”
-----
“Might I say, you look beautiful tonight.” Varka compliments, offering you his arm when the two of you step onto the venue’s property. You scan the area before taking him up on his offer, hand wrapping around his bicep. “Not that you don’t always.”
You smile, letting him guide you up the stone walkway leading up to the stairs. Music blasts from inside, and every familiar face makes you swallow a gasp, though none have been who you’re worried about thus far.
Maybe Wriothesley wouldn’t care. It’s not as if you two had conversations about exclusivity. For all you know, he could have other partners. Plenty of them. He could be with one right now.
It, so selfishly, makes your heart drop to imagine that might be true.
“Maybe you’ve never been this sober looking at me before,” You joke, which makes Varka cough out a laugh that heats your skin with a warmth you’ve known about once before this moment.
“Well, booze makes you have more of an appetite. Perhaps we wouldn’t have spent so many lunches together otherwise.” He peers down at you as you two walk along, neater than usual blonde locks falling in front of his forehead. You urge to lift a hand, gently swiping it away, and then you imagine tenderly rubbing your thumb over the X-shaped scar on his cheek.
The same way you do to the scar under Wriothesley’s eye...
You clear your throat. “That would’ve been quite the shame.”
“I’d say so.”
Varka opens the door for you, mumbling something about knightly-duties, and you step into the venue.
The world stops spinning, and your throat goes dry.
You spot him. Well, his back. The Duke is talking to some people you barely recognize as guards who work at the Fortress, his hip against an unoccupied table and a glass of some alcohol you’re sure he doesn’t enjoy planted in his left hand.
“Hey, you okay?”
You turn your head so fast you almost get whiplash, forcing a smile when you see Varka’s concerned face, one of his hands pressed against your lower back. “Yeah, I’m fine. We should…”
You pause, stealing another glance in Wriothesley’s direction, and you grip Varka’s wrist hard the moment you see him start to turn around. “Go! Let’s go!”
You drag him to the left, ducking behind a large group of people to hopefully conceal yourself from the Duke’s view. Varka chuckles from behind you, planting a hand on your hip and helping you navigate the crowd in the direction of the bar. “Someone’s real excited to get me drunk.”
“I could give you every ounce of alcohol in here twice and you’d barely be tipsy, Mister Grand Master.”
He groans. “You and the formalities.” You reach the bar, and you swing your head back to try and spot where Wriothesley was while Varka takes a seat on a stool. “And you underestimate a knight’s tolerance. Three times, at least, if you want to see me tipsy.”
You spot him. You can see his side profile from this angle, in the same spot as before, talking to one of his guards with a half-smile planted across his handsome features. Varka being dressed the most formally you’d seen from him, that was no surprise. But the Duke—He cleans up nice for such a high-profile event.
Gods, you wanted to take that suit right off…
You turn back to Varka. You’re standing close enough to his seated body that he could easily take you by the hips and drag you between his knees.
“And if I want to see you drunk?” You answer finally, teasing.
He smirks, and like you have some kind of third eye, he takes your body between his hands and pulls you between his spread legs. “Ah, well, a man can get drunk off a lot of things.”
As if your heart wasn’t beating fast enough, it speeds up even more, and you flatten your palms against his chest. You peer down at him, and the lust in his eyes is contained very poorly, like he’s in a fight with himself still trying be a gentleman.
You hum. “And what’s your tolerance in that territory, Sir Varka?”
He takes a deep breath, his voice coming out deep and tortured. “For you, I might already be too far gone.”
You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your lips, and your surroundings seem to fade into nothingness for a moment. Your palms are pressed against his shoulders now, but his heart is still pounding enough that you’re counting the beats in your head.
His mouth ghosts over yours, and right when you think he might finally snap, a booming voice snaps you right out of it.
“Hey, I had no idea you would be here!”
Your head flies up.
Wriothesley is about six feet away from you, squeezing through the crowd to get to the bar. However, his eyes aren’t on you. You’re not sure he even notices you—He’s walking right up to the bartender.
Oh shit.
“Ah, Your Grace!” The bartender greets, and Wriothesley takes a seat at one of the stools with a growing smile. “It’s nice to see you above the surface.”
“You too.” The Duke retorts politely. The bartender must have been an inmate at Meropide at some point. The conversations drags on, but you’ve ducked down enough so Varka’s seated form can conceal you from the only other man that has ever had the effect on you that has currently caused a noticeable dampness beneath your dress.
Varka’s breath hitches before falling into a low laugh. “Scandalous. However, I don’t think—”
“I’m not—” You quickly confirm, heat overtaking your cheeks. You are technically knelt in front of his lap right now. In public. With people everywhere. One of the closest being the last person who needs to find you in this incriminating position. You straighten up a bit. “I have to run to the bathroom.”
“Do you want me to come with—”
“No, no. That’s alright. I’ll be quick.” You swiftly shoot down, still needing him to be a human shield as you turn towards the bathroom sign found in the far left corner of the venue. You stay as low as you can without looking crazy, and you slip into the hallway and out of sight.
You raise a hand to clutch the chain of your necklace, leaning your back against the wall and using the empty space to catch your breath. Varka and Wriothesley are currently seated about five feet away from each other. How are you supposed to return and not get both of their attentions? You told Wriothesley you weren’t even going to this thing, because you knew he’d ask you to join him, and this predicament is complicated enough.
You hoped he wouldn’t go without you as a date, but date or no date, he showed.
Perfect.
You’re suddenly terrified of hurting him. For him to have to find out you not only lied about not coming, but you also came with another man…
You truly like him so much. Everything about him has enchanted you since the very first time his icy blue eyes met yours, the first time you heard his voice, the way he would laugh and mutter out half-hearted apologies when you scolded his common jokes about his own mortality or his past. A past he opened up to you about with a vulnerability you had only seen before in yourself, and that was when you were with him.
You never wanted to hurt him, but Varka… You like him too. So much, and every bone in your body wants to see where this thing with him goes. And it’s stupid that you got yourself in this situation, that you weren’t transparent with both of them ever since Varka arrived in Fontaine.
Now look where you are.
“Fuck,” You curse, putting your hands on your forehead. “Archons.”
You turn, using the wall for support and slipping into one of the single-person bathrooms. You turn the lock, taking quick steps over to the sink and putting your hands under the tap, letting the warmth soak into you and calm your nerves a bit. You dry your hands, fix your hair, and try to think of a way to get out of this.
You could sneak over and very quickly pull Varka back into the crowd, and bring him somewhere you can only hope Wriothesley has no business being. You could seduce him, convince him to get you out of here as soon as possible so…
So much for calming down. You pick at the fabric of your dress, feeling the way your panties have suctioned to your cunt from all the places your mind has gone tonight.
You unlock the bathroom door, slipping back into the hallway. Maybe you could find a familiar face and have them talk to Varka for you, have him join you somewhere else?
That could work. You slip out of the hallway, back into the main part of the venue, and you spot Varka at the bar. His head pops up, and he locks eyes with you.
Wriothesley isn’t behind him. You didn’t anticipate him moving spots.
Varka nods. Oh Gods, is he gesturing you over? You—
Something wraps around your wrists, and before you can react, you hear it.
Click.
You’re tugged back into the hallway as you gasp out, the front of your body being pressed flush against the cold wall, and something, someone, is pressing against your back, your cuffed hands pinned under them.
“Adultery might not be a crime, but it is very, very, frowned upon.” The warmth against the shell of your ear comes before the voice.
“Wriothesley,” You whisper, breathlessly. “I—Adultery?” Is he serious? “We’re—”
He shushes you. “However…” A beat passes, just long enough for one of his hands to slide to your hip and squeeze hard. “Lying to law enforcement, that is a crime.” His head drops, his breath now ghosting over your exposed shoulder. "You said you weren't coming."
Your stomach churns. “I—I didn’t… I’m sorry…”
“How well do you think sorry holds up in court, baby?”
Your eyes flutter closed, forehead pressed against the wall. “Not well.”
“Clever girl,” He praises, and your hips press back against his almost instinctively. All it would take is one person to round the corner, and he could be locked up in his own prison for public indecency.
That’s when you remember.
Varka. He was standing right there, he probably saw—
You’re swiftly tugged off the wall, forcing you out of your head. Wriothesley keeps his hands just above your elbows, your wrists still bound behind your back, and he leads you all the way to the end of the hallway toward a staircase you didn’t notice before.
“I could bring you to get checked in,” He speaks, his otherwise rushed movements more careful as he guides you up the stairs. “Keep you locked up in the Fortress with me. Wouldn’t that be fun, baby? Just me and you, all the time?”
Yes.
You reach the top of the stairs, and he’s not done speaking as he continues to pull you along. “I would never have to be done with you. But the Fortress, I think I like you too much to stick you there.”
Huh?
“But what kind of warden would I be if I didn’t punish those who have done wrong?”
Oh.
“Have you done wrong, baby?”
“Yes,” You gasp out.
As Wriothesley drags you along, he sticks a hand out to check every door. Most are locked, but finally, he comes across one that isn’t.
You’re pushed through the doorway, and an arm wrapping around your waist catches you before you fall forward. Wriothesley pulls you to a couch off to the side of the room, which appears to be someone’s office, and sits you down on his lap. Your back to his front.
With your hands still pinned behind your back from the handcuffs, you manage to find and palm his bulge through his slacks. He groans, his feet snaking between yours before spreading, forcing your legs open wide.
You gasp, and one of his hands grip your chin to force your mouth to his, swallowing the sound. You whimper, hips grinding against nothing as he leaves his free arm swung over the front of your body.
You moan his name, desperately, urging him to touch you as you’re left completely at his disposal.
He grins against your mouth, and just then, you jump at the sound of the door creaking open and slamming shut.
We’re caught, you think, snapping your head forward, expecting to see the panicked, mortified eyes of one of the other guests, likely whoever this office belongs to.
The blue hues staring back at you are far from what you expected.
Your throat goes dry. “Varka.”
He shrugs his suit jacket off, slowly stalking over to the couch. Wriothesley’s hand is still wrapped around your chin, and he forces your head back to press his mouth to your ear.
“What was the plan? You were going to hide from me all night?”
“And I was your shield of choice?” Varka continues, the smirk on his face and the tone of Wriothesley’s voice suggesting neither them are as upset as you feared they would be. No, this, what they’re actually feeling, didn’t even cross your mind.
They must’ve spoken when you ran off to the bathroom. Surely Wriothesley spotted you all cozied up between Varka’s knees, and used the bartender as an excuse to get close enough to confirm his suspicions. You storming off was the perfect opportunity for him to figure out what was going on.
Honestly, you couldn’t be happier.
You shudder, Wriothesley’s hand that isn’t gripping your face moving to your hip. He pulls your dress up, scrunching it around your waist, leaving your soaked panties on display. You whine, and his thumb circles your hipbone in a comforting, encouraging, gesture.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” You mumble, talking to Wriothesley.
He chuckles. “You bet a lot on that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, baby.” He shoots down, his lips finding your neck, and you moan when he bites down. “But you could’ve just told me.”
Your eyes find Varka as he drops his suit jacket on the armrest of the couch, and the lust he was working so hard to keep control of earlier, he seems to have fully let loose now. The look in his gaze is so maddeningly erotic that you try to snap your legs closed just to get some friction, but Wriothesley’s feet keep you spread.
Your eyes fall closed, head tipping back against Wriothesley's shoulder. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”
He laughs once. “I might’ve been a little upset.”
You lean up enough to be able to crane your neck to see him.
“But I’m not,” He finishes quickly. “Not now.”
You turn to Varka.
He smiles. “Neither am I.”
You slowly relax against Wriothesley’s chest again, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth and biting down. He hums approvingly, and your eyes trail Varka’s movements as he approaches you.
He drops to his knees between your legs.
You gasp, and Wriothesley is quick to steady you with one hand on your hip, the other resting gently around your throat.
You understand their plan now.
Varka’s hands find each of your exposed legs, rubbing up and down the warmed skin like he’s committing the feeling of you to memory. You wonder if he does this a lot. He has quite a few years on you, more than Wriothesley does, but the stories he loves to tell you always suggested a lack of time to get laid.
“You alright?” Varka mumbles, dropping his head to kiss up your inner thigh, approaching the apex that is in desperate need of either his or Wriothesley’s attention.
You nod. Part of you wants to stop him just to have him tell you exactly what conversation led to him and Wriothesley coming to this consensus, but, you know how to pick your battles, and staying silent feels like a notable win.
You moan when he presses feather-light kisses against you through the embarrassingly soaked fabric of your underwear, his tongue darting out to apply gentle pressure to your clit. You choke out his name, bucking your hips and dropping your head back. Every movement is curious as he learns the workings of your body in the presence of someone who probably knows how to get you off better than you do.
“So greedy,” Wriothesley murmurs, biting your earlobe. “Wanting both of us so badly. Was I not filling you up well enough, baby? Is that it?”
You rapidly shake your head, which makes him laugh lowly.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
Varka’s fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, and Wriothesley frees one of your feet just so Varka can tug them off before holding you open again. Your hands start to work at his bulge again, even though the pressure of being pinned between two bodies is starting to be numbing. He groans, pressing his face against your neck, and before you can relish in the sound, Varka is pressing his face against your bare cunt.
You moan out, back arching as he quickly begins to lap up at the arousal the two of them have already contributed to. One hand rests on your thigh, and the other holds down the hip that Wriothesley isn’t already attending to. You’re completely vulnerable to both of their pleasurable antics, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Varka,” You nearly cry, and Wriothesley is quick to swallow the sound with his own mouth. You can barely reciprocate when Varka wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, but the Duke doesn’t seem to have any complaints, greedily drinking up every sound that emerges from your throat.
“Shh…” Wriothesley coaxes. “Don’t want anyone to hear you, do you, baby?”
“Mmm… No.”
“That’s right,” He praises, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting gently. “That’s a good girl.”
You whine, forcing your mouth against his again to try and muffle your sounds as Varka hungrily eats you out. His tongue swipes over your fluttering hole before dipping inside, making you choke. Wriothesley’s calloused hand is now wrapped firmly around your throat, holding you in place.
You’re so overwhelmed with the sensations, the shock, the reality of the situation. You went into tonight anxious that these two men would come within 20 feet of each other, and now they’re both eagerly pleasuring you with no signs of anger or sadness. If anything, the thought of working together to make you come apart seems to be spurring them on, Wriothesley’s cock hardening beneath you every time Varka elicits a high-pitched moan from deep in your chest, and Varka working more tirelessly at your pussy when he catches a glimpse of Wriothesley’s hand clutching your throat.
Whether its competitiveness or something else entirely, it’s working out in your favour.
Varka’s hand retreats from your thigh, and you gasp when his rough fingertips trail over your hole, clenching around nothing. He sucks and nips at your clit with less fervor as his eyes flit up to watch your face when he dips his middle finger inside of you.
“Oh,” You exhale, barely getting the word out as Wriothesley’s hand tightens around your throat. He cranes his neck to watch your face, studying your reactions.
Varka’s finger drags along the inside of your cunt, in and out, his tongue still lazily circling your nerves. You whine, hungry for more, and he picks up on that quickly, a second finger pressing into you.
Your back arches again, your position shifting as your bound wrists lift to rest somewhere higher, and you now have the option to shamelessly grind back against Wriothesley’s cock.
And you do.
The thrust of Varka’s digits are slow and experimental at first, his eyes still pinned on you, the heat of his gaze urging you to press back against Wriothesley’s crotch. The Duke’s hand that was on your hip travels to fully wrap around your waist, helping you along as he gasps and groans right in your ear. Varka chases the desperate movements of your hips with newfound vigor, curling his fingers against your spongy walls and flattening his tongue against your clit.
Wriothesley’s tongue dips out to drag along the shell of your ear. “Close, baby?”
You nod, chasing Varka’s mouth and arching your neck enough that the top of your head grazes the fabric of the couch Wriothesley sits on. A lewd mixture of both their names keeps emerging from your throat, like your mind can't register which one of them to thank for this feeling.
The pads of Varka’s fingers find the perfect spot inside of you, abusing the patch of nerves until you’re gushing around his fingers, hips retreating and grinding firmly against Wriothesley, who nearly chokes.
Varka keeps lapping at your clit through your orgasm, only pulling away when you whine and squirm at the overstimulation. He’s quick to resort to trailing kisses upwards, to the hem of your dress which is still bunched around your waist.
“Uncuff her.”
Wriothesley grunts. “Sit up for me.”
You do, panting, leaning forward enough that Wriothesley can access your cuffed wrists. Varka takes this as an opportunity to steal his very first kiss from you, and you hum at the taste of yourself on his lips.
His hand grips the back of your neck, still on his knees in front of you, and you feel like you’re being worshiped as his tongue desperately dances with yours. You hear the soft click from earlier again, and Wriothesley tosses the cuffs aside before gently massaging your wrists until the numbness subsides. He leans forward enough to gently bite your shoulder.
“You okay?” He mumbles, one of his hands finding your clothed ribcage and resting it there comfortingly.
You nod, pulling back from Varka, a string of saliva connecting your lips. He groans loudly at the sight, reaching down to adjust the crotch of his slacks. You lick your lips.
“Good,” Wriothesley says, sliding his hands under your dress to tug it the rest of the way off. You put your hands up to assist him, and he throws the garment over the arm rest to join Varka’s coat. “Because you’re not done yet.”
Thank the gods.
Wriothesley tugs you to your feet, and you barely even have time to process the change of position before your chest is pressed flush against the cold wood of the desk.
“Careful,” Varka scolds lightheartedly, coming up beside the desk to tenderly stroke your hair. You angle your head to look up at him, his knuckles grazing the soft skin on your cheek. He looks utterly enchanted by the fucked-out expression on your face. It’s the same way he looked at you when he came to get you at the start of the night and saw you all dolled up for him.
“I know what she likes,” Wriothesley remarks.
Competitiveness.
You can’t pretend you don’t find it really hot.
Varka barks out a laugh, flattening his palm over your head, sliding down your back and snapping open your bra clasp with skill. Guess that rules out your virgin theory, though you were already skeptical about that. Like, look at him. “And what does she like?”
Wriothesley grabs your waist, lifting you enough that Varka can pull off your bra. The second it’s off, each of them are palming one of your breasts with an equal amount of need. “She likes to be a real good girl,” He answers, taking your nipple between two of his fingers and exhaling shakily at the way you whine his name. “She likes to take everything I give her. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” You moan out.
He rests you down again, his palm pressing against the middle of your back to urge you to arch it. He kicks your ankles, opening your legs.
“Might as well demonstrate.”
The familiar sound of his belt unbuckling makes your knees weak, and Wriothesley continues to shrug his slacks off one-handed so he can steady your hips with the other. You're sure the desk beneath you is already majorly coated with your sweat, and you're so aroused that the evidence of such must be dripping.
Varka’s heavy footsteps circle the desk, and you turn your head to watch him as he drops down in the desk chair. You whine, grabbing the side of the desk closest to him, and he smirks before reaching out to engulf your hand in his large one, rubbing your pulse point with his thumb.
You hear Wriothesley’s slacks hit the ground, and then you feel the head of his cock nudging your cunt, and you already greedily try to suck him in by pressing your hips back.
“So needy,” Wriothesley scolds, but there’s no real distaste in his voice. You know he wants it just as bad as you.
“Yes,” You agree shamelessly. “Please.”
He bends over your back to trail kisses down your spine. “This is supposed to be a punishment, mind you.”
You desperately try to push your hips back again. “This feels plenty punishing, Your Grace.”
Wriothesley laughs at that, leaning off of you, and you can feel him line his cock up with you again.
“I think she’s been very remorseful,” Varka adds, voice thick with his own arousal.
You nod in agreement.
Wriothesley sighs, one hand on your hip and the other sliding up to your shoulder.
“Very well.”
He presses half his length into you in one firm thrust.
You sob, squeezing Varka’s hand and pressing your forehead to the desk. You’ve taken him so many times, plenty just like this, bent over his desk at Meropide, but he’s just so thick that you’re not sure your body will ever fully adjust to the sheer size of him.
Wriothesley shushes you, leaning down to kiss your shoulder as he slowly begins to slide further in, inch by inch. “There—Fuck.” His head falls forward. “Taking me so well. So good, baby.”
You clench around him at the praise, and he grunts before bottoming out in one more fell swoop.
His weight is relieved off your back, just for his hand that was previously on your shoulder to tangle up in your hair and tug your head back. You moan, ass grinding back.
“Greedy,” He notes again.
Hell yeah, you were.
He pulls nearly all the way out, until just the tip is left inside of you, and then he presses all the way back in to the hilt.
You nearly scream, biting down on your lip to muffle yourself. You’re suddenly aware of all the voices floating into the room from downstairs, the event still roaring with life, and how the shaking desk along with your desperate moans might quickly paint a very clear picture of what’s going on in here.
As if reading your mind, Varka unwraps his hand from yours and instead grips your chin, his thumb pressing against your lips. You take it in your mouth, closing your teeth around it and swirling your tongue. He grunts at the sight, and you catch a glimpse of him palming himself through his pants.
The effect you have on him makes your body greedily clench around Wriothesley’s cock, and the sensation urges him to begin thrusting inside of you. He sets a steady pace, every ridge of his cock dragging against you in the best of ways.
You cry out his name, muffled by Varka’s thumb shoved in your mouth. One of your palms press flat against the wood as you arch your back to accommodate the Duke’s deep thrusts, and the other wraps around Varka’s wrist.
Wriothesley uses his grips on your hip and hair to repeatedly pull you to meet his thrusts with force, and every nudge of his cock deep inside your cunt makes you see stars behind your eyelids. He chokes out small praises, telling you how beautiful you are, how good you are for him, his own way of reminding you how much it matters to him that you let him have you like this. Even with his rough treatment, he's always made sure you know that you're the only person who could ever get him worked up like this.
And you thought, for even a second, that he could’ve been fucking someone else. You would laugh if you hadn’t lost the ability to do anything except murmur pleas incoherently.
You’re a complete mess, and the sight of you coming undone is something unlike anything either men have known before. The way Wriothesley fucks you has you convinced you’re going to fuse with the desk, and seeing how needy and pliant you have already grown for when Varka gets his turn with you… His cock is begging to be freed from his slacks, and if he weren’t brought up with the selfless and patient values of a knight, he would’ve shoved Wriothesley clean out of the way if it meant getting inside you sooner.
Wriothesley angles his thrusts to hit that spot inside of you he knows gets you, and the way you’re drooling and mumbling around Varka’s thumb has him even closer to tipping over the edge with you. His hand drops from your hair, circling your stomach, and his forehead drops to your shoulder as his thrusts stutter. His grunts are desperate, and the occasional needy whimper-like sound that you evoke from him makes your nerves feel like fucking fireworks.
“Good girl,” He gasps out, his hand around your body sliding down to circle your swollen clit with two fingers. You choke, tilting your head back, wanting the closeness, and he picks up on that when he smears kisses across your shoulder, your cheek, a lewd yet tender action as he spills inside of you at the same time you gush around his cock, screaming against Varka’s hand.
He fucks you through your orgasm, panting heavily against your skin.
Varka gently pulls his thumb from your mouth, letting you slacken against the desk.
“Wriothesley,” You murmur.
He leans off of you. “You did so well.” His palm rubs up and down your spine in a comforting gesture. “You’re such a good girl, baby.”
You manage a lazy smile as he slowly pulls his length from inside of you, cursing at the way his release immediately begins to spill out. You suppose you would’ve had to bring that up to Varka before the two of you had sex either way, that you and Wriothesley rarely bothered with protection.
You were sure he could tell now.
Wriothesley pulls you up, spinning you to face him and cupping your face. He kisses you tenderly, and you grip his arms and hum.
“Okay,” He says gently, pressing a few more kisses to your collarbone and chest. You watch as he redresses his boxers and slacks, and then he spins you towards an inviting face.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
You approach him on wobbly legs, and Varka brings you down to straddle his lap when you reach him. You clutch the neckline of his dress shirt, and he kisses you slow, eyes half lidded, like he’s analyzing you again.
“Tired?” He teases.
“Drunk?” You retort.
“You think I’ve had time for booze?”
You slide your hands down to rest on his sides. “The other drunk.”
“Oh—Fuck, sweetheart, I’m wasted.”
You grin, and then you reach down to start undoing his belt. He grunts, letting you unbuckle it and pull it out of the loops. Wriothesley leans against the wall next to the chair, and he just watches you.
The look on his face, you're sure he’ll be up for another go once Varka is done with you.
You're never getting out of this office.
You toss the belt aside as Varka hastily lifts his hips to tug his pants and briefs down. His cock stands at attention, precum dripping from the tip that you so desperately want to lap up. It’s definitely a little bigger than anything you’ve taken before, but you anticipated that. Wriothesley was the biggest man you’d ever seen in your life until you saw Varka.
“You sure?” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “If you’re tired, sweetheart…”
“Quit being such a knight,” You mumble.
“Yeah. You’re making me look bad.”
You glare at Wriothesley, and you can only guess that the smirk that appears on his face is because of how non-threatening you look right now. Fucked-out, tired, and still desperate for more.
You push up on your knees, taking the base of Varka’s cock in your palm and pumping him slowly. His hands squeeze your hips, grunting and thrusting up into your hand. You bite your lip.
You position yourself above his throbbing erection, and you gasp when his tip gets caught in your oversensitive cunt. You’re so overwhelmed already, not sure how much more you can take, but the Grand Master seems to be an impressively patient man.
He slowly helps you lower yourself down, every inch of him stretching you open with such a good ache. Your hands grip his shoulders, and you feel Wriothesley’s eyes on you… You might pass out.
Varka’s hands on your hips guide his cock deeper into you until you’re seated, taking all of him.
“Good girl.” He cups your face, forcing your gaze to meet his. His blue eyes are glossed over and so full of need, and you want to give him everything he seems so depraved of. “Just take it easy for me, sweetheart.”
You nod, lifting one of your hands and gently touching the scar on his face with the tips of your fingers. His eyes are locked on your face, your parted lips, your half-lidded eyes, the absolute fucking mess of your hair…
“Fuck.”
His fists close around your hips hard enough to bruise, and then he’s lifting you up just to force you back down on his cock. You sob, falling forward, and all you can do is cling to him as he starts to bounce you up and down. His groans and your moans blend together, and you thank the gods that his knightly patience finally snapped.
He ruts up into you, chasing a high he’s been craving ever since he first saw you. You try to keep your face buried in his neck, but you’re abruptly pulled back by a hand in your hair.
When your eyes fade back into focus, Wriothesley’s cock is in front of your face.
So, like a good girl, you drop your jaw.
He curses, using his grip on your hair to push your mouth halfway down on his cock, and he eagerly strokes the base with his free hand. You suck around him, moaning and drooling to create a view that might be doing more for him than anything else.
Varka steadies your hips, instead just thrusting up into you instead of bouncing you up and down. You try to focus on getting Wriothesley off, too, but when Varka’s thumb pokes out to rub your clit, you’re immediately a goner.
You go mindless, just a crying, moaning mess as you get fucked through your third orgasm. Soon enough, Varka’s head falls back against the chair with a heavy groan, releasing inside of you to join what was left of Wriothesley’s seed. Speaking of which, only a few more pumps have Wriothesley coming in your mouth, and with the last of your strength, you seal your lips around him and greedily drink it all down.
“Shit.” Wriothesley pulls from your mouth with a pop, and you fall against Varka’s chest with heavy breaths. Varka uses his hold on your hips to gently lift you off his cock, pulling just his boxers back on before settling you more comfortably against him.
Your cheek rests against his shoulder, face turned toward his chest, and he strokes your back.
Wriothesley gets redressed before coming up beside you and tucking your sweaty hair behind your ear. He nods to Varka.
“How close to here are you staying?”
Varka’s arms wrap around you, and he sits up a bit. “Let’s go. Grab her dress.”
---
The next time you feel even slightly awake, you’re lying down in the middle of a double-bed. The sheets beneath you smell like a newly familiar scent, and the large shirt thrown over your body smells like one you’ve known for months.
You sit up, wiping your eyes and yawning.
“Hey, lay back down.” The mattress dips to your right, and you look down to see Wriothesley, settling next to you and pulling the covers over you both.
You obey without hassle, tiredness still pulling at your limbs, and a dull ache resting between your legs. You know you aren’t doing anything tomorrow. Or today?
“Varka cleaned you up, you’re all good, baby.”
You hum, curling into his chest contently. Just then, the mattress dips again on your left.
“She awake?”
“Not anymore, I don’t think.”
You’re too exhausted to share the state of your semi-consciousness, especially when another comforting warmth presses against your back, and you're now sandwiched between two soothing forms.
You couldn’t be happier to be greedy.
