Summary: Miles Quaritch thought hate would be enough to keep him focused, but on Pandora, he's trapped in twenty years of vigor while haunted by fifty years of cruelty—and nothing obeys his command. The hate has given way to an unknown heat, but his biological clock already knows exactly where it needs to burn to sate his desire."
Notes: Sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes, Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! Enjoy the ride. 🔥
It was something hot, almost physical, thrumming constantly beneath his blue skin stirring dangerously with his urge for dominance. It was what he called hate, revenge—so raw, perverse that it had become a necessity. From it came the blindness that kept him awake with every memory of his failure at Sully’s hands, a direct affront to his wounded pride. It was there that his rage found strength in control, in the urgency to prove that Miles was still the one set the pace. But unfortunately, on Pandora, everything intensified; this new body responded differently—more sensitive, more violent—as if every breath made him more impulsive, cruel... hungry.
The climate of the Mangkwan people awakened exactly that: more hate, heavy as armor. It was no longer an explosive anger; it was something far deeper, cultivated with who had gleefully joined his quest for revenge. But joy was something denied there. Everything was so lifeless, gray, colorless, trapped in a suffocating heat that mirrored every feeling he pondered internally. It was something in the air that felt strange; perhaps it was the metallic scent, or the ash that constantly drifted across the sky, making everything even denser. It was hard to name, but it stirred buried emotions.
Hate remained in control, but it wasn't alone. Beneath it, something more primal began to stir—slow and inevitable, like a body responding before the mind could grant permission. An addictive feeling that ignited like fire deep within him every time he caught a glimpse of you... always lurking like a functional shadow, with those lifeless eyes devoid of empathy, moving only when necessary, stopping when you wasn't called. You was helpful only in form, never in spirit. And that very "non-gesture" sparked a biological call within him—a primary need that didn't obey military logic or the discipline of the hate that had blinded him for so long. The predator in him remained alert, aware that his senses were adjusting to a different kind of survival, a different kind of prey that whetted a new kind of hunger.
Miles recognized the sensation from afar—not by practice, but by memory—like someone who understands the meaning of something before experiencing it. There was a constant restlessness, a strange heat in his lower abdomen that didn't ask for violence or immediate action, only presence... constant, irritating, exposing his deepest instincts and pushing him to complete cycles he hadn't chosen. He was like a juvenile organism learning to respond to its own internal workings. He wasn't ignorant—just physically inexperienced in that body—and every time you was near, that sensation organized itself, gaining direction. It was as if your body were the food he craved: graceful yet firm. Your hips were light, like a wind blowing in his direction, carrying an irresistible scent that made his mouth water and his body sweat with thoughts that flourished so suddenly they bypassed any restraint he tried to impose.
Like your presence cut through the air of the yurt like a sudden change in pressure. Suddenly, you was there—standing at the entrance, observing his naked body without haste or a trace of shyness. Miles, lying on the furs, remained motionless. His blue skin, still marked by the day’s heat, looked relaxed, but he noted with contained irritation and raw satisfaction the reason you was there, written all over you somberly beautiful face. Your gaze lingered over him as your made yourself at home, prowling the yurt Varang had granted him, as if the place were already known to you.
Without permission, you approached. Your steps were too light for such a brutal environment. Your fingertips felt like feathers against his chest, sliding up to his kuru, from the base to the end of the queue. It was as if something profoundly wrong—and inevitable—had been triggered. It wasn't a caress; it was a recognition. A brief, firm touch, too intimate to be innocent. Miles’s body responded before he could react, and suddenly there was a soft, low chuckle permeating the place. His senses sharpened with aggressive clarity as he looked at you, searching for answers.
— "Mhm... it works," You said simply, keeping your r fingers there a moment longer than necessary.
The silence that followed was heavy. Miles understood in that instant what your meant... how could he not, when his length was visibly hard? It was his body—inexperienced but alert—already knowing exactly what that proximity signified. Miles didn't pull away.
On the other way around—his fingers closed calmly around yours; they were too thin, too cold, too na'vi compared to his five human fingers. The difference didn't go unnoticed. He felt it. He liked it. The realization came with a strange sense of a silent satisfaction, as if that detail were one more proof that this new body still carried something old, something that knew exactly what it was doing.
And with that, he pulled you, Not with force—but enough to break the distance you maintained by choice, not out of fear. And when you sat there, in his lap, there was a certain type of restraint he had only felt when he was still human; and that restraint was too much to maintain a mask of neutrality. Your weight against his body and his hardness made the air feel even denser. Miles kept his gaze fixed on yours, attentive to every micro-reaction, every involuntary adjustment of your posture, every second longer you took to move away.
— "You walk in without warning..." his voice came out low, raspy with something other than exhaustion. "Touch what you shouldn't..."
His thumb slid slowly over your knuckles. A small, calculated gesture.
— "...it's not just curiosity!"
There was a smirk there. Not kind, nor too provocative; just aware. Miles wasn't lost in the sensation—he was testing limits, as he always had, only now the battlefield was different. His body reacted, but his mind remained sharp, observing how you breathed differently, how you didn't get up, how you didn't release his hand. — "Cause you sat down," he added, leaning in a bit more. "So you know exactly what you came looking for."
The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was your loud, somewhat innocent laugh—but of innocence, there was none in her. And that made him smirk his ears perked at the sound of your shrill, somber giggle, which for a single instant made him understand why Jake betrayed his own race. A little thing, so feigned innocent, could make anyone lose their mind. Your laughter dissolved slowly, like hot smoke in the stifling air of the yurt. You was in no hurry to answer when tilted your head slightly, studying his face too closely, like someone considering something they’ve already decided to possess—they just haven't said it out loud yet.
— "Curiosity..." Your repeated, dragging out the word, almost tasting it. "It is what you tawtute call it when you don't want to admit something else."
Your fingers moved slightly, not to pull away, but to settle deeper into his hand, as if that contact had been accepted long ago. Your gaze didn't drop immediately; it stayed locked on his, testing if he would look away first. He didn't.
— "Varang said you were dangerous," You continued, in a tone far too casual for the moment. "But she didn't mention you being... interesting."
You leaned in closer, until the distance vanished entirely as you settled over him, straddling him without hesitation or excuse. It wasn't a delicate seduction; it was a silent challenge.— "And now," You added, her voice low, almost intimate, "I wanted to see if what woke up inside you..."
A brief, sharp, conscious look dipped down to his naked body, already knowing exactly the effect you was having.
— "...can easily quench the fire inside me."
The silence that followed was pure provocation; an action that made Miles lean in first by instinct, not by haste. There was something almost restrained in the gesture, as if part of him were still observing from the outside, considering his own decision even as he executed it. But when their lips met again, there was no rehearsed delicacy now. There was weight. Heat. A silent impact that rippled through his new body with unexpected intensity, making him thrum beneath you. And for a brief second, he expected resistance.
It didn't come.
You responded with the same dark firmness that marked everything about you—not receding, not surrendering immediately, but accepting, adjusting to the contact like someone recognizing an ancient language. When you tongue found his, slow and sure, Miles felt a shock, almost an irritated one, run down his spine. It wasn't unfamiliarity—it was surprise.
He hadn't expected that. There was something profoundly human in that gesture, something he carried in his memory as practice, not as a possibility here. The body reacted with a minimal delay, as if it were learning too fast as your tongue slid against his. The pressure increased, and his hand squeezed your hip with violence—but without the intent to hurt—and he felt how much you liked it. You followed every change, every adjustment, every hesitation he wouldn't allow himself to show.
To you, the kiss wasn't a discovery—it was a provocation. A silent game where the danger wasn't in the touch, but in how much he responded; and Miles responded on autopilot, following instinct like a wolf that has lost its teeth but never its scent. But the air between them grew short. Not for lack of breath, but because of the density of the moment. When he finally pulled back enough to face you, your gaze was darker, more attentive—not satisfied, but extremely stimulated. You returned to kissing, nibbling, licking the curve of his neck with a certain fury that broke his last restraint, making Miles release his breath in a low, raspy sound, as if you had touched something too deep to be ignored. The body reacted before he could reorganize his control—not in confusion, but in recognized hunger.
— "Fuck..." escaped him, almost a contained growl.
His head tilted slightly, offering the angle without being asked, while the hand on you back go lower, firm, guiding the movement of yiur hips, marking the rhythm as if saying without words: like this. His own hips also moved almost without him realizing, rising in search of more; an instinctive adjustment that made it clear how involved the body was now. There was no more attempt to hide the reaction. His hand moved up at once, firm, closing around the side of your body—not to push away, but to anchor your. His fingers made their presence known on the straps of your loincloth,, as if he needed to remind you that he now required more than just attention on his neck. It was a silent understanding that made yur chuckle softly, satisfied, when his nose brushed against the skin of your shoulders—not as a caress, but as a marking of territory. An almost animalistic gesture, loaded with intent, that made you pull back and stare at him with a smirk. It wasn't a sweet smile—it was slow, satisfied, almost cruel, revealing your fangs for an instant, too white against the ash-marked skin. Miles's eyes flared when you stayed close enough for him to feel the heat of your breath mixing with his.
— "Take it off, sky man..." It was lowly, you voice heavy with desire.
The word didn't sound like a hollow provocation. And his movement was neither slow nor calculated; Miles’s hand closed on the fabric with brute force, without care, without hesitation. There was a second of resistance—the cloth stretched, tense—and then the dry sound cut through the air of the tent.
Tear.
The noise was harsh, loud enough to echo off the walls of leather and bone, an aggressive snap that broke the heavy silence like a blow. The fibers shattered all at once, yielding under his strength, and the piece of cloth was ripped away without ceremony, still warm from your body. He didn't look at what he had done.
He simply flicked his wrist and tossed the loincloth aside, letting it fall into a corner of the yurt with a light thud. The cloth lay there, discarded on the floor, forgotten the same instant it left his hand. It was intense enough to mark the moment, because you inhaled in an immediate reflex, your body tensing for a second, pure surprise crossing your face. It wasn't fear—it was the shock of the unexpected, of the strength that asked for no permission beyond the word you had spoken. Your eyes widened for just an instant before something else emerged there, it was a short, raspy chuckle escaped, almost incredulous—not just at the brutality of him tearing the loincloth as you had ordered, leaving you naked just like him under your, but at the contact that finally came. Intimacy meeting intimacy: hard, wet, pulsing with an excitement that was read not only in their eyes but in each of their bodies. Miles didn't pull back either, but he gasped when you was the one to move her hips forward and backward slowly, as if you didn't know what you was doing. And that made him laugh at you feigned innocence again when you murmured soft.
— "Like this?..."
Miles responded with a low sound from the back of his throat—it wasn't a full laugh, but something close to it. A recognition. A reaction just as false as yours.
— "No," He said, his voice deep and precise, just like the palm of his hand that covered one of her ass cheeks with disere, touch hard. He used the grip to move her hips harder, faster, creating that wet, hot friction of you pulsing core against his cock—which was harder than it had ever been before...And then came a gasp from you, along with that silly little giggle when you tilted her head slightly, studying him for a second longer. Then you leaned you hand against his chest and pushed him back—not with excessive force, but with enough decision to make it clear it wasn't a request.
— "Lie down," You ordered, simple and direct.
There was a brief, loaded silence, but Miles did not deny you; there was a certain excitement in doing what he was told. He held your gaze for another moment before yielding to the movement, reclining slowly—not out of submission, but because he chose to permit it. The gesture was calculated, tense, like a predator who accepts to observe before attacking and that is what he did. His calloused palm slid up your ribs, tracing them at the same rhythm you moved your hips against his, focusing, delighting only in the sensation of how your cunt slid over his hard shaft, fluidly.
To you, it was as if his cock had been perfectly made to fit the curve of your lower lips, as if the slightly curved tip of his cock were made especially to stimulate your clit with every movement of your hips. A It was quite a scene, Miles admitted. It was intoxicating, the way you was using him for your own pleasure, the way you didn't fully moan—it was just a low, pleasurable hiss that turn on him even more just to hear. It made him almost desperate to hear more and that desperation made him pull hard at the thin strips of cloth covering your breasts, tearing them just as he had done with the loincloth.
This time, however, the air caught in his throat. Your breasts were exposed—firm like the rest of your body—but his pupils dilated at the sight of the jewelry glinting. It was just a piece of metal piercing a single nipple; he made a point to touch it with his fingertips, to squeeze. And then, finally, a long, dragged-out moan came from you, making your chest arch forward. His cock trobs inside the heat of her your iner cunt lips again and again not just at the discovery, or the sound of you, or the fact that you was still moving your hips, but because he was now hyper-aware of every detail about you—things that had gone unnoticed because he had been too focused on the sensation, barely controlling himself and then when he finally looked down, he noticed a slightly larger, transverse metal piercing your clit.
Immediately, he gripped your hips, stopping you movements; his thumb went there instantly, touching... swollen, Miles thought instinctively, his tongue licking his lips at the dirty ideas that clouded his mind.
— "What a dirty little thing you are," He murmured, his voice thick with arousal, moving his thumb precisely in circular motions.
It was only to see how you would react, but when you practically melted at his touch, hissing softly, Miles smirked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It wasn't a laugh of tease or mockery; it was just that kind of satisfaction that takes hold of any man when a female reacts that way and he is the reason. And certainly, it brought a kind of power that made his body burn from the inside, as if an ignition had been lit. Now there was a great urgency looming over him: to hear more, see more, feel more... to know what it would be like to accommodate his thick shaft, finally inside her; to know what it would be feel a woman again after so many long years. The longing to feel such a sensation again was extreme, but it was put on hold; there was another more urgent desire that made his hand grip his own hard, trobing shaft against his palm when you moved your hips back, giving him space....An uníssono gasp hung in the place. It was as if the air had evaporated from your lungs, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of him, touch himself, taking pleasure in the sensation of his own palm sliding up and down his cock slowly. The tips of his fingers grew slightly tacky from the natural lubrication leaking from the tip, leaking more when you provided an unexpected, hesitant stimulus there, it made Miles stop for a second because a shudder too strong ran down his spine in pure pleasure. Although the gesture wasn't entirely welcome, you keep just a little longer before pulling your finger away, bringing it to your lips with a certain urgency, tasting him..... A pause. Miles watched you intently, his hand hold hard his cock slightly in expectation. Yes, he wanted to know the verdict. And soon he laughed when your tongue circled and licked your fingers without stopping; yiur cunt clenching around nothing leaving a wet trail on his thighs.
— "You like it like that, don't you, you dirty little thing!" It wasn't a question, but the answer came anyway when he felt her walls clench around nothing with more force, again and again.
Your hips began to move again, straddling his thigh mercilessly, and that made him laugh. His free hand pinched your pierced nipple between his fingers hard, making you melt again, it was clear that you liked it that way; it was written all over your face, in body slightly bending as he rubbed her nipple between his fingers once mlre. It was so pleasurable that you needed to seek support, resting your palm on his sweaty chest. He waited for your to move your hips in the way that satisfied you, then returned to giving his own cock greedy, anxious, sloppy attention that made the air in the tent even more stifling. The sound of wetness, of gasps, groans, hisses, and the sound of his cock fuck his own fist made his stomach churn with need.
— "I'll cum like this, sweetheart…" When he spoke, his voice was low, far too controlled for someone on the verge of losing it.
You tilted your head slightly, watching him. The silence that followed was dense, alive, as if the air itself had learned to watch. Your held his gaze without haste, but the movements of your hips gradually stopped. Your hand wrapped around his shaft with force, making Miles almost choke as he pulled his hand away and let you do as you pleased.
— "No." It was simple, direct. You leaned in a little more, enough so that there was no space left between their faces. Locking eyes with him, Miles knew what your wanted, and a smirk grew on his face—not a gentle one, but a famished one.
— "You want it inside," He said finally. "Go ahead."
And there, in that tiny space between decision and action, the action happened. Your hips moved forward; you rose, guiding his shaft to the sticky open of your cunt. He expected a provocation, but it didn't come; you went straight for it, lowered yourself, the tip of his cock forcing its way into you who let out an extremely loud gasp took every inch of his cock tha disappearing completely inside you. Your cunt warm, wet, tightly clenching so hard him that made him throw his head back. The memory finally became reality: hot, tight, deliciously good. It sent him into ecstasy, his mind going blank as he struggled simply not to come. Miles couldn't see because his eyes were closed; he couldn't hear because he was focused on maintaining self-control; he only felt—an indescribable, burning, welcoming pleasure every time you raised your hips, leaving only the tip inside her before lowering again. The movements were repetitive but precise, the sensation was indescribable, even more so when you moved your hips in a circular motion. Ah, that made Miles's head spin openimg his eyes to gaze at you, a satisfied growl resonated from deep in his throat at the sight of you there: both palms on his chest, your arms making your breasts look more curved and full; the piercing in the nipple glinting from the sweat dripping from your neck; her feet on either side of his narrow waist.
You wasn't just straddling him now; you was sitting, providing a perfect view of the glinting metal on your swollen nerve bundle , of your cunt hole swallowing his cock shaft, now with a milky ring around it marked by her arousal, which seemed to increase with every movement, very time you began to take him faster, gasping, moaning his name loudly, Miles found himself gripping both her ankles tightly as he thrust his hips upward to meet yours. Hard, deep, that was how his thrusts were now, hitting that spongy spot inside that made your mouth fall open slightly, your pupils dilating as you clenched around him with force, moaning.
— "Oh…" It didn't come out whole; it was broken. It escaped first too low to be intentional, but then: — "Like that!"
It was dragged out, but it vibrated in the back of your throat, as if the air had been pulled in too fast and didn't know how to get back out. The sound failed in the middle, turning into hot, irregular breathing. Miles felt even more satisfied, thrusting deep, resting completely inside for a second before fucking again in a sloppy, desperate way.
He admitted it—it was too much temptation to see your chest rising and falling, to hear the deep, slow sounds that escaped him in an almost inaudible "mmh...".
It was quite a physical blow that made him lock his jaw for a second; his breathing grew tense as his mind went blank. A delicious, aching pain stung the back of his neck, leaving him so dizzy that it took him a moment to understand, to see his kuru braided into your fist as you pulled hard once more. You voice was dragged out, breathless, just like your body, which looked as if it would collapse on top of him at any moment. It was clear you was still trying to keep her legs open as she bounce on his cock, but your knees seemed to have a life of their own as they tried to close; and Miles, with his hand still on your ankles, kept you open, letting you take him, letting your walls clench his shaft with spasms. Another tug on his kuru, and this time Miles hissed in disapproval... a growl that came out firm but sounded more like a plea.
— "Fuck... fuck me, sky man!"
No other words needed to be said. Miles returned to thrusting fast and hard before he could formulate any thought. He followed on autopilot, eyes fixed on every action, on your body, on how you gasped when he released one of your ankles and brought his fingers to your neglected clit stimulating it with force. And that was all it took: you arched, mouth slightly open, but no sound came out. No words were needed to know that you had finally reached the peak. The most erotic sight he had ever seen spoke for itself; your walls squeezing him with force spoke for itself. Not only did it speak, it made him feel hot inside with the thought that pushed him closer and closer to the edge, matter how much he tried not to go there, Miles wanted to enjoy every last drop. But not just him; even with almost no strength left, trembling on his cock with every thrust, you still had the strength to pull his braid,undoing the knot. It happened suddenly, and there was no way to control it; the rhythm of his hips faltered, he threw his head back and growled loudly as he felt the hot jet of his seed spray inside your used cunt without stopping. It was a delicious mix of finally losing himself to his orgasm and still being sucked in by sunch a greedy cunt hole, which drank every last drop before yiu climbed off him and lay down by his side. His cock, still half-hard, rested on his abs leaving the traces of his cum there... the traces that also dripped from you made him smirk slightly.
Thinking of adult Neteyam unable to deny you anything.
Is was a silence inside the Sully family tent was thick, broken only by the rhythmic chorus of breathing from Lo'ak, Kiri, and little Tuk, who were fast asleep further back. Jake and Neytiri were miles away on one of their dates and while the eclipse brought a darkness that should have invited sleep, the air between Neteyam’s hammock and you was electric, heavy with a shared history.
Both had been friends for years—the kind of bond that survived wars—but it carried the weight of a single night they both promised to forget and never truly could. Lying in his hammock, Neteyam could hear every shift of your body in the net beside him, only inches away. Your scent, intensified by the heat of the night, hit him like a physical blow: the musk of your arousal and warm skin that he knew all too well.
In the shadows, he saw first your yellow eyes, then a silhouette move when you leaned back, legs parting subtly at the edge of the hammock, and the invitation came as a breath, nearly inaudible:
— "Come."
Neteyam didn't hesitate. With the silent agility of a hunter, he slipped from his hammock and knelt on the floor of the tent, positioned right between their two hammocks. His face found your heat with a hungry precision. His large hands gripped the fabric of your loincloth, pulling the the cloth aside to expose the intimacy that already glistened under the faint external bioluminescence.
He wasn't just careful; he was devoted. His tongue found your clit with a raw urgency, yet the only sound was the wet friction of skin against skin. Neteyam savored you with long, firm strokes, feeling your entire body tense above him, cunt clenching around nothing. He could feel your thighs trembling against his ears—the tremor of someone on the verge of shattering but forbidden from making a sound.
With every lap of his tongue against your clit Neteyam felt the risk: one loud moan from you and Lo’ak would wake up. One sharp movement and the swaying hammocks would give them away. But he pressed on, his teeth grazing your clit once again as he sucked with a possessiveness no "friend" should ever have, proving that even if it had only happened once before, he was still the absolute master of your every reaction.
Summary: As an RDA doctor, your job was supposed to be simple: keep him alive long enough for the next interrogation. But curiosity bled into compassion, and compassion became something dangerous."
Warnings: Age Gap - Jake in mid 40, reader in early 20s, Heat Cycle | Interspecies | Rough Sex | Size Difference Dynamics: Power Dynamics | Prisoner/Doctor | Dub-con | Primal Play | Handcuffs | Voyeurism|
He surrendered willingly.
But even that didn't stop the curiosity you had felt since you settled into the corridors of Bridgehead City as a doctor. His name was heard like a repetitive song, so famous it had become; reports, old transmissions, and warnings were constantly whispered in the base's corridors, their only subject being him.
Jake Sully was far too contained when he was brought in as a prisoner, treated like a celebrity. The base was in an uproar; everyone gathered outside amidst the flashes of cameras. He was finally caught: the legend, the traitor, the hero who chose Pandora, who betrayed his own race. Quite a reputation, more than deserved, but as the days passed, your curiosity turned into confusion. He didn't struggle, he didn't scream; there were only grunts. That was how the rumors spread through the base every time he left the torture room under escort.
Jake showed no reaction even when you examined him—not out of kindness from the RDA, but to know how far they should go before it was too far. No reaction came from him, not even when you noted his prognosis on the touchscreen faster than you would have liked. The sound was annoying, irritating even to you; for him, it was unbearable — he barely dared to breathe
but even then didn't venture to say a word. A certain disappointment took hold of you internally as more days passed. Jake wasn't what they said; he didn't defend himself, and this, though strange, created a certain contained irritation in you—one you couldn't hold back for long when, on that fateful day, you plunged the needle into his cubital fossa with more force than intended to collect another blood sample. It wasn't out of malice, perhaps just a gesture to steal some reaction, some word from him, but even that didn't come.
— "Why don't you fight back?" — You frowned; the question left your lips before you could contain it.
But the silence that followed was, unfortunately, no different from the others. Jake didn't move immediately. His body remained rigid, but something changed—you saw it in the jaw that tightened far too slowly, in the breath that hitched for a second before returning to its forced rhythm. Your fingers were still pressing his cubital fossa when you realized you had gone too far. You loosened your grip, quickly, as if the gesture could be undone, anxious for a question; but when he slowly raised his gaze, his empty yellow eyes spoke in silence. There was no anger there.
Nor defiance.
Just an ancient, deep exhaustion that didn't match the image of the enemy they had sold to you. And so you began to spend more time than you should examining him, discreetly placing a painkiller next to the tray, as colorless as the food served to him; an anesthetic ointment applied to a cut above his eyebrow, or on the bruised blue Na'vi skin of his shoulder beneath the orange prisoner jumpsuit every time you repeated the process of drawing a blood sample... a contained care, but one he certainly deserved, though not accepted gracefully.
And the confirmation came a few days later. It was the moment the hiss of pressure filled the space for a second too long—a cold, mechanical sound that made the air vibrate. When the hydraulic door of his cell moved, the heavy metal slid without haste, ending with a dull thud, like something being sealed. The freezing air circulated there; the floor, far too clean, made your heels slip with that annoying sound as you walked toward the elevated platform, wide and reinforced, adapted to the size of a avatar body. The metal was matte, cold to the touch; in that moment, it served as your table as you organized the usual: the translucent tubes for blood, the fine collection injector, the vital signs monitor attached to his wrist, regenerative ointments, and low-dosage analgesics—nothing beyond the necessary. And that was enough for a contained laugh to come from him; it was humorless, nasal.
And yet you waited for something, a verbal recognition perhaps, however sitting there on the grey floor, back against the wall, Jake remained, knees bent, arms resting over them with his wrists cuffed in front. His large body seemed even bigger in that far too clean, displaced space. His tail lay extended at his side, motionless as was his gaze, which met yours as if he were examining. You frowned, Jake frowned too, but in that look of his you could see, almost knowing before he spoke what it was about. It was instinctive, and your hand reached out to touch just above his eyebrows where the cut was. Your fingers hesitated a second before touching the marked blue skin. The injector was still resting on the metal tray, forgotten. When you made contact, it was light, far too technical to be intimate, but careful enough not to be mere protocol.
Jake did not recoil.
What he did was worse.
His large body remained still, but his jaw tightened, slow, far too controlled. His tail, previously extended to the side, traced a short movement on the floor, almost imperceptible, as if it had reacted before his will. His eyes gaze into yours not immediately—first they followed your hand, then your wrist, until finally finding your face.
It was then that he understood.
The laugh came low, trapped in the back of his throat, without any trace of humor. A short, nasal sound that didn't match the submissive position in which he sat handcuffed on the floor.
— "Don't do that," — he said, his voice raspy, worn, as if it hadn't been used in days. — "Not like that."
You pulled your hand back in a reflex, faster than you intended. Your gaze darted to the tray, to the data display, to anything that wasn't those far too attentive eyes.
— "It's a cut," — you murmured professionally, automatically. — "It will get infected if..."
— "It's not the cut."
The sentence came dry. He leaned forward slightly, enough to make the handcuffs clink in a low warning. There was no aggression in the gesture, but there was something tense, contained, like a limit being tested.
— "I recognize when it's an duty," — he continued. — "And I recognize when it's not."
Silence.
The cold air of the cell seemed denser. The vital signs monitor emitted a single beep, betraying a brief alteration that I preferred to ignore.
— "You feel sorry for me."
The words weren't spat. There was no anger in them. There was something harder—an old weariness, an irritation that came from long before that base, that cell.
Jake averted his gaze for a moment, fixing it on the smooth wall ahead, as if gathering the rest of his control required it.
— "I was human once," — he added, low. — "I know exactly how that looks from the other side."
When he faced you again, there was no plea there. Only a warning, part of which you obeyed. There was a knot in your throat in a silent recognition of remembering what it was like to have someone feel sorry for you. It didn't hurt like a blow—it hurts like erosion. Together, it all just reduces you to the defeat that, for him, would be too much, from hero of the people to a caged animal.
There was no verbal response from him when you stopped. But Jake's body relaxed just enough to betray that he had noticed. It wasn't relief—it was regained control. He had won that small dispute, and then you gathered the rest of the material in silence; and when you raised your gaze without intending to, you found his for a second—too short for a confrontation, too long for an accident.
There was no gratitude there. Nor hostility.
Only the mute confirmation that he preferred pain over the weight of your pity. And that stayed with you in a way no report ever could record.
Jake Sully ceased to be a constant topic in the corridors of Bridgehead City. The name that was once whispered with excitement began to appear only in routine reports, in cold monitoring lines that no one else read with attention. The base returned to its usual rhythm, and with that came the cutbacks: fewer escorts, fewer sessions, less interest. The torture ceased not out of mercy, but out of irrelevance. The RDA had already extracted what it wanted—or decided there was nothing more to extract.
The exams, once daily, became spaced out. Protocols revised. Priorities reallocated.
Still, you kept going. There was always a registered justification: one more collection, a residual follow-up, a comparative sample. What you brought with you was minimal—a single sealed glass tube, appropriate for Na’vi blood, labeled before even leaving the lab. A formality. An excuse too thin to fool anyone who really wanted to look closely.
When the hydraulic cell door opened now, the air was different. Heavier. Not from the smell—the filters worked perfectly—but from the density. As if something had accumulated in there over time. The mechanical hiss seemed louder than before, the final thud more definitive.
Jake was sitting on the floor, back to the entrance. His broad shoulders rose and fell with force, in a rhythm far too irregular for rest. His breathing was deep, audible, as if each inspiration required conscious effort. His tail wasn't extended like before; it remained partially tucked, tensed beside his body. The cuffs still locked in front, untouched, but now they seemed too small for what they contained.
He didn't turn when you entered. No words. Not even the immediate recognition of your presence. When you organized the little you had brought on the adapted metal table, the movements were precise, automatic. The glass tube rested there alone, almost out of place in that far too large space. The display was adjusted, you activated the record, as if this were still a common exam.
— "Routine," — you said, more to the room than to him.
Jake inhaled deeply, the raspy sound echoing low in the cell, but he didn't answer. His shoulders remained tense, motionless for a second too long, before returning to rising and falling with contained force. You acted normally.
There wasn't even the slight shift in weight that usually betrayed attention. His shoulders continued to rise and fall with force, air entering and leaving in a heavy, irregular way, as if his very body were demanding more than the cell could offer, and your brow furrowed, bothered. That didn't match the pattern you already knew—not common pain, not simple exhaustion.
— "Jake," — you called, your voice neutral, professional. — "I need you to turn around. It's just a quick exam."
Silence.
You waited a few seconds. The monitor in your hand recorded vital signs still within acceptable limits, but there were peaks that didn't stay stable. You took a deep breath and spoke again, a bit firmer:
— "I need one more sample."
This time, he answered:
— "Go away."
The voice came low, raspy, heavy with something that wasn't a threat, but forced containment; and even then you didn't turn away immediately. Instead you took a step forward, approaching the metal table, as if you were just following protocol.
— "I'm not finished yet," — you said, already preparing the injector, far too conscious of how much that sounded like an excuse. — "It's just blood. After this, I'll..."
— "I said go away!"
Jake stood up. The movement was abrupt, heavy, his large body rising all at once, as if sitting had required an impossible effort to sustain. The difference in size imposed itself immediately, glaring in that narrow space. Even handcuffed, he seemed to occupy the entire cell. The chains clinked as he flexed his hands held in front, the muscles of his arms tensing under the marked blue skin.
Instinctively, you stopped. Not out of conscious fear—but because something in him was wrong. His gaze didn't fix on you as before. it darted back and forth, far too fast, as if searching for an exit that didn't exist. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising irregularly, his tail tracing a short, agitated movement before thumping against his own body.
— "Jake…" — You began, softer. — "I just need to make sure you're okay. Physically."
It was the truth. Or at least the part of the truth you could admit to yourself.
He took a step forward. Then another. Each movement made the metal of the cuffs sound louder, more aggressive, a constant reminder of what held him there. The space between you diminished far too quickly, and only then did you realize how much you had underestimated that approach.
— "You don't understand," — he murmured, his voice tense, failing for a second before recomposing. — "Don't stay here."
You stayed where you was. Still believing tou was in control of the situation. That it was just another exam. Another clinical moment, and you was wrong. And Jake knew it before you did. The signs were physical before they were anything else.
The orange prisoner jumpsuit no longer just seemed inadequate—it looked wrong. The thick fabric marked the tensed muscles of his arms and torso, stretched too thin with every deep breath, as if his body were constantly on the verge of tearing it apart. His chest rose and fell with force, not in a rhythm of common weariness, but in irregular waves, difficult to control, as if air were never enough.
His blue skin was hotter to the touch, perceptible even from a distance. Small darker areas appeared around his neck and collarbones, a subtle pigmentation change that wasn't in any of the parameters you knew. Veins that were previously discreet now stood out on his forearms and neck, pulsing visibly when he clenched his jaw.
The sweat wasn't abundant, but constant. A light sheen accumulated on his jawline, dripping slowly down his temple, trapped between his skin and the rigid collar of the jumpsuit. The smell of the cell—previously neutral—seemed charged, metallic, different, as if the very air had been altered by his presence.
His pupils were far too dilated when he finally faced you, the yellow of his eyes more intense, almost feverish. His focus came and went, unable to fix for long on a single point. His handcuffed hands contracted and relaxed repeatedly, long fingers flexing as if looking for something to hold, to anchor his body to that limited space.
His tail wouldn't stay still. It thumped short against his own leg, then stiffened, then moved again, betraying an agitation he was clearly trying to suppress. Every muscle seemed to work against an internal impulse, a continuous effort to stay still when everything in him demanded the opposite.
It wasn't common pain. It wasn't gratuitous aggressiveness, but you took one more step forward before realizing. The medical instinct spoke louder than any prudence.
— "Whatever it is, it's outside your pattern," — you insisted, already activating the portable display, data appearing in unstable lines. — "Your temperature is elevated, your breathing irregular. This is something physical."
Jake tilted his head back for a second, as if fighting his own body. When he faced you again, his gaze was more opaque, less focused—dangerous in a silent way.
— "You shouldn't be here," — he said, lower now. — "Not now."
The warning came too late.
The metallic crack echoed before you could react. The palms of his handcuffed hands slammed with force against the metal table, the dry impact reverberating through the far too clean cell. The sound was violent enough to make you take an instinctive step back, your heel slipping on the smooth floor. The portable display tumbled. The glass tube rolled, bounced once, and stopped near the wall. The display slid across the metal and fell to the floor with a hollow thud, brief alarms flashing before going silent.
He took another step, involuntary, and then stopped abruptly, muscles locking under the orange fabric as if every fiber were being pulled in opposite directions. The cuffs clinked again as he clenched his fists, knuckles far too pale against the metal. His tail thumped short against the floor and stiffened.
— "Jake, sit down," — Again you said, firmly, pointing to the platform. — "Let me check your signs. That's all."
He breathed deeply, far too strong, and averted his gaze to the wall beside him, as if fixing on me were a mistake; but again you insisted, though your voice came out low, careful, your body alert to any sign of danger.
— "I just need to make sure you won't get worse," —Murmured.
Jake turned his face slowly. His yellow eyes fixed on mine, intense, tired, dangerously lucid.
— "I'm already getting worse," — he replied. — "And you're still here."
Jake was breathing heavily. It was no longer silent containment—it was raw irritation, barely disguised. His large body seemed to vibrate under the orange jumpsuit, muscles tensing erratically, as if every movement required a conscious effort not to transform into something greater. The cuffs creaked when he closed his hands again, knuckles too pale against the metal.
His eyes were darker now. The intense yellow seemed shadowed, the focus irregular, hungry in a way. When he spoke again, his fangs were visible for a second longer than normal, an involuntary detail, almost forgotten—and yet impossible to ignore.
— "I told you to go away."
The voice came out deeper, lower, dragged, as if pulled from the bottom of his chest. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, losing itself under the collar of the jumpsuit. His thick braids—some falling over his damp forehead, sticking to the blue skin darkened by heat.
He took a short step forward and stopped abruptly, as if he had hit an invisible limit. His tail traced a sharp movement behind him before stiffening again. The air in the cell seemed denser, charged, hard to breathe.
Jake ran his tongue over his lips, a quick, irritated gesture, and averted his gaze for a moment—not out of weakness, but out of forced control.
— "You don't know what this is," — he murmured, teeth still showing when he faced me again. — "And you won't want to learn in here."
You swallowed hard and tried to take a step toward the exit, your fingers still trembling, seeking the safety of the hydraulic door, but the air around you changed as Jake took a deep breath, it wasn't the smell of ozone or metal that filled his lungs: it was you. His nostrils flared, an involuntary and hungry movement. The smell of your skin—neutral hospital soap, the light sweat from nervousness, and something deeply human, sweet and warm—hit the center of his brain like an electric shock. Jake closed his eyes tightly, teeth gritted, but no, Jake didn't let you get far, before the space between you became an abyss, his hand—feverish—closed around your wrist.
— "Jake..." — Your voice came out in a whisper, as your eyes scanned his face, seeking the peaks of fever and the dilation of his pupils.
It took only a few seconds of clinical analysis for the pieces to click in your mind. It wasn't an infection from torture. It wasn't a nervous breakdown. It was something biological, primal, that the RDA never bothered to document in prisoners.
— "You... you're in heat," — You whispered.
Those words were the end of any mask.
Hearing the confirmation from you, Jake seemed to collapse under the weight of his own body. In a fluid, heavy movement, he fell to his knees at your feet. The impact of his knees against the metal floor of the cell vibrated up to the soles of your shoes. Even on his knees, he was still large; a position that should have been submissive, but felt like a siege.
Instinctively, Jake buried his face in the curve of your neck, his nose grazing your skin with a desperate urgency. He wasn't just smelling you; he was feeding on your heat who shivered, feeling his heavy, hot breath against your wrist, and your hand, moved by a mixture of fear and a compassion you could no longer contain, rested on his broad shoulder. Your human fingers seemed too small against the blue skin, but the touch was the final trigger.
To Jake's body, that touch on the shoulder wasn't just comfort. It was a sign. In the blurred logic of the heat, he read your gesture as acceptance—a submission to the role his instinct demanded you occupy. His body relaxed and tensed at the same time, a pure grunt of relief escaping from deep in his throat as he pressed his face harder against you, the cuffs clinking between your thighs as he sought a contact that eliminated every millimeter of air between you.
He was no longer the irritated prisoner; he was a male who had just decided you were the only thing capable of extinguishing the fire consuming him. Jake was lost in the heat of your skin, but the smell alone was no longer enough to calm the chemical storm in his blood. With a short, hungry movement, he tilted his face and ran his tongue along the base of your neck. The sensation was a shock: the Na'vi tongue was rough, hot, and wet, marking your human skin in a way no touch ever could. The sudden contact made you jump, shoulders rising as a sharp gasp of surprise escaped your lips.
It was just a short sound, an interrupted sigh, but in the dense silence of the cell, it echoed like an invitation.
To Jake, that sound was the final trigger. Your gasp of surprise hit his shaft with the precision of a blow, beneath the thick, rigid fabric, the heat reacted with a violence the fabric could barely contain, the bulge there, between his legs, became evident immediately. Jake let out a guttural sound, something between a growl and a moan of pain, as he pressed his face against your neck; his handcuffed hands now gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where you were. He could feel the vibration of your racing heart and the heat emanating from your human body seemed to be the only thing capable of preventing him from going completely insane.
— "Do it again..." — he murmured, his voice so deep you felt your own bones vibrate. — "That sound. Do it again."
He wasn't asking anymore.
You pulled away quickly, your feet stumbling slightly on the smooth cell floor, just enough to break the feverish contact. You needed to breathe. You needed to look at him and understand what was happening. What you saw was a man—or what was left of one—being eaten alive by his own biology. Jake was on his knees, his gaze heavy and clouded with lust, his forehead glistening with sweat under the artificial lights of the base. His hands fought in an instinctive and useless movement to free themselves, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing like a frantic metronome.
But your gaze fell, inevitably, to where the orange jumpsuit was stretched. There, against the thick and impersonal fabric of the RDA, the protuberance wanting to grow was impossible to ignore; it forced its way out, leaving a clear damp patch, a glaring sign that his body had already made the choice his mind was still trying to process.
A short laugh, out of pure nervousness and surprise, escaped you. It wasn't a planned provocation; it was just the reaction of someone who couldn't believe what they were seeing.
— "Oh my God..." — You murmured, your voice failing between the laugh and the shock. — "You're hard... you're like this just because you heard me gasp? Jake..."
To him, hearing those words come out of your mouth was like taking a punch. The sound of your laughter, even if out of surprise, seemed to tear away the rest of the dignity he was still trying to maintain. His jaw locked, teeth showing in a snarl that was half desire and half agony.
— "Don't laugh," — he growled, the voice coming out much more raw and savage than he intended.
He leaned forward, the handcuffs clinking violently again. His gaze was fixed on your mouth, and the stain on the jumpsuit seemed to darken even further as he realized you had noticed the devastating effect you had on him.
Jake couldn't stand the space between you. Even on his knees, he imposed himself, raising his handcuffed wrists toward you in a heavy movement. The sound of the chains was a warning, but you didn't pull back in time. The tips of his long, bluish fingers hooked into the waistband of your black straight skirt, a desperate and brutal attempt to pull you back into his heat.
But the force of the heat was ignorant of the fabric's delicacy.
With a dry and violent sound, the cloth gave way. The tear ran down the side of the skirt before Jake could even process the gesture. You let out a sharp gasp, surprise catching in your throat as you felt the suddenly icy air conditioning of the cell blow against the bare skin of your thighs.
Jake stopped for a second, fingers still closed over the scraps of black cloth, but his look... his look changed completely. The sight of your pale skin contrasting with the lace panties—a bit worn, but still delicate and intimate—was the final blow. The brain of the man he once was roared back to life. Jake remembered exactly what that was. He remembered the feel of silk and lace under human hands, the weight of a woman who wasn't a seven-foot warrior, but someone fragile, soft, and real.
— "Shit..." — he growled, his voice vibrating so low it seemed to come from the floor itself.
His nostrils flared to the extreme, the scent of you now flooding his senses without the barrier of clothes. Jake seemed to be going crazy; the peak of the heat transformed his irritation into a physical obsession. He dropped the scrap of skirt and, with his hands, wrapped around the back of your bare thighs, pulling you forward until your hip hit his face.
He was no longer just examining; he was claiming.
— "You have no idea..." — he murmured against your skin, his tongue passing quick and hot along the base of your thigh, just below the lace — "...what I'm going to do to you."
Jake didn't wait for an invitation. With a brutal and fluid movement, he stood up, his hands wrapping around your waist with a force that allowed no protest. He lifted you into the air as if you weighed nothing, carrying your small body to the elevated metal platform that served as a bed in that cold cell.
The impact of your back against the matte metal was immediately followed by the weight of Jake leaning over you. Before you could organize your thoughts, his hand closed around your thigh, pushing your leg to the side with possessive authority, opening it to his hungry gaze.
Under the raw, clinical light of the cell, the fabric of the worn panties seemed almost transparent. Jake stood still for a second; his yellow eyes blinked, dilated, fixed on what the cloth tried to hide. There, through the fine lace, he saw the contour, the shadow of the dark hair that the women of the clan never possessed.
A low, vibrant grunt loaded with an ancient lust escaped from deep in his throat. To any other Na’vi, that would be strange, but to Jake... nothing was so erotic.
— "Good times..." — he murmured, his voice failing, a note of nostalgia distorted by the heat.
He could no longer contain himself. Jake lowered his face, burying his nose there, inhaling the most intimate heat your body emanated. The smell there was concentrated, potent, the peak of your essence as a woman. He brushed his cheeks against the cloth, feeling the texture of what was underneath, while his handcuffed hands squeezed your flesh with an urgency that made the metal chains clink frantically against the edge of the table.
He was smelling you as if he were trying to memorize every inch, every detail that reminded him of who he was before Pandora—and who he wanted to be at that moment, there, between your legs.
The moralism you carried as a doctor had turned to ash weeks ago, from the first moment you felt you cared for him more than ethics allowed. The reality there, on the cold metal, was strange, almost a delirium, but your body didn't lie. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt your cunt throb, your hands squeezing nothing on the table while the wetness made the lace fabric slightly transparent. You rested your head against the metal, eyes fixed on the cell ceiling, feeling the world spin.
— "Jake..." — your voice came out as a warning, a last sigh of sanity.
He responded with a low, visceral grunt. Jake didn't want to hear explanations, diagnoses, or protests. He didn't want to know anything that wasn't pulsing millimeters from his face.
— "Take it off," — he ordered, his voice raspy, sounding like a military command broken by desire.
You didn't take it off—there was no space, and his urgency didn't allow him to even move his face away. Instead, your delicate hands sought the edges of the cloth, pulling the lace aside with a slow and trembling movement, the sight Jake so desired was finally there, naked and exposed under the sterile light. It was smooth, but crowned by that cluster of dark hair on the mons veneris—an image so human it hit him like a physical impact.
He didn't wait. He was no longer the hero, nor the traitor, nor the prisoner; he was just a male in heat. Moved purely by instinct, he moved in. His tongue, again seeking that unique texture, was no longer careful. He acted out of the heat, burying his face between your thighs with a hunger that made the metal table vibrate under your body, while his handcuffed hands pinned your hips against the steel, ensuring you felt every ounce of the overwhelming need he had for you.
When his tongue finally found your exposed cunt, the world seemed to vanish. It was strange—the rough texture, almost like fine, hot sandpaper, was completely different from anything you had ever experienced; but in the next second, the shock gave way to something strangely good, an intense stimulation against the bundle of nerves in your clitoris that made every nerve in your body scream.
Jake was not delicate. He used his tongue with the same determination he used to hunt: focused, relentless, drinking in your reaction as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. Unable to stay still, you arched your body, your hips rising instinctively against his face, seeking more of that abrasive contact. Your hands, searching for an anchor in the middle of that hurricane, rose to Jake's head. Your fingers tangled in the thick, coarse strands of his dreads, pulling him closer, feeling the strength of his skull under your palms.
The touch on the braids seemed to electrify Jake. A deep growl, which vibrated against your most sensitive skin, escaped him. He pressed his body against the edge of the metal table, while his handcuffed hands now desperately sought your waist to pull you toward the tip of the steel. He was losing the battle against his own body. With every movement of his tongue repeatedly licking from bottom to top on your cunt, with every tug you gave his hair, the volume under the orange jumpsuit pulsed; the retractable anatomy crying out to be freed from that human fabric that now seemed a torture worse than any interrogation.
— "Do you feel me?" — he murmured between licks, his voice muffled against you, but loaded with a feverish urgency. — "Do you feel what you're doing to me?"
You had no words. There were no diagnoses or questions, only short, lost moans escaping your throat every time Jake's rough tongue found your center. You was surrendered, hands buried deep in his thick dreads, pulling him with a blind force, wanting that contact to never cease.
Jake wasn't just licking, he was sucking you with a desperate hunger on the clit, the wet sound echoing in the metallic cell, the stimulation was so intense you barely noticed when he, in an abrupt and impatient movement, used his handcuffed hands to grab the rigid fabric of the orange jumpsuit's opening with a grunt of effort, he pulled the cloth down, finally exposing the biology the RDA tried to contain.
Your head thrown back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, too lost in pleasure to look, but what was happening between Jake's legs was a force of nature, free of the fabric, the retractable shaft finally revealed itself in all its glory, unlike the human anatomy Jake once possessed, his cock emerged from a protective muscular sheath, a mechanism of survival on Pandora that now pulsed with the hot blood of the heat. The skin there was a deeper blue, almost purplish, stretched and glistening with the natural lubrication overflowing from the tip.
It was large, proportional; as long and thick as your forearm, but with a lethal elegance. Veins throbbed along the length, and the base was surrounded by dense musculature that seemed to vibrate in sync with his growls. Jake felt the shock of air against his cock and the growl that escaped him was purely animal. He pressed himself against the table, the cold metal contrasting with the feverish heat of his cock which now desperately sought the way inside you instinct no longer accepted barriers; he needed shelter, he needed the human heat only you could offer to extinguish the fire; but he was beyond any logical thought, body arched on the metal table as Jake continued his hungry quest.
His name escaped as a pleading sigh, that vibrated in the heavy air of the cell, hearing the sound, he—now completely free—throbbing with an urgency that seemed to have a life of its own. With every moan you let out, he felt a spasm run the entire length of his shaft, pre-cum fluid glistened on the blunt tip, dripping just like your wetness that already covered his face.
Jake was at the limit, the sound of his name coming out of that mouth acted like fuel on the fire of the heat. He stopped sucking for a second, just enough to let out a growl that seemed to shake the cell walls, pulling away completely. He couldn't stand the indirect contact anymore. Instinct demanded complete union, total filling. His hands still gripping your thighs, he imposed himself, sliding his body up until the throbbing tip of his shaft found your opening.
The contrast in temperature was absurd: his feverish heat against your wetness, is the pressure of his cock against the tight opening of your cunt that made Jake locked for a moment, yellow eyes glued there a few seconds before finding yours, which were blurred with pleasure. He wanted you to feel exactly what was about to happen, wanted you to know that once he's inside, there would be no turning back for either of them. The heat demanded he claim you, but the sight of you there —small, human, with the lower lips clenching around nothing and the dark hair of her mons veneris glistening with sweat —made him hesitate for a millisecond.
You looked down and your breath caught. For the first time, you saw what was about to face you.
— "By God... too big..." — You whispered, fear and desire fighting for control of your voice.
Jake let out a grunt, handcuffed hands trembling as he gripped his own shaft knew that if he tried to go deep now, he would break you. But the heat didn't accept "no." In a desperate gesture of relief, he positioned his throbbing shaft over your naked cunt. He didn't enter, instead, Jake began to rub.
The contact was electric. The feverish heat of his skin against your sensitivity was almost unbearable. Jake moved his hips with a frantic rhythm, sliding the his cock between your lower lips, crushing your clit with the side of his shaft with every upward movement. The contrast of colors was stark: his deep, potent blue against the tone of your skin; the width of his member covering almost your entire cunt region as he sought pleasure in the friction.
You were lost, your hand hold the cloth to the white shirt, pulling the fabric out urgently until one of your breasts escaped, the nipple rigid and darkened by desire pointing at him in the cold cell air. Jake saw. The grunt that escaped him was deafening, seeing that sign of human submission, the soft flesh and the nipple ready for him, made him accelerate the rhythm.
He squeezed your hips against the metal table, the sound of the handcuffs hitting in the rhythm of the shallow thrusts he gave against your slit, his fluid mixed with yours, creating a wet and obscene sound every time the mauve shaft slid over your skin; and the pleasure of just feeling that mass of muscle crushing you from the outside was enough to make you roll your eyes, your mind going blank to everything that wasn't the weight and heat of Jake Sully.
Jake leaned over you, the mass of his shoulders blocking the sterile ceiling light as captured your hard nipple with his lips, his rough tongue playing with while his hips continued the rhythmic massacre down below. His shaft throbbing, slid between your lips, now completely covered in a sticky mixture of your desire and his pre-cum. The sound was obscene—a wet pop with every movement, the friction getting rawer and hotter as the lubrication of both flooded them. You moaned, a long and feverish sound, while he responded with a grunt that vibrated directly against your chest.
Then he stopped not the movement just pulled away from your breast slowly, a thin string of saliva connected his mouth to your nipple for a second before breaking. He raised his face, but didn't look at you. His yellow eyes, clouded by the heat but loaded with a sharp lucidity, fixed on the white light blinking in the upper corner of the cell.
The hidden camera.
Jake knew they were watching. Quaritch, Ardmore, the scientists—all seeing the "great traitor" reduced to an animal in heat but the smile that appeared on his lips wasn't one of shame it was predatory. He had surrendered to the prison, let them torture him, but possessing you—their doctor, the human—was the ultimate revenge a low, nasal laugh escaped him as he went back to moving his hips with force, the friction of his shaft against your slit now more deliberate, more provocative before the lens.
— "They're watching," — A whispered, his voice heavy with cruel satisfaction.
You blinked, mind clouded by pleasure, trying to focus on his face.
— "Jake… what are you…"
— "Let them look," — He cut in, eyes still fixed on the camera as his shaft crushed your clit. — "I want them to see what a traitor does to what is theirs."
— "Jake, please…" — you arched your body, the friction of that cock against your clit taking you to the edge.
— "Say my name," — He ordered, handcuffed hands squeezing your hips until the skin marked. — "Say it loud so they hear who is fucking you like this."
Jake's rhythm became sloppy, driven by an urgency he no longer tried to polish as in a sharper movement, his hip trajectory failed and the blunt tip of the shaft, wet and a dark, rest directly against your entrance a choked, body tensing in a violent arch as you felt that pressure force your opening, squeezing around a filling that wasn't yet real, but already stole your breath. Jake let out a sharp hiss, a sound of pain and frustration at the blockage, he stopped for a second, thigh muscles trembling under the effort, but his order came immediately after, harsh and hungry:
— "Say it. My name. Again."
You couldn't speak, back arched off the metal table, fingers scratching the matte steel as you only moaned, lost in the sensation of being crushed by him who hips wavered, yellow gaze fell to you, to your skin marked by heat, and then rose to the camera with a mortal challenge. He wasn't going to slide in—not yet—but he was going to make sure whoever was watching heard the sound of your defeat.
He gripped the base of his own shaft with his in a deliberate and violent movement, began to slap, the sound of wet skin against skin—the heavy pop of his cock hitting your bundle of nerves—echoed in the cell
Slap. Slap.
With every hit, the friction was replaced by raw impact that made you let out short screams of pleasure and shock.
— "Say it!" — he growled, sweat dripping from his face directly onto your chest as he accelerated the hits, using his own body as a weapon of pleasure against you. — "Say who's doing this to you while they watch!"
You buried your hands in his dreads, pulling him down with blind force, while your peak began to form in waves of electricity, driven by the obscene sound of that blue flesh hitting yours.
— "Jake... Jake!" — You screamed, your voice failing, giving him exactly the victory he wanted to display to the world outside.
The rhythmic, heavy impact of Jake's shaft against your center was the final blow. It felt as if every nerve in your body was being electrocuted at once. Your vaginal walls pulsed violently, squeezing the void in an uncontrollable spasm that made you lose your breath. The peak came in blind waves, a heat that rose from your spine until it exploded in colors behind your eyelids.
— "Jake... stop... please, it's too much..." — You pleaded between gasps, your cunt now so sensitive that the slightest touch felt like a shock.
But Jake was beyond any command, the heat had obliterated the hero and the traitor ; all that remained was a male seeking the end of the agony, grunted, a cavernous sound that vibrated in the metal of the table, and instead of pulling away, he acted. His handcuffed hands large held your legs, closing them against each other with force. He didn't need to penetrate to finish. Jake used the space between your closed thighs as a new sheath, sliding his throbbing shaft there, crushing his own flesh against your soft skin.
The contrast was obscene: his blue, tensed skin moving frantically against the softness of your thighs as he fucked the space between your legs with desperate violence, hips hitting your heels, handcuffs clinking in a maddened rhythm wou could only moan, head swinging from side to side, feeling his feverish heat consuming you.
And then, the final growl came.
Jake locked, his body tensed until every muscle felt like stone his ears twitched back, catching the sound of your cry of pleasure, and he let out a roar of relief that echoed through the Bridgehead City base. The discharge was violent, the thick, white liquid spurted with the force of the heat, flooding the space between your legs who felt the heat of his semen—far more abundant and dense than human—flow heavily down your groin, thick, hot drops piled up over your mons catching in the dark strands of pubic hair.
Jake collapsed over you, chest rising and falling like an exhausted animal, the sweat of both mixing. He still smelled your neck, but his eyes... his eyes he kept fixed on the ceiling camera for a few more seconds.
He had won. There, between the thighs of the RDA doctor.
Summary: As an RDA doctor, your job was supposed to be simple: keep him alive long enough for the next interrogation. But curiosity bled into compassion, and compassion became something dangerous."
Warnings: Age Gap - Jake in mid 40, reader in early 20s, Heat Cycle | Interspecies | Rough Sex | Size Difference Dynamics: Power Dynamics | Prisoner/Doctor | Dub-con | Primal Play | Handcuffs | Voyeurism|
He surrendered willingly.
But even that didn't stop the curiosity you had felt since you settled into the corridors of Bridgehead City as a doctor. His name was heard like a repetitive song, so famous it had become; reports, old transmissions, and warnings were constantly whispered in the base's corridors, their only subject being him.
Jake Sully was far too contained when he was brought in as a prisoner, treated like a celebrity. The base was in an uproar; everyone gathered outside amidst the flashes of cameras. He was finally caught: the legend, the traitor, the hero who chose Pandora, who betrayed his own race. Quite a reputation, more than deserved, but as the days passed, your curiosity turned into confusion. He didn't struggle, he didn't scream; there were only grunts. That was how the rumors spread through the base every time he left the torture room under escort.
Jake showed no reaction even when you examined him—not out of kindness from the RDA, but to know how far they should go before it was too far. No reaction came from him, not even when you noted his prognosis on the touchscreen faster than you would have liked. The sound was annoying, irritating even to you; for him, it was unbearable — he barely dared to breathe
but even then didn't venture to say a word. A certain disappointment took hold of you internally as more days passed. Jake wasn't what they said; he didn't defend himself, and this, though strange, created a certain contained irritation in you—one you couldn't hold back for long when, on that fateful day, you plunged the needle into his cubital fossa with more force than intended to collect another blood sample. It wasn't out of malice, perhaps just a gesture to steal some reaction, some word from him, but even that didn't come.
— "Why don't you fight back?" — You frowned; the question left your lips before you could contain it.
But the silence that followed was, unfortunately, no different from the others. Jake didn't move immediately. His body remained rigid, but something changed—you saw it in the jaw that tightened far too slowly, in the breath that hitched for a second before returning to its forced rhythm. Your fingers were still pressing his cubital fossa when you realized you had gone too far. You loosened your grip, quickly, as if the gesture could be undone, anxious for a question; but when he slowly raised his gaze, his empty yellow eyes spoke in silence. There was no anger there.
Nor defiance.
Just an ancient, deep exhaustion that didn't match the image of the enemy they had sold to you. And so you began to spend more time than you should examining him, discreetly placing a painkiller next to the tray, as colorless as the food served to him; an anesthetic ointment applied to a cut above his eyebrow, or on the bruised blue Na'vi skin of his shoulder beneath the orange prisoner jumpsuit every time you repeated the process of drawing a blood sample... a contained care, but one he certainly deserved, though not accepted gracefully.
And the confirmation came a few days later. It was the moment the hiss of pressure filled the space for a second too long—a cold, mechanical sound that made the air vibrate. When the hydraulic door of his cell moved, the heavy metal slid without haste, ending with a dull thud, like something being sealed. The freezing air circulated there; the floor, far too clean, made your heels slip with that annoying sound as you walked toward the elevated platform, wide and reinforced, adapted to the size of a avatar body. The metal was matte, cold to the touch; in that moment, it served as your table as you organized the usual: the translucent tubes for blood, the fine collection injector, the vital signs monitor attached to his wrist, regenerative ointments, and low-dosage analgesics—nothing beyond the necessary. And that was enough for a contained laugh to come from him; it was humorless, nasal.
And yet you waited for something, a verbal recognition perhaps, however sitting there on the grey floor, back against the wall, Jake remained, knees bent, arms resting over them with his wrists cuffed in front. His large body seemed even bigger in that far too clean, displaced space. His tail lay extended at his side, motionless as was his gaze, which met yours as if he were examining. You frowned, Jake frowned too, but in that look of his you could see, almost knowing before he spoke what it was about. It was instinctive, and your hand reached out to touch just above his eyebrows where the cut was. Your fingers hesitated a second before touching the marked blue skin. The injector was still resting on the metal tray, forgotten. When you made contact, it was light, far too technical to be intimate, but careful enough not to be mere protocol.
Jake did not recoil.
What he did was worse.
His large body remained still, but his jaw tightened, slow, far too controlled. His tail, previously extended to the side, traced a short movement on the floor, almost imperceptible, as if it had reacted before his will. His eyes gaze into yours not immediately—first they followed your hand, then your wrist, until finally finding your face.
It was then that he understood.
The laugh came low, trapped in the back of his throat, without any trace of humor. A short, nasal sound that didn't match the submissive position in which he sat handcuffed on the floor.
— "Don't do that," — he said, his voice raspy, worn, as if it hadn't been used in days. — "Not like that."
You pulled your hand back in a reflex, faster than you intended. Your gaze darted to the tray, to the data display, to anything that wasn't those far too attentive eyes.
— "It's a cut," — you murmured professionally, automatically. — "It will get infected if..."
— "It's not the cut."
The sentence came dry. He leaned forward slightly, enough to make the handcuffs clink in a low warning. There was no aggression in the gesture, but there was something tense, contained, like a limit being tested.
— "I recognize when it's an duty," — he continued. — "And I recognize when it's not."
Silence.
The cold air of the cell seemed denser. The vital signs monitor emitted a single beep, betraying a brief alteration that I preferred to ignore.
— "You feel sorry for me."
The words weren't spat. There was no anger in them. There was something harder—an old weariness, an irritation that came from long before that base, that cell.
Jake averted his gaze for a moment, fixing it on the smooth wall ahead, as if gathering the rest of his control required it.
— "I was human once," — he added, low. — "I know exactly how that looks from the other side."
When he faced you again, there was no plea there. Only a warning, part of which you obeyed. There was a knot in your throat in a silent recognition of remembering what it was like to have someone feel sorry for you. It didn't hurt like a blow—it hurts like erosion. Together, it all just reduces you to the defeat that, for him, would be too much, from hero of the people to a caged animal.
There was no verbal response from him when you stopped. But Jake's body relaxed just enough to betray that he had noticed. It wasn't relief—it was regained control. He had won that small dispute, and then you gathered the rest of the material in silence; and when you raised your gaze without intending to, you found his for a second—too short for a confrontation, too long for an accident.
There was no gratitude there. Nor hostility.
Only the mute confirmation that he preferred pain over the weight of your pity. And that stayed with you in a way no report ever could record.
Jake Sully ceased to be a constant topic in the corridors of Bridgehead City. The name that was once whispered with excitement began to appear only in routine reports, in cold monitoring lines that no one else read with attention. The base returned to its usual rhythm, and with that came the cutbacks: fewer escorts, fewer sessions, less interest. The torture ceased not out of mercy, but out of irrelevance. The RDA had already extracted what it wanted—or decided there was nothing more to extract.
The exams, once daily, became spaced out. Protocols revised. Priorities reallocated.
Still, you kept going. There was always a registered justification: one more collection, a residual follow-up, a comparative sample. What you brought with you was minimal—a single sealed glass tube, appropriate for Na’vi blood, labeled before even leaving the lab. A formality. An excuse too thin to fool anyone who really wanted to look closely.
When the hydraulic cell door opened now, the air was different. Heavier. Not from the smell—the filters worked perfectly—but from the density. As if something had accumulated in there over time. The mechanical hiss seemed louder than before, the final thud more definitive.
Jake was sitting on the floor, back to the entrance. His broad shoulders rose and fell with force, in a rhythm far too irregular for rest. His breathing was deep, audible, as if each inspiration required conscious effort. His tail wasn't extended like before; it remained partially tucked, tensed beside his body. The cuffs still locked in front, untouched, but now they seemed too small for what they contained.
He didn't turn when you entered. No words. Not even the immediate recognition of your presence. When you organized the little you had brought on the adapted metal table, the movements were precise, automatic. The glass tube rested there alone, almost out of place in that far too large space. The display was adjusted, you activated the record, as if this were still a common exam.
— "Routine," — you said, more to the room than to him.
Jake inhaled deeply, the raspy sound echoing low in the cell, but he didn't answer. His shoulders remained tense, motionless for a second too long, before returning to rising and falling with contained force. You acted normally.
There wasn't even the slight shift in weight that usually betrayed attention. His shoulders continued to rise and fall with force, air entering and leaving in a heavy, irregular way, as if his very body were demanding more than the cell could offer, and your brow furrowed, bothered. That didn't match the pattern you already knew—not common pain, not simple exhaustion.
— "Jake," — you called, your voice neutral, professional. — "I need you to turn around. It's just a quick exam."
Silence.
You waited a few seconds. The monitor in your hand recorded vital signs still within acceptable limits, but there were peaks that didn't stay stable. You took a deep breath and spoke again, a bit firmer:
— "I need one more sample."
This time, he answered:
— "Go away."
The voice came low, raspy, heavy with something that wasn't a threat, but forced containment; and even then you didn't turn away immediately. Instead you took a step forward, approaching the metal table, as if you were just following protocol.
— "I'm not finished yet," — you said, already preparing the injector, far too conscious of how much that sounded like an excuse. — "It's just blood. After this, I'll..."
— "I said go away!"
Jake stood up. The movement was abrupt, heavy, his large body rising all at once, as if sitting had required an impossible effort to sustain. The difference in size imposed itself immediately, glaring in that narrow space. Even handcuffed, he seemed to occupy the entire cell. The chains clinked as he flexed his hands held in front, the muscles of his arms tensing under the marked blue skin.
Instinctively, you stopped. Not out of conscious fear—but because something in him was wrong. His gaze didn't fix on you as before. it darted back and forth, far too fast, as if searching for an exit that didn't exist. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising irregularly, his tail tracing a short, agitated movement before thumping against his own body.
— "Jake…" — You began, softer. — "I just need to make sure you're okay. Physically."
It was the truth. Or at least the part of the truth you could admit to yourself.
He took a step forward. Then another. Each movement made the metal of the cuffs sound louder, more aggressive, a constant reminder of what held him there. The space between you diminished far too quickly, and only then did you realize how much you had underestimated that approach.
— "You don't understand," — he murmured, his voice tense, failing for a second before recomposing. — "Don't stay here."
You stayed where you was. Still believing tou was in control of the situation. That it was just another exam. Another clinical moment, and you was wrong. And Jake knew it before you did. The signs were physical before they were anything else.
The orange prisoner jumpsuit no longer just seemed inadequate—it looked wrong. The thick fabric marked the tensed muscles of his arms and torso, stretched too thin with every deep breath, as if his body were constantly on the verge of tearing it apart. His chest rose and fell with force, not in a rhythm of common weariness, but in irregular waves, difficult to control, as if air were never enough.
His blue skin was hotter to the touch, perceptible even from a distance. Small darker areas appeared around his neck and collarbones, a subtle pigmentation change that wasn't in any of the parameters you knew. Veins that were previously discreet now stood out on his forearms and neck, pulsing visibly when he clenched his jaw.
The sweat wasn't abundant, but constant. A light sheen accumulated on his jawline, dripping slowly down his temple, trapped between his skin and the rigid collar of the jumpsuit. The smell of the cell—previously neutral—seemed charged, metallic, different, as if the very air had been altered by his presence.
His pupils were far too dilated when he finally faced you, the yellow of his eyes more intense, almost feverish. His focus came and went, unable to fix for long on a single point. His handcuffed hands contracted and relaxed repeatedly, long fingers flexing as if looking for something to hold, to anchor his body to that limited space.
His tail wouldn't stay still. It thumped short against his own leg, then stiffened, then moved again, betraying an agitation he was clearly trying to suppress. Every muscle seemed to work against an internal impulse, a continuous effort to stay still when everything in him demanded the opposite.
It wasn't common pain. It wasn't gratuitous aggressiveness, but you took one more step forward before realizing. The medical instinct spoke louder than any prudence.
— "Whatever it is, it's outside your pattern," — you insisted, already activating the portable display, data appearing in unstable lines. — "Your temperature is elevated, your breathing irregular. This is something physical."
Jake tilted his head back for a second, as if fighting his own body. When he faced you again, his gaze was more opaque, less focused—dangerous in a silent way.
— "You shouldn't be here," — he said, lower now. — "Not now."
The warning came too late.
The metallic crack echoed before you could react. The palms of his handcuffed hands slammed with force against the metal table, the dry impact reverberating through the far too clean cell. The sound was violent enough to make you take an instinctive step back, your heel slipping on the smooth floor. The portable display tumbled. The glass tube rolled, bounced once, and stopped near the wall. The display slid across the metal and fell to the floor with a hollow thud, brief alarms flashing before going silent.
He took another step, involuntary, and then stopped abruptly, muscles locking under the orange fabric as if every fiber were being pulled in opposite directions. The cuffs clinked again as he clenched his fists, knuckles far too pale against the metal. His tail thumped short against the floor and stiffened.
— "Jake, sit down," — Again you said, firmly, pointing to the platform. — "Let me check your signs. That's all."
He breathed deeply, far too strong, and averted his gaze to the wall beside him, as if fixing on me were a mistake; but again you insisted, though your voice came out low, careful, your body alert to any sign of danger.
— "I just need to make sure you won't get worse," —Murmured.
Jake turned his face slowly. His yellow eyes fixed on mine, intense, tired, dangerously lucid.
— "I'm already getting worse," — he replied. — "And you're still here."
Jake was breathing heavily. It was no longer silent containment—it was raw irritation, barely disguised. His large body seemed to vibrate under the orange jumpsuit, muscles tensing erratically, as if every movement required a conscious effort not to transform into something greater. The cuffs creaked when he closed his hands again, knuckles too pale against the metal.
His eyes were darker now. The intense yellow seemed shadowed, the focus irregular, hungry in a way. When he spoke again, his fangs were visible for a second longer than normal, an involuntary detail, almost forgotten—and yet impossible to ignore.
— "I told you to go away."
The voice came out deeper, lower, dragged, as if pulled from the bottom of his chest. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, losing itself under the collar of the jumpsuit. His thick braids—some falling over his damp forehead, sticking to the blue skin darkened by heat.
He took a short step forward and stopped abruptly, as if he had hit an invisible limit. His tail traced a sharp movement behind him before stiffening again. The air in the cell seemed denser, charged, hard to breathe.
Jake ran his tongue over his lips, a quick, irritated gesture, and averted his gaze for a moment—not out of weakness, but out of forced control.
— "You don't know what this is," — he murmured, teeth still showing when he faced me again. — "And you won't want to learn in here."
You swallowed hard and tried to take a step toward the exit, your fingers still trembling, seeking the safety of the hydraulic door, but the air around you changed as Jake took a deep breath, it wasn't the smell of ozone or metal that filled his lungs: it was you. His nostrils flared, an involuntary and hungry movement. The smell of your skin—neutral hospital soap, the light sweat from nervousness, and something deeply human, sweet and warm—hit the center of his brain like an electric shock. Jake closed his eyes tightly, teeth gritted, but no, Jake didn't let you get far, before the space between you became an abyss, his hand—feverish—closed around your wrist.
— "Jake..." — Your voice came out in a whisper, as your eyes scanned his face, seeking the peaks of fever and the dilation of his pupils.
It took only a few seconds of clinical analysis for the pieces to click in your mind. It wasn't an infection from torture. It wasn't a nervous breakdown. It was something biological, primal, that the RDA never bothered to document in prisoners.
— "You... you're in heat," — You whispered.
Those words were the end of any mask.
Hearing the confirmation from you, Jake seemed to collapse under the weight of his own body. In a fluid, heavy movement, he fell to his knees at your feet. The impact of his knees against the metal floor of the cell vibrated up to the soles of your shoes. Even on his knees, he was still large; a position that should have been submissive, but felt like a siege.
Instinctively, Jake buried his face in the curve of your neck, his nose grazing your skin with a desperate urgency. He wasn't just smelling you; he was feeding on your heat who shivered, feeling his heavy, hot breath against your wrist, and your hand, moved by a mixture of fear and a compassion you could no longer contain, rested on his broad shoulder. Your human fingers seemed too small against the blue skin, but the touch was the final trigger.
To Jake's body, that touch on the shoulder wasn't just comfort. It was a sign. In the blurred logic of the heat, he read your gesture as acceptance—a submission to the role his instinct demanded you occupy. His body relaxed and tensed at the same time, a pure grunt of relief escaping from deep in his throat as he pressed his face harder against you, the cuffs clinking between your thighs as he sought a contact that eliminated every millimeter of air between you.
He was no longer the irritated prisoner; he was a male who had just decided you were the only thing capable of extinguishing the fire consuming him. Jake was lost in the heat of your skin, but the smell alone was no longer enough to calm the chemical storm in his blood. With a short, hungry movement, he tilted his face and ran his tongue along the base of your neck. The sensation was a shock: the Na'vi tongue was rough, hot, and wet, marking your human skin in a way no touch ever could. The sudden contact made you jump, shoulders rising as a sharp gasp of surprise escaped your lips.
It was just a short sound, an interrupted sigh, but in the dense silence of the cell, it echoed like an invitation.
To Jake, that sound was the final trigger. Your gasp of surprise hit his shaft with the precision of a blow, beneath the thick, rigid fabric, the heat reacted with a violence the fabric could barely contain, the bulge there, between his legs, became evident immediately. Jake let out a guttural sound, something between a growl and a moan of pain, as he pressed his face against your neck; his handcuffed hands now gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where you were. He could feel the vibration of your racing heart and the heat emanating from your human body seemed to be the only thing capable of preventing him from going completely insane.
— "Do it again..." — he murmured, his voice so deep you felt your own bones vibrate. — "That sound. Do it again."
He wasn't asking anymore.
You pulled away quickly, your feet stumbling slightly on the smooth cell floor, just enough to break the feverish contact. You needed to breathe. You needed to look at him and understand what was happening. What you saw was a man—or what was left of one—being eaten alive by his own biology. Jake was on his knees, his gaze heavy and clouded with lust, his forehead glistening with sweat under the artificial lights of the base. His hands fought in an instinctive and useless movement to free themselves, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing like a frantic metronome.
But your gaze fell, inevitably, to where the orange jumpsuit was stretched. There, against the thick and impersonal fabric of the RDA, the protuberance wanting to grow was impossible to ignore; it forced its way out, leaving a clear damp patch, a glaring sign that his body had already made the choice his mind was still trying to process.
A short laugh, out of pure nervousness and surprise, escaped you. It wasn't a planned provocation; it was just the reaction of someone who couldn't believe what they were seeing.
— "Oh my God..." — You murmured, your voice failing between the laugh and the shock. — "You're hard... you're like this just because you heard me gasp? Jake..."
To him, hearing those words come out of your mouth was like taking a punch. The sound of your laughter, even if out of surprise, seemed to tear away the rest of the dignity he was still trying to maintain. His jaw locked, teeth showing in a snarl that was half desire and half agony.
— "Don't laugh," — he growled, the voice coming out much more raw and savage than he intended.
He leaned forward, the handcuffs clinking violently again. His gaze was fixed on your mouth, and the stain on the jumpsuit seemed to darken even further as he realized you had noticed the devastating effect you had on him.
Jake couldn't stand the space between you. Even on his knees, he imposed himself, raising his handcuffed wrists toward you in a heavy movement. The sound of the chains was a warning, but you didn't pull back in time. The tips of his long, bluish fingers hooked into the waistband of your black straight skirt, a desperate and brutal attempt to pull you back into his heat.
But the force of the heat was ignorant of the fabric's delicacy.
With a dry and violent sound, the cloth gave way. The tear ran down the side of the skirt before Jake could even process the gesture. You let out a sharp gasp, surprise catching in your throat as you felt the suddenly icy air conditioning of the cell blow against the bare skin of your thighs.
Jake stopped for a second, fingers still closed over the scraps of black cloth, but his look... his look changed completely. The sight of your pale skin contrasting with the lace panties—a bit worn, but still delicate and intimate—was the final blow. The brain of the man he once was roared back to life. Jake remembered exactly what that was. He remembered the feel of silk and lace under human hands, the weight of a woman who wasn't a seven-foot warrior, but someone fragile, soft, and real.
— "Shit..." — he growled, his voice vibrating so low it seemed to come from the floor itself.
His nostrils flared to the extreme, the scent of you now flooding his senses without the barrier of clothes. Jake seemed to be going crazy; the peak of the heat transformed his irritation into a physical obsession. He dropped the scrap of skirt and, with his hands, wrapped around the back of your bare thighs, pulling you forward until your hip hit his face.
He was no longer just examining; he was claiming.
— "You have no idea..." — he murmured against your skin, his tongue passing quick and hot along the base of your thigh, just below the lace — "...what I'm going to do to you."
Jake didn't wait for an invitation. With a brutal and fluid movement, he stood up, his hands wrapping around your waist with a force that allowed no protest. He lifted you into the air as if you weighed nothing, carrying your small body to the elevated metal platform that served as a bed in that cold cell.
The impact of your back against the matte metal was immediately followed by the weight of Jake leaning over you. Before you could organize your thoughts, his hand closed around your thigh, pushing your leg to the side with possessive authority, opening it to his hungry gaze.
Under the raw, clinical light of the cell, the fabric of the worn panties seemed almost transparent. Jake stood still for a second; his yellow eyes blinked, dilated, fixed on what the cloth tried to hide. There, through the fine lace, he saw the contour, the shadow of the dark hair that the women of the clan never possessed.
A low, vibrant grunt loaded with an ancient lust escaped from deep in his throat. To any other Na’vi, that would be strange, but to Jake... nothing was so erotic.
— "Good times..." — he murmured, his voice failing, a note of nostalgia distorted by the heat.
He could no longer contain himself. Jake lowered his face, burying his nose there, inhaling the most intimate heat your body emanated. The smell there was concentrated, potent, the peak of your essence as a woman. He brushed his cheeks against the cloth, feeling the texture of what was underneath, while his handcuffed hands squeezed your flesh with an urgency that made the metal chains clink frantically against the edge of the table.
He was smelling you as if he were trying to memorize every inch, every detail that reminded him of who he was before Pandora—and who he wanted to be at that moment, there, between your legs.
The moralism you carried as a doctor had turned to ash weeks ago, from the first moment you felt you cared for him more than ethics allowed. The reality there, on the cold metal, was strange, almost a delirium, but your body didn't lie. A gasp escaped your lips as you felt your cunt throb, your hands squeezing nothing on the table while the wetness made the lace fabric slightly transparent. You rested your head against the metal, eyes fixed on the cell ceiling, feeling the world spin.
— "Jake..." — your voice came out as a warning, a last sigh of sanity.
He responded with a low, visceral grunt. Jake didn't want to hear explanations, diagnoses, or protests. He didn't want to know anything that wasn't pulsing millimeters from his face.
— "Take it off," — he ordered, his voice raspy, sounding like a military command broken by desire.
You didn't take it off—there was no space, and his urgency didn't allow him to even move his face away. Instead, your delicate hands sought the edges of the cloth, pulling the lace aside with a slow and trembling movement, the sight Jake so desired was finally there, naked and exposed under the sterile light. It was smooth, but crowned by that cluster of dark hair on the mons veneris—an image so human it hit him like a physical impact.
He didn't wait. He was no longer the hero, nor the traitor, nor the prisoner; he was just a male in heat. Moved purely by instinct, he moved in. His tongue, again seeking that unique texture, was no longer careful. He acted out of the heat, burying his face between your thighs with a hunger that made the metal table vibrate under your body, while his handcuffed hands pinned your hips against the steel, ensuring you felt every ounce of the overwhelming need he had for you.
When his tongue finally found your exposed cunt, the world seemed to vanish. It was strange—the rough texture, almost like fine, hot sandpaper, was completely different from anything you had ever experienced; but in the next second, the shock gave way to something strangely good, an intense stimulation against the bundle of nerves in your clitoris that made every nerve in your body scream.
Jake was not delicate. He used his tongue with the same determination he used to hunt: focused, relentless, drinking in your reaction as if it were the only thing keeping him alive. Unable to stay still, you arched your body, your hips rising instinctively against his face, seeking more of that abrasive contact. Your hands, searching for an anchor in the middle of that hurricane, rose to Jake's head. Your fingers tangled in the thick, coarse strands of his dreads, pulling him closer, feeling the strength of his skull under your palms.
The touch on the braids seemed to electrify Jake. A deep growl, which vibrated against your most sensitive skin, escaped him. He pressed his body against the edge of the metal table, while his handcuffed hands now desperately sought your waist to pull you toward the tip of the steel. He was losing the battle against his own body. With every movement of his tongue repeatedly licking from bottom to top on your cunt, with every tug you gave his hair, the volume under the orange jumpsuit pulsed; the retractable anatomy crying out to be freed from that human fabric that now seemed a torture worse than any interrogation.
— "Do you feel me?" — he murmured between licks, his voice muffled against you, but loaded with a feverish urgency. — "Do you feel what you're doing to me?"
You had no words. There were no diagnoses or questions, only short, lost moans escaping your throat every time Jake's rough tongue found your center. You was surrendered, hands buried deep in his thick dreads, pulling him with a blind force, wanting that contact to never cease.
Jake wasn't just licking, he was sucking you with a desperate hunger on the clit, the wet sound echoing in the metallic cell, the stimulation was so intense you barely noticed when he, in an abrupt and impatient movement, used his handcuffed hands to grab the rigid fabric of the orange jumpsuit's opening with a grunt of effort, he pulled the cloth down, finally exposing the biology the RDA tried to contain.
Your head thrown back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, too lost in pleasure to look, but what was happening between Jake's legs was a force of nature, free of the fabric, the retractable shaft finally revealed itself in all its glory, unlike the human anatomy Jake once possessed, his cock emerged from a protective muscular sheath, a mechanism of survival on Pandora that now pulsed with the hot blood of the heat. The skin there was a deeper blue, almost purplish, stretched and glistening with the natural lubrication overflowing from the tip.
It was large, proportional; as long and thick as your forearm, but with a lethal elegance. Veins throbbed along the length, and the base was surrounded by dense musculature that seemed to vibrate in sync with his growls. Jake felt the shock of air against his cock and the growl that escaped him was purely animal. He pressed himself against the table, the cold metal contrasting with the feverish heat of his cock which now desperately sought the way inside you instinct no longer accepted barriers; he needed shelter, he needed the human heat only you could offer to extinguish the fire; but he was beyond any logical thought, body arched on the metal table as Jake continued his hungry quest.
His name escaped as a pleading sigh, that vibrated in the heavy air of the cell, hearing the sound, he—now completely free—throbbing with an urgency that seemed to have a life of its own. With every moan you let out, he felt a spasm run the entire length of his shaft, pre-cum fluid glistened on the blunt tip, dripping just like your wetness that already covered his face.
Jake was at the limit, the sound of his name coming out of that mouth acted like fuel on the fire of the heat. He stopped sucking for a second, just enough to let out a growl that seemed to shake the cell walls, pulling away completely. He couldn't stand the indirect contact anymore. Instinct demanded complete union, total filling. His hands still gripping your thighs, he imposed himself, sliding his body up until the throbbing tip of his shaft found your opening.
The contrast in temperature was absurd: his feverish heat against your wetness, is the pressure of his cock against the tight opening of your cunt that made Jake locked for a moment, yellow eyes glued there a few seconds before finding yours, which were blurred with pleasure. He wanted you to feel exactly what was about to happen, wanted you to know that once he's inside, there would be no turning back for either of them. The heat demanded he claim you, but the sight of you there —small, human, with the lower lips clenching around nothing and the dark hair of her mons veneris glistening with sweat —made him hesitate for a millisecond.
You looked down and your breath caught. For the first time, you saw what was about to face you.
— "By God... too big..." — You whispered, fear and desire fighting for control of your voice.
Jake let out a grunt, handcuffed hands trembling as he gripped his own shaft knew that if he tried to go deep now, he would break you. But the heat didn't accept "no." In a desperate gesture of relief, he positioned his throbbing shaft over your naked cunt. He didn't enter, instead, Jake began to rub.
The contact was electric. The feverish heat of his skin against your sensitivity was almost unbearable. Jake moved his hips with a frantic rhythm, sliding the his cock between your lower lips, crushing your clit with the side of his shaft with every upward movement. The contrast of colors was stark: his deep, potent blue against the tone of your skin; the width of his member covering almost your entire cunt region as he sought pleasure in the friction.
You were lost, your hand hold the cloth to the white shirt, pulling the fabric out urgently until one of your breasts escaped, the nipple rigid and darkened by desire pointing at him in the cold cell air. Jake saw. The grunt that escaped him was deafening, seeing that sign of human submission, the soft flesh and the nipple ready for him, made him accelerate the rhythm.
He squeezed your hips against the metal table, the sound of the handcuffs hitting in the rhythm of the shallow thrusts he gave against your slit, his fluid mixed with yours, creating a wet and obscene sound every time the mauve shaft slid over your skin; and the pleasure of just feeling that mass of muscle crushing you from the outside was enough to make you roll your eyes, your mind going blank to everything that wasn't the weight and heat of Jake Sully.
Jake leaned over you, the mass of his shoulders blocking the sterile ceiling light as captured your hard nipple with his lips, his rough tongue playing with while his hips continued the rhythmic massacre down below. His shaft throbbing, slid between your lips, now completely covered in a sticky mixture of your desire and his pre-cum. The sound was obscene—a wet pop with every movement, the friction getting rawer and hotter as the lubrication of both flooded them. You moaned, a long and feverish sound, while he responded with a grunt that vibrated directly against your chest.
Then he stopped not the movement just pulled away from your breast slowly, a thin string of saliva connected his mouth to your nipple for a second before breaking. He raised his face, but didn't look at you. His yellow eyes, clouded by the heat but loaded with a sharp lucidity, fixed on the white light blinking in the upper corner of the cell.
The hidden camera.
Jake knew they were watching. Quaritch, Ardmore, the scientists—all seeing the "great traitor" reduced to an animal in heat but the smile that appeared on his lips wasn't one of shame it was predatory. He had surrendered to the prison, let them torture him, but possessing you—their doctor, the human—was the ultimate revenge a low, nasal laugh escaped him as he went back to moving his hips with force, the friction of his shaft against your slit now more deliberate, more provocative before the lens.
— "They're watching," — A whispered, his voice heavy with cruel satisfaction.
You blinked, mind clouded by pleasure, trying to focus on his face.
— "Jake… what are you…"
— "Let them look," — He cut in, eyes still fixed on the camera as his shaft crushed your clit. — "I want them to see what a traitor does to what is theirs."
— "Jake, please…" — you arched your body, the friction of that cock against your clit taking you to the edge.
— "Say my name," — He ordered, handcuffed hands squeezing your hips until the skin marked. — "Say it loud so they hear who is fucking you like this."
Jake's rhythm became sloppy, driven by an urgency he no longer tried to polish as in a sharper movement, his hip trajectory failed and the blunt tip of the shaft, wet and a dark, rest directly against your entrance a choked, body tensing in a violent arch as you felt that pressure force your opening, squeezing around a filling that wasn't yet real, but already stole your breath. Jake let out a sharp hiss, a sound of pain and frustration at the blockage, he stopped for a second, thigh muscles trembling under the effort, but his order came immediately after, harsh and hungry:
— "Say it. My name. Again."
You couldn't speak, back arched off the metal table, fingers scratching the matte steel as you only moaned, lost in the sensation of being crushed by him who hips wavered, yellow gaze fell to you, to your skin marked by heat, and then rose to the camera with a mortal challenge. He wasn't going to slide in—not yet—but he was going to make sure whoever was watching heard the sound of your defeat.
He gripped the base of his own shaft with his in a deliberate and violent movement, began to slap, the sound of wet skin against skin—the heavy pop of his cock hitting your bundle of nerves—echoed in the cell
Slap. Slap.
With every hit, the friction was replaced by raw impact that made you let out short screams of pleasure and shock.
— "Say it!" — he growled, sweat dripping from his face directly onto your chest as he accelerated the hits, using his own body as a weapon of pleasure against you. — "Say who's doing this to you while they watch!"
You buried your hands in his dreads, pulling him down with blind force, while your peak began to form in waves of electricity, driven by the obscene sound of that blue flesh hitting yours.
— "Jake... Jake!" — You screamed, your voice failing, giving him exactly the victory he wanted to display to the world outside.
The rhythmic, heavy impact of Jake's shaft against your center was the final blow. It felt as if every nerve in your body was being electrocuted at once. Your vaginal walls pulsed violently, squeezing the void in an uncontrollable spasm that made you lose your breath. The peak came in blind waves, a heat that rose from your spine until it exploded in colors behind your eyelids.
— "Jake... stop... please, it's too much..." — You pleaded between gasps, your cunt now so sensitive that the slightest touch felt like a shock.
But Jake was beyond any command, the heat had obliterated the hero and the traitor ; all that remained was a male seeking the end of the agony, grunted, a cavernous sound that vibrated in the metal of the table, and instead of pulling away, he acted. His handcuffed hands large held your legs, closing them against each other with force. He didn't need to penetrate to finish. Jake used the space between your closed thighs as a new sheath, sliding his throbbing shaft there, crushing his own flesh against your soft skin.
The contrast was obscene: his blue, tensed skin moving frantically against the softness of your thighs as he fucked the space between your legs with desperate violence, hips hitting your heels, handcuffs clinking in a maddened rhythm wou could only moan, head swinging from side to side, feeling his feverish heat consuming you.
And then, the final growl came.
Jake locked, his body tensed until every muscle felt like stone his ears twitched back, catching the sound of your cry of pleasure, and he let out a roar of relief that echoed through the Bridgehead City base. The discharge was violent, the thick, white liquid spurted with the force of the heat, flooding the space between your legs who felt the heat of his semen—far more abundant and dense than human—flow heavily down your groin, thick, hot drops piled up over your mons catching in the dark strands of pubic hair.
Jake collapsed over you, chest rising and falling like an exhausted animal, the sweat of both mixing. He still smelled your neck, but his eyes... his eyes he kept fixed on the ceiling camera for a few more seconds.
He had won. There, between the thighs of the RDA doctor.
Summary: Miles Quaritch thought hate would be enough to keep him focused, but on Pandora, he's trapped in twenty years of vigor while haunted by fifty years of cruelty—and nothing obeys his command. The hate has given way to an unknown heat, but his biological clock already knows exactly where it needs to burn to sate his desire."
Notes: Sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes, Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! Enjoy the ride. 🔥
It was something hot, almost physical, thrumming constantly beneath his blue skin stirring dangerously with his urge for dominance. It was what he called hate, revenge—so raw, perverse that it had become a necessity. From it came the blindness that kept him awake with every memory of his failure at Sully’s hands, a direct affront to his wounded pride. It was there that his rage found strength in control, in the urgency to prove that Miles was still the one set the pace. But unfortunately, on Pandora, everything intensified; this new body responded differently—more sensitive, more violent—as if every breath made him more impulsive, cruel... hungry.
The climate of the Mangkwan people awakened exactly that: more hate, heavy as armor. It was no longer an explosive anger; it was something far deeper, cultivated with who had gleefully joined his quest for revenge. But joy was something denied there. Everything was so lifeless, gray, colorless, trapped in a suffocating heat that mirrored every feeling he pondered internally. It was something in the air that felt strange; perhaps it was the metallic scent, or the ash that constantly drifted across the sky, making everything even denser. It was hard to name, but it stirred buried emotions.
Hate remained in control, but it wasn't alone. Beneath it, something more primal began to stir—slow and inevitable, like a body responding before the mind could grant permission. An addictive feeling that ignited like fire deep within him every time he caught a glimpse of you... always lurking like a functional shadow, with those lifeless eyes devoid of empathy, moving only when necessary, stopping when you wasn't called. You was helpful only in form, never in spirit. And that very "non-gesture" sparked a biological call within him—a primary need that didn't obey military logic or the discipline of the hate that had blinded him for so long. The predator in him remained alert, aware that his senses were adjusting to a different kind of survival, a different kind of prey that whetted a new kind of hunger.
Miles recognized the sensation from afar—not by practice, but by memory—like someone who understands the meaning of something before experiencing it. There was a constant restlessness, a strange heat in his lower abdomen that didn't ask for violence or immediate action, only presence... constant, irritating, exposing his deepest instincts and pushing him to complete cycles he hadn't chosen. He was like a juvenile organism learning to respond to its own internal workings. He wasn't ignorant—just physically inexperienced in that body—and every time you was near, that sensation organized itself, gaining direction. It was as if your body were the food he craved: graceful yet firm. Your hips were light, like a wind blowing in his direction, carrying an irresistible scent that made his mouth water and his body sweat with thoughts that flourished so suddenly they bypassed any restraint he tried to impose.
Like your presence cut through the air of the yurt like a sudden change in pressure. Suddenly, you was there—standing at the entrance, observing his naked body without haste or a trace of shyness. Miles, lying on the furs, remained motionless. His blue skin, still marked by the day’s heat, looked relaxed, but he noted with contained irritation and raw satisfaction the reason you was there, written all over you somberly beautiful face. Your gaze lingered over him as your made yourself at home, prowling the yurt Varang had granted him, as if the place were already known to you.
Without permission, you approached. Your steps were too light for such a brutal environment. Your fingertips felt like feathers against his chest, sliding up to his kuru, from the base to the end of the queue. It was as if something profoundly wrong—and inevitable—had been triggered. It wasn't a caress; it was a recognition. A brief, firm touch, too intimate to be innocent. Miles’s body responded before he could react, and suddenly there was a soft, low chuckle permeating the place. His senses sharpened with aggressive clarity as he looked at you, searching for answers.
— "Mhm... it works," You said simply, keeping your r fingers there a moment longer than necessary.
The silence that followed was heavy. Miles understood in that instant what your meant... how could he not, when his length was visibly hard? It was his body—inexperienced but alert—already knowing exactly what that proximity signified. Miles didn't pull away.
On the other way around—his fingers closed calmly around yours; they were too thin, too cold, too na'vi compared to his five human fingers. The difference didn't go unnoticed. He felt it. He liked it. The realization came with a strange sense of a silent satisfaction, as if that detail were one more proof that this new body still carried something old, something that knew exactly what it was doing.
And with that, he pulled you, Not with force—but enough to break the distance you maintained by choice, not out of fear. And when you sat there, in his lap, there was a certain type of restraint he had only felt when he was still human; and that restraint was too much to maintain a mask of neutrality. Your weight against his body and his hardness made the air feel even denser. Miles kept his gaze fixed on yours, attentive to every micro-reaction, every involuntary adjustment of your posture, every second longer you took to move away.
— "You walk in without warning..." his voice came out low, raspy with something other than exhaustion. "Touch what you shouldn't..."
His thumb slid slowly over your knuckles. A small, calculated gesture.
— "...it's not just curiosity!"
There was a smirk there. Not kind, nor too provocative; just aware. Miles wasn't lost in the sensation—he was testing limits, as he always had, only now the battlefield was different. His body reacted, but his mind remained sharp, observing how you breathed differently, how you didn't get up, how you didn't release his hand. — "Cause you sat down," he added, leaning in a bit more. "So you know exactly what you came looking for."
The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was your loud, somewhat innocent laugh—but of innocence, there was none in her. And that made him smirk his ears perked at the sound of your shrill, somber giggle, which for a single instant made him understand why Jake betrayed his own race. A little thing, so feigned innocent, could make anyone lose their mind. Your laughter dissolved slowly, like hot smoke in the stifling air of the yurt. You was in no hurry to answer when tilted your head slightly, studying his face too closely, like someone considering something they’ve already decided to possess—they just haven't said it out loud yet.
— "Curiosity..." Your repeated, dragging out the word, almost tasting it. "It is what you tawtute call it when you don't want to admit something else."
Your fingers moved slightly, not to pull away, but to settle deeper into his hand, as if that contact had been accepted long ago. Your gaze didn't drop immediately; it stayed locked on his, testing if he would look away first. He didn't.
— "Varang said you were dangerous," You continued, in a tone far too casual for the moment. "But she didn't mention you being... interesting."
You leaned in closer, until the distance vanished entirely as you settled over him, straddling him without hesitation or excuse. It wasn't a delicate seduction; it was a silent challenge.— "And now," You added, her voice low, almost intimate, "I wanted to see if what woke up inside you..."
A brief, sharp, conscious look dipped down to his naked body, already knowing exactly the effect you was having.
— "...can easily quench the fire inside me."
The silence that followed was pure provocation; an action that made Miles lean in first by instinct, not by haste. There was something almost restrained in the gesture, as if part of him were still observing from the outside, considering his own decision even as he executed it. But when their lips met again, there was no rehearsed delicacy now. There was weight. Heat. A silent impact that rippled through his new body with unexpected intensity, making him thrum beneath you. And for a brief second, he expected resistance.
It didn't come.
You responded with the same dark firmness that marked everything about you—not receding, not surrendering immediately, but accepting, adjusting to the contact like someone recognizing an ancient language. When you tongue found his, slow and sure, Miles felt a shock, almost an irritated one, run down his spine. It wasn't unfamiliarity—it was surprise.
He hadn't expected that. There was something profoundly human in that gesture, something he carried in his memory as practice, not as a possibility here. The body reacted with a minimal delay, as if it were learning too fast as your tongue slid against his. The pressure increased, and his hand squeezed your hip with violence—but without the intent to hurt—and he felt how much you liked it. You followed every change, every adjustment, every hesitation he wouldn't allow himself to show.
To you, the kiss wasn't a discovery—it was a provocation. A silent game where the danger wasn't in the touch, but in how much he responded; and Miles responded on autopilot, following instinct like a wolf that has lost its teeth but never its scent. But the air between them grew short. Not for lack of breath, but because of the density of the moment. When he finally pulled back enough to face you, your gaze was darker, more attentive—not satisfied, but extremely stimulated. You returned to kissing, nibbling, licking the curve of his neck with a certain fury that broke his last restraint, making Miles release his breath in a low, raspy sound, as if you had touched something too deep to be ignored. The body reacted before he could reorganize his control—not in confusion, but in recognized hunger.
— "Fuck..." escaped him, almost a contained growl.
His head tilted slightly, offering the angle without being asked, while the hand on you back go lower, firm, guiding the movement of yiur hips, marking the rhythm as if saying without words: like this. His own hips also moved almost without him realizing, rising in search of more; an instinctive adjustment that made it clear how involved the body was now. There was no more attempt to hide the reaction. His hand moved up at once, firm, closing around the side of your body—not to push away, but to anchor your. His fingers made their presence known on the straps of your loincloth,, as if he needed to remind you that he now required more than just attention on his neck. It was a silent understanding that made yur chuckle softly, satisfied, when his nose brushed against the skin of your shoulders—not as a caress, but as a marking of territory. An almost animalistic gesture, loaded with intent, that made you pull back and stare at him with a smirk. It wasn't a sweet smile—it was slow, satisfied, almost cruel, revealing your fangs for an instant, too white against the ash-marked skin. Miles's eyes flared when you stayed close enough for him to feel the heat of your breath mixing with his.
— "Take it off, sky man..." It was lowly, you voice heavy with desire.
The word didn't sound like a hollow provocation. And his movement was neither slow nor calculated; Miles’s hand closed on the fabric with brute force, without care, without hesitation. There was a second of resistance—the cloth stretched, tense—and then the dry sound cut through the air of the tent.
Tear.
The noise was harsh, loud enough to echo off the walls of leather and bone, an aggressive snap that broke the heavy silence like a blow. The fibers shattered all at once, yielding under his strength, and the piece of cloth was ripped away without ceremony, still warm from your body. He didn't look at what he had done.
He simply flicked his wrist and tossed the loincloth aside, letting it fall into a corner of the yurt with a light thud. The cloth lay there, discarded on the floor, forgotten the same instant it left his hand. It was intense enough to mark the moment, because you inhaled in an immediate reflex, your body tensing for a second, pure surprise crossing your face. It wasn't fear—it was the shock of the unexpected, of the strength that asked for no permission beyond the word you had spoken. Your eyes widened for just an instant before something else emerged there, it was a short, raspy chuckle escaped, almost incredulous—not just at the brutality of him tearing the loincloth as you had ordered, leaving you naked just like him under your, but at the contact that finally came. Intimacy meeting intimacy: hard, wet, pulsing with an excitement that was read not only in their eyes but in each of their bodies. Miles didn't pull back either, but he gasped when you was the one to move her hips forward and backward slowly, as if you didn't know what you was doing. And that made him laugh at you feigned innocence again when you murmured soft.
— "Like this?..."
Miles responded with a low sound from the back of his throat—it wasn't a full laugh, but something close to it. A recognition. A reaction just as false as yours.
— "No," He said, his voice deep and precise, just like the palm of his hand that covered one of her ass cheeks with disere, touch hard. He used the grip to move her hips harder, faster, creating that wet, hot friction of you pulsing core against his cock—which was harder than it had ever been before...And then came a gasp from you, along with that silly little giggle when you tilted her head slightly, studying him for a second longer. Then you leaned you hand against his chest and pushed him back—not with excessive force, but with enough decision to make it clear it wasn't a request.
— "Lie down," You ordered, simple and direct.
There was a brief, loaded silence, but Miles did not deny you; there was a certain excitement in doing what he was told. He held your gaze for another moment before yielding to the movement, reclining slowly—not out of submission, but because he chose to permit it. The gesture was calculated, tense, like a predator who accepts to observe before attacking and that is what he did. His calloused palm slid up your ribs, tracing them at the same rhythm you moved your hips against his, focusing, delighting only in the sensation of how your cunt slid over his hard shaft, fluidly.
To you, it was as if his cock had been perfectly made to fit the curve of your lower lips, as if the slightly curved tip of his cock were made especially to stimulate your clit with every movement of your hips. A It was quite a scene, Miles admitted. It was intoxicating, the way you was using him for your own pleasure, the way you didn't fully moan—it was just a low, pleasurable hiss that turn on him even more just to hear. It made him almost desperate to hear more and that desperation made him pull hard at the thin strips of cloth covering your breasts, tearing them just as he had done with the loincloth.
This time, however, the air caught in his throat. Your breasts were exposed—firm like the rest of your body—but his pupils dilated at the sight of the jewelry glinting. It was just a piece of metal piercing a single nipple; he made a point to touch it with his fingertips, to squeeze. And then, finally, a long, dragged-out moan came from you, making your chest arch forward. His cock trobs inside the heat of her your iner cunt lips again and again not just at the discovery, or the sound of you, or the fact that you was still moving your hips, but because he was now hyper-aware of every detail about you—things that had gone unnoticed because he had been too focused on the sensation, barely controlling himself and then when he finally looked down, he noticed a slightly larger, transverse metal piercing your clit.
Immediately, he gripped your hips, stopping you movements; his thumb went there instantly, touching... swollen, Miles thought instinctively, his tongue licking his lips at the dirty ideas that clouded his mind.
— "What a dirty little thing you are," He murmured, his voice thick with arousal, moving his thumb precisely in circular motions.
It was only to see how you would react, but when you practically melted at his touch, hissing softly, Miles smirked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It wasn't a laugh of tease or mockery; it was just that kind of satisfaction that takes hold of any man when a female reacts that way and he is the reason. And certainly, it brought a kind of power that made his body burn from the inside, as if an ignition had been lit. Now there was a great urgency looming over him: to hear more, see more, feel more... to know what it would be like to accommodate his thick shaft, finally inside her; to know what it would be feel a woman again after so many long years. The longing to feel such a sensation again was extreme, but it was put on hold; there was another more urgent desire that made his hand grip his own hard, trobing shaft against his palm when you moved your hips back, giving him space....An uníssono gasp hung in the place. It was as if the air had evaporated from your lungs, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of him, touch himself, taking pleasure in the sensation of his own palm sliding up and down his cock slowly. The tips of his fingers grew slightly tacky from the natural lubrication leaking from the tip, leaking more when you provided an unexpected, hesitant stimulus there, it made Miles stop for a second because a shudder too strong ran down his spine in pure pleasure. Although the gesture wasn't entirely welcome, you keep just a little longer before pulling your finger away, bringing it to your lips with a certain urgency, tasting him..... A pause. Miles watched you intently, his hand hold hard his cock slightly in expectation. Yes, he wanted to know the verdict. And soon he laughed when your tongue circled and licked your fingers without stopping; yiur cunt clenching around nothing leaving a wet trail on his thighs.
— "You like it like that, don't you, you dirty little thing!" It wasn't a question, but the answer came anyway when he felt her walls clench around nothing with more force, again and again.
Your hips began to move again, straddling his thigh mercilessly, and that made him laugh. His free hand pinched your pierced nipple between his fingers hard, making you melt again, it was clear that you liked it that way; it was written all over your face, in body slightly bending as he rubbed her nipple between his fingers once mlre. It was so pleasurable that you needed to seek support, resting your palm on his sweaty chest. He waited for your to move your hips in the way that satisfied you, then returned to giving his own cock greedy, anxious, sloppy attention that made the air in the tent even more stifling. The sound of wetness, of gasps, groans, hisses, and the sound of his cock fuck his own fist made his stomach churn with need.
— "I'll cum like this, sweetheart…" When he spoke, his voice was low, far too controlled for someone on the verge of losing it.
You tilted your head slightly, watching him. The silence that followed was dense, alive, as if the air itself had learned to watch. Your held his gaze without haste, but the movements of your hips gradually stopped. Your hand wrapped around his shaft with force, making Miles almost choke as he pulled his hand away and let you do as you pleased.
— "No." It was simple, direct. You leaned in a little more, enough so that there was no space left between their faces. Locking eyes with him, Miles knew what your wanted, and a smirk grew on his face—not a gentle one, but a famished one.
— "You want it inside," He said finally. "Go ahead."
And there, in that tiny space between decision and action, the action happened. Your hips moved forward; you rose, guiding his shaft to the sticky open of your cunt. He expected a provocation, but it didn't come; you went straight for it, lowered yourself, the tip of his cock forcing its way into you who let out an extremely loud gasp took every inch of his cock tha disappearing completely inside you. Your cunt warm, wet, tightly clenching so hard him that made him throw his head back. The memory finally became reality: hot, tight, deliciously good. It sent him into ecstasy, his mind going blank as he struggled simply not to come. Miles couldn't see because his eyes were closed; he couldn't hear because he was focused on maintaining self-control; he only felt—an indescribable, burning, welcoming pleasure every time you raised your hips, leaving only the tip inside her before lowering again. The movements were repetitive but precise, the sensation was indescribable, even more so when you moved your hips in a circular motion. Ah, that made Miles's head spin openimg his eyes to gaze at you, a satisfied growl resonated from deep in his throat at the sight of you there: both palms on his chest, your arms making your breasts look more curved and full; the piercing in the nipple glinting from the sweat dripping from your neck; her feet on either side of his narrow waist.
You wasn't just straddling him now; you was sitting, providing a perfect view of the glinting metal on your swollen nerve bundle , of your cunt hole swallowing his cock shaft, now with a milky ring around it marked by her arousal, which seemed to increase with every movement, very time you began to take him faster, gasping, moaning his name loudly, Miles found himself gripping both her ankles tightly as he thrust his hips upward to meet yours. Hard, deep, that was how his thrusts were now, hitting that spongy spot inside that made your mouth fall open slightly, your pupils dilating as you clenched around him with force, moaning.
— "Oh…" It didn't come out whole; it was broken. It escaped first too low to be intentional, but then: — "Like that!"
It was dragged out, but it vibrated in the back of your throat, as if the air had been pulled in too fast and didn't know how to get back out. The sound failed in the middle, turning into hot, irregular breathing. Miles felt even more satisfied, thrusting deep, resting completely inside for a second before fucking again in a sloppy, desperate way.
He admitted it—it was too much temptation to see your chest rising and falling, to hear the deep, slow sounds that escaped him in an almost inaudible "mmh...".
It was quite a physical blow that made him lock his jaw for a second; his breathing grew tense as his mind went blank. A delicious, aching pain stung the back of his neck, leaving him so dizzy that it took him a moment to understand, to see his kuru braided into your fist as you pulled hard once more. You voice was dragged out, breathless, just like your body, which looked as if it would collapse on top of him at any moment. It was clear you was still trying to keep her legs open as she bounce on his cock, but your knees seemed to have a life of their own as they tried to close; and Miles, with his hand still on your ankles, kept you open, letting you take him, letting your walls clench his shaft with spasms. Another tug on his kuru, and this time Miles hissed in disapproval... a growl that came out firm but sounded more like a plea.
— "Fuck... fuck me, sky man!"
No other words needed to be said. Miles returned to thrusting fast and hard before he could formulate any thought. He followed on autopilot, eyes fixed on every action, on your body, on how you gasped when he released one of your ankles and brought his fingers to your neglected clit stimulating it with force. And that was all it took: you arched, mouth slightly open, but no sound came out. No words were needed to know that you had finally reached the peak. The most erotic sight he had ever seen spoke for itself; your walls squeezing him with force spoke for itself. Not only did it speak, it made him feel hot inside with the thought that pushed him closer and closer to the edge, matter how much he tried not to go there, Miles wanted to enjoy every last drop. But not just him; even with almost no strength left, trembling on his cock with every thrust, you still had the strength to pull his braid,undoing the knot. It happened suddenly, and there was no way to control it; the rhythm of his hips faltered, he threw his head back and growled loudly as he felt the hot jet of his seed spray inside your used cunt without stopping. It was a delicious mix of finally losing himself to his orgasm and still being sucked in by sunch a greedy cunt hole, which drank every last drop before yiu climbed off him and lay down by his side. His cock, still half-hard, rested on his abs leaving the traces of his cum there... the traces that also dripped from you made him smirk slightly.
Summary: Miles Quaritch thought hate would be enough to keep him focused, but on Pandora, he's trapped in twenty years of vigor while haunted by fifty years of cruelty—and nothing obeys his command. The hate has given way to an unknown heat, but his biological clock already knows exactly where it needs to burn to sate his desire."
Notes: Sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes, Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! Enjoy the ride. 🔥
It was something hot, almost physical, thrumming constantly beneath his blue skin stirring dangerously with his urge for dominance. It was what he called hate, revenge—so raw, perverse that it had become a necessity. From it came the blindness that kept him awake with every memory of his failure at Sully’s hands, a direct affront to his wounded pride. It was there that his rage found strength in control, in the urgency to prove that Miles was still the one set the pace. But unfortunately, on Pandora, everything intensified; this new body responded differently—more sensitive, more violent—as if every breath made him more impulsive, cruel... hungry.
The climate of the Mangkwan people awakened exactly that: more hate, heavy as armor. It was no longer an explosive anger; it was something far deeper, cultivated with who had gleefully joined his quest for revenge. But joy was something denied there. Everything was so lifeless, gray, colorless, trapped in a suffocating heat that mirrored every feeling he pondered internally. It was something in the air that felt strange; perhaps it was the metallic scent, or the ash that constantly drifted across the sky, making everything even denser. It was hard to name, but it stirred buried emotions.
Hate remained in control, but it wasn't alone. Beneath it, something more primal began to stir—slow and inevitable, like a body responding before the mind could grant permission. An addictive feeling that ignited like fire deep within him every time he caught a glimpse of you... always lurking like a functional shadow, with those lifeless eyes devoid of empathy, moving only when necessary, stopping when you wasn't called. You was helpful only in form, never in spirit. And that very "non-gesture" sparked a biological call within him—a primary need that didn't obey military logic or the discipline of the hate that had blinded him for so long. The predator in him remained alert, aware that his senses were adjusting to a different kind of survival, a different kind of prey that whetted a new kind of hunger.
Miles recognized the sensation from afar—not by practice, but by memory—like someone who understands the meaning of something before experiencing it. There was a constant restlessness, a strange heat in his lower abdomen that didn't ask for violence or immediate action, only presence... constant, irritating, exposing his deepest instincts and pushing him to complete cycles he hadn't chosen. He was like a juvenile organism learning to respond to its own internal workings. He wasn't ignorant—just physically inexperienced in that body—and every time you was near, that sensation organized itself, gaining direction. It was as if your body were the food he craved: graceful yet firm. Your hips were light, like a wind blowing in his direction, carrying an irresistible scent that made his mouth water and his body sweat with thoughts that flourished so suddenly they bypassed any restraint he tried to impose.
Like your presence cut through the air of the yurt like a sudden change in pressure. Suddenly, you was there—standing at the entrance, observing his naked body without haste or a trace of shyness. Miles, lying on the furs, remained motionless. His blue skin, still marked by the day’s heat, looked relaxed, but he noted with contained irritation and raw satisfaction the reason you was there, written all over you somberly beautiful face. Your gaze lingered over him as your made yourself at home, prowling the yurt Varang had granted him, as if the place were already known to you.
Without permission, you approached. Your steps were too light for such a brutal environment. Your fingertips felt like feathers against his chest, sliding up to his kuru, from the base to the end of the queue. It was as if something profoundly wrong—and inevitable—had been triggered. It wasn't a caress; it was a recognition. A brief, firm touch, too intimate to be innocent. Miles’s body responded before he could react, and suddenly there was a soft, low chuckle permeating the place. His senses sharpened with aggressive clarity as he looked at you, searching for answers.
— "Mhm... it works," You said simply, keeping your r fingers there a moment longer than necessary.
The silence that followed was heavy. Miles understood in that instant what your meant... how could he not, when his length was visibly hard? It was his body—inexperienced but alert—already knowing exactly what that proximity signified. Miles didn't pull away.
On the other way around—his fingers closed calmly around yours; they were too thin, too cold, too na'vi compared to his five human fingers. The difference didn't go unnoticed. He felt it. He liked it. The realization came with a strange sense of a silent satisfaction, as if that detail were one more proof that this new body still carried something old, something that knew exactly what it was doing.
And with that, he pulled you, Not with force—but enough to break the distance you maintained by choice, not out of fear. And when you sat there, in his lap, there was a certain type of restraint he had only felt when he was still human; and that restraint was too much to maintain a mask of neutrality. Your weight against his body and his hardness made the air feel even denser. Miles kept his gaze fixed on yours, attentive to every micro-reaction, every involuntary adjustment of your posture, every second longer you took to move away.
— "You walk in without warning..." his voice came out low, raspy with something other than exhaustion. "Touch what you shouldn't..."
His thumb slid slowly over your knuckles. A small, calculated gesture.
— "...it's not just curiosity!"
There was a smirk there. Not kind, nor too provocative; just aware. Miles wasn't lost in the sensation—he was testing limits, as he always had, only now the battlefield was different. His body reacted, but his mind remained sharp, observing how you breathed differently, how you didn't get up, how you didn't release his hand. — "Cause you sat down," he added, leaning in a bit more. "So you know exactly what you came looking for."
The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was your loud, somewhat innocent laugh—but of innocence, there was none in her. And that made him smirk his ears perked at the sound of your shrill, somber giggle, which for a single instant made him understand why Jake betrayed his own race. A little thing, so feigned innocent, could make anyone lose their mind. Your laughter dissolved slowly, like hot smoke in the stifling air of the yurt. You was in no hurry to answer when tilted your head slightly, studying his face too closely, like someone considering something they’ve already decided to possess—they just haven't said it out loud yet.
— "Curiosity..." Your repeated, dragging out the word, almost tasting it. "It is what you tawtute call it when you don't want to admit something else."
Your fingers moved slightly, not to pull away, but to settle deeper into his hand, as if that contact had been accepted long ago. Your gaze didn't drop immediately; it stayed locked on his, testing if he would look away first. He didn't.
— "Varang said you were dangerous," You continued, in a tone far too casual for the moment. "But she didn't mention you being... interesting."
You leaned in closer, until the distance vanished entirely as you settled over him, straddling him without hesitation or excuse. It wasn't a delicate seduction; it was a silent challenge.— "And now," You added, her voice low, almost intimate, "I wanted to see if what woke up inside you..."
A brief, sharp, conscious look dipped down to his naked body, already knowing exactly the effect you was having.
— "...can easily quench the fire inside me."
The silence that followed was pure provocation; an action that made Miles lean in first by instinct, not by haste. There was something almost restrained in the gesture, as if part of him were still observing from the outside, considering his own decision even as he executed it. But when their lips met again, there was no rehearsed delicacy now. There was weight. Heat. A silent impact that rippled through his new body with unexpected intensity, making him thrum beneath you. And for a brief second, he expected resistance.
It didn't come.
You responded with the same dark firmness that marked everything about you—not receding, not surrendering immediately, but accepting, adjusting to the contact like someone recognizing an ancient language. When you tongue found his, slow and sure, Miles felt a shock, almost an irritated one, run down his spine. It wasn't unfamiliarity—it was surprise.
He hadn't expected that. There was something profoundly human in that gesture, something he carried in his memory as practice, not as a possibility here. The body reacted with a minimal delay, as if it were learning too fast as your tongue slid against his. The pressure increased, and his hand squeezed your hip with violence—but without the intent to hurt—and he felt how much you liked it. You followed every change, every adjustment, every hesitation he wouldn't allow himself to show.
To you, the kiss wasn't a discovery—it was a provocation. A silent game where the danger wasn't in the touch, but in how much he responded; and Miles responded on autopilot, following instinct like a wolf that has lost its teeth but never its scent. But the air between them grew short. Not for lack of breath, but because of the density of the moment. When he finally pulled back enough to face you, your gaze was darker, more attentive—not satisfied, but extremely stimulated. You returned to kissing, nibbling, licking the curve of his neck with a certain fury that broke his last restraint, making Miles release his breath in a low, raspy sound, as if you had touched something too deep to be ignored. The body reacted before he could reorganize his control—not in confusion, but in recognized hunger.
— "Fuck..." escaped him, almost a contained growl.
His head tilted slightly, offering the angle without being asked, while the hand on you back go lower, firm, guiding the movement of yiur hips, marking the rhythm as if saying without words: like this. His own hips also moved almost without him realizing, rising in search of more; an instinctive adjustment that made it clear how involved the body was now. There was no more attempt to hide the reaction. His hand moved up at once, firm, closing around the side of your body—not to push away, but to anchor your. His fingers made their presence known on the straps of your loincloth,, as if he needed to remind you that he now required more than just attention on his neck. It was a silent understanding that made yur chuckle softly, satisfied, when his nose brushed against the skin of your shoulders—not as a caress, but as a marking of territory. An almost animalistic gesture, loaded with intent, that made you pull back and stare at him with a smirk. It wasn't a sweet smile—it was slow, satisfied, almost cruel, revealing your fangs for an instant, too white against the ash-marked skin. Miles's eyes flared when you stayed close enough for him to feel the heat of your breath mixing with his.
— "Take it off, sky man..." It was lowly, you voice heavy with desire.
The word didn't sound like a hollow provocation. And his movement was neither slow nor calculated; Miles’s hand closed on the fabric with brute force, without care, without hesitation. There was a second of resistance—the cloth stretched, tense—and then the dry sound cut through the air of the tent.
Tear.
The noise was harsh, loud enough to echo off the walls of leather and bone, an aggressive snap that broke the heavy silence like a blow. The fibers shattered all at once, yielding under his strength, and the piece of cloth was ripped away without ceremony, still warm from your body. He didn't look at what he had done.
He simply flicked his wrist and tossed the loincloth aside, letting it fall into a corner of the yurt with a light thud. The cloth lay there, discarded on the floor, forgotten the same instant it left his hand. It was intense enough to mark the moment, because you inhaled in an immediate reflex, your body tensing for a second, pure surprise crossing your face. It wasn't fear—it was the shock of the unexpected, of the strength that asked for no permission beyond the word you had spoken. Your eyes widened for just an instant before something else emerged there, it was a short, raspy chuckle escaped, almost incredulous—not just at the brutality of him tearing the loincloth as you had ordered, leaving you naked just like him under your, but at the contact that finally came. Intimacy meeting intimacy: hard, wet, pulsing with an excitement that was read not only in their eyes but in each of their bodies. Miles didn't pull back either, but he gasped when you was the one to move her hips forward and backward slowly, as if you didn't know what you was doing. And that made him laugh at you feigned innocence again when you murmured soft.
— "Like this?..."
Miles responded with a low sound from the back of his throat—it wasn't a full laugh, but something close to it. A recognition. A reaction just as false as yours.
— "No," He said, his voice deep and precise, just like the palm of his hand that covered one of her ass cheeks with disere, touch hard. He used the grip to move her hips harder, faster, creating that wet, hot friction of you pulsing core against his cock—which was harder than it had ever been before...And then came a gasp from you, along with that silly little giggle when you tilted her head slightly, studying him for a second longer. Then you leaned you hand against his chest and pushed him back—not with excessive force, but with enough decision to make it clear it wasn't a request.
— "Lie down," You ordered, simple and direct.
There was a brief, loaded silence, but Miles did not deny you; there was a certain excitement in doing what he was told. He held your gaze for another moment before yielding to the movement, reclining slowly—not out of submission, but because he chose to permit it. The gesture was calculated, tense, like a predator who accepts to observe before attacking and that is what he did. His calloused palm slid up your ribs, tracing them at the same rhythm you moved your hips against his, focusing, delighting only in the sensation of how your cunt slid over his hard shaft, fluidly.
To you, it was as if his cock had been perfectly made to fit the curve of your lower lips, as if the slightly curved tip of his cock were made especially to stimulate your clit with every movement of your hips. A It was quite a scene, Miles admitted. It was intoxicating, the way you was using him for your own pleasure, the way you didn't fully moan—it was just a low, pleasurable hiss that turn on him even more just to hear. It made him almost desperate to hear more and that desperation made him pull hard at the thin strips of cloth covering your breasts, tearing them just as he had done with the loincloth.
This time, however, the air caught in his throat. Your breasts were exposed—firm like the rest of your body—but his pupils dilated at the sight of the jewelry glinting. It was just a piece of metal piercing a single nipple; he made a point to touch it with his fingertips, to squeeze. And then, finally, a long, dragged-out moan came from you, making your chest arch forward. His cock trobs inside the heat of her your iner cunt lips again and again not just at the discovery, or the sound of you, or the fact that you was still moving your hips, but because he was now hyper-aware of every detail about you—things that had gone unnoticed because he had been too focused on the sensation, barely controlling himself and then when he finally looked down, he noticed a slightly larger, transverse metal piercing your clit.
Immediately, he gripped your hips, stopping you movements; his thumb went there instantly, touching... swollen, Miles thought instinctively, his tongue licking his lips at the dirty ideas that clouded his mind.
— "What a dirty little thing you are," He murmured, his voice thick with arousal, moving his thumb precisely in circular motions.
It was only to see how you would react, but when you practically melted at his touch, hissing softly, Miles smirked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It wasn't a laugh of tease or mockery; it was just that kind of satisfaction that takes hold of any man when a female reacts that way and he is the reason. And certainly, it brought a kind of power that made his body burn from the inside, as if an ignition had been lit. Now there was a great urgency looming over him: to hear more, see more, feel more... to know what it would be like to accommodate his thick shaft, finally inside her; to know what it would be feel a woman again after so many long years. The longing to feel such a sensation again was extreme, but it was put on hold; there was another more urgent desire that made his hand grip his own hard, trobing shaft against his palm when you moved your hips back, giving him space....An uníssono gasp hung in the place. It was as if the air had evaporated from your lungs, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of him, touch himself, taking pleasure in the sensation of his own palm sliding up and down his cock slowly. The tips of his fingers grew slightly tacky from the natural lubrication leaking from the tip, leaking more when you provided an unexpected, hesitant stimulus there, it made Miles stop for a second because a shudder too strong ran down his spine in pure pleasure. Although the gesture wasn't entirely welcome, you keep just a little longer before pulling your finger away, bringing it to your lips with a certain urgency, tasting him..... A pause. Miles watched you intently, his hand hold hard his cock slightly in expectation. Yes, he wanted to know the verdict. And soon he laughed when your tongue circled and licked your fingers without stopping; yiur cunt clenching around nothing leaving a wet trail on his thighs.
— "You like it like that, don't you, you dirty little thing!" It wasn't a question, but the answer came anyway when he felt her walls clench around nothing with more force, again and again.
Your hips began to move again, straddling his thigh mercilessly, and that made him laugh. His free hand pinched your pierced nipple between his fingers hard, making you melt again, it was clear that you liked it that way; it was written all over your face, in body slightly bending as he rubbed her nipple between his fingers once mlre. It was so pleasurable that you needed to seek support, resting your palm on his sweaty chest. He waited for your to move your hips in the way that satisfied you, then returned to giving his own cock greedy, anxious, sloppy attention that made the air in the tent even more stifling. The sound of wetness, of gasps, groans, hisses, and the sound of his cock fuck his own fist made his stomach churn with need.
— "I'll cum like this, sweetheart…" When he spoke, his voice was low, far too controlled for someone on the verge of losing it.
You tilted your head slightly, watching him. The silence that followed was dense, alive, as if the air itself had learned to watch. Your held his gaze without haste, but the movements of your hips gradually stopped. Your hand wrapped around his shaft with force, making Miles almost choke as he pulled his hand away and let you do as you pleased.
— "No." It was simple, direct. You leaned in a little more, enough so that there was no space left between their faces. Locking eyes with him, Miles knew what your wanted, and a smirk grew on his face—not a gentle one, but a famished one.
— "You want it inside," He said finally. "Go ahead."
And there, in that tiny space between decision and action, the action happened. Your hips moved forward; you rose, guiding his shaft to the sticky open of your cunt. He expected a provocation, but it didn't come; you went straight for it, lowered yourself, the tip of his cock forcing its way into you who let out an extremely loud gasp took every inch of his cock tha disappearing completely inside you. Your cunt warm, wet, tightly clenching so hard him that made him throw his head back. The memory finally became reality: hot, tight, deliciously good. It sent him into ecstasy, his mind going blank as he struggled simply not to come. Miles couldn't see because his eyes were closed; he couldn't hear because he was focused on maintaining self-control; he only felt—an indescribable, burning, welcoming pleasure every time you raised your hips, leaving only the tip inside her before lowering again. The movements were repetitive but precise, the sensation was indescribable, even more so when you moved your hips in a circular motion. Ah, that made Miles's head spin openimg his eyes to gaze at you, a satisfied growl resonated from deep in his throat at the sight of you there: both palms on his chest, your arms making your breasts look more curved and full; the piercing in the nipple glinting from the sweat dripping from your neck; her feet on either side of his narrow waist.
You wasn't just straddling him now; you was sitting, providing a perfect view of the glinting metal on your swollen nerve bundle , of your cunt hole swallowing his cock shaft, now with a milky ring around it marked by her arousal, which seemed to increase with every movement, very time you began to take him faster, gasping, moaning his name loudly, Miles found himself gripping both her ankles tightly as he thrust his hips upward to meet yours. Hard, deep, that was how his thrusts were now, hitting that spongy spot inside that made your mouth fall open slightly, your pupils dilating as you clenched around him with force, moaning.
— "Oh…" It didn't come out whole; it was broken. It escaped first too low to be intentional, but then: — "Like that!"
It was dragged out, but it vibrated in the back of your throat, as if the air had been pulled in too fast and didn't know how to get back out. The sound failed in the middle, turning into hot, irregular breathing. Miles felt even more satisfied, thrusting deep, resting completely inside for a second before fucking again in a sloppy, desperate way.
He admitted it—it was too much temptation to see your chest rising and falling, to hear the deep, slow sounds that escaped him in an almost inaudible "mmh...".
It was quite a physical blow that made him lock his jaw for a second; his breathing grew tense as his mind went blank. A delicious, aching pain stung the back of his neck, leaving him so dizzy that it took him a moment to understand, to see his kuru braided into your fist as you pulled hard once more. You voice was dragged out, breathless, just like your body, which looked as if it would collapse on top of him at any moment. It was clear you was still trying to keep her legs open as she bounce on his cock, but your knees seemed to have a life of their own as they tried to close; and Miles, with his hand still on your ankles, kept you open, letting you take him, letting your walls clench his shaft with spasms. Another tug on his kuru, and this time Miles hissed in disapproval... a growl that came out firm but sounded more like a plea.
— "Fuck... fuck me, sky man!"
No other words needed to be said. Miles returned to thrusting fast and hard before he could formulate any thought. He followed on autopilot, eyes fixed on every action, on your body, on how you gasped when he released one of your ankles and brought his fingers to your neglected clit stimulating it with force. And that was all it took: you arched, mouth slightly open, but no sound came out. No words were needed to know that you had finally reached the peak. The most erotic sight he had ever seen spoke for itself; your walls squeezing him with force spoke for itself. Not only did it speak, it made him feel hot inside with the thought that pushed him closer and closer to the edge, matter how much he tried not to go there, Miles wanted to enjoy every last drop. But not just him; even with almost no strength left, trembling on his cock with every thrust, you still had the strength to pull his braid,undoing the knot. It happened suddenly, and there was no way to control it; the rhythm of his hips faltered, he threw his head back and growled loudly as he felt the hot jet of his seed spray inside your used cunt without stopping. It was a delicious mix of finally losing himself to his orgasm and still being sucked in by sunch a greedy cunt hole, which drank every last drop before yiu climbed off him and lay down by his side. His cock, still half-hard, rested on his abs leaving the traces of his cum there... the traces that also dripped from you made him smirk slightly.
𐔌 sum.: you had known that one day you’d be forced to have a mate since you thought having one was useless but that would dampen the clab leader’s reputation…little did you know that mate would be the Toruk Makto
𐔌 warnings: METKAYINA!READER, language, arranged marriage, age gap, smut! oral (F&M), p in v, edging. mdni
You already knew your parents were trying to arrange something long before the reef riders spotted the approaching shapes on the horizon.
Ronal had not been subtle lately, and Tonowari had been worse in his own quiet way. Every conversation circled back to duty, snd to future.
You had laughed through most of it, because the idea of a mate felt distant and unnecessary, and because watching your parents struggle to take you seriously had been funny.
You were swimming when the warning calls sounded. The voices carried through the water, and the reef shifted with motion as riders turned toward the outer edge.
You surfaced with wet hair slicked back, blinking salt from your eyes, and followed the line of attention toward the distant figures.
Ikran did not belong here, and neither did forest people. That alone pulled a curious smile onto your face.
When you reached the shallows, Ronal was already there with a tense posture and a narrowed stare, fingers splayed on her pregnant belly.
Tonowari stood beside her with his tall frame squared and his broad shoulders set, calm but alert. Several warriors hovered nearby, their decorated spears angled downward but ready.
“Toruk Makto,” someone murmured behind you, voice drenched in awe.
You tilted your head. “That old story,” you said lightly. “I thought he was a myth that scared children into behaving.”
Ronal shot you a sharp look. “Do not speak carelessly.”
You shrugged, folding your arms. “I am not scared.”
The riders landed with careful movements, sand shifting under their feet. The tall blue man stepped forward first, his posture guarded and his sharp eyes scanning the reef like he expected it to bite him.
His hair carried forest beads, and his chest bore old scars that spoke without words.
This had to be Jake Sully.
You studied him openly, because there was no reason not to. His mouth stayed firm, and his shoulders stayed rigid, like he was holding something back. You noticed the quiet control in his movements and the careful way he positioned himself slightly ahead of his children.
Children who immediately drew attention.
The tallest son stood straight. The second son shifted with restless energy. The eldest daughter watched everything with sharp interest, and the youngest clung close with wide eyes. A human boy hovered nearby, uncomfortable and out of place.
Tonowari stepped forward. “You enter Metkayina waters without warning,” he said evenly.
Jake inclined his head. “I ask for shelter,” he said. “I bring my family. We mean no harm.”
You leaned closer to Ronal and spoke quietly. “He sounds tired.”
Ronal ignored you.
Jake continued, “The sky people hunt us. We need a place where they will not look.”
Tonowari’s gaze lingered on the children. That gaze shifted slightly, and then returned to Jake. “You ask much,” he said.
“I know,” Jake replied. “I would not ask if I had another choice.”
Silence stretched. You watched Tonowari’s expression change, now calculating. You had seen that look before, when he considered tides and alliances and future seasons. It never meant something simple.
Ronal crossed her arms. “Forest people do not belong in the sea,” she said. “They do not know our ways.”
“They can learn,” Jake said.
You laughed softly before you could stop yourself.
Every head turned toward you.
“What?” you said, smiling. “You are all staring like this is a tragedy. It is interesting.”
Ronal’s eyes narrowed. “This does not concern you.”
“It always concerns me,” you replied. “I live here.”
Tonowari held up a calming hand. “Enough,” he said. He looked back to Jake. “You are Toruk Makto. That name carries weight. Weight can be used.”
Jake stiffened slightly. “I did not come to bargain with titles.”
Tonowari’s voice stayed even. “Everything is a bargain.”
You felt it then, the uncomfortable awareness sliding into place. Your parents’ recent interest. The timing. The way Tonowari’s eyes flicked briefly toward you before returning to Jake.
You frowned.
Tonowari gestured toward the village. “Come,” he said. “We will speak.”
As they walked, you fell into step beside the group without asking permission. The Sully children stared at you openly now, especially the second son, whose curious grin bordered on rude.
“You are staring,” you said pleasantly.
He did not look away. “You have funny arms.”
You lifted one finned arm and wiggled it. “You have funny everything.”
The younger girl giggled. Jake shot his son a warning look. “Lo’ak,” he said sharply.
You glanced at Jake. “Your children are honest,” you said. “I like that.”
His jaw tightened. “They are adjusting.”
“So are you,” you replied.
He looked at you then, properly, his serious eyes meeting yours. There was surprise there, and something guarded. “Who are you?” he asked.
You smiled wider. “You will find out.”
Ronal cleared her throat loudly. “Enough,” she said. “Walk.”
The council gathering drew more Metkayina, murmurs rippling through the air like disturbed water. You sat near your parents with casual posture, legs folded and hands resting loosely, while Jake stood across from them with his children behind him.
Tonowari spoke at length about the reef, about balance, about protection. Jake listened without interrupting, his focus intense. When Tonowari finished, he fell silent.
“There is a condition,” Tonowari said finally.
Jake nodded once. “I expected that.”
Tonowari gestured toward you.
Jake followed the motion, his eyes landing on you again. Confusion crossed his face.
You blinked. “Oh,” you said. “No.”
Ronal turned sharply. “You will listen.”
Tonowari spoke carefully. “My daughter has no mate. She has avoided every match offered. A union with Toruk Makto would strengthen bonds between forest and sea. It would give you protection, and it would give us alliance.”
The air felt suddenly choking and heavy like the thick nets used to catch fish except you were the fish caught in this scheme.
Jake stared. “You are talking about marriage.”
“Yes,” Tonowari said.
Jake shook his head immediately. “No,” he said. “I did not come here for that.”
“I know,” Tonowari replied. “That does not change what is required.”
You leaned back on your hands, studying Jake’s reaction with open interest. “You look shocked,” you said. “That is new for you, I think.”
Jake looked at you again, his frustration clear. “This is not a joke.”
“I am not joking,” you replied. “I am curious.”
Ronal snapped, “This is settled.”
You raised a brow. “Is it?”
Tonowari turned to you. “You will accept,” he said. “This is your duty.”
You shrugged. “If I must,” you said. “I was bored anyway.”
Jake looked between you and Tonowari, his voice tight. “I will not force a young woman into this.”
You laughed. “Force is a strong word,” you said. “I could swim away if I wanted.”
Ronal’s eyes flashed. “You will not.”
You smiled sweetly at her. “See? That is force.”
Jake exhaled sharply. “This is not right.”
Tonowari’s tone hardened. “This is necessary.”
Jake’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of his children visible behind his eyes. He looked at them, then back at you. “Do you understand what this means?” he asked.
“Yes,” you said. “It means you stay alive, and I gain a mate I did not ask for.”
His mouth tightened. “You find this funny.”
“I find many things funny,” you replied. “This is strange, not exactly tragic.”
Silence fell again.
Finally, Jake nodded once, stiffly. “For my family,” he said. “I will consider it.”
Ronal looked displeased. “Consider is not accept.”
Tonowari raised a hand. “We will give time,” he said. “They will speak.”
You glanced at Jake. “Looks like you are stuck with me,” you said lightly.
He did not smile. “We will talk,” he said.
You stood, stretching your arms. “Good,” you replied. “I like talking.”
As the gathering dispersed, murmurs followed you like trailing currents. The Sully children whispered among themselves, throwing glances your way. You caught the word “marriage” more than once.
Lo’ak approached you with bold curiosity. “Are you really going to marry my dad?” he asked.
You tilted your head. “Do you want me to?”
He grinned. “You seem fun, I mean mom was always fighting with dad.”
Jake shot him another warning look. “Enough.”
You leaned closer to Jake, your voice playful. “You are already tired of me,” you said. “That was fast.”
His expression stayed controlled. “This situation is complicated.”
“I like complicated,” you replied. “Simple things sink.”
He frowned. “That does not make sense.”
“It does to me.”
As the sun dipped lower, Tonowari instructed that the Sullys would stay. Arrangements would be made. Training would begin.
Later, when the village quieted and the water glowed with fading light, Jake found you sitting near the edge, legs dangling over the surface.
“We need to talk,” he said.
You looked up at him. “We already are.”
He sighed. “This is not something I wanted.”
“You are saying that like I did,” you replied.
He studied you closely. “You are not afraid.”
“No,” you said. “Are you?”
He did not answer immediately. Then he said, “Yes.”
That surprised you. Your smile softened, just slightly. “Good,” you said. “Then we are both honest.”
He shook his head. “This is a mistake.”
“Maybe,” you said. “Or maybe it will be interesting.”
He looked away toward the dark water. “I am too old for this.”
You laughed. “I noticed.”
He looked back sharply. “That is not funny.”
“It is a little funny,” you replied. “You will survive.”
He exhaled, tired and conflicted. “We will take this slow.”
You nodded. “I am very patient,” you said, not bothering to hide the teasing edge.
He turned to leave, pausing briefly. “For what it is worth,” he said, “I will treat you with respect.”
You smiled at his back. “I expect nothing less, Toruk Makto,” you said.
He did not respond.
The water lapped quietly beneath your feet as you stared out at the reef, aware that your life had just shifted in a way you had never planned, and strangely unbothered by it.
Tonowari did not ask where Jake would stay. He told him. You already understood what was happening before it was said aloud, because your parents had never been subtle with plans that involved you.
“You will share quarters,” Tonowari said. “Until tsaheylu is formed, you will learn each other’s presence.”
Jake stiffened. “That is not appropriate.”
“It is tradition,” Ronal replied. “You will not touch. You will not bond. You will exist together.”
You smiled. “That sounds manageable.”
Jake looked at you like you were part of the problem. He was correct.
The marui sat near the water’s edge, meant for a bonded pair.
You had never slept there before. You had always avoided it, joked about it, claimed you preferred space and quiet.
Standing there now, watching Jake pause at the entrance, you felt a strange spark of interest settle in your chest.
“This is mine,” you said casually. “You are a guest.”
“I am aware,” he replied.
You stepped inside first, because you could. The space smelled faintly of salt and woven fiber. Two sleeping areas rested opposite each other, separated by open air and low light. There was enough distance to breathe, but not enough to ignore.
Jake stood stiffly near the entrance. “We should set boundaries.”
You turned, folding your arms. “You can start.”
“I will not touch you,” he said. “I will not form tsaheylu until you are ready.”
You tilted your head. “That sounds respectful.”
“I am serious.”
“So am I,” you replied. “But you should know, I am not fragile.”
“I did not say you were.”
“You implied it.”
He sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “This is difficult.”
“For you,” you said. “I am doing fine.”
He gave you a flat look. “You enjoy this.”
“Yes,” you said honestly. “It is funny watching Toruk Makto look uncomfortable.”
His jaw tightened. “Do not call me that.”
“Everyone else does.”
“I did not ask for it.”
You nodded slowly. “Neither did I ask for a mate.”
His posture shifted slightly, less rigid, more human. He looked at you more carefully then, not as an obstacle, but as a person stuck in the same situation.
“We will make this work,” he said finally.
You smiled. “Good. Because you snore.”
“I do not snore.”
“You will,” you replied. “Old bones do that.”
He glared. You laughed.
The first night passed with tension thick in the air. You lay on your side, staring up at the woven ceiling, aware of every movement he made. He stayed still for a long time, then shifted, then sighed quietly. You wondered if he slept at all.
“You are awake,” you said.
“Yes.”
“You breathe loudly.”
“I am relaxed.”
“That is not what relaxed sounds like.”
Silence followed. Then, “You do not seem nervous.”
“Why would I be?”
“This is permanent,” he said.
You rolled onto your side, propping your head on your hand. “Permanent does not scare me,” you said. “Stagnant does.”
He turned his head slightly. Moonlight caught the edge of his face. “You are young.”
You smiled. “There it is.”
“You deserve someone closer to you.”
“Closer how?” you asked. “In years? In attitude?”
He did not answer.
“You assume I am missing out,” you said. “I do not feel that way.”
He exhaled slowly. “I do not want to take something from you.”
“You are not,” you replied. “You are being given to me.”
That earned a short, surprised breath of laughter from him before he stopped himself. “You twist things.”
“I enjoy twisting things,” you said. “Keeps them interesting.”
Morning came with training that began immediately. Jake learned reef movement. You were told to assist. Not because he needed help, but because the proximity was the point.
You swam beside him as he struggled with the tail movement, his strong form stiff and uncoordinated in the water. You circled him easily, your movements smooth and practiced.
“You fight the water,” you said.
“I am adapting.”
“You are arguing with it,” you corrected.
He grunted as he adjusted again. “You enjoy correcting me.”
“Yes,” you said. “It is rare.”
When he finally managed a decent glide, he surfaced with a sharp breath. “Better.”
“Acceptable,” you replied.
He splashed water at you. You laughed, surprised, then retaliated. For a brief moment, the tension broke, replaced with something lighter, something easier.
Later, you sat together on the platform while others moved around you. The village watched. Not openly, but enough. You felt eyes on your back, curiosity and judgment mixed together.
“They are staring,” Jake said quietly.
“Let them,” you replied. “They will get bored.”
“They will not.”
You shrugged. “Then they will learn.”
That afternoon, Ronal approached you alone. “You keep this light,” she said.
“I keep it livable,” you replied.
“Tsaheylu is not a joke.”
“I know,” you said. “That is why I have not done it.”
She studied your face. “You will bond.”
“Yes.”
“You are certain.”
“Yes.”
She nodded once. “Good.”
You ate together. You rested near each other. You learned each other’s rhythms without meaning to. Jake rose early. You stayed up late. Eventually, those habits met in the middle.
One evening, you returned to the marui with damp hair and tired limbs. Jake sat near the edge, cleaning a blade with careful motions.
“You are quiet,” you said.
“I am thinking.”
“Dangerous,” you replied.
He glanced at you. “About Neytiri.”
You paused. “You do not have to talk about her.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched.
“Why did you divorce,” you asked.
His posture stiffened. “That is not your concern.”
You nodded. “Then do not snap when I ask.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “I am sorry.”
That surprised you more than anger would have.
Night settled again. This time, you lay closer, not touching, but aware. Your kuru rested loose against your shoulder. His rested against his chest. The awareness of tsaheylu hovered between you.
“You are not afraid of the bond,” he said quietly.
“I am afraid of doing it wrong,” you replied. “Not of doing it.”
“It changes things.”
“So does marriage.”
He smiled faintly in the dark. “You are fearless.”
“No,” you said. “I just accept consequences.”
Another pause.
“You will tease me about my age forever,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And my body,” he added.
“Yes.”
“That is cruel.”
“You will survive,” you replied. “Old man.”
He laughed quietly, unable to stop it this time.
Days blurred into routine. The forced proximity stopped feeling forced. It started feeling expected. Your hands brushed occasionally. Your shoulders bumped. Neither of you moved away too quickly.
One evening, Tonowari announced the nearing bond. “Soon,” he said. “You are ready.”
Jake looked at you. “Are you?”
You met his gaze steadily. “Yes.”
Later, alone, he asked, “If you want to stop, say it.”
“I will not stop,” you said. “But I will tease you.”
He sighed. “I know.”
You sat close, knees nearly touching. Your queue brushed his arm. The contact sent a quiet awareness through you both.
When you finally lay down that night, closer than before. “You are trouble,” he murmured.
“You married me,” you replied.
He exhaled, resigned and calm. “Sleep.”
“I will,” you said. “Try not to snore.”
“I will not.”
You smiled in the dark, already knowing he would.
The next morning, Ronal spoke to you quietly while you prepared nets with practiced hands.
“Tonight,” she said. “The tide will be calm.”
You nodded. “Good.”
“You will go with him,” she continued. “No one else.”
“I know.”
She studied you, searching for hesitation. She did not find any. “This is tsaheylu,” she said. “Not ownership.”
“I understand,” you replied.
She placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Then go.”
Jake found out an hour later, not from ceremony, but from Tonowari standing beside him with the sea stretching wide behind them.
“You are ready,” Tonowari said.
Jake held still for a moment. “She agreed.”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
Tonowari nodded. “It does.”
Jake exhaled slowly. “Tell me what to do.”
Tonowari’s voice stayed calm. “You will follow her.”
When Jake approached you, the sun was already lowering, casting wide reflections across the water. You were sitting at the edge of the reef platform, feet trailing in the shallows, quiet in a way you had not been before.
“It is tonight,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You are certain.”
“Yes.”
He hesitated. “If you want to wait—”
“I do not,” you said, turning to face him fully. “Do not make this more than it is.”
His eyes softened slightly. “That is not easy for me.”
“I know,” you replied. “But I am not asking you to carry me. Just stand with me.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
You led the way into the water. The reef opened around you, familiar and alive, glowing faintly as the light faded. You swam with calm movements, aware of him behind you, strong and careful, matching your pace.
“You are quiet,” he said.
“So are you.”
“This is not how it was done where I come from.”
“I know,” you replied. “That is why you are here.”
You stopped near a sheltered stretch of coral where the water stayed still and deep. The world felt smaller there.
“This is enough,” you said.
Jake floated nearby, treading water with controlled movements. “What happens now.”
You turned toward him fully. “We sit first.”
He followed without question, settling into the water beside you. The surface lapped softly against your shoulders. The air felt thick with awareness, not urgency.
“Tsaheylu is connection,” you said. “Not claiming.”
“I know.”
“It is shared choice.”
“Yes.”
You took a breath. “If at any point you feel wrong, you stop.”
“And you,” he said.
“I will stop,” you agreed.
Silence settled between you. Your kuru rested against your back, heavy with meaning. You reached behind you slowly, fingers brushing the smooth length, then let it fall forward.
Jake watched, his focus careful and respectful. He did the same, slower, like he was making sure not to rush.
“Look at me,” you said.
He did.
His eyes were serious. Not distant. Not guarded.
“This will let you feel me,” you said. “Not my body. Me.”
He nodded. “I am ready.”
You moved closer. The water carried you easily until you were within reach. You raised your kuru, pausing briefly, waiting.
He lifted his. The tips hovered near each other, not touching.
“Sa’nok (bond).”
He swallowed. “Alright.”
You connected.
The world shifted.
It was not overwhelming, not violent, not consuming. It was layered. Presence slid into presence, awareness opening without force.
You felt his breath. You felt his weight, his grounded strength, the constant pull of responsibility that never left him.
He inhaled sharply, eyes widening, but he did not pull away.
“I see you,” you said softly. “Oel ngati kameie (I see you).”
His voice came rough but controlled. “I feel you.”
You felt his surprise, his careful restraint, the way he held himself back even here, afraid to take too much space.
“You do not have to be smaller,” you said gently. “I am here.”
His shoulders eased slightly. You felt it immediately.
Thoughts brushed thoughts. Emotions passed without words. He felt your calm acceptance, your humor, your lack of fear. You felt his exhaustion, his protectiveness, his deep concern for doing this right.
“I did not expect this,” he said quietly.
“Neither did I,” you replied. “But it fits.”
Time stretched. The reef hummed softly around you.
“You are steady,” he said.
“So are you.”
“I have been afraid of failing you.”
“You have not,” you said. “You showed up.”
His grip on the connection steadied.
After a long while, you eased back slightly, letting the bond loosen without breaking abruptly. The connection faded gradually, like a tide pulling away.
When your kurus separated, the air felt cooler.
Jake exhaled slowly. “That was…a lot.”
You smiled faintly. “You handled it well.”
He looked at you with something new in his eyes. Recognition.
“Are you alright,” he asked.
“Yes,” you said. “Are you.”
“Yes.”
You swam back toward the platform together, closer now, not touching but aligned. When you climbed out, the quiet followed you.
Later, in the marui, neither of you spoke for a long time.
Finally, Jake said, “This changes things.”
“Yes,” you replied. “But not all at once.”
He nodded. “I appreciate that.”
You settled into your sleeping space, aware of him across from you, aware in a way that felt grounded now, not sharp.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For what.”
“For trusting me.”
You smiled in the dim light. “Do not make me regret it.”
“I will not.”
Sleep came easier than it had before.
The first time it shifted into something unmistakably heated, it happened in public.
You stood knee-deep in water beside the reef platform, rinsing salt from your arms while Jake worked above you, securing a line that had loosened with the tide.
The village moved around you, but your awareness stayed fixed on him. On the way his shoulders moved when he pulled. On the way his hands tightened around the rope. On the way his jaw stayed set like he was holding something back.
You looked up at him slowly.
He was already looking at you.
Not a glance. A stare.
You lifted a brow, lips curving just slightly, and dipped lower into the water so it ran up your thighs. His throat worked. He looked away a second too late.
“Careful,” you said lightly. “You’ll hurt yourself if you stare like that.”
“I wasn’t,” he said too fast.
You hummed, pushing wet hair back from your shoulders. “Sure.”
You climbed out of the water then, close enough that your hip brushed his thigh as you passed. His breath caught. You felt it.
He did not move away.
Later, when you both carried nets toward the storage racks, your hands brushed. You did not pull back. Neither did he. Your fingers slid briefly along his knuckles before you took the weight of the net yourself. He went still.
You leaned closer as you walked. “You’re thinking too loud,” you murmured.
He did not look at you. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
You smiled. “I know exactly.”
That night, the marui felt smaller.
You sat across from him, sharpening a blade slowly, watching him from beneath your lashes. He cleaned his gear with rigid focus, movements precise, like if he stopped moving he might do something he did not want to explain later.
You shifted your leg, letting your knee angle toward him. His eyes flicked up instantly. Stayed there.
You held the stare.
Long enough that his breath changed.
Long enough that something dark passed through his gaze.
You said nothing. Neither did he.
The second time, it was more more.
You swam together beyond the reef where the water deepened and the glow of bioluminescence began to pulse faintly beneath the surface. The Sully kids were nowhere near. No watchers. No expectations. Just water and movement and the steady rhythm of breathing.
You dove first. He followed.
When you surfaced, he was closer than before. Too close to pretend it was accidental. Your arms brushed as you turned, the contact sliding instead of bouncing away.
You felt it. The heat. The awareness.
You met his eyes again.
This time, he didn’t look away.
You swam slower on purpose. Let him fall into your pace. Let his arm pass just beneath yours. Let his hand brush the side of your waist as you turned sharply around coral.
He caught you then. One hand at your side to keep you from hitting the rock.
You stilled.
He stilled.
The water moved around you, cool against skin that suddenly felt very warm. His hand stayed where it was, not gripping, not letting go.
“You good,” he asked, voice steady but tight.
You looked down at his hand. Then back up at his face.
“Yeah,” you said. “You?”
A beat.
“Yes.”
He didn’t move his hand right away.
You didn’t ask him to.
Eventually, he released you and swam ahead, faster now. You followed, smiling to yourself, pulse high, chest tight with the satisfaction of knowing he felt it too.
That night, when you lay down in the marui, he faced away from you. His back was rigid. His breathing measured.
You rolled onto your side, close enough that your knee brushed his calf.
He inhaled sharply.
You did not apologise.
The third time was unavoidable.
It had been a long day. Too much swimming. Too much work. Too much holding things in. Jake sat on the edge of the marui platform with his back to you, shoulders tight, hands braced on his knees.
You watched him for a moment, eyeing the way he’d roll his neck to try get rid of the knot in his shoulder.
Then you moved.
You knelt behind him and placed your hands on his shoulders without asking.
He stiffened immediately. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” you said, already pressing your thumbs in. “Be quiet.”
Your hands worked slowly, easing tight muscle beneath warm skin. He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening, head dipping forward slightly.
You leaned closer, your chest brushing his back.
He swallowed.
You said nothing. Just kept going.
Your hands moved lower, then higher again, tracing the curve of his shoulders, the solid line of his neck. His breathing grew heavier, uneven now.
You shifted position, straddling behind him slightly to get better leverage. Your thigh brushed his hip.
His whole body went taut.
You smirked, pressing in a little more, leaning forward so your hands slid across his chest from behind, fingers splaying briefly there before moving again.
That was when you felt it.
Not subtle. Not imagined.
Something firm pressing against your calf.
You froze for half a second.
You shifted just enough to make it impossible for him to pretend it wasn’t happening. His breath hitched hard.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
You leaned closer. “Tense,” you said. “Still.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Stop.”
You didn’t. Not right away.
You pressed your palms once more into his shoulders, fully aware of what your movement was doing to him. You felt it clearly now, his body reacting despite every effort to control it.
His hands curled into fists.
Then he pulled away abruptly, standing and turning just enough to avoid facing you fully. His ears were flushed. His expression tight with embarrassment and restraint.
“Sleep,” he said firmly, rolling away and lying down with his back to you. “Go to sleep.”
You laughed softly, low and pleased, settling back against the wall.
“Alright,” you said. “Goodnight.”
He did not answer.
But he did not move farther away either.
You lay there smiling into the dark, very aware of what you had done, and even more aware of how much he wanted you to do it again.
And next time, you knew, he wouldn’t stop you so easily.
｡𖦹°
You pushed aside the woven flap of your marui pod, the soft ocean breeze carrying the salty scent of the reef into the spacious interior.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the gaps in the structure, casting warm patterns on the woven mats that covered the floor. You shook out your long braid, letting droplets scatter across the entrance.
Jake sat on the sleeping platform in the corner, his back partially turned to the entrance. His broad shoulders tensed as he heard the flap rustle, but he didn't look up immediately.
You paused, your eyes narrowing at the sight before you. His hand moved rhythmically under the edge of his loincloth, which was pushed aside just enough to reveal his thick cock gripped firmly in his calloused palm.
He stroked himself with harsh pulls, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. The muscles in his thighs flexed, and a bead of sweat trailed down his scarred chest.
You froze for a moment, surprise flickering across your face, but then a sly smile tugged at your lips.
Jake Sully, the great warrior, caught in such a private act. It was too perfect. You cleared your throat softly, stepping fully inside and letting the flap fall closed behind you.
Jake's head snapped up, his yellow eyes widening in shock. He yanked his hand away from his cock, which stood rigid and throbbing against his abdomen, the tip slick with precum.
“Shit,” he muttered, scrambling to pull his loincloth back into place, but the fabric tented obviously over his erection. His face flushed a deeper blue. “You...you're back early.”
You crossed your arms over your chest, your tail swishing lazily behind you as you leaned against the curved wall of the marui. “Early?The training session with my mother ended sooner than expected. And here I thought you'd be out practicing your ilu riding again, old man.” Your voice carried that teasing lilt, the one that always made his ears twitch.
At thirty-something, Jake was older than most Na'vi warriors in their prime, and you never missed a chance to remind him.
He rubbed a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze as he shifted on the platform. “Don't call me that. And this...this isn't what it looks like.”
But his voice lacked conviction, and the flush on his cheeks deepened. He glanced down at his lap, where his cock still strained against the thin material, refusing to soften.
You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer with deliberate slowness.
“Not what it looks like?” you echoed, your tone light but pointed. “Looks like you're handling some business that your old hands can't quite keep up with.”
You tilted your head, letting your eyes drop pointedly to his crotch.
“Or is it that I'm too much for you to handle without a little solo practice?”
Jake groaned, leaning back against the wall of the platform. His cock twitched visibly under the loincloth, and he pressed a palm against it as if to will it down.
“Damn it, you're relentless. Look, this feels wrong. We're in this arranged thing because of your parents and the clan. I shouldn't be...thinking about you like that. But after that massage, and the way you keep teasing me, calling me old, poking at everything, it's like you know exactly what you're doing to me.”
He met your eyes finally, a mix of frustration and desire swirling in their depths.
“I had to get rid of the frustration. Alone. Before it drives me crazy.”
You chuckled, a throaty sound that echoed softly in the pod. Moving to sit on the edge of the platform, you kept a teasing distance, your knee brushing his leg.
“Frustration? From little old me? Jake, you're the one who got all stiff during a simple rubdown. Maybe it's time to admit that this skxawng (foolish) body of yours doesn't listen to your big warrior brain anymore.”
He shot you a glare, but there was no real heat in it. “Skxawng? That's rich coming from the one who started it.' His voice dropped. “If you don't stop talking like that, it's not going away anytime soon.”
You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his arm. The scent of him, musk and sea salt, filled your senses, stirring something deep in your core.
“Maybe I don't want it to go away. Maybe I've been waiting for you to stop fighting it.” Your fingers trailed lightly up his thigh, stopping just short of the bulge. “You don't have to do this alone, Jake. I can help.”
His breath hitched, eyes locking onto yours. “Help?”
You nodded, your smile turning wicked. “Yeah. Let me take care of that frustration for you. Unless your age makes you too tired for it.”
Jake hesitated, his hand still pressing against his cock, but the conflict in his expression faded as desire won out. “Hell, you're gonna be the death of me. But if you're offering...”
You didn't wait for him to finish. Your hand replaced his, pushing the loincloth aside fully to free his thick cock. It sprang up, hard and veined, the head flushed dark blue. You wrapped your fingers around the shaft, feeling the heat pulse under your grip. Jake let out a moan, his head falling back against the wall.
“That's it,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Just like that.”
You stroked him slowly at first, your thumb circling the tip to spread the precum. His hips bucked slightly, seeking more friction. “See? No need to hide in the marui like a guilty fledgling. Tell me what you were thinking about when you started this.”
Your strokes quickened, firm and steady, watching his face contort with pleasure.
He gripped the edge of the platform, knuckles whitening. “You. That damn mouth of yiurs. Your hands on me. And the way you laugh when you call me old, like you know I could still pin you down and show you otherwise.”
You laughed again, the sound light amid the growing heat. “Pin me down? With those creaky joints? I'd like to see you try, yawne (love)”
Jake's eyes darkened, and he reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek. “Careful what you wish for.” But he didn't move to take control yet, letting you work him with your hand. Precum leaked steadily now, slicking your palm as you pumped faster.
The marui's sounds faded now replaced by Jake's heavy breathing and the wet slide of skin on skin. You shifted closer, your free hand tracing the scars on his chest, feeling his heart race under your touch.
“Feels better than alone, doesn't it?” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his ear.
“Much better,” he admitted, his voice a growl. “Don't stop.”
You didn't. Your strokes varied long pulls from base to tip, then twisting at the head drawing out groans from deep in his throat.
His cock throbbed harder, veins standing out under your fingers. His breaths grew shorter, hips thrusting into your hand with increasing urgency. You could feel him nearing the edge, the way his body tensed, his moans turning desperate.
But just as his eyes squeezed shut and a deep rumble built in his chest, you slowed your hand to a torturous crawl, then released him entirely.
His cock bobbed in the air, denied its release. Jake's eyes flew open, a whine escaping his lips as he looked at you in disbelief.
“What the—“ he started, his voice hoarse. “Why'd you stop?”
You grinned, wiping your hand on the edge of the platform as you stood up, your tail flicking playfully. “Because, old man, I said I'd help with the frustration, not end it. Teasing is half the fun, remember? Besides, if I let you finish now, what would you have to think about later?”
You stepped back a pace, your eyes raking over his flushed form, his erection standing proud and untouched.
Jake groaned, his hand twitching as if to take over, but he restrained himself, propping up on his elbows instead. “You're evil. Pure evil.”
You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Evil? Nah, just keeping things interesting. You've been fighting this attraction for weeks ever since that massage. Remember how you shifted away when I felt you harden against my leg? Like a skxawng pup afraid of his own tail.”
You moved to the center of the marui, stretching your arms above your head, letting him watch the way your muscles flexed under your skin.
He sat up fully, his cock still hard and leaking, a drop of precum trailing down the shaft. “And yeah, when you pressed against me, I couldn't hide it. But this? Walking in on me, offering to help, then pulling back, it's torture.”
You turned to face him, crossing the space again to kneel between his legs, but not touching yet. Your breath ghosted over his thighs, close enough to make him shiver.
“Torture? Or the best kind of build-up? Tell you what, I'll make it up to you. But on my terms.” Without warning, you leaned forward and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip, tasting the salty precum.
Jake's head fell back with a thud against the wall, a guttural moan ripping from his throat. “Fuck, yes.” His hands fisted in the mats beside him, resisting the urge to grab your head.
You hummed in approval, your tongue swirling around the head before taking him into your mouth. The heat of him filled your mouth, thick and pulsing against your tongue.
You sucked gently at first, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down, taking more of his length. His hips jerked involuntarily, but you pressed a hand to his thigh to still him.
“That's incredible,” he panted, his voice breaking. “Your mouth…so warm, so wet.”
You pulled off with a pop, looking up at him through your lashes. “Better than your hand, right? No more solo sessions in the marui while I'm out training.”
You licked the tip again, teasing the slit before sliding your lips over him once more, taking him deeper this time. Your hand joined in, stroking what your mouth couldn't reach, twisting with each upward pull.
Jake's breaths came in harsh gasps, his abs contracting with every suck and stroke. “God, yeah. Keep going...I'm—“
His words cut off as you increased the pace, your head moving faster, tongue pressing flat against the vein running along his shaft. You could feel him swell, his cock twitching wildly in your mouth, the telltale signs of impending release.
But again, just as he tensed and a strangled “Please” escaped his lips, you withdrew completely, sitting back on your heels with a satisfied smirk.
Strings of saliva connected your lips to his throbbing cock for a moment before breaking. He looked wrecked, chest heaving, eyes wild, erection straining untouched in the humid air of the marui.
“You're killing me,” he growled, sitting forward, his hands reaching for you. “Let me finish. Come on, that's not fair.”
You dodged his grasp lightly, standing and backing toward the sleeping platform. “Fair? In an arranged marriage like ours, nothing's fair. My parents paired me with a seasoned warrior to keep the peace, and here you are, undone by a little teasing from the chief's daughter.”
You untied your top covering, letting it fall to reveal your breasts, nipples hardening in the breeze.
“But if you're good, maybe I'll let you return the favor. Show me that old tongue of yours still works.”
Jake's eyes darkened with lust and frustration, but he nodded, crawling toward you like a predator denied his hunt. “Fine. Your turn. But don't think this ends here.”
He reached you, his hands gentle on your hips as he guided you down onto the mats. You lay back, spreading your legs as he settled between them, his breath hot against your inner thighs.
“Let's see if you can handle this without begging,” you teased, threading your fingers through his hair.
He shot you a look before diving in, his tongue lapping at your wet cunt with broad, flat strokes. The sensation shot through you, making your back arch off the mats. “Jake!”
“Taste so good,” he murmured against your folds, his voice vibrating through you. He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers parted you wider. One digit slid inside, curling to stroke your inner walls.
You moaned, hips grinding against his face. “Not bad for someone who was just caught with his hand on his cock.” Your words came out breathy, the pleasure building steadily under his skilled mouth.
He added a second finger, thrusting them in rhythm with his tongue's assault on your clit. “Caught? You walked in. And now you're soaked from it.” His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open as he devoured you, lips and tongue working relentlessly.
The coil in your belly tightened, your tail thrashing against the floor. “Faster...yes, like that.” He pushed you higher, his fingers pumping deep, and his mouth sucking hard.
You came with a sharp cry, waves of pleasure crashing over you, your pussy clenching around his fingers. Jake didn't stop until you tugged at his hair.
He pulled back, lips glistening with your arousal, his own cock still rock-hard and leaking. “There. Now we're even?”
You caught your breath, pulling him up for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Even? Hardly. But for now, let's call it a truce.” You glanced down at his erection, giving it a light squeeze that made him hiss. “Sleep on that frustration tonight, yawne. Tomorrow, who knows?”
Jake collapsed beside you, pulling you into his side despite his unspent need. “You're something else.“
As the sun set outside the marui, casting long shadows across the woven walls, you nestled against him, the air still thick with the scent of arousal.
The evening wore on, the sounds of the reef village filtering in like children's laughter, the splash of swimmers, the hum of evening chants.
But inside your shared space, the tension lingered. Jake shifted beside you, his arm tightening around your waist, his hard cock pressing insistently against your hip. You could feel the heat radiating from it, the subtle twitch that betrayed his unresolved ache.
“Think it'll go down on its own?” you asked, your voice laced with mock innocence as you traced idle circles on his chest.
He huffed a laugh, though it sounded strained. “Doubt it. Not after your mouth.” His hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently. “You always this cruel, or is it just for me?'
You propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him with a grin. “Just for you, old man. Keeps you young, doesn't it? All that blood rushing around.”
Your eyes flicked to his crotch again, where his loincloth had been discarded entirely, leaving him exposed.
Jake's gaze followed yours, and he groaned softly. “Young? Feels like I'm about to burst. Come on, one more touch. Just to take the edge off.”
You shook your head, but your hand betrayed you, drifting lower to brush feather-light fingers along his inner thigh.
He tensed, breath catching. “See? You want to.”
“Tempting,” you admitted, your fingers ghosting closer but never quite touching his cock. “But if I start again, who's to say I won't stop right at the brink once more? Imagine that, twice denied in one afternoon.”
He captured your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Tease. Fine, deny me. But remember, turnabout is fair play.” His yellow eyes held yours, a spark of mischief cutting through the lust.
You leaned down to nip at his ear. “Oh, I remember. That's why I stopped. Build it up, make it last.“
Jake pulled you fully onto his chest, your bodies aligning without penetration, just the touch of skin on skin. His erection trapped between you, but you both held still, letting the contact tease without relief.
“Rest up, Jake. Tomorrow's training will be brutal if you're distracted.”
The next morning felt different the second you woke up.
n. You lay still for a moment, eyes open, listening to the slow movement beside you. Jake was already awake. You could tell by the controlled way he breathed, like he was pretending to sleep for your benefit.
You rolled onto your side anyway.
He did not pretend very well.
His arm was closer than usual, resting across the mat like he had reached for you in his sleep and stopped halfway. You shifted, letting your knee brush his thigh. This time, he did not tense. His hand moved instead, fingers settling on your hip like it belonged there.
You smiled.
“Morning,” you said.
His voice came rougher than normal. “Morning.”
You turned fully toward him, close enough now that your faces were only inches apart. His eyes dropped to your mouth. Stayed there. You noticed. He noticed that you noticed.
“You’re staring again,” you said.
He exhaled. “You don’t make it easy.”
You lifted a brow. “That sounds like a you problem.”
His hand slid slightly, thumb pressing into the curve of your waist. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Yeah,” you said simply. “I do.”
You got up slowly, stretching like you had all the time in the world. You felt his eyes on you the entire time. When you turned back, he was sitting up, elbows on his knees, expression tight with restraint that was already wearing thin.
Outside, the village was waking. Water shimmered. Voices carried. Normal life continued like nothing had shifted, which almost made it worse.
You walked ahead of him toward the water, glancing back just enough to see his gaze track the movement of your hips. He did not bother hiding it now. You liked that.
When you reached the shallows, you turned. “You coming?”
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
You swam together, close enough that your arms brushed often. Every time it happened, neither of you corrected it. His hand landed on your lower back once, steadying you as you dove, and it stayed there longer than necessary when you surfaced.
You looked up at him. “Careful.”
“Why,” he asked.
“You’re being obvious.”
He stepped closer, water lapping at your waists. “Let them look.”
That surprised you.
You smiled slowly. “You weren’t saying that a few days ago.”
He leaned in, voice quiet. “A few days ago I wasn’t losing my mind.”
You laughed under your breath.
Later, while repairing nets on the platform, he sat closer than usual. His knee pressed into yours.
You shifted just enough to make it unavoidable. His hand brushed your thigh as he passed you a line. You caught his wrist briefly before letting go.
His eyes flicked to yours. You said nothing. He swallowed.
At midday, Ronal watched you from a distance. Tonowari spoke with Jake about patrols and routes, but Jake’s attention kept drifting back to where you stood in the water, sun catching on your skin. When the discussion ended, he came to you immediately.
“You’re distracted,” you said.
He stepped close, crowding your space without touching. “You don’t get to say that.”
“I do,” you replied. “You’re the one who can’t focus.”
That evening, you sat beside him on the platform again. This time, when your shoulders touched, neither of you moved away. His arm rested behind you, not quite around you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth. You leaned back slightly, letting your shoulder press into his chest.
He exhaled.
“Someone’s bold today,” you said.
“Someone pushed me there,” he replied.
You glanced up at him. “You didn’t stop me.”
“No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
The look he gave you then was heated, stripped of the careful distance he used to keep. It made your stomach tighten.
That night, back in the marui, the air felt almost too still.
You sat across from him at first, pretending to focus on small tasks. He watched you openly now, no shame in it. When you moved closer, he reached out and caught your hand without thinking.
You both froze.
Then he didn’t let go.
His thumb brushed across your knuckles slowly. You felt it everywhere.
“You’re trouble,” he said quietly.
You leaned in. “You like it.”
His jaw tightened. “I shouldn’t.”
“But you do,” you replied.
His hand slid up your arm, stopping at your shoulder. He looked at you like he was deciding something. Like he was already past the point of stopping.
“If we keep doing this,” he said, voice strained, “it’s not going to stay like this.”
You stepped closer until your knees touched. “Good.”
That was all it took.
He stood abruptly, hands on your hips, pulling you flush against him without warning.
His forehead rested against yours. “We should stop.”
You smiled against his mouth. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not,” he admitted.
His hands tightened slightly. Yours slid up his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your palm.
“Jake,” you said softly.
He groaned under his breath, his grip on you becoming almost bruising. "Fuck."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust, jaw clenched in determination. "If we start, I won't stop," he warned, his voice a low growl.
You leaned in again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Then don't," you purred, your voice dripping with promise. "I want you, Jake. All of you."
He let out a shuddering breath, his resolve crumbling under your touch and the heat of your words. Without warning, he crashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss, all restraint forgotten.
Your moan was swallowed by his mouth as he plundered it with fervor, tongue delving deep to taste you.
His hands slid down to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him so you could feel the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against your belly.
"Fuck," he groaned against your lips, grinding into you shamelessly. "Been wanting this for so long. To have you under me, around me, screaming my name."
"Jake..." you whimpered, arching into him as desire surged through you. Your hands fisted in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you kissed him back with equal fervor.
He seemed to take your wanton response as an invitation, his hands making quick work of the fastenings of your top. The fabric fell away, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze.
"Beautiful," he rasped, ducking his head to take one hardened nipple into his mouth. He suckled greedily, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his hand came up to knead its twin.
You cried out at the intense pleasure, your head falling back as he lavished attention on your breasts. His cock throbbed against you, the friction of the fabric between you maddening.
"Please," you begged, undulating your hips against him desperately. "Need you."
Jake released your nipple with a wet pop, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Patience, my little yawne," he purred, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. "I'm going to take my time with you."
He nudged you backwards until you were sprawled across the soft furs of his sleeping platform, never breaking contact with your skin. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your tunic up as he went until it was bunched around your waist.
"Eywa above," he breathed, taking in the sight of your bare pussy. "So fucking perfect."
Before you could respond, he ducked his head and ran his tongue along your slit in one long, slow lick. You cried out at the sudden sensation, your hands flying down to grip his hair.
"Jake!" you keened, back arching off the mats as he began to eat you out with enthusiasm. His tongue delved between your folds, lapping at your juices like a man starved.
He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely, groaning in appreciation against your pussy as he worked you over with lips and tongue and teeth.
Your thighs began to tremble, fingers tightening in his hair as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chanted mindlessly, hips rocking against his face shamelessly. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop!"
Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he sealed his lips around your clit and suckled hard.
Combined with a deep thrust of his tongue into your fluttering hole, it was enough to send you careening over the precipice.
You came with a scream, your cunt clamping down on nothing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Jake continued to lap at you through your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure until you were writhing and shaking beneath him.
As the last waves of your climax subsided, Jake sat back on his haunches, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. His chin and lips glistened with your juices, the sight making you clench with renewed desire.
"You taste even better than I remember," he said, voice rough with lust. "Sweet and fucking perfect."
"Like what you see?" he asked teasingly, hands moving to undo the fastenings of his loincloth.
You licked your lips in anticipation, eyes glued to his crotch. The fabric fell away, and you couldn't help but let out a whimper at the sight of his cock springing free.
You reached out to wrap your hand around his length. He was hot and hard and heavy in your palm, pulsing with each beat of his heart.
Jake hissed in pleasure at your touch, hips jerking forward into your grip. "That's it," he encouraged.
You began to stroke him slowly, thumb swirling around the head of his cock and smearing the bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip.
He was so big and thick in your hand, the knowledge that you would soon be taking him inside your body both thrilling and daunting.
"Please," you whimpered, need overriding any sense of propriety or hesitation. "I need you inside me. Need to feel you stretching me open."
Jake growled low in his throat, the sound equal parts man and na'vi. In a flash, he had you flipped onto your stomach, one large hand coming down on your ass in a sharp smack.
"Yes," you gasped, arching your back to present yourself to him. "Want your cock, Jake. Want you to fuck me until I can't walk straight."
He grabbed your hips and yanked them back towards him roughly, the blunt head of his cock nudging insistently at your entrance.
You were so wet that he slid in easily on the first thrust, filling you completely in one long stroke.
"Eywa!" you screamed, fisting your hands in the furs as he stretched you wide. "So fucking big! Filling me up so good!"
Jake seemed lost to pleasure, hips snapping forward as he set a punishing pace. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, punctuated by your wanton moans and his guttural grunts.
"So fucking tight," he panted, one hand coming down on your ass again. "Like you were made for my cock. Taking me so well."
You could only babble incoherently in response, lost to the feeling of being so thoroughly filled and used. Your pussy clenched around him, trying to draw him in even deeper.
"That's it," Jake groaned, snaking one hand around to circle your clit with ruthless efficiency. "Squeeze my cock. Milk me for all I've got."
His thrusts became more erratic as he neared his peak, balls drawing up tight against his body. You could feel your own orgasm approaching again, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips.
"Jake!" you cried out warningly, your nails digging into the furs as you teetered on the edge. "I'm gonna cum!"
With a final thrust that had him bottoming out inside you, he sent you hurtling over the edge once more. Your cunt clamped down around him like a vice as you came apart beneath him, milking his cock for all it was worth.
He slammed into you one last time as he followed you into oblivion. His hot seed spurted deep inside you, painting your insides with his release.
For a moment, neither of you moved, bodies pressed close as you both rode out the aftershocks of your intense orgasms. Slowly, Jake pulled out of you and collapsed onto the furs beside you, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath.
"Holy shit," he breathed eventually, turning to look at you with a dazed expression. "That was...wow."
You could only hum in agreement, too blissed out to form coherent words. Your body felt like jelly, muscles limp and sated in the best possible way.
Jake seemed to sense your need for a moment to catch your breath, reaching out to pull you into his arms. You went willingly, snuggling into the crook of his neck with a happy sigh.
"Rest now," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "We'll go again in a bit. I'm nowhere near done with this pussy yet."
You nodded weakly, already starting to drift off despite the echo of pleasure still thrumming through your veins. As you succumbed to exhaustion, one last thought drifted through your mind,
Jake was going to ruin you for anyone else, and you couldn't wait.
i'm sorry brothers, my head is filled with quaritch rn. (look at the height difference between him and ardmore? i'm a puddle)
like he was fine fine in this film, genuinely. his tiny slutty waist? his big diddies? his bitchy little one-liners? i want him under me, over me, behind me, from the side-
Jake is a whore because he betrayed his entire species for some hot aliens after knowing them for three months. Quaritch is a bigger whore because he did it in three minutes
Snomo Tìprrte' @dilfs-bitch - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
