“Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”
Grinning, you took in Satoru’s suited stature: he was a sight to behold.
He replied with a kiss on your forehead, “I guess I don’t count.”
Aglow with rapture; and you were certain your complexion bared proof of it. How could you not? You were soon to wed your best friend.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered a notch above your ear.
Gone was his usual roguishness. His responses were clipped, stripped, a far cry from his cavalier charm.
You attributed it to pre-wedding nerves — after all, he did have a colossal responsibility.
It dwelled a moment too long; his gaze, freckles of sky blue intermittent in his right pupil: constellations you’d memorised since you were children. But behind them bore an emotion you couldn’t quite discern.
*church bells ring*
“Oh, that’s my cue! See you at the altar.” A quick peck on his cheek, and, bunching the corners of your gown, you hurried for the door.
Nobody could see it, but afterwards, as you walked down the aisle, with the parish priest to his right, Satoru stood, awaiting, hands clenched tight — too tight — in his trouser pockets.
You were the sublime skies of summer, and the strongest sorcerer loved you with the reverence of winter falling to its knees.
He thought about what it would be like to wake up next to you, everyday. He would tarry a little longer in bed, to cuddle his wife, to make his students wait. There would only be goodnights, no more goodbyes —
“Ahem…Satoru! The ring!”
Who even was speaking?!
You’d already reached the front of the altar.
Damn, too many daydreams of late…
He fumbled around his breast pocket for your ring.
Stealing him a glance, you composed yourself for the final vow.
.
.
.
“…take you, Nanami Kento, as my lawfully wedded husband…”
Satoru was looking through Nanami, at you, watching you recite, with tears in your eyes, an oath of forever.
An oath of forever and ever and never, “I do, Satoru Gojo.”
You beg Nanami for a tie-tying lesson. It doesn’t end well. 18+
“So, you just bring this over…”
Back against his, you let Nanami take the lead.
His calloused fingers; all slits and scabs, you savoured them over yours, savoured how their intricate intimacy salved your aching heart — your husband had been gone for far too long.
So when he’d dressed up this morning to head into school again, you devised your shrewd little schemes to stop him, delay him, anything, anything, if it meant you could hold your husband for even a second longer.
In your half-woken eyes and his luxury-bespoke shirt you’d used for pyjamas, you stopped your husband midway into his attire change.
“Baby, can you teach me again how to do a tie? I forgot.”
You didn’t forget.
Nanami scanned your face, then his watch, and stopped doing his buttons. He’d always put you first.
Patient, attentive, and a tad too polite, he guided you to slip the fabric through.
“…like this?” you asked, eyes feigning innocence, like a doll ardent for her master’s approval.
He met your eyes in the mirror, and, for the briefest of seconds, granted you his gaze: they were hot and greedy, searing, through the looking-glass.
But he wouldn’t let you have it, no, not yet — Nanami was a gentleman. “…go on. Show me if you’ve been practising.”
Furrowed brows, clumsy hands, exasperated sighs…you played the role of wife in distress too damn well.
“Darling, I can do my own tie. You don’t have to —”
He stopped short at your pout and wet eyes. He’ll indulge you: the grade 1 sorcerer was never one to deny his sweetheart.
So when your masterclass performance ran its course, and you’d finally looped the blade through, Nanami could only praise you, venerate your prowess — “Yes…exactly like this…”
The mirror reflected your twisted smirk and your twisted tie. “Darling, let me just…”
Imperfections irked him, and when he’d moved closer to adjust his dotted tie around your neck, he heard your subtle gasp, saw your nipples grazing the insides of his shirt…
Pull, pull, pull, the knot hit the bottom of your throat.
“Is my tie…”
He dragged the knot higher.
“…too tight…”
Higher.
“…for you?”
your gentle husband whispered.
You must have choked and blacked out, for you could hardly remember, hardly think, how you now ended up naked, on all fours, wearing nothing but your husband’s beloved tie.
You watched the satin swing violently with every thrust, and you dared goad the towering man over you with pleas of “harder, sensei!”
Again, Nanami wasn’t one to deny you, and so he yanked at his tie around your delicate neck, forcing you on your knees. Into that sweet arch of your back he pressed his body, and at last expressed his displeasure:
“I’m late for class now, do you know that?”
Thrust.
“Who said you’re allowed to wear my shirt to bed, hmm?”
You take Sylus to Zayne after his near-death injury. The doctor's not happy about it.
Polyamorous, snowcrow, smut, angst, mentions of death, blood & violence, 3.2k
ps: I'm a fujoshi. Just a warning.
“Do you want me to kill him?”
Zayne’s most ungracious greeting was certainly not on your cards, decidedly not so when you had a very injured, very pale, almost dying man draped around your shoulders…
“Zay —”
“Relax, doc, not in front of the lady. Have some cla…class.”
He might be on the brink of death, but Sylus was not one to shy away from an insult. His last word came out in a half-choke, as though something was chafing away in his throat.
You began to feel your stomach clench. The poison must have worked its way into his lungs…those contraband compounds, you never should have scoured for them!
“Zayne, please. He’s been impaled by a tainted protoshard, he will die if —”
“No.”
No??
Fear, and irritation, at how ruthless Zayne was being right now: they all culminated into a desperate swell in your throat.
“Please…you’re the only one capable of fixing this…”
“He has a bike, he can fly —”
“He can’t — wait, you can fly?” You turned to Sylus, half crying, half incredulous.
“Shall we find out?”
The next few moments comprised of exchanges: crazed, cruel, contemptuous.
“I’m sorry darling, you can stay, but I’m not helping a criminal.”
“He calls you darling?”
“Sylus…please.”
“Is there a problem?”
“You’re pretty inhumane for a doctor…”
“Callous outlaws are hardly human...”
“Enough! Shut up! Both of you!”
You were nothing short of livid at their disregard, at their stupidity.
Sylus had been reduced to a crouching silhouette in the hallway, his mortal breaths grim in the aftermath of your outburst.
The doctor was well-aware of the peril, he most certainly was, but he remained unmoving in the arch of his doorway, features hardening with each drag of his supposed patient.
“...Wha…what are…you doing?” Seeing the energy field build around your hand, Sylus grew tense — resonating with him right now was downright suicide, there was no telling how the protoshard could transmute and kill you.
“Stop.”
Devoid of sympathy, devoid of concern; Zayne gripped your wrist before you could expend your power. Perhaps the unfeeling mask was indeed for show, a sort of pecking order, to assert dominance over the…crow.
But he relented nonetheless.
“Sy, let’s go in.” You tried lifting Sylus after Zayne’s almost unnoticeable gesture for you to enter, the criminal — as your doctor best friend put it — however, was not about to appear vulnerable: being here, defenceless and unarmed, was a mere indulgence to your worry.
Clutching his blood-stained ribs, he brushed past Zayne, shoulders colliding into the doctor’s with such loathing he was knocked backwards.
You weren’t sure who you’d hated more at that point.
Zayne said nothing, did nothing: “Only the witless resort to provocation,” he’d once told you.
The bleeding aggressor collapsed into one of Zayne’s swivel chair by the lounge, lungs and legs about to give out.
You saw the doctor’s flash of displeasure — no one was allowed in his seat, least of all the enemy. But his resolve held steady, too steady, that he’d even offered you the customary “guest tea”.
“Water only for the lady? That’s no way to tre…treat your guest.”
You choked a little on your tea.
“Sylus, please. Stop.”
You swallowed your words when Zayne held out another cup. An olive branch? Perhaps there’s a chance they might be frien —
Splash!
There it was. The reaction the N109 boss had yearned for. It was almost as if he liked it.
He sat there drenched in tea — Jasmine Dragon Pearls — Zayne spared no expense when it came to his premium tastes, he’d made damn sure Sylus knew it.
A low rumble of laughter erupted deep within the evil dragon’s lair. “You’re so petty, Zaynie.”
What followed next was a violent shove. One that had the swivel backrest tilted to the extreme…crack, crack, crack. Zaynie stood over him, one scarred arm pressing the chair down, one scarred fist clenching an inch away from Sylus’ pretty face.
“I can save you, but I can also slit the wrong artery. Accidentally, of course.” The doctor’s voice hovered low beside Sylus’ ear.
You gripped onto your teacup, watching the fracas unfold, wise enough not to interfere: a lion’s den was no place for a kitten.
“Take off your shirt.”
You spat out your tea.
Plain and simple, like he didn’t just say the most ordinary thing and made it absolutely filthy.
Sprawled out under him, Sylus couldn’t contain his smirk.
“Already? Dr Zayne, you…you’re —”
A syringe of something was stabbed into his left arm, rendering the smug devil tongue-tied before he could continue his derision.
The doctor, however, continued his indecent ministrations: he ripped the bloody shirt off his patient, prodding the skin near his ribs to see just how much damage he’d taken.
This was supposed to be a sombre sight — it really was — but the two men oscillating between animosity and affection had you…aroused?
Staring mindlessly at the handsome, virile, fine specimens of men — one of them about to die of blood loss — had you caught somewhere between ache and attrition.
Perhaps for the better, you hurried out into the living room and decided to quell your desire in “Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity”, a 500-page mammoth of Dr Zayne’s own dissertation.
It worked.
Time raced by. You had been so immersed in your reading that you hadn’t noticed Zayne crouched down beside you, taking in your splendour: quietly, reverently, longingly.
“I’ll need an honest review.”
The book flew out of your hands. “Zay…Zayne? You guys are done? Is Sylus okay?”
“He’s fine. Him dying wouldn’t bode well for my reputation.”
At his words you gasped — the doctor drew in close, too close.
“It’s all for you, do you know that?”
Your best friend ran the back of his fingers down your cheek, gaze dropping ever so slightly to your parting lips. You could tell that he wanted more, but Zayne wore righteousness like a badge of honour.
“If you don’t go after what you want, someone else will.”
It happened too fast, too soon.
You were prised from the almost kiss, into the lips of the enemy.
Sylus crashed into you with such fervency and hunger that all that you could do was surrender. Despite your muddled mind, you’d managed a singular thought: Oh my god, what about Zayne?
What about him?
The professor may have been virtuous, but he was far from vapid. And that was when you were yet again wrested from one man to another; the taste of jasmine now blatant on your lips. Zayne didn’t hold back this time, no — his tongue searched for yours, starved and desperate.
Sylus, on the other side, stood grinning at Zayne’s sudden brashness. And here you’d thought all criminals were territorial.
You were lost in the kiss, before you felt the softness of what could only be Sylus’ expert mouth skimming your neck. He took his time exploring the contours of your collarbone, feeling your breath quicken, your heartbeat hasten.
He worked his way down to your breasts, but paused; his eyes were imploring for permission.
Mouth already fiercely claimed by another, you could only arch your back in response. Sylus didn’t have to be told twice: he ran his hands under your blouse, then under your bra, big hands cupping and kneading your tender flesh.
You let out an uncontrollable moan. It broke the kiss, and heedlessly turned to the man between your chest. His wound seemed to have disappeared.
“Look at me.”
It was a command from the doctor.
Uh oh, jealous Zayne was a tad frightening.
“Zayne, I…”
But he had already slid down to your legs. “What do you want me to do?”
What did he want you to say? Did he want you to be the saintly girl from his childhood? Or did he want you all grown up, unchaste, unfiltered?
“...I want…Zayne…please…just, I just want you…” Ah, an answer ambiguous enough to let him decide. Clever.
But dear you, you’d already hooked your legs over him as formal invitation.
In one swift motion, he tugged your pants off, as if he’d been training his entire life to do that. Laying sweet kisses to your ankles, your calves, your thighs…
…and you watched, breath dangerously shallow, as the professor bit the corner of your panty and pulled it down, down, down.
He positioned himself in his favourite place, eyes lacquered as if in a fevered dream, and pressed his mouth to the only spot that could make you scream. Zayne may be restrained, but his tongue was a beast untamed. It padded at your clit, flirting with the nub once, twice, over…until his name was the only thing that filled your vision.
Could you feel? Could you feel your nipples being bitten and toyed with? Sylus now had your entire breast in his mouth, while his other hand roamed over your stomach, creeping down to part one of your thighs. Was he helping Zayne gain leverage?
Absolutely not.
It was every man for himself. Inch by selfish inch, they conquered, marked, and safeguarded as their own. Seeing how there was no way in between your legs, Sylus schemed to the armrest where your head was. He pushed two fingers into your mouth, feeling your saliva pool around them.
The two men hated each other, but they sure were in sync. Fingers in at the top, fingers in below. A light slap to your face, a harder one at your base. Cock in your mouth, cock in down south.
Your legs were spread wide, so wide for the professor, and he was pumping into you with such delirium…you wanted to scream, you really did, but the length of Sylus was shoved in to keep you quiet…and that was when you realised, they were, in fact, not syncing. They were competing.
“Come feel how wet she is for me.”
It was a taunt, but Sylus took the bait. He pulled out from your throat, stalking over, but Zayne had somehow already secured you on top of him, his throbbing heat prodding at your extremely wet folds.
“Do you want it…” the doctor hummed into your ear, so soft, so soft — it was meant for no one but you — “...baby?”
Another loud moan, and you sank into him: the squelch was defeaningly vulgar.
You couldn’t have known, for your eyes were rolled so far back, but the whole time you were rocking into Zayne, his own had been fixed on Sylus’, watching him watching the both of you, like a depraved voyeur tangled in his own lie.
With his gaze still locked on the silver-haired devil, Zayne slipped his hands down to where you two were connected, and dragged his index over the fluids rimming your hole. Sylus broke into a slow smile.
“Ahhh, Zaynie, please, please…”
Too far gone. So far, that you scarce had a second to think about the man you had so desperately tried to save earlier. Said man at last, knelt down behind you on the sofa, one large hand grabbing your neck and face away from the thief, the other reaching down to massage your clit. He did not care that that domain was currently the doctor’s.
While you were chasing your own release, Sylus plunged his tongue inside your ear, whispering filth unknown to man:
“I’m leaking right now, do you know that?”
“I want you…chained to my bed…I want you begging…while he watches.”
“Will you be able to take it, if I fucked you, with Zaynie’s cock still inside?”
All his dirty little secrets may have been for you to hear, but his parting words were a wilful torment aimed to shatter the doctor’s composure.
Thrust, thrust, thrust. Zayne became relentless with his assault. Whether it was silent retaliation or him nearing rapture, it made Sylus very, very, happy. So happy, in fact, that he took your mouth into his once more, kissing you with all the greed and madness only a criminal could bestow. All at the same time, he began grinding his erection into your back — his breath jagged, his desire frantic.
And this madman had the nerve, the nerve, to keep his eyes open while doing the deed, lucid orbs of devil-red goring into the doctor’s green. He bit and sucked at your supple lips, hands bullying your breasts, all this time transfixed on Zayne.
The doctor was indeed nearing his high, for his brows were knitted in sweat and shambles, and it seemed all that was needed to implode was to feel you clamp down on him. He tightened his grip on your hips, unfazed your attention was with another, and drove into you at disgusting speed.
“...fuck baby, you’re so tight…I…I…”
Begging with his cock, pleading with his words…. you cried into Sylus’s mouth at Zayne’s unbecoming behaviour.
And that was when the enemy struck.
Sylus shoved you down onto Zayne. With your backside elevated, he smeared his pre-load around where Zayne had stuffed you, inciting deranged moans from you and the doctor.
Sensing an opening to enter, he did. It was raw, wanton, demented.
“Fuck…off, asshole.” Zayne managed through strangled gasps. Sharing you was one thing, sharing you whilst grazing another man’s cock? Downright deplorable.
The deplorable asshole pushed down even harder — Sylus was smug, but unreadable: his face was contorted in between arousal and aversion — there was no telling what he would do next.
“Why don’t you take it, doctor?”
Zayne never lost, and so he did take it. He was too far gone, completely wrecked, and all he could think about was you, you, you.
You, Sylus, Zayne. The three of you; thighs and parts slathered in your combined lust, altogether making sounds of the obscene. They were a testament to how good the two men had stretched you in tandem.
“…fuck…you feel…so good kitten, so good for me…”
Everything around you began to constellate into a whirling blur. Only:
“Sy, Zayne, harder!”
“You’re such a dirty girl, kitten.”
“Say my name, louder.”
And you exploded into stars.
And the men exploded into rage.
Sylus was sent crashing into the lounge table, with Zayne bent over him. Their combined weight and impact shattered the glass, shards of crystalline like displaced celestial bodies doomed never again to find home.
Seething through sweat and blood, the doctor held the devil down by his neck, crushing his throat, his deft grip exerting extra pressure on his carotid artery. “You do not deserve her.”
And the devil laughed — a hearty, scathing bellow — it rumbled in the air; thick, like lightning slicing through fog. “All this be…because…I said you had mad skills? Hmm? What…isss…is it about you, doc? You’re a boring, hardline killjoy, perhaps what you need is someone to bend you ov —”
Sylus didn’t get to finish.
Spikes of bitter frost pierced the bloodied marble floor, its force leaving the corner of his left ear bleeding. Zayne — a man of self control, self discipline, self restraint — had come undone.
“Zayne! Please, don’t hurt him…” you cried, body still languid from the aftershock of your climax. You made to move, but couldn’t: Sylus held you down with his evol.
“Sylus let me go!!”
You scanned the room, desperate to stop the mess, to prevent the doctor from aggravating Sylus’s injury…wait, where did his wound go?
It was a scene from hell. The two men, bathed in gore and malice, naked, about to wrangle the other to the death. How it had gotten this dire vexed you…surely a war of words didn’t warrant a massacre??
“That’s the fire I’m looking for. You should be angry more oft…ten. Helps you last…longer…in bed.”
He was wheezing, but it would seem he would goad the doctor till his last breath. Zayne pressed his face into the enemy’s, spite and spit looming in the air between them.
“Why don’t you fight back?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I want you to shut the fuck up.”
“Why don’t you make me, doctor?”
For a long, heated moment, you held your breath, sickened by the carnage you’d assumed was to come.
It happened, in a series of successions.
Zayne slammed his mouth into Sylus’, hand steadying his bruised face like it was the most tender thing he’d ever dared touch. Their kiss was carnal, dangerous, a sort of pleasure derived only from sleeping with the enemy.
Tangled in broken glass, broken frost and broken moans, neither cared that they were impaled by sharp objects intent on taking their lives. Open mouthed and panting, Sylus fisted Zayne’s hair, pulling it back with such wild abandon the doctor was left trembling for more.
The dragon relished in the doctor’s agony, before plunging his head forwards and devouring his lips once more. A collision so vicious it split the corners of their lips, leaving behind a bloody trail of crimson that ran down Zayne’s neck. Wholly possessed by the divine sight, Sylus began to lap at the elixir of life, sucking, biting…
A low groan erupted from the professor.
“You disgust me.”
“I know.”
Over and over, the enemies turned lovers took turns devastating each other, soaked bodies crashing violently to see who would break first. Even in lust there exists loathing, but none quite like the devotion of a dragon. Sylus placed his hand over Zayne’s heart: now one could contend that it was deference, but the sly devil began teasing his nipple before clamping it between his forceful fingers.
He watched as Zayne stifled a cry. Sylus loved studying the doctor’s imperceptible expressions. Something in him longed to swallow his reservations, to unravel him, to see him lose control.
The pause allowed Zayne the upper hand — he was, afterall, on top. Out of breath and outside of himself, he alas captured the roaming claw on his chest, seized it steady, and guided it low, low, low…
…and he gave the dragon everything he had ever wanted.
The devil’s leaking cock, now in the sweet mercy of the professor, the doctor, his Zayne…Sylus, for the first time, whimpered at the ruin that was to come.
You did not exist.
But you did not mind. If being with them both was a choice, then it was a choice well made, for your boyfriends put on a show fit for a lady: they had begun thrusting into each other; and you had begun playing guess the predator….
The room could not contain your heat, you felt so excruciatingly warm…
……
“...warm? You’re burning up, darling.”
Your eyes flew open.
Zayne’s mellow coddling turned distinct in your ears. Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity was still clasped in your hands. Gaze darting to your pants, the lounge table, then your… guy friends, you burst into a labourious coughing fit.
He placed a hand over your forehead before again offering you tea, worry plastered all over his handsome face.
“Is darling the only pet name you know? Tsk…you’re as boring as your name sounds…”
Sylus emerged from the lounge, his bandaged ribs visible through a half-buttoned shirt.
Ignoring him with exceptional grace, Zayne continued, “I’m sorry we took a while. We got the toxin out. Also tell him I want my shirt returned by Friday. Dry cleaned and pressed.”
The more they said, the wilder your heart pounded; the storm would not settle.
“Did you have a bad dream, darling? You were…talking a lot…”
Oh shit.
“...I…I was? Wh…what did I say?”
There was a sudden halt in their chatter. A sudden stillness. An opera reaching its peak on the vinyl.
You take Sylus to Zayne after his near-death injury. The doctor's not happy about it.
Polyamorous, snowcrow, smut, angst, mentions of death, blood & violence, 3.2k
ps: I'm a fujoshi. Just a warning.
“Do you want me to kill him?”
Zayne’s most ungracious greeting was certainly not on your cards, decidedly not so when you had a very injured, very pale, almost dying man draped around your shoulders…
“Zay —”
“Relax, doc, not in front of the lady. Have some cla…class.”
He might be on the brink of death, but Sylus was not one to shy away from an insult. His last word came out in a half-choke, as though something was chafing away in his throat.
You began to feel your stomach clench. The poison must have worked its way into his lungs…those contraband compounds, you never should have scoured for them!
“Zayne, please. He’s been impaled by a tainted protoshard, he will die if —”
“No.”
No??
Fear, and irritation, at how ruthless Zayne was being right now: they all culminated into a desperate swell in your throat.
“Please…you’re the only one capable of fixing this…”
“He has a bike, he can fly —”
“He can’t — wait, you can fly?” You turned to Sylus, half crying, half incredulous.
“Shall we find out?”
The next few moments comprised of exchanges: crazed, cruel, contemptuous.
“I’m sorry darling, you can stay, but I’m not helping a criminal.”
“He calls you darling?”
“Sylus…please.”
“Is there a problem?”
“You’re pretty inhumane for a doctor…”
“Callous outlaws are hardly human...”
“Enough! Shut up! Both of you!”
You were nothing short of livid at their disregard, at their stupidity.
Sylus had been reduced to a crouching silhouette in the hallway, his mortal breaths grim in the aftermath of your outburst.
The doctor was well-aware of the peril, he most certainly was, but he remained unmoving in the arch of his doorway, features hardening with each drag of his supposed patient.
“...Wha…what are…you doing?” Seeing the energy field build around your hand, Sylus grew tense — resonating with him right now was downright suicide, there was no telling how the protoshard could transmute and kill you.
“Stop.”
Devoid of sympathy, devoid of concern; Zayne gripped your wrist before you could expend your power. Perhaps the unfeeling mask was indeed for show, a sort of pecking order, to assert dominance over the…crow.
But he relented nonetheless.
“Sy, let’s go in.” You tried lifting Sylus after Zayne’s almost unnoticeable gesture for you to enter, the criminal — as your doctor best friend put it — however, was not about to appear vulnerable: being here, defenceless and unarmed, was a mere indulgence to your worry.
Clutching his blood-stained ribs, he brushed past Zayne, shoulders colliding into the doctor’s with such loathing he was knocked backwards.
You weren’t sure who you’d hated more at that point.
Zayne said nothing, did nothing: “Only the witless resort to provocation,” he’d once told you.
The bleeding aggressor collapsed into one of Zayne’s swivel chair by the lounge, lungs and legs about to give out.
You saw the doctor’s flash of displeasure — no one was allowed in his seat, least of all the enemy. But his resolve held steady, too steady, that he’d even offered you the customary “guest tea”.
“Water only for the lady? That’s no way to tre…treat your guest.”
You choked a little on your tea.
“Sylus, please. Stop.”
You swallowed your words when Zayne held out another cup. An olive branch? Perhaps there’s a chance they might be frien —
Splash!
There it was. The reaction the N109 boss had yearned for. It was almost as if he liked it.
He sat there drenched in tea — Jasmine Dragon Pearls — Zayne spared no expense when it came to his premium tastes, he’d made damn sure Sylus knew it.
A low rumble of laughter erupted deep within the evil dragon’s lair. “You’re so petty, Zaynie.”
What followed next was a violent shove. One that had the swivel backrest tilted to the extreme…crack, crack, crack. Zaynie stood over him, one scarred arm pressing the chair down, one scarred fist clenching an inch away from Sylus’ pretty face.
“I can save you, but I can also slit the wrong artery. Accidentally, of course.” The doctor’s voice hovered low beside Sylus’ ear.
You gripped onto your teacup, watching the fracas unfold, wise enough not to interfere: a lion’s den was no place for a kitten.
“Take off your shirt.”
You spat out your tea.
Plain and simple, like he didn’t just say the most ordinary thing and made it absolutely filthy.
Sprawled out under him, Sylus couldn’t contain his smirk.
“Already? Dr Zayne, you…you’re —”
A syringe of something was stabbed into his left arm, rendering the smug devil tongue-tied before he could continue his derision.
The doctor, however, continued his indecent ministrations: he ripped the bloody shirt off his patient, prodding the skin near his ribs to see just how much damage he’d taken.
This was supposed to be a sombre sight — it really was — but the two men oscillating between animosity and affection had you…aroused?
Staring mindlessly at the handsome, virile, fine specimens of men — one of them about to die of blood loss — had you caught somewhere between ache and attrition.
Perhaps for the better, you hurried out into the living room and decided to quell your desire in “Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity”, a 500-page mammoth of Dr Zayne’s own dissertation.
It worked.
Time raced by. You had been so immersed in your reading that you hadn’t noticed Zayne crouched down beside you, taking in your splendour: quietly, reverently, longingly.
“I’ll need an honest review.”
The book flew out of your hands. “Zay…Zayne? You guys are done? Is Sylus okay?”
“He’s fine. Him dying wouldn’t bode well for my reputation.”
At his words you gasped — the doctor drew in close, too close.
“It’s all for you, do you know that?”
Your best friend ran the back of his fingers down your cheek, gaze dropping ever so slightly to your parting lips. You could tell that he wanted more, but Zayne wore righteousness like a badge of honour.
“If you don’t go after what you want, someone else will.”
It happened too fast, too soon.
You were prised from the almost kiss, into the lips of the enemy.
Sylus crashed into you with such fervency and hunger that all that you could do was surrender. Despite your muddled mind, you’d managed a singular thought: Oh my god, what about Zayne?
What about him?
The professor may have been virtuous, but he was far from vapid. And that was when you were yet again wrested from one man to another; the taste of jasmine now blatant on your lips. Zayne didn’t hold back this time, no — his tongue searched for yours, starved and desperate.
Sylus, on the other side, stood grinning at Zayne’s sudden brashness. And here you’d thought all criminals were territorial.
You were lost in the kiss, before you felt the softness of what could only be Sylus’ expert mouth skimming your neck. He took his time exploring the contours of your collarbone, feeling your breath quicken, your heartbeat hasten.
He worked his way down to your breasts, but paused; his eyes were imploring for permission.
Mouth already fiercely claimed by another, you could only arch your back in response. Sylus didn’t have to be told twice: he ran his hands under your blouse, then under your bra, big hands cupping and kneading your tender flesh.
You let out an uncontrollable moan. It broke the kiss, and heedlessly turned to the man between your chest. His wound seemed to have disappeared.
“Look at me.”
It was a command from the doctor.
Uh oh, jealous Zayne was a tad frightening.
“Zayne, I…”
But he had already slid down to your legs. “What do you want me to do?”
What did he want you to say? Did he want you to be the saintly girl from his childhood? Or did he want you all grown up, unchaste, unfiltered?
“...I want…Zayne…please…just, I just want you…” Ah, an answer ambiguous enough to let him decide. Clever.
But dear you, you’d already hooked your legs over him as formal invitation.
In one swift motion, he tugged your pants off, as if he’d been training his entire life to do that. Laying sweet kisses to your ankles, your calves, your thighs…
…and you watched, breath dangerously shallow, as the professor bit the corner of your panty and pulled it down, down, down.
He positioned himself in his favourite place, eyes lacquered as if in a fevered dream, and pressed his mouth to the only spot that could make you scream. Zayne may be restrained, but his tongue was a beast untamed. It padded at your clit, flirting with the nub once, twice, over…until his name was the only thing that filled your vision.
Could you feel? Could you feel your nipples being bitten and toyed with? Sylus now had your entire breast in his mouth, while his other hand roamed over your stomach, creeping down to part one of your thighs. Was he helping Zayne gain leverage?
Absolutely not.
It was every man for himself. Inch by selfish inch, they conquered, marked, and safeguarded as their own. Seeing how there was no way in between your legs, Sylus schemed to the armrest where your head was. He pushed two fingers into your mouth, feeling your saliva pool around them.
The two men hated each other, but they sure were in sync. Fingers in at the top, fingers in below. A light slap to your face, a harder one at your base. Cock in your mouth, cock in down south.
Your legs were spread wide, so wide for the professor, and he was pumping into you with such delirium…you wanted to scream, you really did, but the length of Sylus was shoved in to keep you quiet…and that was when you realised, they were, in fact, not syncing. They were competing.
“Come feel how wet she is for me.”
It was a taunt, but Sylus took the bait. He pulled out from your throat, stalking over, but Zayne had somehow already secured you on top of him, his throbbing heat prodding at your extremely wet folds.
“Do you want it…” the doctor hummed into your ear, so soft, so soft — it was meant for no one but you — “...baby?”
Another loud moan, and you sank into him: the squelch was defeaningly vulgar.
You couldn’t have known, for your eyes were rolled so far back, but the whole time you were rocking into Zayne, his own had been fixed on Sylus’, watching him watching the both of you, like a depraved voyeur tangled in his own lie.
With his gaze still locked on the silver-haired devil, Zayne slipped his hands down to where you two were connected, and dragged his index over the fluids rimming your hole. Sylus broke into a slow smile.
“Ahhh, Zaynie, please, please…”
Too far gone. So far, that you scarce had a second to think about the man you had so desperately tried to save earlier. Said man at last, knelt down behind you on the sofa, one large hand grabbing your neck and face away from the thief, the other reaching down to massage your clit. He did not care that that domain was currently the doctor’s.
While you were chasing your own release, Sylus plunged his tongue inside your ear, whispering filth unknown to man:
“I’m leaking right now, do you know that?”
“I want you…chained to my bed…I want you begging…while he watches.”
“Will you be able to take it, if I fucked you, with Zaynie’s cock still inside?”
All his dirty little secrets may have been for you to hear, but his parting words were a wilful torment aimed to shatter the doctor’s composure.
Thrust, thrust, thrust. Zayne became relentless with his assault. Whether it was silent retaliation or him nearing rapture, it made Sylus very, very, happy. So happy, in fact, that he took your mouth into his once more, kissing you with all the greed and madness only a criminal could bestow. All at the same time, he began grinding his erection into your back — his breath jagged, his desire frantic.
And this madman had the nerve, the nerve, to keep his eyes open while doing the deed, lucid orbs of devil-red goring into the doctor’s green. He bit and sucked at your supple lips, hands bullying your breasts, all this time transfixed on Zayne.
The doctor was indeed nearing his high, for his brows were knitted in sweat and shambles, and it seemed all that was needed to implode was to feel you clamp down on him. He tightened his grip on your hips, unfazed your attention was with another, and drove into you at disgusting speed.
“...fuck baby, you’re so tight…I…I…”
Begging with his cock, pleading with his words…. you cried into Sylus’s mouth at Zayne’s unbecoming behaviour.
And that was when the enemy struck.
Sylus shoved you down onto Zayne. With your backside elevated, he smeared his pre-load around where Zayne had stuffed you, inciting deranged moans from you and the doctor.
Sensing an opening to enter, he did. It was raw, wanton, demented.
“Fuck…off, asshole.” Zayne managed through strangled gasps. Sharing you was one thing, sharing you whilst grazing another man’s cock? Downright deplorable.
The deplorable asshole pushed down even harder — Sylus was smug, but unreadable: his face was contorted in between arousal and aversion — there was no telling what he would do next.
“Why don’t you take it, doctor?”
Zayne never lost, and so he did take it. He was too far gone, completely wrecked, and all he could think about was you, you, you.
You, Sylus, Zayne. The three of you; thighs and parts slathered in your combined lust, altogether making sounds of the obscene. They were a testament to how good the two men had stretched you in tandem.
“…fuck…you feel…so good kitten, so good for me…”
Everything around you began to constellate into a whirling blur. Only:
“Sy, Zayne, harder!”
“You’re such a dirty girl, kitten.”
“Say my name, louder.”
And you exploded into stars.
And the men exploded into rage.
Sylus was sent crashing into the lounge table, with Zayne bent over him. Their combined weight and impact shattered the glass, shards of crystalline like displaced celestial bodies doomed never again to find home.
Seething through sweat and blood, the doctor held the devil down by his neck, crushing his throat, his deft grip exerting extra pressure on his carotid artery. “You do not deserve her.”
And the devil laughed — a hearty, scathing bellow — it rumbled in the air; thick, like lightning slicing through fog. “All this be…because…I said you had mad skills? Hmm? What…isss…is it about you, doc? You’re a boring, hardline killjoy, perhaps what you need is someone to bend you ov —”
Sylus didn’t get to finish.
Spikes of bitter frost pierced the bloodied marble floor, its force leaving the corner of his left ear bleeding. Zayne — a man of self control, self discipline, self restraint — had come undone.
“Zayne! Please, don’t hurt him…” you cried, body still languid from the aftershock of your climax. You made to move, but couldn’t: Sylus held you down with his evol.
“Sylus let me go!!”
You scanned the room, desperate to stop the mess, to prevent the doctor from aggravating Sylus’s injury…wait, where did his wound go?
It was a scene from hell. The two men, bathed in gore and malice, naked, about to wrangle the other to the death. How it had gotten this dire vexed you…surely a war of words didn’t warrant a massacre??
“That’s the fire I’m looking for. You should be angry more oft…ten. Helps you last…longer…in bed.”
He was wheezing, but it would seem he would goad the doctor till his last breath. Zayne pressed his face into the enemy’s, spite and spit looming in the air between them.
“Why don’t you fight back?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I want you to shut the fuck up.”
“Why don’t you make me, doctor?”
For a long, heated moment, you held your breath, sickened by the carnage you’d assumed was to come.
It happened, in a series of successions.
Zayne slammed his mouth into Sylus’, hand steadying his bruised face like it was the most tender thing he’d ever dared touch. Their kiss was carnal, dangerous, a sort of pleasure derived only from sleeping with the enemy.
Tangled in broken glass, broken frost and broken moans, neither cared that they were impaled by sharp objects intent on taking their lives. Open mouthed and panting, Sylus fisted Zayne’s hair, pulling it back with such wild abandon the doctor was left trembling for more.
The dragon relished in the doctor’s agony, before plunging his head forwards and devouring his lips once more. A collision so vicious it split the corners of their lips, leaving behind a bloody trail of crimson that ran down Zayne’s neck. Wholly possessed by the divine sight, Sylus began to lap at the elixir of life, sucking, biting…
A low groan erupted from the professor.
“You disgust me.”
“I know.”
Over and over, the enemies turned lovers took turns devastating each other, soaked bodies crashing violently to see who would break first. Even in lust there exists loathing, but none quite like the devotion of a dragon. Sylus placed his hand over Zayne’s heart: now one could contend that it was deference, but the sly devil began teasing his nipple before clamping it between his forceful fingers.
He watched as Zayne stifled a cry. Sylus loved studying the doctor’s imperceptible expressions. Something in him longed to swallow his reservations, to unravel him, to see him lose control.
The pause allowed Zayne the upper hand — he was, afterall, on top. Out of breath and outside of himself, he alas captured the roaming claw on his chest, seized it steady, and guided it low, low, low…
…and he gave the dragon everything he had ever wanted.
The devil’s leaking cock, now in the sweet mercy of the professor, the doctor, his Zayne…Sylus, for the first time, whimpered at the ruin that was to come.
You did not exist.
But you did not mind. If being with them both was a choice, then it was a choice well made, for your boyfriends put on a show fit for a lady: they had begun thrusting into each other; and you had begun playing guess the predator….
The room could not contain your heat, you felt so excruciatingly warm…
……
“...warm? You’re burning up, darling.”
Your eyes flew open.
Zayne’s mellow coddling turned distinct in your ears. Heart, Mind & Soul: A Trinity was still clasped in your hands. Gaze darting to your pants, the lounge table, then your… guy friends, you burst into a labourious coughing fit.
He placed a hand over your forehead before again offering you tea, worry plastered all over his handsome face.
“Is darling the only pet name you know? Tsk…you’re as boring as your name sounds…”
Sylus emerged from the lounge, his bandaged ribs visible through a half-buttoned shirt.
Ignoring him with exceptional grace, Zayne continued, “I’m sorry we took a while. We got the toxin out. Also tell him I want my shirt returned by Friday. Dry cleaned and pressed.”
The more they said, the wilder your heart pounded; the storm would not settle.
“Did you have a bad dream, darling? You were…talking a lot…”
Oh shit.
“...I…I was? Wh…what did I say?”
There was a sudden halt in their chatter. A sudden stillness. An opera reaching its peak on the vinyl.
First time attempting to write in Chinese (not my first language), can’t get enough of these two & there’s lack of BAB content…here’s for my #yucheng/#hexie/danmei/yaoi girls ❤️ if there’s any Mandarin readers here! *Updated with English translation*
(He Yu breaks into his Professor Xie’s house and patiently awaits his beloved to emerge from the shower.)
Xie Qingcheng: Damn it He Yu, are you trying to scare me to death?!
He Yu: The door wasn’t locked, so I entered.
Xie Qingcheng: Pretty sure the door was locked…
(Xie Qingcheng goes to check on his door)
He Yu: Ge, regardless of whether you’ve locked your windows or doors, I will always find a way to come in.
Xie Qingcheng: You!!
He Yu: Ge, you’ve just had a shower and you’re still undressed, aren’t you cold? Why don’t you let me hug you…
Xie Qingcheng: …fuck off! Are you sick in the head? He Yu, let me warn you, you need to stop this perverse behaviour. It’s not good for your state of mind.
He Yu: Ge, if I’m not wrong, you’re the one who teased me first. You rush out of the shower undressed, dripping wet, all just to see me…
Xie Qingcheng: I would rather a burglar than you.
He Yu: Xie-Ge, do you really not want me?
Xie Qingcheng: …(he tries to search for his clothes in his cupboard)
(He Yu stares intently at him)
Xie Qingcheng: He Yu, where are my clothes?!
He Yu: I don’t know.
(Xie Qingcheng flings a book at He Yu out of anger)
Xie Qingcheng: You psychopath! Give them back!
He Yu: Ge, if only you’d let me hug you, surely your clothes would appear.
Xie Qingcheng: Fuck you! He Yu!
He Yu: Ge…
He Yu: Xie-Ge…
He Yu: Professor Xie…
(Xie Qingcheng scours his entire apartment for his clothes and towel to no avail)
He Yu: …you’re really attractive when you’re mad.
Xie Qingcheng: He Yu, I’m really not one to cuss, but I’m at my wit’s end with you.
He Yu: Just let me hug you for a bit, okay?
(Unwilling, Xie Qingcheng walks up to He Yu. He Yu is caught both by surprise and joy, and wraps himself around Xie Qingcheng.)
Xie Qingcheng: Give me back my clothes.
He Yu: Xie-Ge…
Xie Qingcheng: What is it now?
He Yu: I…
Xie Qingcheng: Damn it, He Yu, don’t —
(He Yu buries his entire face into Xie Qingcheng’s naked body, and begins to slowly trail kisses down his stomach.)
