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I've been writing all night, I'm tired, there will be mistakes and omissions, it's not a story or fanfiction, it's just a long chapter of Alastor fucking the reader in various ways. Reader is a doe.
DISCLAIMER: praise kink, multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, missionary, doggy, blowjob. Almost caught kink, but just a fraction. Few emotions at the end. It was meant to be something clingy but not too much. I'm sure I forgot something.
«I dreamt about you,» he breathed against her lips, his voice rough with tiredness and something else, something far more urgent. Her eyes, wide in the dim light, searched his. «What kind of dream?» she whispered back, her own voice a soft, curious thing. «The kind that wakes a man up and doesn’t let him go back to sleep.» The confession hung between them, a tangible thing in the quiet of her moonlit bedroom. He’d appeared at her door just moments ago, a silhouette of restless energy, and she’d let him in without a second thought. Now they stood mere inches apart, the space between them buzzing with an electric potential. His hand, warm and sure, came up to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking a slow, hypnotic rhythm along her cheekbone. «The kind where your laugh is the only sound that matters,» he murmured, leaning in closer, his breath a warm caress on her skin, «where your skin tastes like coconut, vanilla and cocoa». He closed the final distance. His lips met hers, and it was nothing like she’d imagined. It was softer, softer, a tentative exploration that made her knees feel unsteady. A quiet, shuddery sigh escaped her—mmmm—a sound she didn’t even recognize as her own. His mouth moved over hers with a devastating tenderness, a question asked and answered without a single word. This was how it started. Not with a storm, but with a single, perfect raindrop.
An hour earlier, Alastor had jerked awake, the silk sheets tangled around his legs, his heart hammering against his ribs. The echo of the dream was still vivid behind his eyelids: Y/N, her head thrown back in laughter, the sun catching the copper strands in her hair. Y/N, her eyes dark with wanting, whispering his name. Her heat. The feel of her, the idea of her, was so potent it was a physical ache in his gut. He’d gotten out of bed, his feet carrying him on a path he’d walked a hundred times in his mind. The hallway between their rooms had never felt so long. He’d paused at her door, hand raised, warring with himself. It was the middle of the night. This was madness. But the memory of her dream-self’s smile decided for him. His knuckles had met the wood, a soft but insistent knock, knock. The door had opened a crack, revealing her sleep-softened face, her hair a charming mess. «Alastor?» she’d whispered, confusion and concern wrinkling her brow. «Is everything okay?». «No,» he’d said simply, the truth tumbling out, «not really. Not even a little.» She’d opened the door wider, a silent invitation, and he’d stepped into her room. The air smelled like her—vanilla and something uniquely Y/N.
Now, back in the present moment, the initial tenderness of the kiss began to shift. The slow burn ignited into a swift, all-consuming fire. His hands slid from her face, down the column of her neck, coming to rest on her shoulders, pulling her flush against him. The thin cotton of her sleep shirt was a flimsy barrier between them. She melted into the kiss, her hands coming up to slide into his hair, her fingers tangling in the dark strands. A low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated need that vibrated through her entire body. He walked her backward, never breaking the kiss, until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed. He broke away, both of them breathing heavily. His eyes were black pools in the faint light, fixed on hers. «I need to see you,» he said, his voice husky, «all of you.» Her answer was to bring her hands to the hem of her shirt. She pulled it up and over her head in one fluid motion, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. The cool night air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps, but the heat in his gaze warmed her more than any blanket ever could. «God, Y/N,» he breathed, the words full of reverence. «You’re so beautiful it almost hurts to look at you.» His fingers, slightly trembling, traced the line of her collarbone, down to the lace edge of her bra. He dipped his head, and his lips followed the same path his fingers had blazed. When his mouth closed over the lace-covered peak of her breast, the sensation was so sharp, so sweet, that a sharp, punched-out cry—ah!— escaped her lips. Her back arched off the bed, pushing herself more firmly into his mouth. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, through the delicate fabric, his tongue painting wet, hot circles that made her squirm. The gentle, teasing pressure of his teeth—a soft, playful bite—made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. «Alastor… too much, but too little, too». «I know,» he murmured against her skin, his breath hot, «I know.» His hands went to the button of his own pajama pants, but she stopped him, placing her hands over his. «Let me,» she whispered. She pushed the material down over his hips, her fingers brushing against the heated skin of his stomach, making his muscles jump and twitch under her touch. A sharp, involuntary hiss of air escaped his clenched teeth. When he was quite free of them, he knelt on the bed, hovering over her gloriously aroused. He leaned down, capturing her mouth again in a deep, searching kiss. One of his hands slid down her side, over the curve of her hip, and hooked into the waistband of her panties. He didn’t push them down, not yet. He just held onto her there, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin of her lower belly, a silent, promising question. His other hand found hers on the sheets. He laced their fingers together, palm to palm, and squeezed. The gesture was so unexpectedly intimate, so connecting, that it made her breath catch. Their intertwined hands became an anchor point, a tether in the swirling, sensual storm he was building around them. He began to move, a slow, sensual rocking of his hips against the damp lace still separating them. The friction was exquisite torture for them both. A ragged moan was torn from him—unnnh—a raw, gut-deep sound of pleasure-pain. She matched his rhythm, her own hips rising to meet his, each brush sending sparks shooting up her spine. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, his hot pants fanning across her skin. «I can’t… I need…» he rasped, the words fractured. «I need, too,» she managed to gasp out, her free hand sliding down his back, feeling the powerful muscles flex and strain under her palm. His movements became less controlled, more urgent. The sound of their bodies moving together and the creaking of the bed filled the room. His breath hitched, his entire body tensing above hers, a bowstring pulled taut. His hand squeezed hers almost painfully tight.
«Y/N… look at me. Look at me.» She forced her eyes open, meeting his dark, desperate gaze. In that moment, completely exposed and teetering on the very edge, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. «I’m going to…» She watched, mesmerized, as he shifted above her. His free hand, the one not desperately clasping hers, left her hip and traveled between their feverish bodies. His fingers, clever and sure, found the saturated lace of her panties. He didn't tear them away. With a reverence that made her heart ache, he simply hooked a finger into the side and slowly, so slowly, began to draw the fragile barrier down her legs. The sound was a soft, wet shhhck of fabric peeling away from sensitized skin. The soft slide of her panties down her hips became a ritual, guided by the warm drag of his knuckles along her skin. He lowered himself as the fabric fell, his breath brushing her thigh before his lips followed. A reverent kiss—then another, and another—each pressed with a tenderness that trembled at its own intensity. His hands traveled behind the path of his mouth, caressing the length of her leg, tracing every curve with unhurried devotion. When he looked up at her, eyes half-lit and undone, the hunger there wasn’t harsh—it was aching, lost, the gaze of a man who had spent lifetimes deprived and incapable of any feeling and had finally found the one thing sacred enough to ruin him. His lips hovered above her skin, close enough that she felt the warmth, the need, the silent worship in the way he breathed her in. The cool air of the room was a shock against her newly bared heat, but it was fleeting. His gaze was a physical weight, hotter than any touch, as he drank in the sight of her, completely open to him now. A ragged, worshipful sound escaped him. His hips lowered, the hard, silken length of him settling against her, a searing brand at her very core. They both stilled, the sensation so immense, so perfect, it was beyond words. Her head fell back against the pillows, a long, trembling sigh whispering from her lips. «Look at me, sweetheart,» he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion that went far beyond lust, «please.» Her eyes rose to meet his, her vision swimming until it focused on his face, so close to hers. The intensity there, the raw vulnerability, stole what little breath she had left. «Is this alright?» he asked, the question a soft rumble against her mouth as he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. «Tell me this is what you want.»
Her answer was a fervent nod, her voice a hushed, desperate thing. «You're all I want. It’s only you, Alastor. Only you.» A groan of pure relief vibrated through his chest and into hers. He shifted his weight onto one elbow, the movement causing him to press against her more firmly, drawing a sharp, startled gasp from them both. His other hand, their fingers still tightly laced, was pressed into the mattress beside her head, a testament to their connection. He began to rub with a devastating, deliberate slowness. A gentle, rocking motion that was a slow, sweet torture. The sensitive tip of him traced her entrance, again and again. Each pass sent a jolt of pure, undiluted pleasure straight through her. A high, keening sound broke from her throat. «So perfect for me,» he whispered, his lips finding the fluttering pulse at her throat. His words were warm puffs of air against her damp skin. «Taking every bit of this so perfectly.» He punctuated his praise with a soft, open-mouthed kiss, then a gentle, playful nip of his teeth that made her jolt and cry out. His own control was fraying. His breathing was a ragged, uneven rhythm in her soft-furry ear. One of his knees nudged her legs wider, and she welcomed him, wrapping her limbs around his hips to draw him closer, to deepen this exquisite friction. The new angle was dizzying. His next rock forward made her back arched off the bed, her free hand flying to clutch at his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin. Her sudden, vocal pleasure seemed to shatter the last of his restraint. A guttural groan ripped from his throat. «Fuck, Y/N…» His head dropped, his forehead pressing against hers, their labored breaths mingling. His entire body was coiled, trembling with the effort of his glacial pace. She could feel the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders quivering under her palm. «I can’t… I can’t wait,» he gasped, the words strained, almost pained. «I need to be inside you. Now. Please.» He shifted his weight again, a final, decisive adjustment. The broad head of him pressed forward, not teasing anymore, but insistently, finally, beginning to…
The sound was sharp, imperious, and utterly alien. It didn’t belong in this room, in this moment of shared breath and sweat and yearning. They froze. Every muscle in Alastor’s body locked into a rigid statue above her. The only movement was the frantic beating of his heart against her chest and the frantic twitch of his velvet-soft deer ears, swiveling towards the door. Her own ears, usually so relaxed, stood stiffly alert. The moment hung, suspended and impossibly fragile. The knock came again, louder this time.
A voice, muffled but clear, called through the heavy wood. «Y/N? Are you awake? I thought I heard a noise.» It was Charlie. The sharp rapping at the door hung in the air like a gunshot, shattering the intimate world they had built. Alastor went utterly still above her, every muscle in his body rigid with arrested motion. His eyes, dark and wide with a potent mix of desire and alarm, locked with hers. From the hallway, the voice came again, closer now. «Y/N, everything okay in there?» Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the sudden panic. She squeezed Alastor’s hand, the one still tightly interlaced with hers, a silent plea for him to stay perfectly quiet. She took a deep, shaky breath, forcing her voice into a semblance of calm. «I’m fine!» she called out, her tone deliberately even, though it threatened to crack. «Just… just dropped a book. Sorry if it woke you!» A beat of silence stretched, unbearably long. She could feel Alastor’s breath, hot and shallow, against her cheek. He remained frozen, a statue of tense, warm muscle poised above her. «Alright,» the voice finally replied, sounding skeptical but resigned. «Well… goodnight then.»
«Goodnight!» she said, the words rushing out of her in a relieved exhale. They listened to the retreating footsteps until the only sound in the room was their own ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of their hearts. The tension didn't break; it simply shifted, morphing from panicked interruption back into a thick, aching need. Alastor’s forehead dropped to hers, a low, shuddering groan escaping him. The sound was pure, undiluted relief. «That was close,» he breathed, his voice a raw whisper. «Too close,» she agreed, her own voice trembling. For a long moment, they just lay there, foreheads pressed together, hands clasped, bodies still intimately aligned. The interruption had stolen their momentum, replacing frantic urgency with a heavy, palpable tension. The air between them seemed to vibrate with everything left unspoken, everything left undone. Slowly, deliberately, Alastor shifted. His free hand came up to cradle her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. His gaze was impossibly soft, filled with a tenderness that made her chest constrict. «Where were we?» he murmured, his lips ghosting over hers. He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth found hers in a kiss that was different from before. It wasn’t the tentative exploration of their first kiss, nor the desperate, building fire from minutes ago. This was deeper. More profound. A reclaiming. A ‘yes’ when they had just narrowly avoided a ‘no’. It was a slow, sensual melting of lips and tongues, a rediscovery of their connection that was both achingly sweet and fiercely passionate. ‘Mmmm…’ she sighed into his mouth, her body going pliant beneath his. He broke the kiss only to whisper against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. «I need you, Y/N. Not just like this, not just... what do you call it, you new generations? Petting?» His hips pressed down, the hard length of him nudging insistently against her damp heat, drawing a soft, shuddering ‘ohhh’ from her. «I need all of you.»
«Ally, please,» was all she could manage, the word a breathy surrender. Alastor froze. Not in rejection, not in hesitation—
but in shock. The word hung between them like something forbidden, fragile… precious.
A name no one had ever dared give him. Not in life, not in death.
A name that slipped from her lips not as a joke, not as a provocation—but as a plea, soft and intimate and unbearably tender. Color rushed up his cheeks so suddenly it almost startled him.
The Radio Demon, the Overlord feared by all of Hell… blushing like a man caught in the middle of a confession he wasn’t ready to admit aloud. His breath hitched. The hard lines of his composure wavered. He pulled back just enough to look at her. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, his expression unguarded in a way she had almost never seen. «What… what did you call me?» The question wasn’t anger. It was breathless, shaken wonder. His blush deepened, spreading to the tips of his ears, his body trembling just slightly as if the sound of that name had undone him more thoroughly than her touch ever could. Because in that single word, she gave him something he’d never had:
Belonging.
Affection.
An intimacy no one else was allowed to touch.
Alastor swallowed hard, trying—and failing—to mask the way it affected him. Her ‘please’ had set him burning. He, then, amazed and completely lost in her, begins to move; a slow, deliberate adjustment of his hips. His hand tightened around hers, their fingers laced together and pressed into the mattress above her head. She felt the broad head of him press against her entrance, no longer teasing, but with a purpose that made her breath catch. He pushed forward, an inch, then two, with an excruciating, beautiful slowness. A sharp, surprised gasp—ah!— escaped her as he filled her, the sensation of being stretched, of being so completely occupied, stealing the air from her lungs. It wasn’t a forceful entry; it was a tender, devastatingly slow claiming. «God… Y/N…» he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of his control. He stilled, buried deep inside her, letting them both adjust to the overwhelming feeling of penetration. His eyes were locked to hers, his face a mask of pained ecstasy. «I've never been so close to Heaven, mon cœur!» He began to move, withdrawing almost completely before sliding back in with that same agonizing slowness. Each thrust was a revelation. The wet, slick sound of their joining—shhlip—filled the quiet room, a intimate rhythm that matched the pounding of their hearts. His pace was a slow, rolling cadence, each movement designed to draw out every possible sensation. His free hand roamed her body, worshiping her. He cupped her breast, his thumb circling her peaked nipple until she was arching against him with a broken cry. He dipped his head, his lips and tongue following the same path, lavishing attention on each sensitive peak before delivering a gentle, playful bite that made her jolt and moan his name. «That’s it, sweetheart,» he praised, his voice a husky rumble against her skin. «Let me hear you. You sound so beautiful.» His thrusts began to deepen, to find a rhythm that had her clawing at his back, her heels tightening around his waist. The coil of pleasure tightening low in her belly was unbearable, a spring wound too tight. She was trembling, teetering on a precipice, her breath coming in ragged sobs. «Alastor… I’m… I can’t…»
«I know,» he breathed, his own control visibly fraying. His movements became less measured, more instinctual.
«Come for me, Y/N. Be a good doe. I’ve got you.» He drove into her, once, twice more, and it was enough. The world splintered. A raw, guttural cry was torn from her throat as the orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of blinding, shattering pleasure—nnnh! Ah! Ah!.
Her entire body convulsed around him, squeezing him tightly. For a long time, they simply lay there, entwined and breathless. Their hands were still tightly clasped. His weight was a warm, comforting pressure on her. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, his lips placing a soft, tender kiss on her damp skin.
Her free hand, the one not still wrapped in his, came up to stroke his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw.
«Please. Don’t... don't you dare move,» she said, continuing to involuntarily tighten the muscles of her pelvic floor, continuing to wet herself and drown him in her heat and moisture. He seemed to sink into her, into the mattress, his entire weight becoming a warm, comforting blanket. A deep, contented sigh rumbled through his chest and into hers. «Wouldn’t dream of it. It's so, mmm, pleasant,» he murmured lost in the pleasant sensation and envelopment of her heat. For a long while, they just breathed together. The only movement was the gentle rise and fall of their chests, syncing into a slow, shared rhythm. The air was still heavy with their scent, a mix of sweat, sex, and the faint vanilla of her skin. He nuzzled deeper into the curve of her neck, his lips placing another soft, almost unconscious kiss there. A shiver of pure pleasure, more tender than arousing, danced down her spine at the contact. His fingers, still laced tightly with hers on the pillow above her head, gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. It said I’m here. I’m not letting go. She turned her head, her lips finding his temple, kissing the damp hair there. He shifted slightly, just enough to lift his head and look down at her. In the moonlit dimness, his eyes were soft, the smoldering intensity replaced by a dazed, peaceful warmth. He looked younger somehow, all the guarded layers he usually wore stripped completely away.
«I meant what I said,» he whispered, his gaze unwavering. «About the dream. It wasn’t just a line. It was… you, laughing. The way the sun hit your hair. The way you looked at me. The way you touched me... It felt more real than being awake.» His admission was raw, vulnerable, and it made her heart swell. «And this?» she asked, her voice barely a breath, «does this feel real?» In answer, he lowered his head and captured her mouth in a slow, deeply sensual kiss. It wasn’t a kiss designed to ignite a new fire, but to tend to the warm, glowing embers of the one they’d just built. It was a kiss of affirmation. Of gratitude. His lips moved over hers with a languid, exploring tenderness that made her melt all over again. A soft, happy sound hummed from her throat into his. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both breathing a little faster. «It feels like the only real thing that’s ever happened to me,» he said, his voice husky with emotion. His hand slipped from hers, but only to trail down her arm, her side, coming to rest possessively on the curve of her hip. His thumb began to stroke slow, lazy circles on her skin. Every pass sent a tingling wave of awareness through her, a gentle reminder of the intimacy that they were sharing. It was a desired touch and her body, hyper-sensitive and singing from his attention, responded with a soft, throaty moan. Ohhh… A slow, wicked smile touched his lips.
«You like that?» he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble. «What do you think, Mr. Radio Boy?» she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed as the delicious sensation continued.
«Tell me,» he coaxed, leaning in to brush his lips against her shoulder. His teeth grazed her skin in a gentle, playful bite that was more a promise of possession than a mark. It wasn’t sharp, just a subtle pressure that made her gasp and her hips twitch involuntarily against his. Eep!
«Alastor…» His name was a sigh, a plea, a not so innocent request.
«Tell me what you feel, Y/N.» His hand slid from her hip, around to the small of her back, pressing her more firmly against him. Her eyes flew open to meet his, wide with the shocking, possessive intimacy of it. Her breath caught as his fingertips traced another slow, teasing line, that whisper-soft tickle that made every nerve spark alive. Her voice trembled when she tried to speak, the words tumbling out between shallow inhales. «It… it feels like you’re waking up my whole body,» she murmured, lashes fluttering as his touch skimmed higher, «like every place you touch suddenly remembers it exists; that I, exist, and only because of you.» He hummed, the sound low and pleased. His fingers grazed her ribcage—feather-light, wicked. She gasped.
«Ah—! That… that tickles, but not in a silly way. It’s like… like my skin is pulling toward your hand. I can’t decide if I want to squirm away or melt into you.» He smiled against her shoulder, amused. «And when you circle your thumb like that…» Her breath hitched as he did it again, slow and deliberate. «Gods, it shoots straight through me. It feels warm. Deep. Like you’re… touching more than my skin.» Her hand fisted lightly in his shirt, trying to anchor herself. «It’s too much and not enough at the same time,» she confessed, voice barely above a whisper. «Like my whole body is… waiting for you.» He chuckled softly, clearly savoring every word. «Alastor…» She shivered when he let his nails ghost gently along her side. «When you touch me like that, it feels like I’m coming undone,» her breath trembled—half-moan, half-plea, «and I don’t want you to stop.» His gaze darkened, not with alarm, but with a profound, heated satisfaction. «Mine,» he whispered, the word a rough, fervent prayer against her lips, «all mine!» He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into her mouth in a slow, claiming rhythm that mirrored what their bodies were doing. One of his hands tangled in her copper hair, holding her gently in place for his adoration, while the other continued its torturously slow exploration of her back, her hip, the swell of her bottom. Every touch, every squeeze, was accompanied by a soft, appreciative sound from him—mmph—and a corresponding, overwhelmed moan from her.
His scent was on her skin. His taste was in her mouth. She had never felt so thoroughly, completely claimed. So utterly wanted. He broke the kiss, both of them gasping for air. He rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his entire being focused on the points where their bodies connected. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.
«You are…» he started, then shook his head as if words were entirely insufficient. «I don’t have the words for what you are. You're splendid, you're everything, you're too much… you're… fucking mine! Do you understand?» Her hands coming up to frame his face. She pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time, pouring all her own awe and wonder into it. He responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her fully without ever breaking the kiss. They lay facing each other, a tangle of limbs under the rumpled sheets, their bodies still sealed together. His hand found hers again on the pillow, their fingers automatically intertwining, locking together as if by their own volition. The heat between them, which had settled into a warm, contented glow, began to kindle once more. The slow, sensual rocking of his hips started again, a gentle, almost imperceptible movement that was less about seeking a new peak and more about simply… feeling. Savoring. The wet, soft sound of their connection—shhlip—was a quiet, intimate secret in the dark. His breath hitched, a soft, ragged intake of air. «God, Y/N… I can still feel you… all around me. You’re so perfect. So warm. Holding me tight with a simple, gentle movement of mine. I love the effect I have on you.» His praise washed over her, stoking the embers of her desire back to a low flame. She tightened her hold on his hand, her body arching into his gentle thrust. «Don’t stop,» she breathed, her voice a plea, «don’t ever stop.» He groaned, a low, hungry sound, and deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a new, desperate edge. The tenderness was giving way to a rekindled urgency, a need to be closer still, to disappear into each other all over again. His free hand slid down her back, over the curve of her hip, his fingers digging into her flesh with a possessiveness that made her moan. «Again,» he rasped against her lips, his voice raw with a need that mirrored her own, «I need to feel you come around me again.» His hips pressed forward, a deliberate, promising motion that made her cry out. The sensation was overwhelming, the fullness, the warmth, the slick friction. She was already climbing, the coil of pleasure tightening impossibly fast. «Alastor, I—»
«Let me, sweetheart,» he interrupted, his breath hot against her ear, «just let me.» His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing her gasp. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a claiming, a consuming fire that mirrored the desperate, rolling rhythm of his hips. His fingers tightened around hers, their hands locked together beside her head, a white-knuckled anchor in the rising storm. He broke the kiss, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes blazing down at her.
«I want to feel it all,» he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of his control. «Every pulse, every shudder. I want to be so deep inside you when you fall apart that we forget where I end and you begin.» The words, so fervent and intimate, sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through her. Her body answered him, clenching around his length in a involuntary spasm that drew a guttural groan from his chest. Unnnh! «Yes… just like that!» he praised, his voice thick with awe. «You’re so close, I can feel it. You’re trembling for me.» He shifted his angle, just slightly, and the head of his cock brushed against a spot so exquisitely sensitive it made her vision blur. A high, broken sound—eeep!—escaped her, and her back arched off the bed. «There?» he murmured, a wicked, knowing tone in his voice. He did it again, a slow, targeted thrust that made her toes curl. Shlrp. She could only nod frantically, her words stolen by the sheer intensity of the sensation. Her free hand scrabbled at his back, her nails digging into the firm muscle, urging him on, begging for more.
«Use your words, my beautiful Y/N,» he coaxed, his breath hot against her ear. He punctuated the request with another deep, rolling thrust that had her seeing stars. Squelch. The wet, filthy sound of their joined bodies was a lewd symphony, underscoring his every movement. «Yes! There… right there, Alastor, please!» she cried out, the words torn from her. A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. «Good girl. So good for me. Now come for me. Let me feel you.»
It was the final permission she needed. The world dissolved into pure, blinding sensation. The coil snapped, and pleasure detonated through her, wave after vicious, beautiful wave. A raw, keening wail was ripped from her throat as her body convulsed around him, milking his length in a frantic, rhythmic pulse. Ah! Ah! Unnnh!
The feeling of her climax, so intense and all-consuming, tore his own release from him. With a shattered cry of her name—Y/N!—he drove into her one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt as he came. A hot, pulsing rush—splurt—flooded her depths, a scalding jet of possession that seemed to go on and on, each throb of his cock echoing the aftershocks quaking through her body. Gush. Splurt.
He collapsed onto her, his full weight a welcome heaviness, his face buried in her neck. Their clasped hands finally loosened, his fingers going slack against hers. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged, gulping breaths and the wild hammering of their hearts slowing to a syncopated rhythm. The warmth of his release seeped deep within her, a constant, intimate reminder. A faint, wet trickle escaped—glrk—and she whimpered at the sheer vulnerability of it. He must have felt it too. He shifted, not to pull away, but to press himself even deeper, a soft, possessive grind that made more of his spend seep out with a soft squish. He groaned, a deep, satisfied sound. «Stay... inside,» she whispered, the words a plea, «Just… stay.» Her spasms that continued to tighten him.
«I’m not going anywhere,» he murmured against her damp skin, his lips placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on her shoulder. His teeth grazed the spot afterward, a gentle, playful bite that made her jump. He soothed the tiny sting with his tongue. «I want to feel all of it. I want to feel you holding me inside you for as long as you can.»
His words were like kindling on the warm embers of her pleasure. A faint, throbbing ache began to build again deep within her, a sweet sensitivity that was already yearning for more. She clenched around him, a faint, experimental pulse, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from him and a fresh, hot trickle. Squelch.
«Fuck, Y/N,» he breathed, his voice full of wonder. «You’re still so perfect. So tight. Even now.» He began to move again, the motion infinitesimal at first. A barely-there rock of his hips, just enough to make the sensitive nerves sing and another soft, wet sound echo between them. Shhlip. It wasn’t about another climax; it was about prolonging the connection, savoring the overwhelming closeness. His hand, which had been resting on her hip, slid around to her lower belly, his palm pressing down gently. «Can you feel it?» he whispered, his voice reverent. «Can you feel me there? Filling you up?»
The possessive intimacy of the gesture, the raw truth of his words, sent a fresh shiver of pure arousal through her. She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed. «Yes. I... I feel you.»
«Look at me,» he commanded softly. She opened her eyes, meeting his dark, intense gaze. The tenderness there was almost too much to bear. «I want to do it again,» he said, his voice low and earnest. «I want to feel you come on my cock just like that, screaming my name. I want to fill you up until it’s all you can feel, all you can think about.» He pressed down with his palm again, a deliberate, claiming pressure. Squish. «Will you let me?»
His fingertips were a brand on her skin, tracing lazy, meaningless patterns that felt like a secret language written just for her. Each slow sweep over the curve of her spine, each gentle press into the softness of her lower back, was a whispered promise, a confession. The words themselves were a low, intimate murmur against the shell of her ear, a litany of desires both simple and profound.
«I dreamed of the scent of your skin,» he breathed, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below her earlobe, «like vanilla and cocoa. I woke up craving it. Craving you.» A soft, involuntary sound escaped her—a contented mmm—as she arched into his touch. Their hands, still loosely entwined from their climax, rested between them on the rumpled sheet, a constant, grounding connection. «And this,» he continued, his voice a husky rasp as his other hand slid down to cup the swell of her hip, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there, «this curve right here. I woke up aching to feel this.» His touch, so simple, sent a fresh wave of sensation through her oversensitive body. A thrumming warmth began to pool low in her belly again, and a throaty, overwhelmed moan—ahhh—shook through her. She pressed her face into his shoulder, embarrassed and thrilled by her own lack of control. He stilled, his entire body focusing on the sound she’d made. A low, approving hum vibrated in his chest. «You are so responsive,» he whispered, nuzzling into her hair. «Every part of you sings for me. I love it. I love drawing these sounds from you.» He shifted then, a subtle roll of his hips that pressed him more firmly against her. The movement was small, but the effect was electric. A fresh, warm trickle of his release seeped from within her, a wet, intimate squelch that made her gasp into his skin. Her inner muscles fluttered around him in a reflexive, sensitive pulse. «Alastor…» His name was a sigh, a plea for mercy she didn’t truly want. «Shhh, I know,» he soothed, his hand tightening on her hip. «I feel it too. It’s… incredible. You’re still so perfect around me. So warm.» He dipped his head, capturing her lips in a deep, sensual kiss. It was slow and exploring, a rediscovery of the taste of her, of the way her breath hitched when his tongue swept against hers. It was a kiss that said I’m not done savoring you. She melted into it, her free hand coming up to tangle in the dark silk of his hair, holding him to her. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless. His eyes, dark and gleaming in the low light, held hers. «You asked me if this felt real,» he murmured, his thumb stroking her cheek. «It’s the most real thing I’ve ever known.» He rolled them onto their sides, never breaking their connection, their joined hands now trapped between their beating hearts. His freed hand resumed its journey over her back, skating over the slight dampness there, tracing each vertebra with a reverence that made her want to cry. His lips found her shoulder again, and this time, his teeth closed over the muscle in a gentle, playful bite. It wasn’t hard, just a subtle pressure, a claiming that sent a jolt straight to her core. She jerked against him with a sharp, surprised moan, her body arching. He soothed the spot instantly with a slow, open-mouthed kiss. «You are so sweet,» he whispered, his breath hot on her damp skin. «I want to taste every inch of you. I want to learn all the places that make you make that sound.» His hand slid from her back, over the generous curve of her hip, and down to the back of her thigh. He hooked his hand there and gently hitched her leg higher over his hip. The shift in angle was minuscule, but it changed everything. He was suddenly nestled deeper, the fullness more profound. A soft, wet sound—shhlip—accompanied the movement, and they both froze for a second, hyper-aware of the intimacy. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. «You see?» he murmured, his voice thick with possessive wonder. He gave another experimental, gentle rock of his hips. Squelch. «We fit together. Perfectly.» The sensation was overwhelming. The sensitivity, the warmth, the sheer physical reality of him still buried inside her, of his release making their joining slick and intimate—it was a constant, throbbing reminder of their closeness. Her breath caught in her throat, coming out as a ragged sob. «I can’t… it’s too much,» she gasped, though her body was clutching at him, holding him deep.
«It’s not,» he argued softly, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes were closed, his entire being focused on the feeling. He began to move again, a slow, sweet, rocking rhythm that had nothing to do with pursuit and everything to do with possession. It was a lazy, sensual glide, a way to simply exist inside her, to prolong the connection until the last possible second. Each tiny movement drew another soft, wet sound from their bodies—shhlip… glrk… squelch—a lewd, beautiful symphony for only them. His praise was a continuous, whispered stream against her lips. «So beautiful… taking me so deep… still holding me so tight… my Y/N…» His words, combined with the relentless, gentle friction, were building something new within her. Not the sharp, frantic peak from before, but a slow, rising tide of pleasure, a deep, throbbing ache of need that was somehow more intense for its patience. His hand slid from her thigh, around to her lower belly, his palm pressing down gently, possessively. «I’m still there. Filling you up.» She could only nod, her eyes squeezed shut, lost in the sensation. «Look at me,» he commanded, his voice soft but insistent. She forced her eyes open. The raw tenderness and smoldering heat in his gaze stole the air from her lungs.
«I want to stay like this all night,» he whispered, his hips never ceasing their slow, sensual roll. «I want to fall asleep inside you. I want to wake up still buried in your warmth.» He pressed down with his palm again, a deliberate, claiming pressure that made her cry out. «Would you let me do that?»
The very idea—of him staying inside her, of falling asleep and waking up so intimately connected—sent a shockwave of pure, aching desire through her. It was the most possessive, the most tender thing anyone had ever said to her. Her answer was a breathless «yes» that was more air than sound. A slow, devastating smile spread across his face, one that reached his dark eyes and lit them from within. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. As he kissed her, his hand, which had been pressed possessively against her lower belly, slid down to the back of her thigh. His fingers wrapped around her leg, his grip firm and warm. Slowly, never breaking their kiss, he began to lift her leg. He guided it higher, bending it at the knee and hooking it over his hip. The movement was deliberate, intimate, a quiet shift in the landscape of their bodies. The change was instantaneous. The angle was different. Deeper. More profound. A sharp, surprised gasp—ah!— escaped her lips against his. The fullness, which had been a warm, throbbing constant, suddenly intensified, pressing against a new, exquisitely sensitive place deep within her. Her inner muscles fluttered around him in a reflexive, startled pulse, and she felt him shudder in response, a low groan—mmmmph—vibrating from his chest into hers.
«There we go,» he murmured, his voice a husky rasp against her lips. His free hand found hers on the pillow, their fingers automatically weaving together, locking tightly. The simple act of their hands intertwining felt as intimate as anything else, a binding promise. «That’s it. Just like that.» He gave an experimental, slow roll of his hips. The motion, with her leg hitched up, was transformative. It wasn’t just a glide; it was a targeted, deep thrust that brushed against that perfect, overwhelming spot with unerring accuracy. The sensation was so intense it was almost painful in its sweetness. A high, keening moan—eeee!—was torn from her throat, and her head fell back against the pillow, her eyes squeezing shut. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against his chest. «Eyes on me» he commanded softly, his breath hot on her skin. She forced her eyes open, her vision slightly blurred with pleasure. His gaze was locked on hers, red, dark and intense, filled with a awe that mirrored the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. His hips moving again in that same slow, deep, rolling rhythm. Each movement was accompanied by a soft, wet, intimate sound—squelch… shhlip—a lewd soundtrack to their encounter. «You take me so perfectly. You feel… God, Y/N, you feel like you were made for me.»
His praise washed over her, stoking the fire he’d already built. She was climbing again, the coil of pleasure tightening low in her belly with a ferocity that stole her breath. Her fingers tightened around his, her knuckles white. She was helpless to do anything but feel, to let the waves of sensation crash over her. He kept his pace agonizingly slow, each thrust a masterclass in delayed gratification. He was drawing out every second, making her feel every inch of him, every brush against that spot that made her see stars. His eyes never left hers, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face.
«That’s my doe,» he rasped, his own control visibly fraying. A sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. «So beautiful when you come apart for me. On me. I can feel you getting tighter. Can you feel it? Can you feel how close you are?» She could only nod frantically, a desperate, pleading sound catching in her throat. She was balanced on a razor’s edge, trembling, completely at his mercy. He lowered his head, his lips finding the sensitive column of her neck. He lavished the skin with open-mouthed kisses, his tongue tracing a hot path before his teeth closed gently over her pulse point. The gentle bite wasn’t sharp, just a subtle, playful pressure that sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to her core. She cried out, her hips bucking against his. He soothed the spot with his tongue. «I love the sounds you make,» he breathed into her skin, his voice thick with desire. «I dreamt of that, too. Your voice, breaking when you—» He drove into her, a fraction harder, a fraction deeper, and it was the final nudge she needed. The world shattered. Pleasure, white-hot and blinding, erupted through her, wave after vicious, breathtaking wave. A raw, guttural cry—Unnnh! Alastor!—was ripped from her as her body convulsed around his length, clutching him, milking him in a frantic, rhythmic pulse that seemed to go on forever. Through the haze, she felt his own control snap. Her climax tore his release from him, again. With a shattered groan of her name, he buried himself to the hilt, his body shuddering as he came. A hot, pulsing rush—splurt—flooded her depths, a scalding jet that seemed to go on and on, each throb of his cock a perfect echo of the aftershocks still racking her body. Gush. Splurt. He collapsed onto her, his full weight a welcome anchor, his face buried in her neck. Their clasped hands finally relaxed, their grip going slack but their fingers still intertwined. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged, gulping breaths and the wild, slowing beat of their hearts. The warmth of his release seeped deep within her, a possessive, intimate heat. A faint, wet trickle escaped with a soft glrk, and she whimpered at the sheer vulnerability of it. He shifted, not to pull away, but to press himself even deeper with a soft, possessive grind that made more of his spend seep out with a quiet squish. He groaned, a deep, utterly satisfied sound. His lips found her shoulder again, placing a tender kiss there before his teeth grazed the spot in that same gentle, playful bite that made her jump. He soothed it instantly with his tongue. He nuzzled into her hair, his breathing beginning to even out. Her leg was still hooked over his hip, their bodies still locked together, their hands still entwined. He was a comforting, heavy warmth, and the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her chest was a lullaby. She could feel the deep, even pulses of him still within her, a final, fading echo of his pleasure. The room was silent except for their breathing. The moon cast long shadows across the floor, illuminating the rumpled sheets and their entangled forms. All she could feel was the overwhelming, possessive warmth of him still deep inside her, the heavy, comforting weight of his body, the steady thrum of his heart against hers. A faint, wet squelch accompanied her smallest shift, a constant, intimate reminder of their connection. With a surge of strength that seemed to come from somewhere deep within her spent body, she pushed against his chest. It wasn’t a rejection, but a reclamation. A soft, surprised sound—oh?—escaped him as she gently urged him onto his back. The movement was clumsy, their bodies still joined, a warm, wet sound marking the shift in position.
And then she was on top. Straddling his hips, she looked down at him, her brown hair a messy curtain around her flushed face. The moonlight caught the sheen of sweat on her skin, the dazed wonder in her eyes. She could feel him, nestled within her, a part of her. The new angle was different, deeper in a way that made her breath catch. Ah! Her head fell back for a second, a throaty moan escaping her as she adjusted to the sensation. When she looked down again, his hands were already on her, his palms sliding up her thighs to settle on her hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. His eyes, dark and intense, devoured the sight of her above him. «Look at you,» he breathed, his voice full of raw reverence. «My god, Y/N…» A slow, sensual smile touched her lips. This was new. This was hers. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the firm muscle and the frantic beat of his heart under her palms. Then, she began to move. It was a slow, tentative roll of her hips. An exploration. The friction was exquisite, a sweet, building burn that made her whimper. Mmmph… The soft, wet sound of their bodies moving together—squelch… glrk—filled the quiet room. His fingers tightened on her hips, not guiding, just feeling. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a low groan rumbling in his chest. «That’s it,» he encouraged, his voice strained. «Just like that. Take what you need.» Emboldened, she leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders. The shift brought her breasts close to his face, and he didn’t hesitate. He turned his head, nuzzling the soft curve of one breast before his lips found her peak through the damp skin. He suckled gently, his tongue tracing a hot, lazy circle that made her cry out—Oh! Her hips lost their tentative rhythm, grinding down onto him with a new, desperate need. The coil of pleasure, which had never fully unwound, began to tighten again with a vengeance. She was so sensitive, every movement sending shockwaves through her. «Alastor… I— I need you!» His name was a plea, a prayer. He released her breast with a soft, wet pop and looked up at her, his gaze smoldering. One of his hands left her hip, coming up to cradle the back of her head. He pulled her down to him, capturing her mouth in a deep, searching kiss. Their lips moved together in a slow, sensual dance, a world away from the frantic passion of before. This was a kiss of shared possession, of mutual awe. She could taste herself on his lips, a musky, intimate flavor that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to her core. Her hips stuttered against his, a frantic, involuntary motion. Squelch. Shhlip. He broke the kiss, both of them gasping for air. «You feel… incredible,» he rasped, his forehead pressed to hers, «the way you move on me… I can’t think.» His free hand found hers where it gripped his shoulder. He pried her fingers loose and brought her palm to his lips, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the center. Then, he laced their fingers together, squeezing tightly. The joining of their hands felt as intimate as the joining of their bodies, a tether in the rising storm of sensation.
«Don’t let go,» she breathed, her voice trembling with the force of her building pleasure. «Never,» he vowed, his voice fierce. His other hand splayed across the small of her back, pressing her down onto him as she rose up, guiding her into a rhythm that was pure, unadulterated bliss. She rode him with a growing confidence, her body taking what it needed, what they needed. The sounds grew louder, wetter—squelch, glrk, shhlip—a lewd symphony conducted by the slow, rolling cadence of her hips. Her moans were continuous now, a high, broken soundtrack to their lovemaking. Ah! Ah! Unnnh! He watched her, utterly captivated, his eyes dark with a mixture of tenderness and fierce pride. His teeth grazed his lower lip as he watched her breasts bounce with each movement, a gentle bite of his own desire. «You’re so beautiful like this, fuck. FUCK!» he murmured, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. «So powerful. Taking your pleasure from me. Using me.» His words, so raw and honest, pushed her higher. She could feel the tension coiling, tighter and tighter, a spring about to snap. Her movements became more frantic, less controlled. «I’m… I’m close… again,» she gasped, her rhythm faltering.
«Look at me,» he commanded, his voice soft but unwavering. She open her eyes, meeting his intense gaze. The connection was electric, overwhelming. «Keep looking at me. Don't look away for any reason,» he whispered, his hand squeezing hers. «Come, now. Come for your man. Come on my cock.» His crude, fervent plea was her undoing. Her man. God... How could his words have such a powerful effect as to influence her so much? A raw, guttural cry was torn from her throat as the world dissolved into pure, white-hot ecstasy. Her body seized around him, clutching him in a series of frantic, pulsing waves that seemed to wrench the very soul from her. Unnnh! Ah! She collapsed forward onto his chest, a dead weight. Their joined hands were trapped between their sweating, heaving bodies. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged, gulping breaths. His arms came around her, holding her tightly to him. He nuzzled into her hair, placing a soft, damp kiss on her temple. «Stay right there,» he murmured, his voice hoarse with wonder. He shifted beneath her, a slight, possessive grind of his hips that pressed him even deeper and drew another soft, wet sound from their bodies. Squish. His hand, which was still intertwined with hers, gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It was a promise. A claim. A beginning. She clenched around him, a faint pulse, a silent plea for him to stay. A sharp, pleasured hiss escaped him. Ssss… «Fuck, Y/N,» he breathed, his voice full of awe. «You’re going to be the death of me.» He pressed down on the small of her back, keeping her firmly in place.
A sudden, overwhelming surge of something else—a giddy, breathless need for space, for air, for a moment to process the sheer magnitude of what was happening between them—coursed through her. With a strength that surprised even her, she pushed herself up, breaking the intimate seal of their bodies with a soft, wet sound—shhlip. A fresh, warm trickle escaped down her inner thigh. Glrk. Alastor’s eyes flew open, dark with confusion and a flicker of something like alarm. «Y/N?» His voice was rough, stripped raw. She didn’t answer. She just slid off the bed, her legs trembling so violently she almost crumpled to the floor. The cool night air hit her damp skin, raising goosebumps. She took one shaky step back, then another, her heart hammering against her ribs like a wild thing. He propped himself up on his elbows, the sheets pooling at his waist. «Where are you going?!» The confusion was being swiftly replaced by a dawning, hungry curiosity as he watched her retreat. The moonlight sculpted her form, highlighting the curve of her hip, the sway of her breasts, the slick evidence of their joining glistening on her skin. Another step back. Her heel touched the cool wooden floorboards near the rug. The air between them crackled with a new, electric tension. A slow, wicked smile touched Alastor’s lips. He understood. This wasn’t a rejection. This was a new game. In one fluid motion, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He was a silhouette of lean muscle and intent, his gaze locked on her. He took a single, deliberate step forward. Y/N’s breath caught. She turned and took off, a breathless, unsteady dash across the room, her soft laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon. He was after her in an instant, not a run, but a predatory stalk. The quiet room was filled with the sound of their breathing—her quick, panting gasps and his low, steady rhythm. The soft shuff of his feet on the rug, the quicker pit-pat of her bare feet on the smooth floor. She darted behind a high-backed armchair, peeking over the top. He slowed, circling it, his eyes gleaming. «You can’t hide from me,» he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the stillness. «I can still smell you on me. I can still feel you.» She ducked as he lunged playfully around one side, scrambling to the other with a gleeful shriek. Ah! He was faster, his arm snaking around the chair to catch her wrist. His fingers encircled her, warm and firm. «Got you!» he breathed, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse point there. With a twist and a giggle, she slipped from his grasp—shhlip—her skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat. She escaped towards the window, the long, silky curtains billowing slightly in the night breeze. He followed, cornering her against the cool glass. The moon lit her face, her eyes wide and sparkling, her lips parted. He didn’t grab her. He simply placed his hands on the window pane on either side of her, caging her in, his body just inches from hers. The heat radiating from him was immense. «Nowhere left to run,» he whispered, dipping his head to brush his lips against the sensitive shell of her ear. His breath was hot. A full-body shudder wracked her frame. The sound was a throaty, overwhelmed moan that seemed to surprise even her. She was hyper-sensitive, every accidental brush of his chest against her nipples, every puff of his breath on her neck, sending jolts of lightning to her core. He smiled against her skin, savoring the reaction. «You like this,» he observed, his voice thick with delight. «You like being chased.» His hands slid from the glass down to her hips, his touch feather-light. Yet she jumped as if branded, another soft cry—mmmhn—escaping her. Her head fell back against the window with a quiet thunk. «Alastor, I'm a prey. YOUR prey. I'm your doe.» It was a surrender and a plea.
He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a deep, sensual kiss. It was slow and exploring, a languid tasting that was a world away from their frantic pursuit. His tongue swept against hers, and her knees nearly buckled. Mmmmpfh. Her hands came up, not to push him away, but to tangle in the dark silk of his hair, holding him to her. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathless. He laced the fingers of one hand with hers, pinning it gently against the cool glass beside her head. The intertwining of their fingers was as intimate as any kiss. Then, his lips found the column of her neck, worshiping the skin with open-mouthed kisses and devoted licks. His hand left hers, both of his now sliding down to cup the backs of her thighs. In one smooth motion, he lifted her. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, a soft oh of surprise escaping her as he carried her the few steps back towards the bed. He didn’t lay her down. He stood at the edge of the bed, holding her suspended against him, her back gently pressed against one of the tall, ornately carved bedposts. The cool wood was a shock against her heated skin. He leaned in, his lips finding hers again in a kiss that was all-consuming, all-possessing. Her hands tightened around his shoulder blades. He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing ragged. «Do you have any idea what you do to me?» he rasped, «any idea how beautiful you are like this? Chased and caught. All mine.» He shifted his hold on her, his grip firm, and she felt the hard length of him press against her core. It was an accidental brush, a hint of what was to come, but it was enough to make her vision blur. A raw, keening wail was ripped from her throat. Ah! Ah! «I need—» she gasped, her words fracturing. «Me?» he whispered. Held aloft against the carved bedpost, her legs locked around his waist, she felt utterly captured. And she never wanted to be free. But then, a new impulse, sharp and undeniable, shot through her. Slowly, trembling from head to toe, she began to unwind her legs from him. Her muscles protested, weak and liquid from exertion and pleasure. Alastor’s grip on her thighs tightened for a fraction of a second, a wordless question in his dark, intense eyes. «Let me...» she breathed, her voice a husky rasp she barely recognized. She slid down the front of his body, an agonizingly slow descent. The rough hair on his chest brushed against her sensitive skin, his hard stomach muscles tensing as she passed over them. She felt every inch of him, a friction that was its own sweet torture. She didn’t stop until she was on her knees before him on the soft rug. The moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the stark hunger on his face. He looked down at her, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, his expression a mixture of awe and raw, unvarnished need. Her eyes never left his as she reached for him. Her hands, still shaking, found his hips, her thumbs stroking the sharp bones there. The feel of him under her palms was solid, real. This was no dream. She leaned forward, her copper hair brushing against his thighs. She heard his sharp intake of breath—a ragged hiss—as she pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his lower abdomen. His skin was hot, tasted of salt, wood and him. A low groan rumbled deep in his chest. Unnnh. Emboldened, she nuzzled him, her lips tracing a path downward. Her heart was a wild drum against her ribs, her own arousal a throbbing, insistent beat between her legs. This was for her. This was her taking control of the worship, her turn to learn the taste of him, to draw the sounds from him. She finally took him into her hand. He was so hard, velvet over steel, and so incredibly warm. A single, thick drop of moisture beaded at his tip. «What... what are you... doing?» Without breaking their locked gaze, she leaned in and swiped it away with her tongue. The taste was musky, uniquely his.
A full-body shudder wracked his frame. His head fell back with a guttural sound, a shattered «Fuck…» that was more air than voice. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, clenched into fists. She took him into her mouth. It wasn’t a swift, deep taking, but a slow, sensual claiming. Her lips closed around the head of his cock, her tongue swirling in a slow, exploring circle. The sound was soft, wet. Shhlip. His hips jerked involuntarily, a tiny, aborted thrust.
«Y/N… Jesus… Christ!» His voice was a broken thing. She took him deeper, her eyes fluttering closed for just a second as she adjusted to the feel of him, the solid weight on her tongue. She focused on the sensation, on the sharp, pleasured breaths he was sucking in above her. She opened her eyes again, needing to see him, to watch him come undone by her mouth. One of his hands came up, his fingers spearing into her hair. But he didn’t push, didn’t guide. His touch was a caress, a possessive anchor. His thumb stroked her temple with a tenderness that made her want to weep. She began to move, establishing a slow, steady rhythm. Up and down, her lips sliding along his length. Each pass was accompanied by a soft, wet sound—shhlip… glrk—that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet room. She could feel the tension coiling in his body, the fine tremors in the muscles of his thighs under her hands. His praise was a continuous, breathless murmur. «God… your mouth… so good… so perfect… so small.» A deep groan tore from him as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking gently. «Fuck!!! Yesss… just like that… ah!» She loved it. She loved the power of it, the way his control was fraying with every pass of her tongue, every soft suck. She loved the taste of him, the feel of him, the raw, unfiltered sounds she was pulling from his throat. One of her hands came up to cup him, her fingers gently cradling the heavy weight of his balls, full of seed again. The gentle brush of her fingers there wrenched a choked, desperate sound from him. Eegh! He was unraveling, his breathing becoming a ragged pant.
«I’m not… I can’t last… you’re too…» His words dissolved into a moan as she took him deep again, her nose brushing the coarse hair at his base. Gulp. His fingers tightened in her hair, not painfully, but with a desperate urgency. «Look at me,» he gasped, his voice strained. «Please… I need to see you taking me in your mouth.»
She slowed her movements, pulling back until just the tip was in her mouth, her tongue flicking over that sensitive spot. She brought her eyes back to his. The sight of him nearly undid her. His face was an expression of agonized pleasure, his eyes black with need, his lips parted. He was utterly lost in what she was doing to him. It was the most powerful thing she had ever felt. «You’re so beautiful like this,» he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek. «Watching you… on your knees… taking me… my perfect, perfect girl.» His words, the raw reverence in them, sent a fresh jolt of heat through her. She moaned around him, the vibration drawing a sharp, punched-out cry from his lips. Ah! His control shattered. She kept panting around his cock, stimulating it with the vibration of her moans. «I’m gonna… Y/N, I’m—Can I come inside your little mouth?» he says, rubbing his thumb across her warm, red cheek. He tried to pull back, a gesture of consideration even in his delirium, but she held him fast, her hands on his hips, her mouth refusing to release him. She wanted this. She wanted all of him. Her silent response was all the permission he needed. «I'm—I'm cumming!!!» With a guttural roar of her name, his release crashed over him. His body went rigid, his back arching, his ears flattened against his skull, twitching. A hot, pulsing rush flooded her mouth—splurt—a scalding jet of salt and musk. She swallowed instinctively, taking him, accepting everything he gave her. Gush. Splurt. He cried out, a raw, uninhibited sound that was pure ecstasy. His knees buckled, and he swayed above her, his hand in her hair holding on for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure wracked his frame. She stayed with him, gentling her movements, drawing out every last shuddering pulse until he was spent, until his body was slack and trembling. A final, weak throb against her tongue. Glrk. She released him with a soft, wet sound. Shhlip. For a long moment, there was only the sound of his ragged, gulping breaths. He slowly slumped to his knees before her, collapsing onto the rug so they were face to face. His eyes were glazed, his face slick with sweat. He looked utterly, completely wrecked. He reached for her, his hands cradling her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. His touch was reverent, shaking. «That was… intense.» He swallowed, his voice hoarse and ruined. «No one… I’ve never…» He leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers, his eyes squeezed shut. «You overwhelm me.» He kissed her then, a deep, searching kiss where he could taste himself on her lips. It was possessive, thankful, awestruck. When he pulled back, his dark eyes were shining with an emotion so deep it stole her breath. Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the pulse she could still feel between her legs. The taste of him was still on her lips, a musky, intimate claim. A slow, daring smile touched her mouth. She rose to her feet on trembling legs, her body humming with a newfound, intoxicating power. She took a single, deliberate step back from him, then another, her eyes never leaving his. The air crackled. Alastor stayed on his knees, watching her, his dark eyes burning with a mixture of awe and raw hunger. He made to rise, but she shook her head, a single, silent command. He stilled, a low, intrigued sound rumbling in his chest. She turned her back to him, the act itself a form of intimacy. The moonlight streaming through the window painted her skin in shades of silver and shadow, highlighting the curve of her spine, the gentle swell of her hips. She took a few unsteady steps toward the small writing desk nestled in the corner of the room. Her breath was a shallow pant. Ah… ah… Every nerve ending was alive, hyper-sensitive from his touch, his taste, the sound of his release.
She placed her palms flat on the cool, polished wood of the desk, leaning forward slightly. The surface was scattered with a few innocuous items—a forgotten pen, a small stack of papers, a hairbrush. She focused on them, her mind racing, a plan forming through the haze of desire. «I… I think I left my… my hair clip here earlier,» she murmured, her voice husky and a little too high. The lie was transparent, flimsy, and she knew he saw right through it. It was all part of the game. She bent forward from the waist, a slow, deliberate arch that presented the full, tempting curve of her backside to him. The movement was an invitation, a question posed in the silent language of their bodies. She heard his sharp intake of breath from across the room—a ragged hiss. Her fingers, trembling, fumbled with the imaginary search. She brushed the pen aside. Click. She shifted a paper. Shff. All the while, she was achingly aware of his gaze on her, feeling it like a physical touch tracing the line of her legs, the secret place where her thighs met. Then, she exposed herself to him and the cool night air. A soft, surprised gasp escaped her at her own audacity. The sound was barely more than a puff of air, but it echoed in the silent room. For a moment, there was nothing. Only the sound of their breathing and the heavy, expectant silence. Then, the soft shuff of his feet on the rug. He was behind her in an instant, not touching her yet, his heat a palpable force against her bare skin. She could feel the warmth of him, the faint tremor in the air that spoke of his barely leashed control. «Looking for this?» his voice was a low, gravelly murmur right beside her ear. His hand came into her field of vision, holding not a hair clip, but the pen she had just moved. He placed it down with a soft tap. His other hand settled on her hip, his touch so electric she jolted against the desk, a sharp, wanting cry torn from her throat. His laugh was a soft, dark whisper. «So responsive.» His fingers splayed across her skin, possessive and warm, his thumb stroking slow, maddening circles that made her thighs quake. He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, blanketing her in his heat. His lips found the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder, and he lavished the skin with a slow, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue traced a hot, wet path before his teeth closed in a gentle, playful bite. The sensation—the subtle pressure, the sharp hint of possession—was her undoing. A raw, keening moan wrenched itself from her, and her knees threatened to buckle. He held her up, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her back firmly against the hard length of him straining against his semi-open pajama pants. The friction was exquisite torture.
«Alastor…» His name was a broken plea. «I’m here,» he breathed into her skin, his voice thick with a reverence that made her want to weep. «Right here.» His free hand found hers where it was splayed, white-knuckled, on the desk. He pried her fingers loose and laced them with his own, squeezing tightly. The simple act of their hands intertwining, pinned together on the cool wood, felt more intimate than anything that had come before. It was a binding, a promise. He began to move against her, a slow, rhythmic rocking of his hips that was pure, agonizing tease. The rough fabric of his pants rubbed against her exposed, slick flesh with every pass—a soft, maddening shhlip… shhlip… sound that filled the room. Each motion brushed against the most sensitive part of her, a ghost of the connection they both craved. Her moans became a continuous, breathless litany. «Ah! Yes… oh… just there… more, Alastor, more!» She was mindless with need, pushing back against him, seeking more pressure, more friction, more. «You feel that?» he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of his own control. His lips were on her neck again, his words a hot vibration against her skin. «You feel how much I want you? How I ache for you?» She could only nod frantically, her cheek pressed against the cool wood of the desk. Her fingers tightened around his, their joined hands a desperate anchor. He shifted his stance, widening his legs, and the angle changed. The next rock of his hips was lower, harder, the pressure more direct. A guttural, punched-out sound—Oof!—escaped her, and her vision whited out for a second. The coil of pleasure in her belly pulled taut, ready to snap from this alone. «This is what you wanted, isn’t it?» he whispered, his voice dark and tender. He released her hand only to bring his own down, his palm pressing possessively on the small of her back, arching her just so. The new position was dizzying, overwhelming. «Stay bent over for me. Open for me, my beautiful, perfect doe.» His praise washed over her, a fuel to the fire. She was so close, balanced on a razor’s edge, her entire body trembling with the force of the pleasure he was wringing from her with just this. He stilled, his body rigid against hers. The sudden lack of motion was its own exquisite agony. «Tell me,» he commanded, his voice a hoarse whisper. «Tell me what you need me to do.» The command hung in the air, a low, vibrating thrum that seemed to settle deep in her bones. Tell me what you need me to do. His body was a rigid, heated wall against her back, his control a palpable force. The pressure of him, his body, his heat, was everything for her. She were the one to be able to have him for her, all for her, inside of her, again, and that... was a promise that made her thighs tremble. She took a shuddering breath, her cheek cool against the wooden desk. Her fingers reached his, intertwining them like a magnetic force and gave a desperate squeeze. The words, when they came, were not a whisper but a raw, breathless confession torn from the very core of her wanting. «Please,» she gasped, the word fracturing. «Alastor… fuck me. Like this, right now. Please.» A sharp, ragged inhale behind her. Hsss. His other hand, splayed on the small of her back, pressed down with a new, thrilling possessiveness. Their eyes stared longingly at each other through the looking glass, which was nothing else but a reflection of their true desire for each other's flesh. The forgotten items—the pen, the papers—scattered to the floor with a soft clatter. He stepped into the space between her legs, his dark eyes burning into hers, capturing her completely. «Say it again,» he demanded, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. He leaned even closer over her, reaching for her neck. The hand she had intertwined with his, he lifted to place a tender, delicate kiss, still looking at her through the mirror, and she did nothing but stare at him, feeding on that beautiful image meant only for her.
His chest, a sounding board for the pounding rhythm of his heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, a smoldering fire that threatened to consume her. This was a different kind of vulnerability, and it stole the air from her lungs. «I need you to… to take me,» she breathed, her voice trembling. «Like this. I want to feel you… all of you… fill me even more deeper.» The last words were barely more than a husky sigh, but they landed between them like a lit match dropped in a pool of gasoline. A low groan tore from his throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated want. Unnnh. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a claiming. A searing, deep, all-consuming kiss that tasted of his desperation and her own audacity. His tongue swept against hers, a sensual, demanding dance that made her head spin. When he finally pulled back, they were both panting, their breath mingling in the scant space between them. His eyes squeezed shut as if he were fighting for control. «Your wish,» he breathed, the words a hot promise against her lips, «is my command.» His hands went to the waistband of his pajama pants. The sound of the fabric sliding down his hips—a soft shff—was the most erotic sound she had ever heard. He didn't pull his pants down all the way, but just enough to be comfortable desecrating her. And then he was there, fully. The hard, insistent length of him pressed against her inner thigh, a brand of heat that made her jolt. He didn’t rush. He took her hand on the desk gently, his thumb stroking the back of her hand with a tenderness that contrasted violently with the raw need in his eyes. «You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,» he whispered, his voice full of a reverence that made her heart ache. He leaned in again, but this kiss was different. Slower. Softer. A deep, sensual exploration that felt like a vow. He poured every ounce of his simmering intensity into it, his lips moving over hers with a devastating sweetness that made her want to cry. It was a kiss that spoke of more than just tonight; it spoke of longing, of connection, of a desire that went straight to the soul. His other hand slid down her neck, over her shoulders, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He moved in close behind her, his chest not quite touching her back, but the heat of him was a blanket. She felt him guide himself, the tip of him nudging against her slick, waiting heat. The contact was electric, a shock that raced up her spine. Ah! «Hands,» he murmured, his voice thick. Obediently, she reached one hand back, blindly seeking his. His fingers immediately tangled with hers, squeezing tight. The other hand she kept braced on the desk, her knuckles white. He leaned over her, blanketing her body with his, and brought their intertwined hands to rest on the desk beside her other one. His lips found the sensitive spot on her shoulder, and he pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. His tongue traced a lazy circle. Shhlip. Then, his teeth. A gentle, playful bite. Just a subtle pressure, a hint of possession that made her gasp and push back against him instinctively, a silent plea for more. Ohhh…
«Ready, ma petite biche?» he whispered, the words a vibration against her damp skin. She could only nod, a frantic, desperate motion. He didn’t thrust. He pressed. A slow, inexorable, incredibly intimate invasion that stole the breath from her lungs. It was a single, seamless motion, a claiming that felt less like being taken and more like coming home. There was no harsh sound, just a soft, wet, yielding squelch as he sank into her, filling her completely. A choked, guttural cry was torn from both of them at once. Ah! Unnnh! Her head fell forward, her vision blurring at the edges from the sheer, overwhelming rightness of it. He was so deep, so there, a perfect, stretching fullness that left no space for anything but feeling. He stilled, buried to the hilt, his body trembling against hers. His forehead dropped between her shoulder blades, his ragged breaths hot on her skin. «My Lord, Y/N…» he groaned, his voice shattered. «You feel… you’re…» Words failed him. Instead, his fingers tightened around hers, a fierce, grounding pressure. Their joined hands were a anchor in the dizzying, pleasure-drenched storm. He began to move. The sound of their joined bodies was a wet, rhythmic cadence that filled the quiet room. Slap. Squelch. Slap. Each thrust was a perfect, driving piston of pleasure, and the sensation was so overwhelming Y/N feared she might simply dissolve into it. Her mind, her body, everything was reduced to the feeling of him moving within her, the heat of his chest against her back, the secure anchor of their hands. On a particularly deep, claiming stroke, a raw cry was torn from her throat. Ah! Instinct took over. One of her hand flew back. Her fingers splayed across the firm, muscular curve of his ass, gripping him desperately. She pulled, a wordless, needy demand for more, for him to go even deeper, to fuse them together completely. A guttural, shattered groan exploded from Alastor’s lips. Fuck! Her boldness, her raw demand, shattered the last vestiges of his controlled rhythm. His hips snapped forward, a frantic, desperate drive that buried him to the hilt. The new angle was exquisite, a lightning strike of pure sensation that made her see stars. He began to move again, but the pace was different now. Gone was the slow, deliberate claiming. It was replaced by a fervent, urgent need, each thrust powered by the desperate grip of her hand on him and the tight clasp of their intertwined fingers on the desk. The sounds grew wetter, louder, more obscene. Squelch. Slap. Shhlip. «You feel that?» he panted, his words hot puffs against her damp skin. «You feel how deep you take me? How you pull me in?» His voice was thick with awe, each word a ragged confession. «I've been dreaming about this since I first saw you. You drive me crazy!» His praise was a drug, flooding her system, making her push back against him with more force. Her moans were continuous now, a high, breathless litany that she had no hope of controlling. Yes! Oh God, Alastor… right there… Every nerve ending was on fire, singing a chorus dedicated entirely to him. He released her hand on the desk only to bring his own to her hip, his grip possessive and sure, helping her meet every one of his frantic thrusts. The loss of that anchor was momentary, replaced by the even more intimate sensation of his palm splaying across her lower belly, pulling her back against him. «So eager for me,» he murmured, his lips finding her neck again. He didn’t kiss, he worshipped, his mouth open and hot against her skin. His tongue traced a wet path before his teeth found that sensitive spot at the juncture of her shoulder. The gentle bite made her jolt violently, a sharp, surprised gasp escaping her as a fresh wave of pleasure-pain zinged straight to her core. He soothed the spot instantly with a soft, lapping kiss. Shhlip. «Mine,» he breathed, the word a vow seared into her skin.
His hand slid from her belly around her hip, his fingers seeking the slick, heated center of her where their bodies joined. The accidental brush of his thumb against her most sensitive flesh as he moved was her undoing. A raw, keening wail was ripped from her throat, a sound she didn’t even recognize as her own. Ah! Ah! Fuck, Alastor! Her vision swam, the edges blurring into a haze of pure sensation. The coil that had been winding tighter and tighter deep inside her snapped. Pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming, crashed over her in a relentless wave. Her body clenched around him, a series of frantic, involuntary pulses that milked his length. Gush. Squelch. She cried out, her body bowing against the desk, held up only by his strong arm around her waist and the desperate, white-knuckled grip of their intertwined hands. She felt him shudder behind her, his own control obliterated by the feel of her climax. His thrusts became erratic, wild. Slap-slap-SLAP. «Y/N, I can’t! I’m… shit, you're milking me so hard!» His warning was a choked gasp. He drove into her one last, final time, deep and hard, and held there. A guttural roar was torn from his chest as his own release claimed him. She felt the hot, pulsing rush of him deep within her, a scalding flood that seemed to go on and on, each throb echoing the fading tremors of her own pleasure. He collapsed over her, his chest heaving against her back, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades. His entire body trembled with the force of it. Their joined hands were still locked together on the desk, a tangled, sweaty testament to what they’d shared. The room smelled of sex and night air and them. Slowly, carefully, he softened within her, but he made no move to pull away. His lips pressed a soft, reverent kiss to her spine. Her fingers tightened weakly around his. He shifted his weight, and for a heart-stopping second she thought he would withdraw. But he only adjusted his stance, his arm wrapping more securely around her waist, holding her firmly against him, keeping their connection intact. A soft, contented sound rumbled in his chest.
His breath was still unsteady against her back when she felt it—
that tremor in her own chest, sharp and rising. Fear. Panic. Not pleasure. Not aftershocks. Tears. She tried to swallow them down, tried to breathe through it, but the sound escaped anyway—a small, broken sob. He stiffened immediately behind her, not withdrawing, but going still in that absolute, startled way a man does when something hits him deeper than he expected. «Y/N?»
His voice was rough, hoarse from pleasure, but suddenly laced with concern. She shook her head, one hand slipping from his to wipe at her face, even though she knew he could feel every shaky breath she took. «I’m sorry,» she choked out. «I’m— I don’t… I don’t want this to end.» Another sob hit, harder, more helpless. «I don’t want... to lose you!» There. The truth. The one she had been holding back even while he was still inside her, holding her like she was something precious. For a long moment he didn’t speak. Just breathed—slow, tense, as if her confession had shattered something he’d been trying so hard to hold together. Then his arms wrapped around her. Not to keep her still, not to claim, but to hold. He pressed his forehead to the back of her neck, his voice barely a whisper, a shaky exhale.
«You’re not losing me.» His lips brushed her damp skin in a trembling, almost reverent kiss. «I’m right here.» Another kiss.
«I’m not going anywhere.» He pulled her even closer, as if trying to quiet the fear with the heat of his body. «I couldn't even if I wanted to.» A pause—vulnerable, real.
«Not after... what you gave me.» Her tears kept falling, but softer now, her body relaxing into him as his hands held her together piece by piece. It wasn’t an ending. It was the moment a feeling had begun for both of them, making its way between their guts, organs and ribs, but neither of them could admit it, yet.
