wc: 1.5k, Content: video call sex, mutual masturbation
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Marc tries to remember the last time he was with you - what you
said and what you wore. Here, now, he only has a handful of videos on
his phone to get him through the loneliness of being without you.
He swipes his thumb across his phone's screen, pushing play on a
video of you in the park one spring afternoon.
The sun kisses your cheeks as you laugh at something trivial. Your
face is turned up to the sky, gazing at the clouds as Marc gazes at you
adoringly.
He can't help himself. It's you.
His thumb swipes again, revealing a view of you from behind -
you're hanging laundry on the line, the subtle curves of you tempting him in even the most innocent and domestic of actions. A bit old-
fashioned, but you like the way the sun makes the sheets smell, you would say.
'Hey baby,' he hears your voice on the small screen.
What he wouldn't give to hear your voice right now. His chest burns with how much he misses you.
Another swipe reveals the uniquely curved shape of your naked
body.
You're on your knees in front of him, naked, blissed out from the
orgasm he wrung out of you with his mouth, moments before. Lips, kiss swollen and red, breasts littered with red and purple marks where he sucked and made you remember who you belong to.
A groan of pleasure rumbles out of him as you temptingly run the tip
of your tongue over your mouth. He places his hard, heavy cock on your
waiting tongue before your beautiful lips wrap around him. Your eyes lock with his as you take him to the back of your throat, gagging just enough to make you whimper.
He can still feel the vibrations of your moans around him. Still
remember the wet mess he would make of you as drool dribbled out of
the corners of your perfect lips.
Here and now, he wets his own lips, sighing as his cock twitches in
response to watching you suck him off.
God, he misses you - your smile, your laugh, your body. Being
inside you, filling you up, making you moan and scream and even beg
sometimes.
The sounds of your slurping and gagging on the video get him
hard. If he keeps going like this, he's going to need some relief.
He swipes the screen again, to a video of you fucking him one of your
last nights together.
Your naked body sits astride him, palms pressed to his chest as you
balance. Your gorgeous hips rotate in a vigorous rhythm as you work
yourself over his cock - your full breasts bouncing deliciously as you pant his name.
He loves that you let him record you. In fact, it seems to make you wilder to know you’re putting on a show for him.
At the sound of his name panted wantonly on the screen, he
unfastens his jeans and slips his hand inside for some relief, sliding his
thumb over his tip, already leaking.
The absolutely wrecked moans emanating from his phone screen
are already driving him wild as he frees his cock, spits into his palm and
starts working his fist up and down his stiff length.
Your pace increases as you ride him hard, obscenities flying from his
mouth as he tangles his fingers with yours. “So fucking perfect, baby. You ride me so good. You were made to take this cock.”
He pumps his shaft vigorously, groaning as he watches you come
onscreen.
Your head flies back in ecstasy, your back arching in rapture, which inadvertently slows your pace. But he needs to come. He needs that friction.
Sitting up with your bodies still joined, he grips your hips and drives
into you with wild, brutal thrusts, faster and faster, overstimulating you
well past your point of pleasure as he chases his finish. “Marc, oh fuck…”
You moan, losing your mind as he sinks his teeth into the meat of your
shoulder, coating you inside with his spend, filling you so full that you
can’t help but tell him.
“Love when you come inside me,” you pant as he comes back to
himself, kissing along your sweat soaked hairline until his mouth covers
yours, tongues tangling as he holds you close, softening inside you.
Watching your collection always does it for him but something
tonight has him missing you beyond belief, leaving him unable to go on
another moment apart from you. He knows he shouldn’t, but he needs
you so badly. He has to see you. He's missed you so much and it’s all
his fault you’re apart.
So he rolls the dice and Facetimes you.
He’s thrilled when you answer, and stunned to find you in bed, a
sheen of sweat covering your perfect face. He murmurs your name, almost reverently, admiring the goddess you are. It feels like forever since he heard your voice, especially in your bedroom.
"What are you doing?" He manages to choke out, floored that you would show him this private side of you since he’s been gone so long.
"What do you think?" You pant, angling the phone to give him a
view of your bare tits, bouncing prettily while you evidently fuck
yourself.
He can literally hear the vibrations of the toy you're using on
yourself, making him groan out an appreciative curse at the sights and
sounds to which you’re making him privy.
"Fuck I miss you," he pants, even as he works his hand faster up
and down his length at the sight of your naked body. The videos were
good, but this? Fisting his cock greedily while watching you get yourself off? This is perfect.
"What if your husband finds you like this?" He grounds out, dark
eyes lazily rolling back as he works his hand faster over his length.
"Fuck him, he's gone all the time," you scoff, ratcheting up the
speed of your vibrator. The rough timbre of Marc’s voice can make you
come every time. "Keep talking, I'm close. Miss you too. Miss your
cock inside me."
"Jesus, honey, who were you thinking about with that toy stuffed
in your pussy?" He goads, thrilled that you're willing to do this with
him, were already thinking of him and missing him, wishing it was him
doing filthy things to you.
"You know whose cock I want," you whine, echoing his thoughts
perfectly, running your free hand over your breast to tweak your
hardened nipple. "Think about it all the time. Miss you filling me up so
full, baby. Want you to come inside me again."
"Dirty girl," he fires back, remembering how you love it when he
calls you that. "So dirty - wishing I was there, fucking that wet cunt
while your husband's away. Making a mess of you and fucking my cum
back into you."
"Yes…Marc," you pant, your voice ascending in pitch as bliss starts
to claw at you, ready to take you over the edge. "Miss you…so deep in
me. Nobody fucks me like you.”
The sounds of your orgasm, the fucked out expression on your
face as you come, the way you moan his name brings him to the brink,
his hips stuttering as hot cum coats his fist, making a delicious mess of
his hand and soft stomach.
"Oh fuck…baby, that was a hundred times better with you talking
me through it," you gasp, coming down from your high.
"You better clean up before your husband gets home, dirty girl,"
Marc chuckles, using his discarded button up to wipe the mess from his hands.
You gaze directly into the phone, giving Marc a clear view of your
beautiful face.
"Did you just come?" You condescendingly chide. "Why don't you
stop talking about how my husband is gone and come see me yourself?
You can come inside me instead of making a mess like a teenager."
As if you wished him to life, a knock resounds on your door about
seven minutes later, leaving you perplexed, since you aren’t expecting
company. You peek through the peephole and gasp, stunned to see your husband has come home early.
"Marc!" You breathe, throwing your arms around your husband.
"When did you get back from your mission?” Your eyebrows crinkle in
confusion. “And where were you just now, while we…"
"Hey baby," he murmurs against your ear, pulling you close to the
solid wall of him. Easing back, he presses a longing kiss to your mouth.
"I was downstairs in the parking garage, in Jake's car." He shrugs.
“Thought we could try something different.”
"Oh shit," you whistle, slugging him on the arm playfully. "You
were here the whole time and you made me use my vibrator?"
"Couldn't help it, honey," he grins, mischievously. "You're so dirty
on that little screen."
You shove him jovially, letting him know he will be making it up
to you for the rest of the night. "Jake's gonna kill you if I don't."
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edited by @reallyrallyauthor featured in the @the-oscar-isaac-collective A Splash of Cream ZINE
╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮
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previously | Perfect Fit Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Nathan Bateman from Ex Machina x f!reader
Word Count: 3.3k
Summary: A year has passed since you worked and lived with Nathan, since you cut your arm open to prove you were human and not artificial. You see Nathan at a conference. Is he back on his bullshit? Have you moved on?
CW: refer to the masterlist
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
PREVIOUSLY on "Perfect Fit"
You jolt awake as the chopper touches down at the airfield. A car is waiting to take you home.
Home.
You're free. It's over.
But now he's all you can think about.
What the hell happened to you?
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
You're seated at a table of strangers in a grand hotel ballroom. An overly expensive, entirely too small plate of overcooked chicken sits in front of you, untouched. Your boss allowed you to attend the conference on your new company's dime, to network and socialize.
Your boss also knows that you worked for the keynote speaker. And not only did you work for him, you worked closely with him. This simple fact elevated you right up the ranks in your new job. It's simple: your boss wants and introduction.
For a substantial raise and promotion, you are willing to give it to her. You're ready to see Nathan Bateman again to make it happen.
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
He steps up to the mic in a rare public appearance, dressed far more casually than everyone else in the room. He doesn't have to smile - it would only look creepy if he did. There's no need for him to captivate the audience with icebreaking humor - they are already hanging onto his every word. Most of his vocabulary flies over half their heads, but they don't detect the condescension in his tone. They revel in the chance to hear his genius presented directly to them, face-to-face.
He looks handsome. He managed to wear full-length pants - dark gray, lightweight, but expensive. Something he would hike in. He even handled more than a single layer over his torso. A plain, off-white shirt hugs his impressively broad chest, covered by a rust-colored, wool cardigan.
Behind his wire frames, his eyes seem to sparkle a little. Perhaps he is enjoying this, although that doesn't seem very on-brand Nathan. Your heart somersaults in your chest as his gaze lands on you. He never looks away the rest of the speech.
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
He's swarmed at the event's end, everyone clamoring for a moment, but your boss buzzes with excitement as he approaches you, ignoring any distraction between the two of you.
Everyone pauses and goes quiet in a circle around you. Your boss grips your arm in anticipation.
He tears his gaze from yours, politely greeting her first, by name and title, shaking her hand. "I have to congratulate you for recruiting my best employee." She's star-struck, but he graciously overlooks it. "I hope I can trouble you to borrow her for a quick word. Promise I won't steal her back."
"O-of course, Mr. Bateman," your boss stammers.
Nathan turns back to you, holding out his hand gallantly, like a prince in a fairy tale. "Could we talk?"
He doesn't say anything clever. He doesn't embarrass you or take any further action to convince you to leave the room with him.
Your chest rises and falls as you exhale shakily. With a quick nod, you accept his hand.
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
You're in an elevator, whooshing to the penthouse, because of course you are.
He hasn't released your hand, his thumb stroking yours with disarming tenderness.
"I can't believe you're here. You look beautiful."
You haven't said a word, frozen in disbelief. Clearing your throat, you find your voice. "Thank you."
His eyes search yours. "No tricks tonight. I want you to know right away - I'm Nate. Here, look."
You flinch, withdrawing your hand and pressing your back against the elevator wall.
"It's okay," he assures you, pushing down on his wrist to reveal a panel of wires in his arm. "I made Nathan's speech tonight. He wanted to see if I could do it. But I'm not here to trick you. I wanted to tell you as soon as I saw you."
You wordlessly nod as he returns his arm to its human-looking state.
"You don't have to come with me," he adds, pulling his cardigan sleeve back into place. “I only wanted you to know. Nathan is upstairs. He wants to see you.”
Your body trembles as you wrestle with something potentially terrifying, or at least chilling, and something you’ve longed for every second since a helicopter took you away from that house.
You’re not afraid of Nate, here in the elevator. You’re afraid of what happened to your mind to make you believe you weren’t a human being.
His hand reaches for the elevator buttons. “What floor, sweetheart?”
Your eyes fly to his. “M-mine?” You stammer, then scowl. “As if Nathan doesn’t already know.”
Nate swallows - a new function for him. “He might, but I don’t. And you don’t look very happy see me, not that I blame you. So, what floor?” He lowers his hand. “Or we can switch elevators and go to the penthouse.”
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
You pause outside the penthouse double doors, waiting for Nate to unlock it. “Are you sure?” He asks you softly.
You have to go inside. You have to know if he was as mad and manipulative as you’ve made him out to be in your retellings to yourself, to your therapist. Mostly you just want to see him.
Squeezing your hands into fists, you quickly nod.
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
Nathan looks completely himself - buzzed hair, bushy but beautifully kempt beard, tank top showing off his larger-than-you-remember, muscular arms and the expanse of his chest, and loose basketball shorts, with bare feet. Dark eyebrows lift over his wire frames as he beholds you for the first time in a year.
"Look at you," he breathes, approaching you cautiously. "You're beautiful."
Seeing you pause, he looks between you and Nate. "He's Nate. I'm Nathan. Did he tell you?"
"H-he showed me." Smoothing your hands over your dress, you shift uncertainly from foot to foot. "He said you wanted to see me."
"Yeah. Of course I do. Come here." He closes the distance between you, pulling you into his arms, granting you plenty of space to breathe or even shrug him off. The familiar scent of his skin and warmth of his embrace weaken your resolve and you melt against him, whispering, "Nathan."
He presses his nose against your temple, inhaling deeply before kissing your cheek, releasing you promptly. Your body almost surges forward for another moment in his arms.
"Want some dinner?" He asks with his typical disarming nonchalance, walking back to where he likely came from - the dining room table, laid with an impressive, healthy-looking spread. "I assume the dinner was shit. Always is, at these things."
You allow yourself the tiniest smile, not that he really sees it. "I would love something."
"All right, have a seat. I'll get more plates."
He saunters into the kitchen, his charming casualness helping you relax. Nate follows you to the table, pulling out a chair for you.
You thank him and he takes a seat across from you. Nathan returns with enough plates for everyone and sits at the head of the table big enough for eight.
Nate is staring at you, but it's not uncomfortable. It feels...adoring, but not invasive. You watch carefully as he and Nathan dish out some food. Nate takes a fork, stabs his vegetable and takes a bite.
"You can eat now."
He smiles at you. "Mm-hmm."
You turn a wide-eyed gaze to Nathan. "That's amazing."
Even Nathan smiles. But it's small and self-satisfied. "He can make speeches too, I gather. Did he convince you?"
"Leave her alone. She's not here for you to collect data," Nate mildly scolds.
Nathan rolls his eyes at his artificial twin, but turns back to you. "Of course. You don't have to answer that. I was watching the speech from here."
Their slight disagreement feels familiar, but not unpleasant. As you enjoy some truly delicious food, you realize how much you've missed them.
"He was wonderful, but I had my suspicions," you finally say.
"You're shitting me," Nathan looks offended. "What did I miss?"
You direct your answer to Nate. "It's your eyes. You were enjoying yourself, but you didn't seem too proud. Maybe you were having fun or it made you feel more alive. But your eyes..."
"What about his eyes?" Nathan prods while Nate holds your gaze.
"I think he likes to be around people. You don't."
"No shit. But what about his eyes, specifically?"
"Jesus, Nathan, she doesn't work for you," Nate groans.
You shrug, unbothered. "They sparkle."
Nathan takes a bite, chews and swallows it down before leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. "Did he see you?"
Both you and Nate turn to him, but he groans. "Don't fucking make me repeat myself."
"Yes," Nate answers. "I saw her."
"There you go," Nathan gestures in an obvious manner with his hand. "That's why you sparkled."
You quickly begin to fall into a familiar pattern of conversation with the two of them. You don't find Nathan intimidating and you start to remember that challenging him can be quite entertaining.
"I'm flattered, but he enjoyed himself. He did a great job and I think he could feel that. What do you think, Nate? That's what matters." You smile at him sweetly.
"I think you're both right," he shrugs. As soon as he says it, he begins to cough violently, appearing to be choking on a piece of food.
You stand to your feet and whisper his name.
"It's all right, I've got him." Nathan quickly powers him down. Noticing your concern, he tries to explain. "I'm not trying any bullshit here. Giving him a digestive system is the most complex thing I've ever done and it's sensitive. He does this sometimes, so I power him down to fix it. I don't want him to suffer."
You've never heard Nathan express any concern over anyone, except maybe you, when you endangered your own life, at the end. Certainly not for an android. Setting your napkin on the tabletop, you scurry around the table, to the other side of Nate's lifeless form.
"How can I help?"
Nathan's eyes meet yours, and in them, you see something vulnerable. "I know much you cared about him. I won't let anything happen to him."
As the two of you work to lay Nate down on the floor, you remember your final dinner and conversation with Nathan alone, where he seemed almost hurt, declaring that you loved his android and couldn't wait to escape his home. 'Message fucking received,' he said.
You were too messed up at the time to realize what he could mean, but with time and prospective, you had played that conversation over in your mind dozens of times, convinced you must have imagined his hurt.
What seemed like despair that you could love his creation but never him - that the antecedent events after creation left his home uninhabitable and him the most undesirable - couldn't be real, could it?
Was he asking you why you couldn't love him? Or simply declaring he understood you wouldn't ever?
You convinced yourself he wouldn't give a shit either way - that he might not even be capable of love.
Soon, Nate's airway is clear and Nathan reactivates him. Before you can ask if he's okay, Nathan grasps his shoulder. "I'm sorry, buddy. I'll fix it."
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
Nate offers to clean up a bit, despite the staff that will take care of it in the morning.
Nathan guides you out on the balcony with a magnificent view of the city. At this height, the wind chills you, despite the warm spring weather. Nathan quickly delivers to you Nate's wool cardigan.
"Holy shit, this is the softest sweater I've ever felt in my life," you gush wrapping it around you. "It's like wearing a cloud."
"Keep it," Nathan says, grasping the balcony railing and staring out into the night.
"Isn't it Nate's?"
"No, he borrowed it out of my closet. And yes, he has his own closet. I don't wear his shit."
"Of course not," you tease, stepping beside him and nudging his arm. "You only wear gym clothes. Or hiking clothes. Or nothing."
He glances over at you, wiggling his eyebrows in an atypically cheesy fashion. "I prefer nothing."
"Don't I know it?" Countless hours of your "job" with Nathan included sleeping naked in his bed, fucking in one of his many pools, or on his couch, or the table, or his desk, or in the middle of the hallway. Now that you thought about it, you were probably naked at least half the time.
He's staring at you, relieved that you're joking with him, smiling at him. His eyes flicker down to your wool-covered wrist and he gently grasps it. "How are you doing? Really?"
You try not to lose your nerve from a simple grasped arm, but unfortunately, the heart wants what the heart wants and you want to be touched by him. You want his attention.
"I'm doing really well," you tell him confidently, placing your hand over his.
His lip trembles as he sucks in a breath. Your touch seems to surprise him. He takes your hand and leads you to sit on a comfortable outdoor sofa. "Will you tell me?"
So you do. You tell him how you moved back in with your mom for several weeks to get your bearings. You returned to therapy to untangle your thoughts and feelings. You quickly and easily got a new job.
"Guess I have you to thank for that. Everyone wants to hire you after you work closely with Nathan Bateman."
"You're welcome," he sincerely replies. "It's the least I can do."
You eye him curiously, your head tilted in wonder and slight confusion.
"You're wondering if I'm Nate or something, right? I'm being too nice?"
"I don't think you're Nate," you tell him. "I can actually tell you apart pretty easily by now. At least most of the time. But you are being sweeter than usual. I guess a year away from my annoying questions softened you up. You're almost as sweet as Nate."
You meant to broach the softness with which he regarded you with a little defensive humor, but he grasped your hands in his own, dragging in a slow breath and nodding quickly. "You love him, don't you?"
His question confuses and disarms you and you melt into him, your fingers lacing together. But you take an extra moment or two, to center yourself and think objectively. "This is a research question?" You glance around you. "That's what tonight is - more research into him giving a speech - pretending to be you in public, his digestive system and whether or not I have feelings-"
"Whoa, sweetheart, fuck, slow down," he stops you. Instead of barreling on with explanation or interrogation, he watches you. "You don't work for me anymore. And you don't work with me. Which is my loss on both counts, and my fault. I do miss you."
You can't. Whatever has cracked open in him is spilling out and surrounding you - you could happily drown in it. You would more than willingly go to bed with him and if you aren't careful, you could love him so easily.
You just don't trust yourself enough. "Nate is wonderful," you finally reply, standing up and removing the cardigan. "And he came from a brilliant, beautiful mind. You should be proud."
Nathan peers up at you, the moon's glow highlighting the angles of his handsome face. "Keep it." He nods to the sweater. "It's vicuña wool. Expensive. You'll like it. Keep it."
"I can't," you tell him decisively. "I can't owe you anything."
"I owe you." He rises to his feet, ignoring your outstretched hand. "A fucking sweater is the least I could do after I..." His eyes travel down your bare arm to the prominent scar running between your wrist and elbow. He cradles your forearm and lifts it gently, tenderly stroking his thumb up and down the length of your scar.
"I really wasn't trying to kill myself," you whisper. "I've never not wanted to live. It wasn't that at all. I was confused."
"I'm sorry," he chokes out. Lifting you hand to his mouth, he gazes into your eyes and kisses your palm, lingering indulgently before his eyes drift closed and he places two more kisses along your scar. "So sorry."
He releases you and takes a full step back, turning sideways as his hands land on his hips. "I should let you get going. I don't mean to keep you."
Every instinct tells you to leave but your thundering heart propels you forward. You wrap your arms around his neck, grateful when he folds you close. "Goodbye, Nathan."
"Bye, babydoll."
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
Nathan allows you to leave without fanfare. You go back inside to say goodbye to Nate, who is waiting for you near the door.
"Are we sure he's the real Nathan?" You half-seriously question, hitching your thumb back toward where he remains, gripping the balcony rail and starting out over the city. "How many of you are there?"
"Just us," Nate smiles at you warmly. "It's him. He just misses you."
"Yeah, I doubt that," you chuckle.
"Why do you doubt him?" Nate challenges, inching toward you. His gaze falters as he shifts in what appears to be nervousness. His emotions really have gotten finely tuned and complex. "I know you can't have feelings for me because I'm not real to you. But Nathan is."
Your heart swells with pity for him. It's not that you find him pathetic. You do care about him, immensely. But what kind of life could you have made for yourself if you let yourself love an android? Especially with the way you felt about Nathan?
"I did love him," you decide to admit, side-stepping the feelings-for-an-android thing. "But it doesn't matter now."
"Why doesn't it?" Nate insists, grasping your hand. He waits for you to look at him. "Two people who love each other shouldn't have to be apart."
"Love?" You scoff. "No. He doesn't."
"Keep telling yourself that. Let yourself off the hook."
You narrow your eyes at Nate. "Fuck you, actually. You're guilt-tripping me? After what happened? And you're defending him? Why don't you two run off together?"
"Hilarious," Nate deadpans, folding his arms over his chest. "He didn't mean for you to get hurt. He never meant to confuse you about yourself - only about which one of us was the real Nathan. He's been punishing himself for it ever since. I had to beg him to come to this thing with me. He wanted me to make the speech, but he wanted to watch from home."
You can't believe the emotional complexity he's displaying, the concern for another human. It's a scientific miracle, really.
"You're amazing," you tell him. "You've grown so much."
"Thank you," he sweetly responds. "Nice deflection."
Nathan chooses that moment to reappear, pausing to watch the two of you smiling and talking. He opens his mouth, probably ready to say something sarcastic, but closes it. With a slow nod, he trudges to the bedroom.
Nate waits until the bedroom door shuts before continuing. "He thinks you like me more than him."
"What if I do?" You fire back.
Nate's mouth curls as he confidently eases back into your personal space. "Then I would be the luckiest artificially created man in the world." He shrugs one shoulder. "But since I'm the only one, I guess I'm just lucky to be here."
You give Nate a hug, tell him how good it was to see him and then you make yourself leave. These two are confusing as hell. You wonder if your heart can take it.
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
You pace around your hotel room in soft, loose cotton pajamas. Feeling a chill, you wish you had held onto Nate's cardigan. Not only was it expensively soft, it smelled good. Like him. Like them.
With a sigh, you yank a hoodie over your head.
The thought of both Nate and Nathan upstairs in the penthouse while you willingly pried yourself away from them makes you question your sanity. But the safer, saner thing seems to be to stay away from them.
So why aren't you peacefully sleeping, content with your "safe" choice?
With a huff, you plop down on the end of your bed. After another moment, you fall back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling, as if it will provide answers. Finally, you roll over and groan dramatically into your pillow.
"Fuck it," you finally utter, grabbing your phone and your key card for your door.
A few minutes later, you knock on the penthouse door.
✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧ ---------- ✧
Nathan Bateman masterlist | Main Masterlist | Join my tag list
Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader
Summary: Poe needs a haircut. You learn of his plans and efforts to return to his galaxy.
Content/Notes: fluff, star-crossed yearning, angst stemming from nightmares, food
Word Count: 2.2k
☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･
PREVIOUSLY ON COSMIC...
"I haven't had a day like this in years. A day off, to have fun and dance and eat and laugh." He sighed, peering up at the night sky. "I think this is one of the best days I've ever had."
"Really?" You gasped, surprised and touched, honestly.
"Yeah," he nodded, eyes finding yours again. "Really. I think maybe Iowa is a special place."
That made you laugh.
"Or maybe it's because you're here." His arms wrapped all the way around you now, palm pressing along the curve of your back.
You reached up to push a stray curl out of his eyes. "Bet you say that on every planet you land on."
"Maybe, maybe not. But there's definitely only one Trix."
☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･
The day after the fair, you let Poe sleep in while you did your morning chores and took care of the animals. You decided to clean up and do some bills and business inside the house. When you made your way back downstairs, Poe was cooking breakfast. Naturally, Cheddar was circling his legs lovingly. Or annoyingly, depending on one’s point of view.
Poe had made quite the mess already, but he looked up at you and grinned, so proud of himself.
“I’m making cakes. Um…pan-cakes? It’s under the breakfast tab of your favorite cookbook. I can't believe how much actual paper you have in these books. No holopads or anything but real paper. It's incredible. Are pancakes okay?”
Folding your arms over your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. “There’s flour everywhere. It’s even in your hair." You nodded down at the apron he was wearing. “Guess your clothes will stay clean though.”
“Sorry,” he shrugged. “I tried. I think I burned a few so I opened the back door to air it out. That’s when Cheddar came in. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” you laughed, scooping up your little barn cat for a quick snuggle.
☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･
After a long day of farm work and supper, you offered to cut Poe's hair.
"Okay, just lean back," you instructed, helping him ease his head back into the kitchen sink as he rested in a chair. You had draped a towel around his shoulders to protect his shirt.
He stared up at the ceiling as you began to spray water through his thick curls.
"Too hot? Too cold?"
"No, it's good." His eyes flickered over to yours, holding your gaze for a moment until you smiled sweetly and continued raking your fingers through his hair, getting it wet.
A low sound of approval rumbled in his chest without him realizing it.
"You okay?" You softly asked, hoping you hadn't pulled his hair too hard.
"Mmm...yeah. That feels good actually." You watched as his throat bobbed, his eyes drifting closed.
"The water?" You innocently questioned, squeezing out a glob of shampoo and working your fingers over his scalp.
"No. Your hands."
"Oh..." Grateful that his eyes were closed and not studying you, you went to work on massaging his scalp, gently raking your nails soothingly all over. "It's good for you to relax for once."
Then he did look at you with a smirk. "Don't start."
"I know, you like to stay busy, I know." Turning the water back on, you began rinsing out the shampoo. "It's just nice to see you taking it easy for a few minutes...letting me take care of you a little bit. You do so much."
His head turned in your grasp, causing your fingers to catch on a tangle. The slight tug made him groan, but he swallowed it down. "Are you serious? Take care of me a little bit?" He sighed, but there was no frustration in it. "Trix, you saved my life. You take care of me all the time, every day."
Your heart flamed in your chest, but you reminded yourself - it wasn't anything to indulge in. You had to let Poe focus on getting home. You couldn't have him for yourself. It was selfish. "You take care of me too, you know," you softly returned, finger-combing his wet hair before lifting the towel from his neck to towel dry it a bit.
He sat up straight in the chair which put him about level with your chest. His eyes traced the smooth column of your throat, noticing how your breaths grew more shallow as his breath brushed your collarbone.
"There," you whispered, kneeling down to his level, the gentle smile returning to your face. "All clean. How much do you want me to cut?"
He blinked at you, distracted, his eyes flickering momentarily down to your mouth. He dragged his gaze back to yours with effort. "Uhm, I don't know. Should you just cut it short, to make it easier?"
"Not too short," you tutted, reaching for a comb and standing back to your full height, if only to get away from his penetrating eyes for a second. "Not with curls like this."
He beamed at that, sitting up a little straighter. "You like curls?"
"I like these." You twirled your finger in the longest one before watching it spring back into place.
"You decide then."
So you did. You took your time, carefully thinning out and shortening Poe's wild mane, loving every second of it. He asked if you'd cut hair before. You admitted you'd only cut your father's hair for years, and your farm hand Chester's a few times. Neither one of them had thick curls.
Poe's eyes would drift closed whenever you would push his hair this way or that, finger comb it into position to trim the next piece. He looked so satisfied like this, reminding you of Cheddar rubbing against your leg.
Maybe he was missing touching someone. Someone back home.
"Who cuts your hair normally?" You asked, checking for extra tags and wrapping things up.
"We have machines that do it, but this is way better." He grinned at you.
"You're not used to someone playing with your hair?" You had meant to tease him, but it came out rather blunt and kind of nosy.
His eyebrows shifted curiously as he watched you bashfully avert your eyes.
"Uh, not in a while really. A long while."
You busied yourself, cleaning up the haircutting supplies, while Poe asked how he could help. He ended up sweeping up his hair off the floor and before long, the two of you sat down to watch TV on the couch.
☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･
All of Poe's nonstop farm work must have finally caught up to him. Either that, or he was so soothed by his haircut, that he fell asleep on your shoulder halfway through the first television program.
You hated to disturb him, and honestly, you relished having him close, at least while he was unaware of it, so you stayed still until the next show came on.
Eventually, your fingers found his dried, fuzzy waves and gently began to twirl through them, faintly scratching at his scalp. He stirred for a moment, nuzzling into your neck before going still again.
This was such a bad idea on your part, but you couldn't help yourself. Making him feel good was like an addictive drug.
Before long, your head rested against his crown of soft brown hair and you found yourself sleeping right along with him.
☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･
You didn't wake up until it was time for chores. Dawn peeked over the horizon as a rooster crowed. You found yourself lying on your couch downstairs, an old quilt made by your great-aunt tucked securely around your body.
Mortified at the thought of falling asleep with Poe and him putting you in this position, you practically leapt up, glancing around for him.
When you didn't see him, you darted upstairs, bypassing his bedroom to freshen up in the restroom and quickly change out of yesterday's clothes.
He wasn't in his room, and he wasn't attempting to make a mess of your kitchen, so he must be outside.
You found him brushing Annabelle, your gentler, blonder, slightly bigger horse. He was talking to her softly and she was eating it up. That sweet girl loved Poe from day one.
"Can't give you too many treats, can I, sweetheart?" You heard him murmur softly. "You're supposed to wait until I'm done brushing, aren't you?"
Then a beat.
"Don't look at me that way, girl. You're gonna get me in trouble with your mom. I'm almost done."
As tempting as it was to linger and listen to Poe flirting with your horse, you stepped into view, clearing your throat.
"See? Busted," Poe said to Annabelle, flashing you a grin. "She's trying to sweet talk me out of extra treats."
You folded your arms over your chest. "Mm-hmm, and how many did you already give her?"
His eyes shifted back and forth between you and the horse guiltily. "Two?"
You walked over and patted Annabelle's nose. "Good work, sweet girl. He's a pushover."
You picked up a second brush and walked past him, toward your chestnut Arzola.
"It's okay, I already brushed her," he informed, stopping you with a hand on your wrist.
Your mouth fell open. "You brushed Arzola. By yourself? She let you?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. She loves me."
Reaching out to pet your feisty girl, you chuckled. "He got you too, huh? You girls are hopeless." You turned back to Poe. "Thank you for taking care of them. Did you get any sleep last night?"
Oh he did. One of the most peaceful nights he'd slept in ages. He woke up, half on top of you as you leaned heavily against the arm of the couch, his face pressed against the soft skin of your neck, arms wound around your torso. You were holding him too.
As much as it would have felt good to lay you all the way down and pull you closer, he didn't want to startle you. So he carefully untangled himself, checked the time, freshened up and began seeing to the morning chores as a thank you for his haircut.
"Yeah, I slept for a while. Thought I'd help you out this morning," he finally answered, licking his lips and shaking those thoughts out of his head.
You asked what he'd gotten to so far, and that's when he revealed he'd already taken care of everything except breakfast. You reminded him he didn't have to do all that, especially not as a thank you, but he just smiled and said he loved it.
"You wanna go for a ride, don't you?"
He nodded. "I was hoping you would say that."
☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･
After racing across your fields in the early morning sun, you and Poe decided to make breakfast. It felt good to have a morning where your chores were already done. And sharing a good meal with a handsome man didn't hurt much either.
"I should probably confess something," he said cryptically, swirling his last bite of pancake through syrup. "I haven't actually slept too much lately. That's why I fell asleep on you so early last night. Sorry about that."
You eyed him curiously. "It's okay. Why aren't you sleeping?"
He swallowed down his last bite, considering his words. "Sometimes, I'm out there with my ship, in your old empty building where we stashed it. I've been fixing my droid."
You nodded as he continued.
"I've been working on my ship a little bit too. I need some bigger equipment. Tools and things." He eyed you carefully. "I was wondering if you could help me get some things. Maybe...maybe if someone thought they were for the farm, they wouldn't notice you needing them. I don't want to get you in any trouble."
"I know that," you softly returned.
"Once my droid is up and running, she can help me work on the ship, or at least restore communication."
You swallowed a heavy lump in your throat. "That's good, Poe. It's a good idea. I'm sure I can help you out with the equipment you need. The best Iowa has, anyway."
"Thank you." He reached for your hand and gently squeezed. "I wanted to tell you before there's a droid whizzing around here. Didn't want her to scare you."
You held onto his hand longer than you intended, toying with his fingers tenderly. "Does your droid...talk?"
Poe smiled, his eyes flickering down to your joined hands and then back up to your gaze. "She speaks binary. It's...like a machine language. Sort of. I understand her, but I don't think you will. Unless you speak binary?"
"No," you laughed.
"She'll understand you though, mostly," he went on. "She can probably help around here too." Then he wistfully sighed. "I just hope she can help me figure out how I got here."
Your thumb rubbed the back of his hand soothingly. "I hope that too, Poe, I really do. And I want to help you, if I can. If there's anything I can do."
He wanted to ask for your help. He wanted to sleep as soundly and safely as he'd slept last night, against your body. One of the main reasons he worked on his ship at night was because of the dreams. Vivid, haunting dreams of his friends screaming, dying, in the vastness of space, or their minds pulled apart the way his mind had been violated by the dark side of the Force.
He wondered if you had a tonic to help him sleep more deeply. At least that's what he wondered until you drove his nightmares away last night with your mere presence. It's why he awoke so invigorated and decided to complete the day's chores for you.
If only he could sleep that soundly again, feeling that safe. If only he didn't have to see his friends in torment when he closed his eyes, feeling like he'd abandoned them.
If only he could have met you in his galaxy. But as surely as he felt he must return to his own life, to the war, he was grateful you were not a part of it. Earth seemed, at least for now, the safer option for you.
☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･☾ ⋆*:⋆*･
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Cosmic Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Join my tag list
Marc Spector masterlist • Moon Knight Masterlist • Main Masterlist
Marc Spector x gn!reader • angst, domestic fluff, food, mentions of Moon-Knight-typical violence, mention of death • wc: 533
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
Sometimes Marc seems to forget, somehow, that you love him.
The way he slightly flinches when you rush to hug him as he walks through the front door.
You learned a while ago it isn't withdrawal, rejection.
He's not afraid of you. He just forgets, when he leaves the house, that you'll be that happy to see him when he returns.
Or the way he almost shrugs you off when you kiss his cheek in the kitchen.
He's trying to cook a meal for you. It's one of the only things he can actually do for you. Do right.
And you go and re-wire his brain with a soft kiss on his cheek in between tasks.
His face scrunches up and he shakes his head through a reluctant, half-smiling smirk.
"I'm cooking," he'll mutter, concentrating on chopping while you beam at him adoringly.
When he gets home from a mission and you pull his head down to your chest, in bed.
You rake your fingers through his curls while he listens to your steady heartbeat.
He resists you sometimes. That’s when you know he’s taken a life.
He forgets you can love him then. He forgets you understand, he only takes life to save life.
You reach for him, but he shrugs one shoulder. “‘s okay. I’ll go shower.”
He’ll stand there til the water runs cold and beyond, if you let him. If you don’t step in there with him, wrap your arms around his torso from behind. Or at least turn the water off for him and wrap him up in a big, fluffy towel.
"You're supposed to be sleeping," he mumbles as you towel dry his hair.
"Sleep better with you." Your gentle touch makes him tremble.
Your eyebrows arch, questioning if he needs space.
He whispers your name brokenly, fingertips brushing hesitantly at the hem of your sleeve.
He might as well be throwing his arms around you.
"Bed or couch?" You ask him, tracing your fingertips underneath his palm. You give him time to remove his hand or grasp yours.
"It's 2 A.M." He shakes his head once. You're tired. You shouldn't have to do all this for him.
"Bed...or couch?" You repeat, relieved as he grips your hand. "Or kitchen?" You smile at him, which reminds him how much you love a late night (or early morning) snack.
He works his lips in a straight line of contemplation at first, then a slight pout at himself, for always putting you in these situations. A snack will definitely make up for some of it, and he is the only one who can cook a damn thing.
"Nachos? And a DVD." His eyes go wide and hopeful.
"Something sweet," you counter, inching closer. "And nothing from the 80s."
"Done." He nods. “But you gotta sleep, baby.”
“Done,” you echo.
An hour later, the worst DVD from 1992 plays softly. Desserts plates are stashed messily on the coffee table.
You rest across Marc’s lap, asleep. His fingertips trace up and down the length of your arm.
An ache blooms in his chest.
But not from shame or regret. Not this time.
He just forgets, sometimes, how much you love him.
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
Marc Spector masterlist • Moon Knight Masterlist • Main Masterlist
Poe Dameron + first kiss - technically this is a requested Fall Fluff Ficlet for @steven-grants-world. I am so sorry it is years late and out of season!
Fall Fluff Masterlist | Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist
notes: Poe thought you were dead. You're not. | gn!reader | wc: 3.3k
𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧
A warm rush of air swept through the cantina as you wiped down the tables, preparing to close. You heard the swinging door, rolling your eyes to yourself and trying to muster some courtesy for whoever was barging in after closing time.
"Sorry, we're closed," you managed neutrally, avoiding allowing your voice to drip with disdain or condescension. Better to not stir up trouble.
"I know," a man's voice replied, "that's why I'm here."
It only took one sentence to change your entire life.
"I need to talk to your boss."
And another to make you believe hope was still alive.
"Poe?" You blurted, without thinking. You hadn't seen him in so long. Not since your ship crashed here, leaving you stranded two years ago, before the war even ended.
"Who's asking?" He fired back, eyes shifting this way and that, hand resting warily on his blaster. A new sprinkling of gray lined his temples and rough stubble covered his chiseled jaw. Handsome as ever.
He didn't recognize you. Did he forget you? Or was your disguise that good?
You'd hid and tucked parts of you away, keeping just dirty enough to avoid getting fired over complaints about how you smelled. Kept the creeps away, for the most part. You drifted around invisibly, did your work and slept in an absolute dump, to save every possible credit to buy your way out of this hell hole one day. You should have enough to leave in another year, if your master would let you go, and if the price of basic flour for bread making kept from creeping higher each quarter.
You swallowed thickly, wondering how to proceed. "Boss is gone for the night. We're closing up."
"Where is he?" Poe demanded, glaring at you. "I need a location."
If this was anyone else, you absolutely would not tell them. You'd rather take your chances with a stranger than incur the wrath of your boss. But this was Poe. He wouldn't hurt you.
Tossing your sponge aside, you crossed right in front of him to the main entrance. "Let me lock up and I'll show you."
"So you can walk me into a trap? No thanks."
"Do you want to find him or not?" You huffed, pushing your way past him and barreling through the kitchen to the back door, hoping Poe would follow.
He did.
𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧
You informed him of the short walk to the hovel you called home, insisting you needed to make only a momentary stop to help find your boss.
Poe lingered three or so steps behind you, hand gripping the hilt of his blaster. His stare bore into the back of your head, nearly wilting you with each step. Even three paces away, even that was too close. You could smell him - all mechanical oil and leather and something like the moss of his homeworld. Had he returned to Yavin IV after the war?
Your eyes drifted closed at the sound of his breaths, huffed rhythmically in and out with the thump of his boots.
Could he ever remember you?
"It's just here," you breathlessly uttered, punching in the code to your door which whooshed open. "I'll only be a few moments. You're welcome to wait inside."
"I'll wait here, thanks," he cautiously responded, but after considering that you could be contacting your boss or calling for reinforcements, he followed you inside anyway.
You whirled around to close the door behind you, placing your body square in his path. He bumped into you, abandoning his defensive posture and reaching for your elbows to steady you from falling.
"I'm sorry -" you both uttered. You quickly withdrew due to the unclean smell of your body, your heart thundering in your chest after the brief touch of gloved hands on your skin.
"Please sit, I'll be quick," you called over your shoulder, grabbing a few items of clothing before disappearing into a tiny, grimy refresher room. As rapidly as you could manage, you shed your clothes and hat and washed yourself, making as little noise as possible.
You scrubbed the dirt from your cheeks and returned your hidden hair to its normal style before dressing in clean clothes that felt more decidedly you.
"What are you doing in there?" You heard Poe call, impatiently. "You contacting someone? I don't have time for this."
You quickly emerged back into your one room dwelling to find his blaster trained on your body.
"Poe, please. It's me. I was disguised," you rushed to explain, hands held in the air non-threateningly. Seeing his dark eyebrows shift in confusion, you dared one step forward. "Do you still not recognize me?" You breath caught in your throat. Or maybe he didn't remember.
He was the wildly famed Commander Dameron after all. General, actually, by war's end. By that time, your mission had gone awry and you were stranded in this cesspool of a world.
His lip trembled as he slowly lowered his blaster. With shuddering breath, he whispered your name. "It can't be. It can't be. You're...dead."
"I'm not," you instinctively responded. "I'm here. I've been stranded here."
Holstering his weapon, he shook his head, eyes misting as he repeated your name. "It can't...I looked for you. I looked everywhere. For a year."
Your cheeks flamed with heat at this revelation. You'd not been forgotten, and maybe you'd even been missed. So you explained how you crashed. How you made your way to this port city, how you disguised yourself, keeping clean enough to hold a job but repellant enough to keep wandering hands off your body. How your only wish was to purchase your way off this horrid planet and find someone that you used to know - anyone from your old squadron or the Resistance.
Poe's typically warm, open gaze darkened into an anguished storm. "You couldn't contact me?"
Drawn to him like a moon to its planet, his presence lured you forward. "I tried. I didn't know where you were," you sadly replied.
He crowded in close, grasping your arms. "I would've come for you. I tried to come for you. I even looked here, in this system, anyway."
The revelation shot straight through your heart. But there was no time for too much sentiment, so you pushed it down.
"Poe...is there any way you can help me escape? Please." You swallowed hard, eyes misting. "It's been so lonely here. So hard."
Wrapping his arms around your body, he pulled you against the solid warmth of his chest. "Of course I'll help you." His stomach twisted with worry as you wilted into his embrace, murmuring, "Thank you, thank you," over and over.
After an indulgent moment, he eased back to catch your gaze. "Tell me if they hurt you. And tell me who. Names."
Shaking your head insistently, you pressed your palms against his chest. "I don't care about that. I just want to go. I have money saved. Not enough for no-questions-asked passage yet, but I have some. We have to go before my boss notices me gone tomorrow."
Poe frowned. "But your boss is the reason I'm here. He's been trafficking war refugees. I came here for some hard proof so he can be arrested."
"No," you frantically replied, "he's too dangerous. We have to go, right now. We have to find another way. We can't stay here."
"I can help you," Poe insisted. "I'll help you get out but I have to see this through -"
"No, please," you begged, grasping his leather jacket in your fists. "Please don't do this. He'll hurt you and he'll discover who I am. Please Poe, I can't stay here. And I can't lose you again."
"Shh," he soothed, cupping your cheek in his hand. "Hey, it's okay." His heart broke at the sound of your anguish. "It's okay. I promise I'll get you out."
Swiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb, Poe touched his forehead to yours. "I'll never let them touch you again. Or keep you here."
"They didn't hurt me. I made sure of that," you let him know, "but you have no idea how much suffering I've seen. How many people he did hurt while I bided my time."
"Come here," he said sweetly, pulling you back into his arms.
You held onto him for dear life. You'd always adored Poe, but nothing ever went farther than flirtation. The war kept you so busy on separate missions and you felt you could never take him seriously because he flirted with everyone. Since you didn't want to wait in a long line of admirers vying for his attention, you never said anything.
And since, in his mind at least, you brushed off every attempt he made to flirt his way closer to you, he never said anything either.
But now, here you were in his arms. Alone, in this room, after he thought you dead.
"Please, let's go," you whimpered, gripping him tighter. "I'll tell you everything I know about my boss. I-I'll give you all the money I have saved. Please."
The mental battle between his duty to put an end to this vile man's war crimes and you was no decision at all. It was you. You were alive. Poe melted at your broken pleas.
"I don't want your money," he breathed against your cheek
𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧
Poe agreed to get you off world without delay. The two of you stealthily darted through alleys and streets, making your way to Poe's ship, while avoiding any unwanted attention. Opposing mobs controlled everything here, including space travel. You had to know the right people or grease the right palms to ever change your circumstances.
But Poe assured you he could get you out, so you stayed focused, following his lead, while occasionally redirecting him to a safer alley.
"Almost there," he whispered, crowding in behind you as you peered down a final street. "It's not a straight shot, though. Too many eyes."
"I know a way. Come on."
You made quite the team, reading signals and hand motions not used since the war, since you were Resistance fighters, together.
"There she is," he excitedly uttered, nodding toward an old X-wing fighter. Like from-the-Allicance old. The cute dome of his famed orange and white droid whirled around and beeped at his owner.
"You came here in an X-wing?" You scoffed, turning to him. "Do you have a death wish?"
"Official business," he shrugged. "No reason to hide who I'm with these days." He flashed you a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was his most telling worried look. You remembered it well.
That's when it occurred to you exactly how many people fit into an X-wing. One.
"No," you gasped as the realization hit you. "Poe? No." You so desperately didn't want to be left behind, but no way were you leaving alone. You wouldn't trade places with him. At least you knew how to survive here. Your heart sank as you realized he would have to come back for you. And if your scheme was discovered in the mean time, death would be a welcomed guest after what you would be forced to endure.
Grasping your shoulders, he met your frantic eyes. "Listen to me. You have to go. I can still do some good here, but I promised to get you out." He nodded toward the ship. "You know what to do - how to fly it. BB-8 will go with you. It's not during like the war. Once you get off world, you're safe. It's a Republic protected ship-"
"No," you said emphatically, grasping at his jacket the way you had done back at your place. "No, I'm not leaving without you."
"You have to," he repeated, cupping your cheek in his gloved hand. "You go and send back help. I'll probably be right behind you anyway. Just gotta find a ship." He gave you a lopsided grin. "Might beat you there."
"No, no, no," you shook your head rapidly. "You don't understand my boss. I do. You go. I'll stay."
You threw your arms around him. It might be the last time you ever saw him or touched him before you fled back to your hovel, to your daily hell.
Your breath brushed his neck temptingly as he held you close, bodies pressed together at every possible point. His arm slid up the curve of your back to cradle your neck, his other arm still holding you securely. As you lifted your head to meet his gaze, he thought he might lose himself forever in the depth of your eyes.
"Let me do this," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours to keep you from shaking your head in protest. "You're going."
Your resolve was breaking, but it wasn't fair to leave him here. "No."
His eyes flashed. "You're just as stubborn as you ever were. Get on the damn ship. That's an order," he growled, right up against your mouth, hands digging into your hips.
"War's over, General," you hissed back, wilting at the way his breath curled from his lips to yours in short, heated puffs of desperate want. "You don't give me orders. I-"
He stopped you with a searing kiss, pushing your body up against the wall like a domino effect from the bottom of your bodies to the top. It started with the wedging of his thick, muscular thigh between your legs. Broad hips pinned yours in place as his hands traced up your sides, running all over you possessively until he gripped your face in his gloved hands, holding you captive. Tilting his head, he gave you one moment to catch your breath and then sank into you in every way a body could while still fully clothed.
He put you at his mercy, invading your space, stealing your breath and swallowing down all your protests as his tongue curled inside your mouth seductively.
Every scandalous rumor you ever heard about Poe could not compare to this kiss. The heat of his body contrasted sharply to the cool night air. His groans inside your mouth cancelled out the metallic clangs and whirs of the docked ships nearby.
He was softer and stronger and tasted better than any comfort you'd managed in all your time here - warm and alive and delicious and real.
Your kisses slowed as you gasped for air, holding onto one another for your last few moments together.
"I didn't find you and I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly, the fight draining out of his soft, moonlit eyes. "Please let me do this. Let me get you safe."
"What if something happens to you?"
He shook his head resolutely. "Nothing is going to keep me away from you. Not again."
His breath ghosted your lips as your eyes drifted once again to his mouth. "If only I could've told you before...if only we had more time."
His forehead found yours again, his breath hot and tempting. "Time for what?"
You had nothing to lose anymore. He could know you adored him, just like everyone else did. That you were no different, no better. After that kiss, you could only pray that maybe he wanted you too.
"Time for us," you uttered, barely more than a whisper.
"Us?" His chest heaved, fingers pressing into your flesh desperately.
"Yes," you concluded for him. "Us."
His nose brushed against your cheek, breath trembling. "If you go, we'll have time. But you gotta go, sweetheart. If you say no again, I'll have to drag you outta here for desertion."
You knew he wasn't serious. The two of you shared a breathless smile and one final kiss.
It broke your heart, but you flew away from captivity, wondering if it was worth leaving your heart behind.
𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧
It took some explaining as to why someone other than General Dameron returned in his X-wing, with his droid in tow, no less.
You were directed to a Republic military base for debriefing, wondering if this new galaxy was really as safe as Poe indicated previously. Some unfamiliar, official looking people offered you time to clean up, some clean clothes and a hot meal. They searched your meager belongings and took you to a room for questioning.
An intercom hummed and crackled, before a voice asked for your name, your home world, your occupation. Tired and terrified and nearly choking with guilt over leaving Poe, you managed some answers, growing more irritated by the second. Tears of frustration burned your eyes as you desperately attempted to not appear hostile.
During the middle of a question, the voice stopped, not completing a sentence and going quiet for several moments. While wondering if it was some sort of tactic, you put your face in your hands and let a few tears fall.
The door opened and you heard his voice.
"Hey," Poe said softly, kneeling down in front of you. "I'm so sorry. I'm here."
You wilted into his arms as he wrapped you close, pulling you off your chair. "Let's get out of here."
One of the men who got you ready for debrief scurried after the two of you, profusely apologizing to the general and to you.
Poe shrugged him off at first, but he seemed all too eager to force his way into the general's good graces. Stopping with a groan, he gripped your shoulders and looked into your eyes. "Gimme a moment."
Poe was shorter than everybody, but even looking up at the lanky, sweaty, overeager soldier, he was looking down on him.
"We don't treat witnesses as hostiles," Poe bit out, as if even making the effort to explain it was beneath him. (It was). "The war is over. Act like it."
"Yes, General," the over-eager man quickly replied.
"I just concluded my mission and closed a cold mission at the same time," Poe went on. "I found the head of the trafficking ring we've been tracking. I have a first-hand witness. And my missing pilot has been recovered. See to it that the files are updated accurately."
"Y-yes, General," he repeated, scurrying away.
Poe turned back to you, relieved to see a small smile on your face.
"Damn, you really love pulling rank, don't you?"
He shrugged one shoulder, giving you a lazy smile. "When I have to." Taking your hands in his own, he caressed your fingers tenderly. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I was mostly worried about you. Leaving you there was maybe the hardest thing I've done, except for surviving that place. How did you get here so fast?"
He grinned. "Told you I would probably beat you here."
Wrapping his arm around you, he guided you toward a garage. You eyed him curiously as he led you to a speeder.
"War's over. I don't live where I work anymore. Come on. I'll take you home." He helped you inside, keeping a careful hold on your hand as he zipped through the beautiful, snowy mountainside of this new world.
You glided along in silence for a bit, with raindrops gathering on the glass as you zoomed along.
"You're not mad at me are you?" He asked, squeezing your hand.
You returned the squeeze gratefully, turning to study his profile. "For making me leave you there?"
"No." The corner of his mouth curled. "For kissing you."
"Oh," you laughed. "No. I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. I was starting to feel left out. You've kissed everyone."
"What?" He almost crashed the speeder, he whipped around to you so fast.
"I'm joking." With a warm smile, you laced your fingers through his. "We just never could get our timing right, could we?"
"We can now." He leaned over and kissed your temple. "We have time."
𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ✧
Fall Fluff Masterlist | Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
Summary: You summon your concubine, but you get Steven instead. Marc later appears unexpectedly.
cw: on the fic masterlist • wc: 4.4k
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PREVIOUSLY ON MINE...
Tears clouded Marc's vision, and by the time he made it back to his quarters and was released from his jeweled shackles, Steven was left staring into the mirror at the finery adorning his body.
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The next day, you awoke feeling lighter than you had since Marc left you in the mountains. Things should return to normal. Marc would remain in the palace as your prized concubine. Your alliance with your neighbors in the mountains stood stronger than ever.
After meeting with your small council, you cut your day short, summoning Marc to relax with you in the sun and perhaps swim, after you took his body, of course. You would settle for nothing slow and sensual this day. Hopefully he would be accommodating. You felt certain he would be.
You would give him so much pleasure that he would soon forget his silly request about love.
As you lounged in the sun, awaiting your lover, Tyree appeared, bowing deeply.
"Forgive the delay, Your Grace," she began apologetically, "but the concubine is not available at present. I believe I can only deliver the librarian to Your Grace this afternoon. Would you like him adorned in the concubine's finery?"
Ah. Steven.
"No," you sighed. "He may dress as he wishes, but please do bring him here to me immediately."
She returned a short while later with Steven. He was dressed handsomely, in one of Marc's newer outfits from your travels. He looked like a nobleman, except that his hands were drawn close to his chest protectively.
Nodding for Tyree to leave you, you beckoned him closer, rising to greet him.
Steven bowed deeply. "It is an honor to be summoned. I hope I have not disappointed Your Grace."
"Of course not," you graciously responded. "How are you? How do you find the royal library?"
His eyes lit up as his posture relaxed. He went on to delightedly relay to you every aspect he found fascinating about the library, as well to explain the improvements he wished to implement, with the permission of the Master of Scholars, and yourself, of course.
You let him talk, smiling at his passion. Eventually, your thoughts drifted to Marc. It was difficult to avoid thinking about him, since Steven shared his body. You wondered about Marc's passions. Had you ever asked him? Had you once ever regarded Marc with the same intellectual interest and patience you granted Steven?
Sure, you and Marc had spent hours talking about all manner of topics, but typically you were huddled in bed together, naked, when you did so. Did he feel beholden to speak to you out of obligation?
Of course you owed nothing to a concubine, but spending time with Steven did make you wonder.
Noticing that you seemed distracted, Steven eventually paused his rambling and asked after you.
"I am well," you half-fibbed. "I enjoy hearing you speak. You are very passionate," you complimented.
"Thank you, Your Grace," Steven beamed. "What do you like to do, when you are not running a country or...with Marc?"
"That is a bold question," you teased. "You wish to know about the queen's personal affairs?"
Realizing his misstep, Steven fumbled out an apology, but you laid your hand on his, assuring him you were not serious.
"I understand that I am only here because of Marc," Steven admitted. "And I realize I offer nothing to Your Grace to allow me to remain here. But I thank you for your kindness and thoughtfulness. Marc is very fond of you, and I see why he is."
Your jaw tensed at the mention of Marc's affection. Clearing your throat, you gazed out over the calm ocean. "You've spoken to Marc? I wasn't sure it was possible."
Steven nodded. "I believe you met him before I did, but...yes. I can hear him, sometimes, in here." He tapped his finger to his temple right as you turned to look at him. "Not always. But sometimes."
"I see. He did not mention it to me." You turned back to the water, releasing a sigh. "I hope you are both content here, if not happy. I truly do not wish either of you to feel forced into servitude."
"Oh. No, of course not," Steven assured you. "Your Grace is generous. We are very fortunate. Especially me."
"Because you are not required to be a concubine?"
"No, because, as I said, I have nothing of value to offer Your Grace."
"That is not true," you said firmly, angling your body to face him. "You are a librarian. You were not trained as a concubine, so I would never force you to be something you are not, nor any man."
For once, Steven fell silent. Thrilled by his new position, he couldn't help but wonder if you could ever see him the way you saw Marc. As someone to confide in, to share your time with. Someone to give yourself to.
"I almost sent him away, you know." Your voice drifted softly over the waves. The wind stirred around you, causing your robe to flutter prettily against your skin. Before Steven could respond, you added, "I am afraid I disappointed him. I wanted to give him the chance to live a different life."
"I think it would break his heart to leave you," Steven softly replied, his gaze catching yours. He peered at you so earnestly, but it felt so different from Marc. "I confess, I also wish to remain here, but I understand my opinion holds no sway."
"You wish to remain here because of the royal library," you responded. "That's understandable."
Steven smirked, amused. "Does the queen speak and think for all her subjects?"
You cracked a smile, shaking your head. "You speak as boldly as Marc sometimes. And even Elshal. Enlighten me as to why you wish to remain here, if not for the library."
"I should think it was obvious." His gaze bore into yours as he swallowed thickly.
"You flatter me," you replied dismissively. "Many clamor for a turn in the queen's presence, but no one really knows the queen."
"Does the queen allow it?" Steven challenged, drifting closer. "It must be lonely, at the head of the most powerful country on the continent."
Normally, his bold remarks would spark the fire in you, urge you to contradict him, to put him in his place, something. But a bit of the fight had gone out of you lately. You sighed tiredly, leaving Steven's earnest gaze and taking a seat on a bench swing. Pushing your feet listlessly, you drifted back and forth, considering his words.
"Elshal is my friend. My oldest friend," you offered as some sort of defense for your lonely state.
Steven approached you cautiously, nodding in agreement. "That is wonderful. She seems very devoted. And intimidating."
You chuckled, amused. "That is her job."
Noticing him tense at the thought of the captain of your guard, you patted the swing beside you. "Do not fear. I will not let Elshal hunt you again."
The two of you pushed your feet off the ground, swinging back and forth like childhood friends. Steven's presence felt comforting in that way.
"Would you like to make a journey with me?" You suddenly offered. "I took Marc to the mountains, but I could take you to the great library at Phollor."
Steven stopped the swing with his feet, gawking at the request. "Could I? That would be absolute heaven."
"Very well," you smiled at him sweetly. "But we must be careful. They are our allies, but they share a border with our enemy. You must do everything I command, and you must accept the protection of my royal guard, including Elshal."
Nodding eagerly, Steven agreed.
"There is one more thing," you slowly admitted. "Like the journey I made with Marc, you will need to be presented as my companion and not my concubine. It is not looked on favorably. Our allies there and in the mountains share a religion that forbids it. Even as a librarian, you would sleep in servant's quarters and might be expected to work during your stay. As my companion, you would be my guest."
Watching carefully for his reaction, you went on. "This means you would stay with me and attend functions with me. You will be treated as a nobleman, and be granted access to the library as much as you wish."
Steven swallowed hard. "I would stay with Your Grace?"
"Of course, I would not expect you to perform the role of concubine," you assured him. "Do you accept?"
Steven had never agreed to something so quickly or so wholeheartedly in his life.
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Dressed in Marc’s finery, Steven gazed in wonder a the tower of books surrounding him, climbing to the heavens. The smell of worn pages lured him forward, temping him with ancient secrets and yet-unmade discoveries.
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You first beheld the Library of Phollor as a young girl. Even by royal standards, the magnificent structure, with the mightiest gathering of knowledge on the continent, if not the known world, made an impression. Your mother the queen, your father and sister were given a tour. Your mother pulled you aside as you gazed from a third-level balcony down at the library’s splendor, at its multicolored spines and endless rows.
‘You must learn to love knowledge,” she’d told you, resting her hands on your shoulders from behind you as you peeked over the steep edge. ‘You must not hide from your tutors or be foolish. A queen who reads is a queen who can know her people, her allies, her enemies - their history.”
“Yes, Mother,” you dutifully responded, mesmerized. “May I explore for a while?”
Your mother turned you around to face her, grasping your shoulders. “Only with Lux to accompany you,” she insisted, referring to a lieutenant in her Queensguard.
Your eyes sparkled, “May Elshal play with me?” You requested, referring to Lieutenant Lux’s daughter. “We shall find an adventure to read together!”
Your mother hushed you, reminding you to respect this place and to refrain from playing among the tall rows and endless spiral staircases.
Seeing you frown, she added, “You and Elshal may select a book or two to read on our trip. See to it that you do not leave your sister behind.”
You groaned at the thought of dragging your sister around when you simply wanted to play and explore.
“My love,” she went on, easing down to your level. “Try to select a book that will inform you about the people of this continent. Then select a book of stories. To know your people is to know their history, as well as their hopes and dreams and legends.”
“Yes, Mother,” you agreed, then scampered away to find Elshal.
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"Oh my days," Steven gasped, turning around in circles as he beheld the tower of books. "I could live in here. I never want to leave."
"Are you certain I couldn't persuade you?" You gently teased, breaking him out of his trance.
He grinned. "Of course, Your Grace." He sighed, shaking his head in wonder. "Besides, I do not think Marc would like to be cooped up with books for the rest of his life."
You smiled wistfully at the mention of your concubine. Placing your hand on his shoulder, you said, "I will see you for the evening meal. Tyree will accompany you at all times. Do not leave her sight."
"Yes, Your Grace."
You dismissed him, allowing him to begin exploring while you spoke to Tyree for an additional moment.
"See that he complies with my order," you told her gravely. "Failure is unacceptable. The stakes are too high in this situation."
"As Your Grace commands." Tyree bowed deeply.
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That evening, Steven was dressed and presented to you before the two of you would be escorted to dinner. But as he bowed and gazed at you longingly, you could tell Steven was gone.
"Marc," you breathed, stepping cautiously closer to him.
"My queen," he smiled hesitantly, accepting the hand you offered him. Drawn together like the planet's magnetic forces, both hands touched, fingers lacing as you studied one another in all your finery.
You wore a gown of deep crimson with gold lace leaf designs to honor the forests of you allies. Gold body armor wrapped around your torso, adorned with rubies. Marc's flowing robe matched your gown exactly. A golden choker wrapped deliciously around his corded neck.
"You will be the envy of every person tonight," you whispered, tracing your fingers over the gold around his neck. "You are a vision."
"No one will notice me next to you," he softly refuted. His eyes dipped as he cleared his throat. "Forgive me if I have disappointed you by appearing here. I understand you asked Steven to accompany you on this trip."
Noticing the way his eyes flickered away from yours - so unusual for him - the way his throat bobbed in anticipation, or trepidation - stirred your heart, prompting you to comfort him.
Realizing you may have wounded him even further than you did that night in the mountains, you grasped his elbows, shaking your head. "No, I only wanted to show him the library. I wish for you to be here as well. You must know that."
"I do not mean to sound ungrateful," he went on, forlornly. "Steven said you will not send us away for now." His lip trembled as he squared his shoulders and met your eyes again. "I will do my duty. I will not disappoint you again."
Elshal appeared, clearing her throat. Normally, in your own queendom, you would not be interrupted during such a moment, but you were guests here, and did not want to appear rude to your hosting monarch.
Marc took your arm and followed your lead. The ease you felt with him on the previous trip didn't come so naturally this time. He tried, but it was as if the two of you had lost your synchrony. He remained quiet when previously, he would have spoken charmingly, as your companion. He seemed desperately afraid to misstep and incur your ire.
You reached for his hand underneath the banquet table.
Leaning discreetly close to his ear, you whispered, "Be at ease. We will retire soon."
He granted you a terse nod, swallowing thickly. You finished the evening without incident, asking Marc to join you in a dance. You danced with a few other noblemen, while Marc retired ahead of you, at your prompting.
Finally, you made it back to your chambers.
Marc surprised you by kneeling down at your feet, scantily clad, adorned in concubine's jewels. You didn't realize those items had even been packed. Since you were hiding the fact of his position in your palace, you expected him to be dressed as your companion, or dressed for bed.
Whispering his name, you lifted his chin with your fingertips. "What is this? Who dressed you this way?"
"I did," he answered, unwaveringly. He had made many mistakes of late, but this, he could do. "What does Your Grace wish of me tonight?"
Brushing your fingers across his cheek, you smiled down at him softly. "Come with me." Holding out your hand, you coaxed him to sit down on the bed's edge. "You surprised me. You look beautiful. Stay here for a moment while I change out of my gown."
As your ladies helped you remove your armor and dress, and slip into a sheer white gown, you couldn't stop your heart from thundering in your chest. Marc was ready to do his duty, as he should. But you felt as if you'd wounded him. He'd brought up old wounds for you as well, though he clearly hadn't intended to.
You returned to him promptly, emboldened by the way he rose from the bed to intercept you, eyes roving hungrily over your curves, evident to his view through the sheer, soft fabric. He reached for your hips, gripping them possessively and pulling you against his chest as his mouth met yours.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you arched into him, causing the jewels adorning his body to scrape tantalizingly across your nipples. His tongue swept over yours, exactly the way you liked. He was no longer that sweet, prized virgin. Your bodies had memorized the other's, after countless days and nights tangled together as lovers.
He walked you back to the bed, whirling you around to lay you down, with your legs dangling off the edge. Standing upright, he stared down at you hungrily, eyes dark with lust. He loosened his jeweled robe, allowing it to drop to the floor. Your eyes devoured his bronzed skin, from the flush of his cheeks down to his hard, leaking cock.
Sweeping his fingertips up the length of your thighs, he found the ties holding your gown in place and pulled them loose. "Take this off," he told you. "Turn over."
"Marc-"
He maneuvered your body, flipping you until you lay flat on the bed, face down. Turning your head to the side, you craned your neck to get a look at him, but he was suddenly all over you, his body covering yours as he breathed on your ear.
"We were taught a great many things about how to please a woman at the House of the Tributes," he said, voice rough and low. He gripped the backs of your thighs and spread them apart, wide. "Many more still on how to please a queen." His fingers slipped underneath you, cupping your mound.
"I will please the queen tonight," he growled, sliding two fingers into your cunt, slick and eager, sucking his digits inside.
"Lie still," he added. Your walls fluttered as his voice rumbled on your ear.
He fingered you open, touching you with memorized precision, stroking and caressing every place inside you that urged your hips to shift against his hand. He sucked demandingly on the soft skin of your neck, nipping at your earlobe and swiping his tongue wherever he pleased.
You whimpered as he abandoned your neck, kissing a trail down the curve of your spine, losing his concentration, which stilled his fingers inside you. His mouth made it down to the curve of your ass, where he gently bit your lush skin, kissing a trail between your legs.
Pulling his hand roughly out of your cunt, he patted your ass. "Up." And without waiting, he gripped your hips and hauled you up to your knees, pushing you onto all fours. Before you could even think to respond, you felt the blunt tip of his cock prodding at your entrance. He used his hand to guide himself inside you, punching the air out of your lungs with one long, rough stroke.
Just that first thrust weakened your knees and you moaned as he hauled you back into place and started fucking you hard, but slow.
Whatever he was up to, whatever inspired this deliciously dominant session, you wanted to be fucked. You wanted to feel him stretch and split you open until it made you scream. A powerful thrust sated your lust for one moment, but he dragged himself back out of you so painfully slowly, your body went rigid with defiance.
"Faster," you panted, thrusting yourself back against him, hoping to feel more friction.
"It will be over too soon," he responded, hips snapping forward as he pounded into you again. Then came the slow, agonizing drag of his cock almost all the way out of your slick channel.
"Faster," you hissed, pushing back again, but slightly losing your balance which caused your bodies to disconnect. You growled in frustration and white hot desire.
Marc chased after you, easing back to where he was sitting on his knees. He wrapped his arms around your torso and hauled your back up against his chest. You felt him rubbing his cock against the curve of your ass. He held you there, pleasuring himself, while giving you nothing.
"Why do you fight me so?" He uttered in your ear, fingers trailing down to toy with your sex. "Why do you not let me bring you pleasure?" His other hand found your hip and he shifted you against him until he could slip inside you once more.
Your head fell back to rest on his shoulder as you moaned, deep and hungry. Digging his fingertips into your hip, he worked you over his throbbing length, teasing your aching core with his other hand.
The smell of his fine oils surrounded you. His hot breath fell heavy on your ear as growled your name. "You need it fast, take it, mi reina," he goaded.
You fell forward, bracing yourself on your hands, but he moved right with you, grabbing both hips and pounding into you so rapidly you shrieked in surprise and pleasure. He kept you there, thrust after relentless thrust.
"There's my sound," he panted, his voice smug and satisfied. "I've missed it."
Back arching violently, you collapsed against the mattress, but Marc stayed right with you, fucking you through it, letting you lay face down as your body melted into ecstasy. With a few more rough strokes, he spilled inside you.
You lay panting and spent, half underneath him as he kissed your sweat soaked neck and wrapped his arms around you completely.
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
You lay there with Marc long enough to doze, despite the mess the two of you made. He held onto you, gently easing his softened cock out of you, then listened to the gentle sound of your breathing. Perhaps you would allow him to stay the night.
You stirred only a few moments later, murmuring his name.
"I am here," he whispered, kissing your neck and then your cheek.
Rolling over in his embrace, you gazed at him, running your thumb along his kiss swollen lip before kissing his mouth. He tasted you back eagerly, thrilled to have your approval and attention.
"The wine has made me drowsy," you murmured, between languid kisses, "but I see it has invigorated you. Why have we never tried it like that before?"
The corner of Marc's mouth curled. "I only wish to please my queen. To bring you pleasure."
"You have," you purred, slipping closer to him, pressing your breasts against his chest. "You do."
Instead of self-satisfaction, you saw something like relief skitter across his handsome features.
"I am happy for it," he finally answered, stroking your side with his fingertips.
"You were quiet at dinner," you told him. "I was worried."
Dark eyebrows arched with concern. "Forgive me. I do not mean to cause you distress. Not ever."
"I know that." Reaching for his face, you caressed his cheek, touching your forehead to his. "It is I who should ask forgiveness."
"You?" He breathed, easing back. "Whatever for?"
"For...our time in the mountains."
He shook his head, "My queen-"
"I put my hands on you." Your eyes clouded with a hint of moisture.
He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. His arm flexed against your back as he found a reply. "We put our hands on one another constantly." He offered you a small smile, but worry lingered in his eyes.
"I shoved you. Frightened you." You paused, your voice choking for a moment with emotion. "After I swore to you that you were safe with me. I am sorry."
His head tilted curiously as he eyed you carefully. "You did not hurt me. I...I hurt you. My words. I was selfish-"
"No." You shook your head resolutely. "What you said makes no difference in this instance. I put my hands on you and I am so dreadfully sorry for it. You should never have to fear a woman's hands..."
"I do not fear you. Never you," he insisted, moved by your words and falling more desperately in love with you by the moment. But he would never again make the mistake of professing it.
Wrapping your arms around each other, you hugged so tightly, seeking and giving the comfort you both needed.
After a few moments, you asked Marc if he would bathe with you and spend the night in your bed. Since you were traveling together, he would remain in your chambers anyway, but you wanted to feel his body next to yours.
As you rested, soaking in a luxurious bath, curled against his chest, you offered something that made his heart stop.
"You may leave me if you wish to," you whispered against his throat.
The water sloshed as he sat up straighter. "I could never wish that."
Peering into his eyes, you smiled at him sadly. "If you wish for love, for a family, I would not keep you in service to me. You could be free to have whatever your heart desires."
Slowly nodding, Marc measured his words very carefully. "My heart's desire is to remain with my queen."
"Even if I cannot give you love?" You held your breath as he held your gaze, as he always did.
"Even then. I am yours." Feeling you tense in his arms, he pressed on. "That is what you said to me at the beginning. That I am yours. I belong to you. I will never again distress my queen with talk of love. But I do belong to you. I belong nowhere else."
Hearing him desire to stay with you, to let go of his notion of loving you, should flood you with relief.
But did he not deserve more than a concubine's life?
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After your bath, you assumed you and Marc would fall into deep slumber, but he seemed eager and determined to re-claim his role as concubine. He ate you out for what felt like endless hours. He brought you to heaven with his mouth so many times, you passed out, exhausted from the overwhelming pleasure.
You slept soundly as he wiped you clean, folded you in his arms, covered your naked bodies and finally fell asleep beside you.
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Steven awoke at dawn, instantly noticing the pulsing of his stiff, straining cock. He must have had a delicious dream. As his eyes blinked open, he realized that not only was he naked, but he was in bed with a naked woman.
This had happened before. He...overreacted and Elshal almost took his head off. Drawing a calming breath, he reminded himself that he did not have to panic upon waking up naked next to the queen herself. His body was your concubine - it was bound to happen from time to time.
Gods, you felt delicious - warm breath on his neck, breasts pressed against his chest. Your hair smelled divine. His thigh was wedged between your legs. He could feel your bare cunt rubbing him slightly as you shifted and stirred. Your thigh brushed his aching length and he breathed out a curse, squeezing his hands into fists so he would not touch you without permission.
You murmured Marc's name, your beautiful eyes blinking open.
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mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
Breeding Kink!Santiago Garcia x Not Ready for Kids!Reader
santiago garcia masterlist | main masterlist
Notes: Reader is younger than Santiago, with a body that is able to produce a child. Gender is your choice. Slight mention of hair, but nothing really exclusive.
These are headcanons that morphed into a story and I'm too lazy fix the prose at this point, enjoy. wc: 2.8
cw: breeding kink, obviously, talk of pregnancy, characters want 2 different things but there is NO ANGST (a rare treat from me), food, established relationship, dirty talk, talk about protected/unprotected sex, fingering, hand job, oral - f. rec., bit of protected and unprotected p in v, creampie
Breeding Kink!Santiago, who knows you’re not ready for kids, at least not yet.
Who knows you use birth control, and that you’ve used condoms during your two years and seven months together.
Who knows you might not ever be ready to marry. He isn’t so sure about marriage himself.
But he just can’t help himself.
When you crawl on top of him during a movie, grind against him, so eager, the movie's plot forgotten, he loses his mind.
You're younger than him, you have your whole life in front of you. Half the time he wonders why you're even with him.
The sex is good, he's sure about that. He knows he can take care of you and make you scream his name.
But sometimes, when you're moving around the kitchen making breakfast, humming to yourself, he sees it.
The image of you in your favorite robe, so soft and worn, untied over a t-shirt or tank top and the boxers you like to sleep in. You shuffle around in your cute fluffy slippers, so adorable, but he thinks...
what if your tummy swelled with his baby, and poked adorably out of your robe?
What if he eased in behind you, humming along as he slipped his arms around you and felt the shape of his baby growing inside you?
What would it be like to make a baby with you - to skip the condoms, to stare into your eyes, knowing this could be the time - to make sure to come inside you -to fill you up and make your body change because of what he fucked into you?
What would it be like when you told him? Could you ever want this the way he does?
He can only imagine you feeling sick. He would feel terrible, but would jump at the chance to take care of you, to bring you snacks or hold your hair back if that's what you needed.
He would spoil you and pamper you and let you whine and boss him around, treating you like a princess, making you comfortable while your body changed and formed around this baby.
What would it be like when you started telling people that you created a life together, that someone, something in this world would bond you together forever, something beyond your love, a product of your love?
He could only imagine how it would feel to watch your body start to change. Your breasts would get bigger and might even be sore. You would probably roll your eyes every time he stared at them, and swat his hand away if he felt you up too eagerly or sucked your nipples too hard. Then again, maybe it would feel good for you if he sucked your nipples.
Then your belly would grow. You would eventually show - your sweet tummy would peek out of your clothes, making t-shirts go tight. When he took you out somewhere and held your hand, everyone would see that you were his, that he put his baby in you and it was changing you and making you round and full of life, full of something uniquely both of you.
Eventually, he would fuck you like that, hands around your swollen belly, maybe from behind, working his hips into you, feeling you all over. Maybe you would go through a phase where you wanted it more, where you needed him, craved him. Perhaps the opposite would happen. Maybe you would pout and whine and push him away and damn if that wouldn't make him want you more.
He would feel the baby kick - you would feel it together. And you would grow and change and he would give you anything and everything you wanted in the world.
As you straddle his lap, grinding against his erection, he grips your hips, moving you urgently.
"Take these off," he murmurs, yanking at your pants. "Want you right now."
"Okay, slow down," you breathlessly laugh, working with him to get you half naked. "We have to get more condoms tomorrow, remember? Wanna just fool around?"
"...fuck, I want you," he whines. And you can count on two fingers the number of times Santiago has whined, this being one of them.
"You can have me." You promise, nibbling on his lips. "Want me to suck you off first?"
Tempting but... "I think I have one in my wallet. Let's go to the bedroom."
He drags you, half-naked, down the hall to your bedroom, licking his lips as you shed your t-shirt and sports bra. He thumbs through his wallet, groaning as he realizes he might truly be out of condoms.
Cursing in Spanish, he pushes down his pants and flings his own t-shirt aside. "No condom," he tells you.
"Don't be mad," you say softly, placing your palms on his bare chest. "We have to be safe."
"I know, I know. I just want to fuck you. Wanna feel you. I need to." He kisses you hungrily, hands roaming all over your body.
"What has gotten into you, baby?"
What's he supposed to say? That while you were making out with him on the couch, he was fantasizing about knocking you up? About how your body would change because of what he would do to you?
Even now, the thought of it consumes him. He's pushed it down for a long time, but something snapped in him after his sister visited last weekend, with his sweet little niece and nephew in tow.
His niece is four and you and Santiago have always had fun playing with her, but when he saw you hold his baby nephew, it stole his breath away. The way your face lit up as you smiled down at him, cradling him gently and humming the way you liked to do.
From that very second, all he wanted to do was put a baby in you.
"Sorry, just...fucking want you bad tonight, mi cielo. Sorry." He shakes his head, smiling and rolling his eyes at himself. "My fault. Lay down. I wanna eat you out."
Eyes narrowing curiously, you nod, scooting back on the mattress and lying down flat. Santi climbs in over you, laying half on his side, so his knees won't hurt. He presses his mouth hotly to yours, tracing his fingers up the inside of your thigh until he sinks them hard and heavy into your wet heat.
"Oh fuck," you pant, breaking the kiss. As promised, he nibbles and sucks and licks and kisses a trail down your body, with hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, wet, desperate sucking of your nipples, nibbles across the smooth, soft parts of your stomach, and finally, he licks rough and hard at your cunt.
"Holy shit, Santi, that's good." Your hips shift against his mouth as you twist your eager fingers into his salt and pepper curls. "It's so good, baby."
All the intensity building inside him, making him want to breed you, he pours into pleasing you now, rubbing you with his tongue and sucking exactly how you like.
You pat his side. “Turn around and I'll suck you. We can come together."
He wants that. Wants it so bad, but as he pulls away and gazes down at you, your mouth parted and panting, tits heaving as you gasp for air, your body wet and ripe and hungry for him, he has to slam his eyes shut to get his bearings.
"Baby?" You whisper, reaching for his cheek.
"Sorry. Sorry," he shakes his head. "Let me just..." He lowers his head, as if ready to continue making you lose your mind with his mouth, but something is distracting him.
"Hey, come here." You coax him down beside you, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his cheek. "You want me bad, huh?"
He grins, laughing out breathlessly. "Yeah. I really fucking do. But...you know, boundaries. I'm sorry."
"Baby," you whisper, kissing him temptingly. "I know we try to be careful. With me going back for my master's degree so I can switch careers..."
"I know," he nods, staring into your eyes. "I know we have to be careful."
"But..." you go on, lingering long enough for his heart to catch in his throat, "I mean, I am on birth control. Skipping a condom just one time should probably be-"
He surges forward, silencing you with a searing kiss. Suddenly, he's everywhere at once, hands flying, crowding in close, and before you can blink, you feel the slick, heavy tip of his dick nudging at your hole.
"Stop me right now or I will. I want to." He meets your eyes. "But I love you. I'll stop."
"Santi, you act like you want to put a baby in me-umph!"
He sinks into you deep and heavy, groaning out something orgasmic. The corded muscles of his neck and chest flex and tense as he pants against your mouth.
"Fuck...say that again," he moans, working into you with desperate, consuming thrusts. "Say it, say it."
God, he's never been so eager with you, so hungry. Your thighs fall open as you claw at his shoulders, trying to meet his thrusts, to give him something back. But you can barely think straight, he feels so fucking good, raw inside you for the first time.
"Say...what...?” you pant. "Shit...Santi, you feel good in me like this. It's so good, I like you like this in me, baby."
You know there's the tiniest chance you could get pregnant even on birth control. That's why you and Santi are always so careful, using condoms and you even track your ovulation. Thankfully, today is not one of those days, but still...
"I'm gonna fill you up so good," he growls, pushing your thigh up and spreading you open further. "It's gonna drip out of you and then I'm gonna push it right back in."
You assumed he wouldn't come inside you, and you know he would stop in an instant if you said the word, but seeing him like this, wrecked and wanting, with sweat pooling in the curls over his forehead, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, his beautiful, broad hips sinking into you with wild abandon, despite how his knees might pay for it later…
you want to give him this. You want him to come inside you. You need to know how warm and wet it would feel. It's something you've never shared with anyone and god, you want it.
But...you just aren't ready for a baby. Your career is not what you hoped for, you have school, you're still young. Young enough, anyway. You and Santiago haven't even discussed starting a family.
"Wait," you pant, pushing gently against his shoulders. "Wait, sorry, slow down, one sec, okay?"
"Yeah...yeah," he gasps, bring his hips to a halt, his eyes flying open and blowing wide with guilt. Now you would know. You would realize how much he wants to give you a baby.
"Tell me what you want," you beg him, lacing your fingers together as his cock goes still inside you. "Tell me the truth."
He swallows hard. "I wanna fuck you raw."
He feels your cunt clench when he talks to you like that.
"And?" You manage, breathlessly.
"I wanna come inside you. Fill you up."
You throw him a bone. "I want that too."
"Fuck," he hisses, thrusting into you once and then stopping himeslf. "But I know you're not ready...you know..." he attempts to conclude the conversation.
"I'm not ready for a baby."
When you say that word, he actually moans. Oh shit.
"But...you are." It hits you like a ton of bricks. The way he stared at you whenever you held his baby nephew. The way he oh so casually wandered by the baby aisle at the store, commenting on the cute, sporty onesies. The way he wanted to fuck without a condom and the way even the mention of a baby makes him lose it.
"I love you," he tells you, almost pitifully. "That's all that matters." He pulls out of you, but you can tell how much he doesn't want to. "We can fool around. It's okay."
You surge forward and kiss him, swapping places with him until you are on top and he's resting on the mattress gazing up at you.
"You want a baby?" You ask him tenderly, with no trace of mocking or guile in your voice. "Or...you just want to breed me?"
"Fucking hell," he groans, his arm flopping over his eyes. "Don't say that shit to me. I can't take it."
"Yes you can," you tell him, easing down beside him. You kiss his neck and breathe on his ear while your hand wraps around his dick.
"We can still be careful even if you want to put a baby in me," you murmur, stroking him the way he likes, working up and down his length, slick from his brief time inside you. "Is that what you want? You want to knock me up?"
"Jesus," he whines, hips snapping up to fuck into your fist. “Say it again.”
"It's okay to want it," you tell him. "It's okay to think about filling me up - coming inside me. It would feel so good if you did.”
"...fuck...yes." He groans.
You lick your lips at the way his broad hips thrust so heavy and hard. You can imagine yourself on top of him, feeling him spear you open. You work him faster, slipping one hand between his legs to toy with his balls. "Tell me again what you want."
He moans out your name, brokenly, the muscles of his neck straining as he holds himself back, even now.
Your hand goes still.
"No, no, don't stop," he begs - a rare thing for him. It sounds good.
"Tell me," you repeat, teasing his dick with your fingertips.
"I did," he pants, a sound of pleasure mixed with relief rumbling in the expanse of his chest as you suck on his neck and keep jerking him. "You want me to say it again?"
"You want to fuck me raw," you breathe lowly, against his ear.
"Yeah..."
"You want to come inside me."
"Unhh...fuck..yes."
He's close. Sweat beads on his forehead as his muscles go unbearably tight in his neck, his chest, his arms. Even his heels dig into the mattress as he pushes back against your grip, thrusting.
"You want to fill me up, push your cum back inside me. Make a mess of me."
"Shit, shit, I'm close, baby."
"I know," you purr, very satisfied with yourself for having this kind of power over a man who is typically ruining you on a tri-weekly basis, sometimes more often.
Watching him fuck your fist and moan and writhe under your touch has created a waterfall between your legs - one you cannot wait for him to pay attention to.
"You want to put a baby in me?" You can't even get through the question before he spurts all over your hand, coating it until it's dripping onto his bare stomach.
You watch his face twist in pleasure. You kiss and touch and take him through it, feeling like you've unlocked a new level of Santi.
His eyes stay closed for a while longer than usual. You curl up close and let him come back to himself as slowly as he wants.
"Shit, that was good," he finally manages. His eyes drift open and search for yours. His heart burns for you like never before. He showed you a piece of himself and you took it in stride. Well, not literally, but you met him right where he was and let him enjoy it - didn't judge him for it.
Better not get ahead of himself and start wanting to marry you. "Hey, do you want some ice cream?"
You laugh, swatting his chest playfully. "You are so weird. I am drenched over here, by the way. I don't want ice cream unless you are going to treat me like the ice cream cone."
"I can do that," he murmurs against your mouth, rolling you over and kissing you deeply. "When we're done though, I really need to go to the store and get some ice cream. And condoms."
Your eyebrows shoot up. "I love that plan, actually. Let's go."
An hour later, you're back in bed, ice cream bowls stashed in the kitchen sink. Santiago pushes deep inside you and if feels so good you know you won't last long.
"I love you." His words are tender although his body isn't. Fine by you. You've been waiting all night for this.
You stare into his eyes, knowing tonight was a win. "I love you. I'll be ready someday."
He cradles you close, slowing his pace, kissing you hungrily. "You know, you talk a good game. Can we do that again?"
"Yeah," you tease, and just to get a rise out of him, you add, "Knock me up."
Protective!Victor Frankenstein x Married!reader, The Creature (Adam) & reader • cw: physical abuse, hurt/comfort, ptsd symptoms, violence, sort of emotional cheating, soft smut • wc: 7.5k
Summary: What if creating life could invent a whole new life for Victor, and for you? You assume Victor is just another full-of-himself baron, until he sees that you are hurt. His response surprises you in possibly every way a person can be surprised.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
To hear Victor Frankenstein pontificate at dinner is a fascinating thing. He's self-assured, but he speaks with passion. He's so convinced of his ideas that he comes across as zealous, rather than arrogant.
He's handsome. Your husband mutters that he looks nothing like his noble father. So you cast your eyes downward, toward your plate.
Your husband was an old family friend of the late Baron Leopold, Victor's father. The elder Frankenstein and your husband are, or were, two barons, alike in money-wasting, tyranny over their households and a streak of violence. Yet this is your first time meeting Victor. You are guests in his home for the coming days.
Victor speaks with such conviction, drawing your gaze back to the animated gestures of his hands, the curl of his plush lips, the bounce of his raven curls, the mischievous glimmer in his earthen eyes. You should not allow your gaze to linger, not only because you are a married woman, but because if your husband suspects even a whiff of a wrong glance, your evening will turn very suddenly unpleasant.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Your husband does notice. Should have kept your focus on your plate. How dare you find someone's intellect captivating? Merely interesting, even? Apparently, according to your husband, you threw yourself at the man like a harlot.
The next day brings its share of pain and shame, but you finally find a free moment to wander the gardens alone.
You press your hand to your side, attempting to draw a deep breath on this beautiful, sunny day, but a sharp pain elicits a gasp of agony from your lips. With your opposite hand, you brace yourself on a tree trunk, breathing raggedly.
"Are you well?"
Your sore body jerks in surprise as the voice of Victor Frankenstein startles you.
"Baron...Frankenstein..." you pant, all hope of hiding your injury disappearing as tears sting your eyes. "F-forgive me. I was walking and…I must have wandered. I do not wish to intrude - " Your lip trembles as he rushes over to you, hair a flurry of wild curls, eyes round with concern.
It shocks you to see sympathy before you, rather than the guile and rebuke with which you are so uncomfortably acquainted.
"My lady, are you hurt?"
You stop cold, hoping to persuade him that nothing whatsoever suspicious has happened.
"I'm afraid I was rather clumsy. Tripped right over a tree root," You hastily and falsely confess. "My apologies. It was not very ladylike."
Victor's head cocks curiously as he eases closer. Swallowing almost nervously, or perhaps hesitantly, his eyes dip down to where you're practically holding yourself up, pressing your palm into your ribcage.
He stretches out his fingers, signet ring glistening in the morning sun. "Will you permit me? As a doctor. Your breathing sounds labored."
You want to protest. You try to stop him, but, with startling gentleness, he invades your personal space. Still, you flinch.
“Easy,” he soothingly purrs, “I do not threaten.”
Maintaining your composure is a skill you’ve mastered many times over, to hide your pain, to keep the peace, to honor your husband and uphold his good name. But not today.
You blow a breath past your lips as tears leak stubbornly out of your eyes. “Please…my husband,” you sniffle. “He cannot see. He cannot -”
Victor’s hand covers yours on your ribcage. His eyes, penetrating and serious, calm you somehow. “I will stop if my touch offends. I only worry that you are injured.” To prove his point, he withdraws, a fraction of a step, his patient gaze trained on yours.
If you do not flee this instant, you will sorely regret it. Quite literally. But something about his presence has broken you, and your mind fumbles for an excuse.
“It hurts badly,” you confess tearfully.
“Here, let me.” He shifts back toward you, catching you in his arms as you nearly collapse. He manages to simultaneously support you as you quietly cry, while carefully prodding at your ribcage, noting where you wince and gasp when he applies pressure.
“Come sit,” he advises, helping you ease down onto the nearest stone bench. His hold on you remains, and you are grateful for the support, and so hungry for a tender touch. “I believe you have bruised your ribs.”
Your eyes, wide and round and so sad, brim with fresh tears, your lip turning downward. “I am clumsy,” you attempt.
“I am not certain a fall such as you described would cause this,” he insists, slowly removing one blood red glove from his hand. His fingers land, warm and careful on your cheek, swiping the pool of tears gathered there. “Who did this? Who hurt you?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “No one. I tripped. I am not very graceful.”
“You are the very picture of grace," he insists, with a mildly frustrated shake of his head. He waits until you meet his eyes again. "Who?” He repeats. “Tell me who and they will never touch you again.” He assumes this is why you were so quiet at dinner last night. You must have arrived here injured.
Your forehead drops to his shoulder as you quietly cry. "I must go," you gasp out, hauling yourself up to your feet with difficulty. "I thank you for your kind attention, my lord."
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
During your stay, business takes Baron Frankenstein away for a couple days, but he insists you do not cut your visit short. In fact, he persuades your husband to stay for the duration of the month, or longer.
While he is away, your husband is calm. He always finds his center after he...relieves his frustrations in violent ways. At least it buys you some time.
When Victor returns, he is exuberant, but he seems to deflect from explaining exactly why. Dinner is served and, simply to avoid any unpleasant perceived interactions with your host, you feign a headache and excuse yourself.
Your plan backfires, making your husband extremely cross. Fortunately he's had so much to drink, he barely leaves a mark before passing out face down on the bed.
You flee once again to the garden, this time, under the moon's glow. You've never felt so out of control of yourself. Something about this place brings your emotions to the forefront and they spill over most dramatically.
Victor comes to you in the garden - the spot where he first held you and let you cry on his shoulder, that day, and several days since.
"I saw you from my window" he begins as if you are in the middle of conversation, "and did not think it proper to join you, but you seem so distressed, I'm afraid my curious nature overtook all reason."
You smile at him with something like relief and it's the most warmth he's seen from you since you came to stay.
"I hope I did not wake you, Baron," you politely respond.
"You did not. I was working," he admits. As he eases down on a stone bench beside you, he adds, "You are crying. Who hurt you?"
He knows, by now, very well who hurt you. He desires to hear you speak the truth aloud, but you say nothing.
"Why are you working at this hour?" You say instead, sniffling and swiping at your tears.
"Like I said, my curious nature overtakes all reason," he repeats cryptically. He stands, offering his gloved hand. "Would you like to see?"
The chance to spend more time with Victor and get your mind off your troubles is not an opportunity you wish to waste. "Your work? Certainly. I would be honored."
As you prepare to leave the garden, he easily spots you attempting to hide your gasps of pain. He allows you to manage on your own without demanding explanation. Instead, he offers his arm to escort you back to the house.
"I must tell you that many may find my work..." He pauses, searching for the best word, "unsettling."
"Do not worry, sir. I do not easily swoon."
He takes you to one of his private rooms - perhaps not his bedroom - although a bed is present. The bedding is opulent but rather old. Perhaps this was the late Baron Leopold's room.
The room is both tidy and a mess of journals and meticulous drawings of the human body. You hesitate in the doorway, doubting his intentions...until you notice an actual pale, dead body folded up on a table in a position of supplication. As you slowly follow Victor, you realize the body has been cut open for dissection, and perhaps study, yet somehow, the smell does not overtake the room.
Victor watches you carefully, waiting for you to respond to something grotesque, but you rush forward, admiring the figure. "It is beautiful," you reverently murmur, tracing your fingers in the air along the exposed spine, nearly touching, but feeling it not safe or proper to do so. "All pain is gone."
"Yes," Victor agrees, moving in behind you carefully. "The sight does not offend, my lady?"
"Not at all," you whisper. "It's magnificent. I love to read and study the sciences, but my husband restricts what I read."
"As if I needed another reason to think him a great fool," Victor mutters.
You swallow hard, your eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts your cheek. "Why have you allowed us to extend our visit if you think my husband a fool?"
"Because if he is here, then you are here."
You surmised as much. "I am married, sir."
"You are the victim of a tyrant. He treats you like a child," Victor insists, gently grasping your arms as he remains behind you, body pressed close to yours. "Believe me, I know."
"Your candor is sobering, Baron," you whisper. "And most would consider it improper."
"Would you like me to let go?"
You quickly shake your head no without thinking about it too much.
"Laying a hand on a creature such as yourself is improper. My experimentation is improper. My pursuit to create life and conquer death is unseemly, I suppose." By now, his arms have encircled your waist. His voice rumbles against your ear. "My desire for you is not only improper, but forbidden."
"I must go," you gasp out, finding your wits, relieved when he immediately releases you.
Noticing his directness has distressed you, he holds up his hands non-threateningly. "I will never again speak of this if it troubles you, nor will I ever again touch you without permission."
You tersely nod, making your way toward the door, your gut twisting with yearning to find an excuse to stay near him, while knowing how wrong it is.
"I would like you to see more of my work, if you are truly interested," he adds, in a final attempt to appease you. "I will keep my attention on the scientific, I swear it."
"I would love to see more," you assure him. "Perhaps another time."
Victor decides not to argue with you, instead dwelling on the thrill of you not seeming horrified by his work.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Over the next few days, Victor finds stolen moments here and there to speak to you about his work, convincing you that now is not the time to share it with your husband.
"He will know soon enough," he insists.
Several days later, Victor arranges an outing for your husband. He assures him that he has business to attend to, and doesn't want your husband to grow bored with only his wife for company.
Your husband is easily flattered and takes him up on the offer without hesitation.
Victor finds you in the garden and leads you back to the bedroom where he took you that night - when he grabbed hold of you and whispered scandalous things on your ear while the two of you stood over a dead body. A moment which replays in your mind, day and night.
"My work is complete," he utters excitedly, eyes wide, hair wild, voice exuberant. "Come, you must see."
Victor gently grasps your shoulders from behind, but it is a friendly gesture, meant to steady you. "He's just there, on the bed. This will be his room now."
You frown, confused. "Who is there?"
Victor points. "My creation."
You gasp out as a creature, tall, nearly naked, clothed in a few scraps of bandages, stands up from the bed and stumbles forward. His skin is cool gray, with some strips darker than others - a mixture of monochrome stained glass and a living marble statue. One eye is as dark as night, while the other reflects gold light, like a cat's.
"Vic-tor," he stutters out, bumbling forward, albeit with a strange grace.
Victor squeezes your shoulders, feeling you shudder slightly. "That's right, I am Victor."
"Hello," you softly interject, amazed by the being before you. "What is your name?"
"I call him Adam, although he can't seem to say it yet," Victor tells you. He steps between you and the creature and points to you, reciting your name. The creature's head cocks curiously but he simply repeats, "Vic-tor."
"Here, allow me," you try. "May I touch him?"
"Yes, it should be all right. He's gentle, so far at least," Victor responds, eyes sparkling at your response to his work.
With the faintest, tender touch, you spread your palm and ease it under Adam's hand. His curious eyes go wide at your touch. "May I?" You ask him, even though you assume he can't understand. You bring his fingers to your throat and repeat your name several times. "See, my throat makes sounds."
Slowly, Adam repeats your name, making Victor practically leap with excitement. "Very good, Adam. You're very smart."
"Vic-tor," he repeats, looking at his creator.
You smile at him and place your fingers and then his own, on his throat carefully. "Ad-am." You point to his chest, carefully, softly. "You are Adam. Adam." But Adam is curiously reaching for the frills and ruffles of your clothes, toying with them innocently. He seems to get bored and clambers over to the window to stare out at the sun.
"Light," he says, touching his fingers to the glass.
"Very good, Adam," Victor is like a small child who received a new pony, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Victor, you mean to tell me that you gave this man life?" You question, in awe. "He seems injured. I thought he was a wounded soldier."
"He is dozens of wounded soldiers," Victor explains. "I gathered the pieces and made them into one man. And I...animated him."
You rush to his side, shaking your head in wonder. "But how is it possible? Only God can create life."
Victor smirks. "Not anymore."
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Since you share a secret with Victor, a bond forms between you, beyond mere attraction. Victor is masterful at keeping your husband entertained and distracted. Meanwhile, you spend as much time as possible with Adam, and with Victor too - as often as you can manage without raising your husband’s suspicions.
You read to Adam and teach him letters and numbers. You begin to sew him some clothes that will fit his enormous frame. He speaks more words each day.
You try so earnestly to keep your wits about you around Victor. He occasionally catches you watching him while he works, smiling wryly at your flustered scurrying as you pretend to be otherwise occupied. And sometimes he sits and watches you teaching Adam, gazing at you as if you are, in your own way, also giving Adam life.
As you leave Adam and return to your room to dress for dinner, Victor sweeps you into an alcove, embracing you. You melt against his body, laying your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you and presses you close. It is not the first embrace between you, but certainly the longest.
"You belong here with us," he scandalously whispers, his lips brushing your ear. "You belong with me. Yet I see how you are trapped as much as the butterfly we caught together in the garden. I do not wish to possess you, only to adore you."
"Victor," you gasp, turning your head so your forehead touches his. Lips a breath apart, you repeat his name. "The only freedom I have ever known is in this house. It will break my heart to leave."
He presses his mouth to yours, but the kiss is chaste, adoring. "Come to me tonight. I will see that your husband is drunk with brandy. Let me show you how you should be pleasured, should be worshipped."
He kisses you lustfully, tongue sweeping over yours as his palm spreads over the curve of your back, crushing you closer. Your hands grasp at his coat before trailing over his corded neck to touch his face. Your fingers trace his jaw before sliding into his soft curls.
Victor moans as you gently tug, pushing you back against the wall with one strong movement from his hips. You kiss wildly, the heat of his breath luring you into a more intimate embrace. He effortlessly lifts your leg and slings it over his own. You feel the meat of his thigh pressing between your legs as your bodies begin to rock in a tantric rhythm.
You've never been kissed like this in your life...never felt your body bloom to life with such pulsing desire.
Footfalls on the stairs alert you to the passing of a servant, and send you scurrying away from one another, chests heaving. Your eyes lock and you sense that there will be no turning back for Victor. He will pursue you as ardently and fiercely as he pursued bringing a creature, a man, to life.
"Tonight?" He whispers, hopefully, grasping at your hands, but knowing you must part ways. "Come to me, please."
You shake your head frantically. "I do not know. Victor, please. I am married. I'll shame my entire family. Many will suffer if I give in to this. You will suffer.”
He has no idea what he's asking. He will never want you if he sees your body.
Seeing you distressed, Victor relents. "All right, my love. Forgive me. We will speak again soon. Do not fret."
"Victor, wait." Just to be clear, you grab the lapels of his jacket and kiss him again.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
You do not go to Victor that night. Your body aches for the tender fire of his touch, but he does not understand the you are not the refined creature you pretend to be.
The next day, you sit with Adam, staring out the window at the stormy sky, lulled into a trance by the patter of rainfall. Adam attempts to read a children's book to you, but stops when he realizes you haven't responded in a while.
"Do you like rain?" He asks, touching the window with his fingertip.
Realizing you let your mind wander, you smile at him gently. "I do. It's very soothing."
He hums a response but leans in closer. "You are sad."
He speaks with as much candor as Victor, but Adam's comes from knowing nothing of the guile or deceit of the world.
Your eyes find his briefly before flickering to his cool gray skin. "May I?" You ask, deflecting. He nods and your fingers trace where one piece of skin was expertly attached to another. "You are healing. Your skin is smooth." After a moment, you withdraw your hand. "Mine is not."
"Yours is not...healing?" He tries to understand, cocking his head this way and that to examine your face and hands, the only skin visible due to the long-sleeved, floor-length dress you wear.
"I'm afraid not," you softly respond, eyes vacant.
"Show me," Adam says innocently. "Are we...same?"
"No, we are not," you smile at him sadly. "You were crafted with love and care. To heal. To live."
"You were not...crafted?" He asks.
"No, I was marred. Hurt," You tell him, reaching for the hem of your skirt. You innocently slide it upward, moving fabric this way and that, and twisting your leg until he can see the scars low on the back of your thigh, just behind your knees.
"Not healing," he carefully repeats, chastely tracing the angry skin.
After a moment, you lower your skirts. "No, it will not heal."
"Who hurt you?" He grumpily asks, brow furrowing with concern. "Not Victor."
"No," you assure him. "Not Victor. Victor doesn't know about my scars."
"Victor help you," Adam insists, pointing to his own skin. "Healing."
You wish with all your heart that could be true, but if Victor is to love you, he will have to accept the scorn of society, the vengeance of your husband and the scars all over your body. It is too much to ask of any man.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Later that evening, once the men enjoy brandy in the study, your husband happens upon Victor speaking to you privately in the corridor. The two of you likely look highly improper at first glance, but Victor is simply asking you which new books you would like to read to Adam.
Your husband politely excuses the two of you, blaming exhaustion, and nearly hauls you by the arm to your chambers.
You cast wild, terrified eyes back to Victor as you're dragged to your doom.
Without fail, your husband flings you onto the bed and reaches for a leather belt, but stops cold as an insistent knock wraps on the door.
"Who is it?" Your husband growls.
"It is Victor," his muffled voice explains through the door. "I'm afraid you left your pocket watch downstairs. I've come to return it."
Your husband rummages around in his jacket and finds his own pocket watch. "I have it here. Leave us. I am very tired from so much brandy."
"My mistake. Perhaps you will allow me to see yours and compare it. I do not recognize this one. Do you have more than one?"
"Go away, Frankenstein," Your husband roars. "Don't be a nuisance."
"Sir, I fear I must insist that you open the door," Victor presses on. "As the master of this house, I demand it."
Your husband curses angrily, flinging open the door, ready to give Victor a piece of his mind. But instead he's met with the hulking figure of Adam who shoves him aside and rushes to you.
He lifts you into his arms with no effort at all and turns to Victor, who nods. "Take her."
Your husband, who landed embarrassingly on his ass, flounders, confused and disoriented. "What the devil is that thing? Do not touch my wife!"
"Silence!" Victor hisses, holding out one hand condescendingly. "You will leave this house immediately. My carriage will take you anywhere you wish to go, but understand it is a one-way trip."
By now, your husband has managed to climb back to his feet. "How dare you, sir! Tell that beast to unhand my wife immediately."
"You are the beast!" You shout, letting Adam know to set you down. You carefully approach the man you hate most in all the world. "You are the monster. You will leave. And I will stay. And I will never feel your hands touch me again."
In a final act of defiance and possession, your husband raises his hand to strike you, but Adam roars, lunging forward, grabbing him by the arm. He thrusts one hand into your husband's chest and sends him flying backward, crashing into the bedpost.
"Very good, Adam," Victor tells him, patting him gently on the arm to get him to calm down. "Now take her. I will deal with this."
Adam swoops you back into his arms and takes you to his room, where the two of you wait for Victor to return.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
"My offer to leave peacefully will expire," Victor warns your husband, once they are alone.
"I will go to the authorities," Your husband threatens, scurrying around the room to gather his things. "Your brute assaulted me, kidnapped my wife, who I can only assume has committed adultery, which is grounds for me to divorce her and take her dowry."
Victor scoffs, shaking his head. "Your wife is as pure and chaste a creature as God ever created. She has not given her body to me. Even if she wanted to, she is afraid. She fears her body is ugly, littered with the scars of your rage. Impudent boy." He sneers. "Or is it impotent?"
Your husband roars, slamming his hands down on his trunk, which is he is doubly infuriated to have to pack himself. "I have powerful friends, Frankenstein. Do not make an enemy of me. I will leave here and I will take my wife."
"You will not. She has made up her own mind," Victor calmly replies, straightening his suit and flipping his hair out of his eyes as if bored. "The two of you will seek a legal separation, based on your cruelty. You will comply, or Adam will relieve you of the use of your arms."
"What? That creature? That wild animal - the devil who has possessed the mind of my wife? You are mad."
"He is no devil. He is my son. And you will not speak of him again. Goodnight." Victor turns on his heel to leave.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
You cry out Victor's name, racing into his arms as he returns to you and Adam. Victor scoops you into a tender embrace, burying his nose behind your ear and assuring you that all is well.
"Forgive me for acting so late. I should have sent him away the first time I saw you hurt. Please forgive me, my love."
"You saved me," you whisper, clinging to him. "Both of you saved me."
You do not leave Adam's room that night, nor do you sleep.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Since Victor knows you aren't ready to sleep in his room, or anywhere near him, actually, he makes sure your room is cleared of any traces of your husband, who departs the following morning.
You don't even speak to him. You only watch from a high window as the carriage takes him away, so you can be sure he is truly gone.
Victor offers you a different bedroom, but after years of conditioning to ignore your needs, you do not want to cause any trouble, so you decline, insistently. Even though your husband was a horror, as you lie down in bed this night, you’ve never felt so alone. The darkness of the room envelops you. As the fire burns low, a chill creeps up your body from your bare toes to your cheeks.
You shiver under the covers, longing for rest, to be rid of this dreadful first day of your new life. The absence of your husband should soothe you, but instead you feel a more menacing presence. The Unknown.
And you dread his vengeance.
You know this man you were forced to marry. He will not let this insult slide. He will never rest until he has his own way. He's powerful, connected and he will return for you. He will have Victor stripped of his title and lands. He will bring a mob to drag Adam's secret existence into exposing light.
Tears flood your eyes at the horrors he has the power to conjure to spite you, to possess you. And to exact his vengeance on anyone who would dare cross him.
You sob quietly into your pillow and cry yourself to exhaustion. Sleep finally drags you under.
You start awake hours later, the night still cold and dark, your ribs still mildly sore from your first night injuries. You flinch on instinct, expecting your husband to be near you, but your hands come up empty. You are alone.
But it's an oppressive loneliness, as if your husband's stern, judgmental stare is watching you from the darkest corners of your room. You attempt to calm yourself, begging daylight to come soon.
The thought crosses your mind to seek out Victor, who will surely welcome you, even if only for comfort or company. But you realize you've never even seen his room. You have no idea where it is in this dark, twisted manor.
Gathering your courage and your robe, you light your bedside candle and scurry to Adam's room. You hate to wake him, but you can't bear to be alone another moment.
He does not answer your knock on his door, so you creep inside, softly announcing your presence. Adam is sprawled out on the bed asleep, but you instantly feel safer and more calm in his room. So you sink down on a chair and wait.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
The next morning, only a few hours later, you're startled awake by an insistent shake on your arm. Your body jerks as you suck in a breath, eyes wild and terrified and the feel of a man's hands on you.
Victor immediately withdraws his hands, holding them up non-threateningly. "All is well. Be still. You are safe."
It takes a moment to get your bearings as your body realizes there is no one to flinch from. Slowly lowering your arms, your lip trembles as you shakily exhale. "Victor?"
"I did not mean to frighten you, my love." His eyes, warm and brimming with concern, study you carefully. "You must have been dreaming. Adam thought you were crying."
Your eyes drift past Victor to Adam, whose head is cocked curiously to one side, hands fidgeting this way and that. "You are hurt?" He asks you sincerely.
Realizing you must have fallen asleep in Adam's room without permission, you begin to profusely apologize, scurrying to your feet, but Victor gently takes your hands in his and shushes you tenderly.
"You are safe, my angel."
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Later that morning, after you've dressed and eaten breakfast, you stroll through the gardens, breathing in the fresh air of a new life. Or you try to anyway, but the oppression of fear and dread grip you like a vice, tearing away any possible happiness you might find here.
Victor watches you from a high window, yearning to go to you, but hesitant. He does not wish to be the next tyrant in line for you. He must find a way for you to feel safe and free.
Days pass, with Victor reluctant to push in on you, and your dread mounting, fearing your husband's vengeance. Your heart aches for Victor. You long to be near him, to sit with Adam as he learns, with Victor working nearby. But he does not come to you. He remains shut up in his lab.
Finally, one night at dinner, Victor can bear it no more. He dismisses everyone from the dining room so he can speak to you alone.
His heart sinks as every muscle in your body tenses, your lips trembling.
"My darling," he says softly, kneeling down beside your chair, but not so near that you should fear he will touch you uninvited. "How have I offended you? Or frightened you? Why do you withdraw from me?"
You are not accustomed to a man seeking your opinion. Not your father. Not your husband. Even if they do, you know better than to give the utter truth.
"I-I do not withdraw," you whisper. "You are busy with your work. I do not intend to interrupt you."
"My love..." Unable to stop himself, he places a hand over yours, as it rests in your lap, but you flinch.
"Forgive me." He quickly withdraws. "Is my touch so repellant? You cannot possibly think I would hurt you."
Tears sting your eyes. Embarrassed and confused, you cover your face and quietly cry.
"How have I failed you?" He breathes, determined to keep his distance. "How do you now fear me as much as you feared him?"
This shocks you enough to answer him. "I only fear he will take you from me," you sob, turning sad, pitiful eyes to him.
"Oh my angel," he soothes, his breath catching as you collapse into his embrace, eyes fluttering closed at the chance to finally hold you. "You must be terrified. You must feel so cut off, as you try to bear it alone. I do not wish to trap you here, do you not see? You are free here. You are free to remain, or to return to your family. What can I do to see a smile return to your face?"
Victor doesn't understand that you fear for your life, and his, and Adam's. The terror is stealing every chance of happiness away from you - every moment, even. You cannot rid yourself of it, no matter how you try.
As Victor holds you, it wells up inside you to the point of bursting. You try to press it down, temper it, but although he is devastatingly gentle, his touch lingers, reluctant for you to pull away again.
"Please let me hold you. You do not have to explain. I cannot bear to think of you alone and so sad," he insists. "Not when I could have done anything to prevent it. Please, please."
His pleading breaks you and you sob into his shoulder, pitifully. Your body sags against his as you cry, your tears soaking through his jacket and shirt beneath it.
No one in your life has ever regarded you with tenderness. You did not know such a thing even existed, and your body has held itself in tense disbelief since your abuser departed.
Now, safe in Victor's arms, every fear releases at once. You are overcome with it, sobs wracking your body as he pulls you out of your chair and down into his lap, rocking you back and forth.
The sound of your despair draws the servants back, as well as Adam, but Victor motions them away, all except for Adam, who kneels silently beside you. He pats your head affectionately, like a parent would a child, the way Victor has done with him.
"Very sad," he says to Victor.
"Yes, my boy, she is very sad. But we are here until she feels much better, aren't we?"
Adam pats your back. "We are here."
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
You cry until you are spent, the release unlike anything you've ever felt in your life. You feel lighter than ever before, yet somehow hollow and exhausted. Adam carries you to a new room, one you do not recognize. Although your belongings have been moved to it. He lays you gently down on the bed.
"Thank you, Adam," you tell him, your voice hoarse from crying.
Victor pats him on the shoulder and dismisses him, wishing him goodnight. He eases down on the bed's edge, offering you a glass of water.
"Drink this, my darling." It takes you a minute, but eventually manage most of it.
While you drink, Victor explains. He's had a new room done up for you, right across from his own. He doesn't like the thought of you in that terrible room, where your awful husband did dreadful things to you. He wishes he would have insisted you move on the first day.
"Shall I have a maid come and help you undress?" He asks you, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.
"No, I'll manage," you tell him, feeling so exhausted you think you might fall right asleep.
"My room is just across the way," he reminds you, "not for any scandalous reason, mind you. I only want you to know I'm near, if you should need me."
"But I do need you," you tearfully whisper, leaning into his touch. "I am desperately afraid of my need for you."
"No, my love," he insists, cupping your cheek in his hand. "There is nothing to fear in this house. Your mind must believe it and your body will follow. You will see. I will show you. I will love you in whatever way you wish - as your dear friend - or, perhaps more, in time. But you will never fear my affection. Not ever."
Your heart burns inside you, the strongest feeling you've ever felt, stronger even than fear. "I do so desperately love you. So much that I do not even know what to do with myself, except dread and fret and fear that it will all disappear somehow. That you will be taken from me. I've never had a thing in life that didn't spoil, that didn't hurt me. Do I sound mad?"
Victor warmly chuckles. "I'm afraid I am the mad scientist here. You make perfect sense to me." Swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, he leans down and kisses your mouth tenderly.
"I beg you to share your fear with me. Perhaps I can lessen it," he says softly, gazing into your eyes.
"Be patient with me," you beg. "I am damaged. I am not likely worth the trouble."
"It is no trouble at all to love you," he assures you. "It is as easy as breathing."
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Victor leaves you to rest. You aren't eager to see him go, but your body is too exhausted from your breakdown and you fall into a deep slumber.
In the coming days, he asks if you would like to return to the way things were before. You instruct Adam and Victor lingers. He works near you, but gives you space. He asks to walk you through the gardens. He does not reach for your hand, but notices how you lean in as he shows you a new bloom.
Adam joins you for dinner. He is learning table manners. He struggles to hold a fork properly, but you and Victor work together, your hearts knitting together as you help Adam grow.
Adam sees you smile when he succeeds or laugh when Victor manages to tell a joke.
"You are less sad," he remarks, and you realize then that you are.
Victor has held himself apart for your sake. In fact, the two of you were far more intimate with one another before your legal separation, going so far as to scandalously kiss and hold one another in secret.
You begin to wonder if you've driven him away, but you do feel safe enough to speculate that perhaps he avoids you for the right reasons, just as your husband would beat you for the wrong ones.
You lay in bed, as life proceeds in your new normal, tossing and turning, but for a new reason. You are not afraid anymore. Oh, you do not doubt your husband may seek his vengeance somehow, but it doesn't consume you.
Instead, you find yourself longing for Victor. You ache for him, and must think of a way to tell him. To see if he may still want you. After all, he did say he loved you. More than anything, you wish he would appear at your door, and perhaps even barge in and ravish you.
But he will not. Your fear has seen to it. You must make him understand. Gathering your courage, you climb out of bed, scurrying over to your door. A moment later, you stand in front of Victor's chamber door, attempting to steady your breathing. It would probably be best to speak to him sensibly, in daylight. Your hand reaches to knock, but you tarry. He needs to know you are ready to be loved. You must act.
Footsteps in the hallway give you pause, but soon enough, you see Victor approaching with one candlestick in his hand.
"My darling? Are you all right?"
Candlelight flickers in the reflection of his eyes.
"Yes. I...truthfully, I was about to knock on your door," you rush to confess, fighting the urge to flee to your room. You must be brave, just this once, for him.
"I've just come upstairs. Did you need me for something?" He keeps his distance, but his eyebrows shift curiously.
Noticing your state of undress, he wets his lips, attempting to keep his wits about him. He struggles so valiantly for your sake, but his desire clouds his judgment at times.
"Victor..." you breathe his name, your chest heaving as you fight every instinct and reach for his free hand. "Would you be very upset if I...if we..."
Seeing you struggle so mightily softens his heart, if it is possible for him to feel more tenderly than he already does. "Would you like to come inside with me, my love?" Before you bolt away like a frightened doe, he steps closer, eyes locked onto yours. "Because I would very much like for you to."
Nodding, you accept his hold on your hand as he leads you inside and closes the door. He sets the candle down before backing away long enough to yank the suspenders from his shoulders and kick off his boots. He tugs at his white shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.
You blink innocently at him as he pushes his pants down over the swell of his hips, gasping as he stands before you naked. The candle's warm glow dances over the lines and planes of his bronzed skin, inviting your gaze to linger indulgently.
"Shall I dress for bed?" He asks so tenderly, a sharp contrast to the way he slowly begins to invade your personal space. He takes your hand and places your trembling palm on his bare chest. His other hand slips behind your neck, his gentle hold steadying you as he presses his mouth to yours.
You inhale sharply as you taste him again, for the first time in weeks. He kissed you while your husband stayed here, more than once.
"Is this why you came to me, angel? Or do you wish to speak to me?" Even now, he gives you the chance to steady yourself, to make sure you feel secure in his room, in his arms.
"Victor," you repeat his name, melting into his arms as he wraps you close, "I love you."
"I know you do, as I love you." Gazing into your eyes, he drags your gown up, working it over your head. Once you are naked, his hands reverently stroke and caress your skin, slowly acclimating you to his touch. Calloused fingertips dance across your flesh, their rough tenderness a tantalizing invitation.
You gasp as he brushes his fingertips over the swell of your breast, thankful for the near-darkness hiding your scars.
"Come, my darling," he murmurs, taking both your hands and leading you to his bed after blowing out the candle. He helps you lie down, openly admiring the way your naked body drapes across the bed, ready for him. As he climbs onto the bed with you, you notice he is hard and ready to take your body.
You tense at the thought. Your husband never hurt you in the bedroom, not in the intimate way. He belittled you and beat you otherwise, but never that, never naked. And he never punished you in bed. As awful as he was, you were grateful for at least that.
Still, you only ever did your duty as a wife. You'd felt pleasure from time to time, but your husband did not make it a priority by any means.
Sensing your inner turmoil, Victor shushes you, brushing his fingers along your cheek, then your neck, down to your breast.
"You are safe with me. We shall lie here all night until you believe it," he assures you. "Can I hold you?"
You nod rapidly, reaching for him as he folds you close, groaning at the pillow softness of your naked body against him.
The feeling of being held by a man who loves you almost breaks you, but no more hysterics. You are done with all that. Or you must try to be.
"I love you," you whisper, clinging to him, eyes flickering closed as your bodies learn how you fit together. "I am not afraid. Not of you. Never of you."
"Will you let me have you then?" He pants, hands tracing the shape of you as his mouth finds yours in the dark. His fingers slip between your bodies, caressing, fondling and finding the tender, wet core of you. He rubs you possessively, kissing you endlessly until you moan deeply enough to bring a smile to his face.
His fingers curl, beckoning your hips upward into a seductive rocking. "For every pain you've endured, I shall pleasure you," he breathes against you mouth, thumb tracing your most tender spot. As you gasp out, he applies a pulsing pressure.
He teaches your body the meaning of pleasure and safety and love. He worships you with his mouth. The sensations surge through your soul, too unbelievably glorious to be real, but he grounds you as you come down, kissing your mouth as he joins his body to yours for the first time.
And nine months later, you join him in creating life.
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
Summary: You take Marc on a trip, but one request changes everything.
cw: on the fic masterlist • wc: 4.1k
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
PREVIOUSLY ON MINE...
"Answer me one more question before you retire, Steven. Have you ever desired a woman? A real woman? One not perfectly printed on the pages of your books?"
Meeting your eyes, Steven stepped closer. "Not until this day."
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You awakened to a welcome sight - your favorite sight of late. Marc, sleeping peacefully beside you. Unable to resist the urge, you twirled you finger in the curl falling over his eye.
His jeweled robes and chains lay in a heap beside the bed, discarded after he came to you adorned in finery, knelt and presented himself as your plaything.
You were tired last night, so you lay there as he pleasured you with his lips and tongue, before he buried himself so deep, the stretch of it still pulsed inside you even now.
It was rare that you gave up control in the bedroom, preferring to ride or bounce your way to satisfaction.
But not with Marc. His body entwined perfectly with yours, breath curling against your neck, your mouth, your breasts, hands caressing you like a treasure, touching you, pleasing you, tempting you. He listened for his sound, as he called it, then pushed your leg up by your ear, tilted his hips and hit that spot deeper. The corner of his mouth curled as you shrieked.
And he stared at you, always holding your gaze, never afraid to meet your eyes. Even your husband had shown deference to his sovereign, averting his eyes in a way that didn't demand.
Your eyes had squeezed shut in ecstasy, but he asked you to open them. He told you, actually, to look at him. You held his penetrating gaze, lost in the earthen warmth of his eyes until your head fell back in overwhelming pleasure.
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
Marc's eyes blinked open to your face softly smiling, your fingers toying with the curls behind his ear.
"Good morning," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his mouth.
"When I awaken like this, I always think I must still be dreaming," he confessed, his hand finding its way to your bare hip. He squeezed your soft flesh, guiding you closer to him.
"No, I am real," you purred, nudging this thighs apart with your knee and pressing your body temptingly against his. "Would you like me to show you?"
In a matter of moments, in between salacious kisses and scalding touches, you took his length inside you, easing on top of him. Pushing up on his chest, you sat up, rolling your hips slowly, drinking in the devotion in his gaze. His hips rocked up eagerly to meet yours, his hands reaching for yours.
You half expected him to palm or suck at your nipples the way he loved to do, but he intertwined your fingers, locking your hands together.
You peered down at him, skin flush with desire, soulful eyes heavy lidded with early morning lust, lips parted and panting, the corded column of his neck flexing as he held himself back from the edge of too much of his own pleasure, for your benefit.
He smiled at you tenderly, bringing each of your linked hands to his lips, to kiss them one at a time.
"Come here," you murmured, slipping your hand around his neck, coaxing him to sit up with you. This new position didn't hit quite as deep, but rubbed deliciously where you wanted it most. Arms wrapped around his neck, your bodies rolled into one another as your mouth found his.
Pressing his palms into the curve of your back, he hauled you closer still, helping your work yourself faster and harder against him. You broke the kiss with a whimpered moan, breathy and almost begging.
You felt surrounded by him, like you could drown in his arms, his scent of fine oils and a little sweat. He was everywhere at once. If you didn't remember your place, you could lose yourself in his arms, in his taste on your tongue, and in the now-memorized pressing and pulling of your bodies.
Your thighs locked around his waist, you squeezed, gripping a fist full of his hair and using your grip to tear his mouth from yours. You wanted him to look at you that way again, the way he did last night.
But as quickly as he did - just as his hungry eyes darkened, devouring your attention - you slammed your eyes shut, because it was too much. Your breathing grew shallow and your heart thundered in your ears.
"Look at me," he uttered, rough and raw on your ear, gently biting your earlobe and reaching up to grip your jaw.
"I-I cannot," you panted, your body beginning to sag against his, overwhelmed but not close enough to the edge to climax.
"Stay with me," he breathed against your mouth, one hand holding your jaw where he wanted you fixed on him. With his other hand, he slipped between your rocking bodies and rubbed you furiously.
You gripped his shoulders, fingernails digging into his flesh just to keep yourself upright, but it was too overwhelming. Nothing had ever felt so consuming, almost invasive. Marc must have sensed it too because he gently eased you down and rolled you underneath him, keeping your bodies joined.
"Do not stop," you begged, your body at his mercy.
He knew what you wanted. You wanted it hard. You wanted your pleasure, and control over it. You wanted it done.
He slowed down.
"My queen," he said softly, measuring the delicious rolling of his hips. He waited for you to look at him.
Your jaw clenched as your eyes flew open. "I said do not stop," you bit out.
He nodded, hand spreading around your hip. Touching his forehead to yours, he worked you against him, fucking you slowly, but devastatingly deep. "I did not stop. I am here." He pushed in harder. "I am here."
He kissed your mouth, steadily thrusting, but keeping you at his mercy somehow.
You clawed at his muscular back, desperate to come and frustrated at your desperation. You should have remained on top where you could control him. He was too soft right now, too intense, too tender.
"Marc, let me...I need..."
"I know," he soothed, with infuriating gentleness, even as he touched you, giving in to what you wanted, what you craved. You sobbed in relief as the dizzying sensations crested and overwhelmed you. As you clung to him, squeezing him with your thighs, he buried his nose in your neck, panting your name as your slick walls gripped him tight.
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
You excused yourself for a bath, sending Marc on his way, before proceeding with the day's affairs of state.
You sent for him to join you for a late supper, out on the terrace near your bedchambers. He came to you dressed in white silk, adorned in layers of pearls and jade, hanging from his neck and cuffed around his biceps and wrists.
He asked after your day, about your affairs of state. You asked after Steven.
"I plan for you to stay here in the palace indefinitely," you admitted, regarding him warmly. "But I realize you are not alone, so I thought Steven might make a useful addition to the royal library."
"You wish for us to stay indefinitely?" Marc beamed at the thought.
"Yes." Reaching across the small table for his hand, you squeezed it gently. "I am traveling soon, to our nearest ally inland. I would like you to come with me. Have you ever traveled to the mountains?"
"Not that I can remember." Marc's gaze dropped as his jaw twitched. "I do not know where I was born. I assume it was here, but my father..."
He stopped himself, eyes flying open wide as if he almost revealed a secret. "I would love to visit the mountains," he concluded.
"Very well," you agreed, choosing to ignore his comment for now. All tributes of the queen were vetted upon entering the House of the Tributes. You would send an inquiry to the master of the house regarding Marc's background.
"You will travel as my companion rather than my concubine," you informed him. "This will allow you access to me at all times. I'm afraid our inland neighbors do not look as favorably upon concubines as we do here. If you are dressed and addressed as my concubine, you will be required to sleep in servant's quarters."
"Whatever my queen wishes," Marc diplomatically responded.
"I will have you fitted for a new wardrobe immediately. We must leave your silks and jewels behind." Toying with the cuff around his arm, you sighed. "I will miss seeing you presented to me. But you are so beautiful, you do not need such ornaments."
He gazed at you longingly. "Thank you, my queen."
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
Marc looked as handsome and regal as a nobleman beside you, dressed in the flowing silks and golds of his new wardrobe. Walking merely one pace behind you, no one dared question his presence. His belongings were placed in your chambers. He slept with you at night and attended functions and events by your side.
Admittedly, it felt good to have a companion beyond merely a lover. You enjoyed his company. He was a charming visitor, wisely following your lead socially.
The brisk, mountain air was a welcome, invigorating change. Your hosts took a small group of you hiking. Marc marveled at his first sight of snow. You even enjoyed a bit of fun throwing snowballs at each other. Even Elshal smiled a time or two.
Tonight you returned late and took warm soup by the fire, indulging in too much wine and making passionate love on the animal skin rug by the hearth.
If you weren't careful, you might start to believe Marc was truly your companion. Perhaps it was time to cut your visit short. But you were here shoring up relations with your allies and it was going well. The needs of your queendom came first.
So, you indulged yourself, remembering there was nothing wrong with caring for someone even if it couldn't be real, and it wouldn't last.
But as Marc rolled you underneath him once again, lacing your fingers together and taking your body agonizingly slowly, watching you fall apart, something must have changed.
As you lay together, a tangle of limbs and a mess of your lovemaking, he requested permission to ask you a question.
"Anything," you breathed with him, your fingertips stroking up and down his muscular back.
"I do not ask anything of you," he murmured, kissing your mouth tenderly. "I only ask your permission to love you."
You froze, your body tensing. "What did you say?"
Cupping your cheek, he eased back, peering unwaveringly into your eyes. "Would you let me love you? I ask for nothing in return. But I will. I do."
Your next breath shuddered out of you as your lips trembled. This had gone too far.
"My queen?" He whispered, his beautiful brown eyes wide and worried. "I have offended you."
Squeezing your eyes shut, you pushed against his chest. "You do not know what you are saying. You confuse intimacy with affection-"
"I do not," he refuted. "I am not confused. I love you, and if you will permit me, I will-"
"Do not interrupt me," you hissed, sitting up beside him. With a huff, you looked around for your robe, yanking it onto your arms and standing over him. "Concubines do not love. You should know this from your training. Your queen should not be bothered to remind you."
Marc climbed to his feet. "I asked permission of the queen," he boldly fired back. "I do not presume-"
"You do presume," you huffed, tying off your robe. Marching right up to him, your eyes flashed. "A concubine does not love." You poked your finger into his chest. "A queen does not love."
His eyes softened as he regarded you with something like pity. "You have not loved? I do not understand-"
"Clearly, you do not," you bit out. "A queen has a duty to the queendom, to the people. You have a duty to the queen, which is to satisfy my urges at my every whim, not to question my personal life, and not to vex me in the middle of the night during an important, diplomatic mission."
Marc's lip trembled, moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes as he stood before you naked and vulnerable. "I do not ask anything of you. Nothing. I only want to love you. You deserve to be loved, even by someone lowborn and unworthy as myself."
"No," you ground out. "How dare you? How dare you question if I have loved. My son..." Your shoulders slumped as a broken sob shook your body.
"Forgive me," he begged, gingerly reaching out for you. He meant to pull you into a comforting embrace, but you flinched and then glowered at him.
"Do not touch me again without permission!" Your eyes flashed with fury as you shoved at his chest, not enough to hurt him, but enough to send him stumbling back a step. "Do not speak of love to me. It is not your place. It is not your concern."
A singular, heavy tear dropped to his cheek as he quickly nodded. "Please forgive me. Please. I did not intend to offend Your Grace."
His tears cut you deeply, which infuriated you more. You demanded he dress as you called for Elshal, who was all too eager to leap into action. You demanded that Marc be escorted home and confined to his quarters until you summoned him.
"If you are satisfied with Tyree for the remainder of your visit, I am more than eager to return the concubine to his rightful place," Elshal sneered victoriously.
Marc's head bowed in shame, tears streaming down his handsome face. As Elshal led him away, you physically wilted to the floor at the sight. What had you done to such a gentle creature?
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
Many days passed before you saw him again. You extended your visit inland, often sitting for hours in the snowy outdoors, allowing the cold air to numb your aching heart.
Tyree urged you back inside constantly, making sure you warmed yourself by the fire.
Marc's words cut you so deeply but you couldn't understand why he held such power over you. With every moment that passed, remembering his tear stained cheeks, you resented him more. Your thoughts drifted to your husband, and you searched your soul for evidence of love in your marraige.
This inevitably led to remembering your sweet son, so innocent and young, but so loved.
Perhaps you were not a worthy queen. Perhaps you would never meet a worthy man of noble or royal blood and birth a strong daughter to take your place. How dare a lowly concubine prod at your deepest wounds and leave you reeling?
Why did his words affect you so?
Why did you miss him so?
Upon your return home, you struggled with whether or not to send for Marc. You decided to ask after him. Elshal revealed that Steven was in the library organizing the nonfiction books and manuscripts. You decided to not disturb him.
You grew more sullen, to the point that Elshal asked after you, as a friend.
"It is the concubine, is it not?" She asked as you walked along the seashore under twin moons' glow, flanked by her best soldiers, with just enough privacy to speak without them overhearing.
"I do not wish to speak of the concubine," you told her sullenly.
"Many before him would be dismissed for a far lesser offense," she reasoned. "Perhaps he should return to the House of the Tributes."
You sighed tiredly. "Perhaps the captain of my guard should do her duty and not play at being on my council."
"My duty is to protect you. That is what I am trying to do. It is a miracle I have not failed in my task as you fight me so hard at every turn."
You stopped cold, turning to glare up at her towering frame.
"Punish me if you must, Your Grace." She spoke softly, but boldly. "You are my sovereign, but you are also my very dear friend. Let me help you if it is in my power to do so. Let me rid you of this man who troubles you so."
You scowled irritably, shaking your head. "You would be only too pleased to send Marc away, as you have consistently voiced your distrust of him and your disdain of him every moment of every day since he arrived here. I grow weary of your concern, friend."
"What is the matter with you?" Elshal challenged, risking your wrath. "Who will you confide in, if not me? You are sad or angry, every moment of every day. What did he do to you?"
Seeing this display and hearing their captain raise her voice to the queen drew the attention of the rest of your guard. Lieutenant Rena called out, questioning if everything was well.
"Send them away," you quietly ordered, "and leave me alone."
Elshal gave the nod, dispersing the remaining soldiers, then fell several paces behind you obediently.
"I've never trusted him," she finally called after you, "but...if I speak truthfully, you seemed lighter in his presence. Perhaps even happy, at times. You defended him against my suspicions."
Her words lingered in the salty sea air as you trudged through the wet sand.
"So what could have happened to wound you so?" Elshal pressed, determined. "If he hurt you, I'm sure your dagger would find its way straight through his heart before I could even have the pleasure of removing his head from his shoulders. So he must have said something."
You stopped, your head bowed. Worn down from her insistent questioning and tired of feeling so alone, you cleared your throat, finding your voice.
"He said he loved me."
Elshal waited a beat, keeping her distance. "Love? That's absurd. He's a concubine."
"Obviously."
"He is lowborn."
"He said as much himself."
"What then?" Elshal walked up beside you. Placing her hand supportively on your shoulder, she leaned down to your level. "Why do the longings of a lowborn concubine vex my queen so?"
You answered more quickly than she anticipated. "I do not wish to send him away. But I do not wish for him to suffer in my presence."
"Why do you care what happens to him? A queen should not be troubled with such things," Elshal reasoned, "unless..."
"A concubine does not love," you chanted, your voice and eyes lifeless. "A queen does not love."
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
After Elshal's candid discussion with you on the beach, you decided it was time to see if you wanted Marc to remain in your palace. You had assured him he would remain here indefinitely, which both of you assumed meant for a long while yet.
Perhaps you could offer him a home here for a while longer, as well as the creature comforts that went along with it. But he was here to be your concubine, so you needed him to do his duty, so you could see if you could still have him in the way you desired.
Would he fulfill his duty or mope like a lovelorn poet, rendering himself useless as a lover?
He came to you bound, wrists and elbows cuffed behind his back in gold shackles. The young men who attended to his dressing knew you enjoyed a surprise from time to time, and you had not summoned your concubine for many days.
Glittering gold and colorful jewels wrapped around bronzed skin, accentuating the muscles of his neck, arms and back. Chains swept temptingly underneath his pectorals, down the center of his abdomen and draped over his broad shoulders.
When you saw him bound, kneeling before you, crown of brown curls falling over his ink-lined eyes, seeking your permission before he could move, you gasped at his beauty. The expanse of his chest rose and fell in anticipation.
You nodded to Tyree to haul him to his feet and instructed her to leave you.
His eyes found yours and he held your gaze as steadily as ever, but they didn't gleam like before. The warmth in his earthen eyes had cooled to something dull. His jaw twitched the way it did the first day he was presented to you, in a seeming streak of defiance. Yet he still held himself with a certain air of shame.
"Come to me," you bade him, stretching out your hand and easing down on the edge of the bed. As he neared you, you placed your palm on his hip, fingers toying with the taunting, sheer fabric covering his most private parts. Granting him a soft smile, you pushed your fingertips up, tracing his side. He sucked in a breath as your hand met his flesh.
"Are you comfortable, Marc?" You wondered if the cuffs bothered him, or if he wished to be at your mercy. Either notion dampened your undergarments. Admittedly, it would please you to watch him strain and beg to be set free while you pleasured him. At the same time, his complete surrender to your wishes, his ardent meekness and submission also fueled your desires.
Marc cleared his throat, finding his voice. "I am always soothed by your presence, my queen."
The concubine's words rolled lifelessly off his tongue. Still, it warmed your heart, as well as other parts of you that he felt safe with you - that he desired to be near you.
"You are very beautiful," you murmured, brushing your lips against the sun kissed skin just above his hip bone. He hissed as you sucked open-mouthed kisses across his soft stomach.
"Thank you...Your Grace," he gasped out as you gently pulled, ridding him of the scandalous garment barely covering him. It dropped to the floor with a thud, leaving him naked except for the exquisite chains he wore draped across his shoulders, which extended behind him, linking to the gold cuffs binding him.
His cock twitched as your heated breath taunted him. "Have you ever felt the pleasure of a queen's mouth?" Your eyes flickered up to his knowingly, longing for the surge of power you would feel as he melted into your mouth.
As you knelt before him, gently gripping his length, you showed him your tongue, laying his shaft there before slowly dragging your tongue toward his leaking tip. He moaned, struggling to keep his balance. You knew very well this was his first time feeling your mouth on his cock. Which made it so much more enjoyable when his knees buckled as you sucked him, fingertips toying tauntingly between his legs, leaving him completely at your mercy.
You worked up a rhythm, opening your throat and swallowing his tip, stroking the length of his heavy shaft unable to fit in your mouth. He moaned out a curse in the foreign tongue, gasping for air as you released him.
Yes, this could still work out. You would keep things physical. He still craved your touch and you needed him inside you.
"Do you wish for me to stop, Marc?" You murmured temptingly against his tip, licking it softly. "I will never force you, nor any man."
"Do not stop," he begged, echoing your frequently used command, but added, "...please."
Yes, his lust-glazed eyes suited your current mood better than the round, tear-filled eyes from your time in the mountains. You could sate his lust. His desire only asked for pleasure. You could avoid the simmering warmth and ardent adoration his eyes showed by the fire, when he asked to love you. Craving suited you better.
You stroked and sucked, showering him with carnal pleasures you'd never bothered to provide for any man, including your husband. He would not desire to leave you after he choked out a desperately wrecked moan, spurting hot and wet down your throat.
You gripped the solid width of his hips, steadying him as he drowned in ecstasy. He looked so beautiful straining against his restraints, corded neck bobbing as he gasped for air.
Yes, you would leave him pleased and require nothing of him this night. He would see that he could be satisfied here in the palace, with all the food, finery and pleasure a man could ever want.
You would not need to send him away.
As Marc was returned to his chambers, he felt crushing guilt over climaxing too soon, of taking pleasure from your delicious mouth without giving you any satisfaction in return. You sent him away for the night instead of spending hours with your bodies entwined before falling asleep together.
You would send him away.
Tears clouded his vision, and by the time he made it back to his quarters and was released from him jeweled shackles, Steven was left staring into the mirror at the finery adorning his body.
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
March the 9th - Marc Spector, written 2024
Steven, It’s Your Birthday? - Steven Grant, written 2025
Jake’s turn! (FYI, these stories aren’t connected, although this Jake one could easily be a sequel to the Marc one, “March the 9th”. The Steven one is totally different tho.)
jake masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
An early spring mist swirled in the air, blurring the street lights' glow. Glancing both ways up and down the road, you carefully stepped off the curb, avoiding gathering puddles. Pulling your jacket a little tighter around your neck, you tucked your package under the shelter of your arm and scurried across the street to a parked, black car.
Drawing a steadying breath, you paused, then wrapped on the darkly tinted passenger window with your knuckles. Nothing happened, so you pressed your face to the glass, squinting your eyes to try to figure out if you'd gotten the wrong car.
But there, slumped in the driver’s seat rested Jake Lockley, your - well...not your boyfriend. One of your boyfriend's alters. Your boyfriend was a system.
You and Marc celebrated your one-year anniversary as a couple just last month. Steven got to know you since then, and they told you there was a third, but that he kept to himself.
Jake Lockley, nighttime driver-for-hire, was the third. At one point, Marc apologetically explained that he was sure Jake not only led his own life, but might be seeing someone.
It was strange to think of your boyfriend's eyes gazing at another, his hands all over their body. But Jake was his own person and you respected that.
You were here tonight for a specific reason.
There he sat, arms crossed over his chest, flat cap pulled down low over his eyes. Rebellious curls flipped from underneath the back of it. His lips parted in a pout. Poor guy, you hated to interrupt a little rest. Sighing, you decided your idea was perhaps not so clever after all.
You waited a full minute, trying to decide what to do when the heavens opened fully and it began to pour.
Knocking again with more intensity, you breathed out a sigh of relief as the window cracked a bit.
"Can I get in?" You asked him.
"Claro," He replied, unlocking the door and raising the window. He watched you carefully as you climbed in, brushing fresh drops of rain off your jacket.
"Sorry about the rain. It just started out of nowhere-"
"What are you doing here?"
Your head snapped over at his question, his accusatory tone giving you pause.
One eyebrow lifted suspiciously as you pulled a wrapped package from under your jacket.
"I'm not trying to bother you, but...this is for you." Presenting the slightly dampened package, you frowned when he simply stared instead of taking it, his jaw subtly clenching.
"It's for your birthday."
Narrowing his eyes, he examined the gift, then glanced back at you. "It's not my birthday."
"Oh...." Deflated, you withdrew your offering, setting it in your lap as your face heated. "I'm sorry. I thought it was March 9th."
Clearing his throat, he adjusted his hat. His throat bobbed as he stared out the windshield in front of him. "That's Marc's birthday."
"Yes, but I thought..." You trailed off, looking at your forsaken gift.
Then he turned to face you - not only his head, but his whole body shifted in his seat. "You shouldn't be out here at night. It's not safe."
Wilting a little under his scrutiny, you kept your eyes downcast. "You're out here."
"I'm at work."
Rolling your eyes, you glanced over at him, pausing a moment because, even wrapped in the body of the man you loved, he was a mystery to you. A handsome, alluring, mildly infuriating mystery.
"You always sleep on the job?"
He smirked. "I'm in between rides." He checked his watch. "Got another in twenty minutes."
Nodding, you swallowed down your disappointment. "Right. I won't keep you then." You patted the package in your lap. "Should I leave this here? Or save it for whenever your birthday is?"
Regret spiked through his heart as you set the package on the dashboard and hastily reached for the door handle.
"Wait, stop." Stretching all the way across your body, he grasped your hand, pulling it away from the door. As he eased back, you could feel his breath against your cheek. “It’s not safe out there. And you’ll get soaked.”
You'd never been this close to Jake before. He mostly saw you in passing, asking after your day or bidding you good morning or good night. You stared after him longingly, wishing you could know this mysterious alter, never realizing he stared after you in kind, every time you turned your head. Then there were times he would wake up in bed beside you, underneath you…
The smell of Marc’s aftershave made you dizzy with familiar longing.
Easing back, he held your gaze, eyes flickering momentarily to your mouth. Swiping his tongue over his lips, he shook his head and muttered something under his breath, much the way Marc would do when having a chat with Steven.
Straightening up in his seat, he started the car. “I’ll drive you.”
“Thanks,” you automatically responded, rescuing the package as it tumbled off the dashboard when he pulled out into traffic.
After a moment of thick silence, he turned on the radio. Instrumental jazz swirled around you, complimenting the beaded water gathering and being swiped away by the windshield wipers.
You didn’t know Jake well, but it all seemed so very him.
“My driver’s license says my birthday is April 1st,” he spoke up, as one tune cadenced and a more upbeat one started up. “It’s a joke I have with myself, you know…because I really don’t know when, uhm…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to take Marc’s. It’s hard for him.”
“I know it is,” you softly responded, staring straight ahead. “We had breakfast in bed this morning. It was nice. He was…peaceful.” Your eyes drifted closed as you remembered him pressed against you, between the sheets.
“Yeah,” Jake agreed, a smile warming his face, “yeah, he’s been that way, you know, since you’ve been around.”
The snappy jazz tune lifted your spirits a bit, especially as you watched Jake’s gloved fingertips drum out a rhythm on the steering wheel.
“Sorry about before. When you showed up, I thought something was wrong.”
“No, it’s my fault. I sort of ambushed you,” you softly explained. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I guess I didn’t have all the facts. My fault.” You held up the package, briefly. “I can just hold onto this for a few weeks, until the 1st.”
He spared you a sideways glance, waiting until he stopped at a red light to reach over and try to snatch the package. “Give me that.”
“No, you have to wait,” you teased, swatting him away, which led to a brief tug-of-war. “It’s not April 1st.”
He could have easily won the friendly competition, except that the light turned green.
“I’m just gonna drive around until you give me what I want,” Jake warned. The timbre of his voice and the curl of his mouth sent a too-familiar jolt of longing straight down to the center of you.
“Guess we’ll do this all night,” you fired back, tucking the present between your right thigh and the car door, “since it’s not your birthday. Only birthday boys get to open presents.”
Jake pulled up to a curb, put the car in park and reached all the way across you, again, attemptingto snatch back the present, but by now, you were willing to fight. It was maddening being so close to the body you knew, to the man you loved, but to remember to restrain yourself and not throw your arms around his neck or distract him with something scandalous.
Your chaste notions aside, the two of you got a bit tangled up and soon enough, Jake was in your personal space again.
“Sorry,” you hastily uttered, breaking the stare between you as your chest heaved. “I know you have someone. I wasn’t trying to-”
“Have someone?” His eyebrows shifted curiously.
“You know, someone in your life. A partner? Boyfriend, girlfriend…”
He straightened up as he realized… With a soft chuckle, he yanked his cap off his head for a moment, pushed his fingers through unruly dark curls and pulled it back on.
“No, there’s no one. Not since Marc got serious about you.” His eyes flickered back to yours and he took an indulgent moment to study the contours of a face he’d never been allowed near, not for more than a moment at a time. “I wouldn’t do that to him. Or you.”
“Why me?” You innocently blinked. “You don’t even talk to me. I mean, it’s okay, I understand. That’s why I thought I would bring you a birthday present, because-”
“Hey,” he smoothly hushed you, cupping your cheek in his gloved hand. “I’m not Marc.”
“I know that,” you swallowed hard.
His eyes flickered down to your mouth again. “I’m nothing like him. I’m not…good for you. Not good for anybody.” His forehead touched yours, his breath curling temptingly against your lips. “I live out here, at night. I don’t want all this to ever touch you. Or him.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Reaching for his face, you traced the stubble on his jaw. “I thought you were with someone.”
“I can’t be,” he insisted.
“You can,” you breathed, brushing your lips against his for an indulgent moment, still uncertain. “It doesn’t have to be me-”
“It is you,” he murmured, waiting on the edge of something new. Then he covered your mouth with his, tasting you slowly, licking into your mouth and stealing your breath. A groan rumbled in his chest as your fingers slid into his curls, knocking his cap off his head. His arms wound around you, cradling you like a newfound treasure while pressing you possessively into the mold of his body.
This was not the birthday either of you expected. But the kiss was so good that you completely forgot about the package next to you.
This story gives me this old moodboard vibes
💬 0 🔁 26 ❤️ 109 · jake lockley + nyc + driver + style based on @ladywynne's request
the dark moon knight suit is credited to ValeskaJerom
jake masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
Summary: Marc is bolder in bed, Steven returns and gets to know the queen
cw: on the fic masterlist • wc: 3.8 k • gif does not indicate reader's race
PREVIOUSLY ON MINE...
"I will not send you away," you whispered as the two of you drifted off. "Only, do not betray me. Never do that."
"Never," he swore.
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
Few concubines enjoyed the pleasure of your overnight company. Once you satisfied yourself with their young, eager bodies, they were typically sent back to their chambers so you could rest and relax in peace.
Occasionally, a sufficient lover would be invited to your bed for the night, if your cravings demanded it, or if you wanted him conveniently at arm's length at a moment's notice.
Still, a man sleeping beside you by default, night after night was unusual. Not since you were married anyway. Even then, your husband slept in his own chambers plenty.
Your marriage was a satisfactory one, if not happy. Your husband was chosen for you when you were a girl. He was from a prosperous, highborn family, and came with a substantial dowry. The alternative was to marry a prince from across the sea - from an allied nation.
Your father occasionally suggested aligning with the enemy to bring a truce to your two nations, but your mother, the queen, would not hear of it, despite the fact that your father's father, your grandfather, came from enemy shores. She felt enough enemy blood ran through her daughters' veins.
Still, after everything, you were introduced to many suitors and, at least in theory, offered somewhat of a choice in your marriage. You were raised to be the head of a great nation. Your heart belonged to your people, so you didn't much care who you married, so long as he was kind and would try do his duty in planting a daughter in your womb.
He was kind, your husband. Intelligent and witty and the two of you shared a fondness for one another. Perhaps it wasn't true love, not the kind you read about in stories, but your affection and respect for one another grew each month and year together. He was handsome, and beyond that, he adored you.
He gave you a son, a beautiful boy, and for one moment, you thought you might understand real love. Holding your child and your husband close in your birthing bed might have made your heart burst with love.
When your infant son died, your husband blamed himself. He had failed to breed in you an heir, a strong daughter, and instead had given you a weak son. Soon enough, he was gone too. The love of your people and your devotion to governing them would have to be enough to sustain you.
Marrying again would be necessary if you wanted to continue your centuries-old bloodline. But most days, you preferred to think about your people, only occasionally indulging you desires in one of your concubines.
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
You awoke in Marc's bed, lying on your side with his arm tucked securely around your waist. His warm breath fell on the back of your neck, slow and steady. You kept very still, feeling the breadth of his chest expanding while pressed up against your bare back.
As a queen, you were accustomed to moving at a pace that pleased you at all times, but Marc's peaceful slumber kept you waiting here, patiently, wishing a few more moments of serenity for him.
A change in his breathing and shift of his naked body brought your name to his lips. His nose nuzzled behind your ear as his body roused, shifting against yours.
"Good morning," you whispered, threading your fingers through his where they rested on your stomach.
He hummed an incoherent response on your ear, voice rough and deep this early in the morning.
The feel of your body against him, the softness of your skin, the round swells and curves of your figure coaxed him to wakefulness, his body stirring with desire.
"My queen," he whispered, nibbling on your ear as he shifted his hips, pushing his hardening length against you. Without waiting for guidance or permission, he opened his lips, heated breath falling on the side of your neck. You felt his tongue swipe your skin as his fingers, still joined with yours drifted down to where your legs parted.
"Show me where," he murmured, gripping your fingers in his own and pushing them through your folds, already slick with desire.
"You know where," you whispered, working with him to find your most tender spot and rub it together.
He placed your fingers there, nipping at your neck and breathing, "Do not stop."
You gasped out at the order given to you, tempted to roll over and straddle him, but curious as his hand left yours and repositioned behind your body, gripping your backside and squeezing. He reached further down from behind, lifting your thigh until you felt his cock, hard and heavy, prodding at your entrance.
"Will you let me have you this way?" He roughly whispered, gripping his cock and sliding it through your folds, slipping the tip inside without waiting for permission. "Please let me have you."
"Take me," you moaned pushing back to meet his needy thrust.
Marc hissed as your wet walls hugged him, slick and velvety soft and tight in this position. After a few deep thrusts which punched the air out of your lungs, the two of you found a delicious rhythm.
"You are tight...like this," he gasped out, gripping the swell of your hip and helping you work yourself against him. "Your cunt...forgive me, my queen. I shouldn't speak in such a way-"
"Do not stop," you moaned, furiously rubbing yourself right in the spot he'd left your hand. He noticed then, you touching yourself and the sight of it drew a curse from his lips. He let go of your hip and found your soaked fingers, applying more pressure with his own.
The thought of you listening to his demand that you not stop combined with the sight of you pleasuring yourself while he fucked you nearly brought about his climax, but he needed to satisfy you first.
When you felt him slow his thrusting behind you, you pushed back against him. "Do not stop. I need...I want to-"
"I know what you need," he boldly declared, shifting his hips until he heard that sweet, breathy moan. His sound. "That's it. There it is. This is what a queen needs to come."
Marc was way out of line, but something about his bold words and taking your body this way, holding you there for relentless, steady thrust after thrust, sent you careening into an abyss of euphoria. Your back arched, your hand fell limply away from your sex and your body seized in a new kind of pleasure.
Marc was happy for it and relieved because he immediately followed, unable to hold on for another second. Just the sound of your pleasure could unravel him instantly. He buried his face in your neck and wildly thrust a few more times, filling you deeply until he collapsed.
The two of you lay tangled together, shared bliss momentarily distracting you from the mess you'd made together...and from the bold words uttered between a concubine and a queen.
Finally untangling yourself, you rolled over and lay side-by-side, facing him. Stroking his face gently, you pressed a kiss to his mouth, which he returned, relieved.
"Are you angry with me?" He whispered, slipping his arms around your body to hold you against him.
"Must you ask me that so often?" You teased, rubbing your nose affectionately against his. "Am I so very cruel or ill-tempered?"
"No, of course not, my queen, I only meant..."
"I know," you saved him from attempting to conjure an explanation. "What we share in bed together does not mean you govern me. Besides..." brushing your thumb over the fullness of his bottom lip, you kissed him again. "If you presume to tell me what to do in bed, it must mean you are beginning to feel safe here, with me. Is that not so?"
"It is," he agreed, eyes fixed on yours, unwaveringly, as was his way. "I am sorry I am so afraid all the time."
You paused, contemplating his words, brushing a curl from his eyes. "I am sorry the world has made you afraid. Women can be cruel to young men. Mothers can be harsh. But you are safe with me."
Marc pulled you closer, smiling at you adoringly. "You make me brave, I think."
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As you promised yourself, you convened your council and devoted the day to affairs of state, to the satisfaction of you Masters and councilors. This went on throughout the week, with Marc brought to you nightly.
Marc was given beauty treatments for his hair, nails and skin and then shown around the grounds. Today, he asked to remain in the library for a time.
The royal library was not only expansive, but beautiful. Filtered light seeped in through precisely placed windows and skylights, which offered a natural glow, but would not damage books. The centuries old, ancient texts were housed downstairs in cool rooms, monitored and watched over by Guards of the Masters.
Marc roamed along row after row of books, pausing to admire the many paintings and sculptures displayed throughout the library.
At one point, he heard the two guards in charge of him snickering and asking one another what a whore should like to read, or if he could even read. Tyree silenced them immediately, reminding them that the House of the Tributes taught all young men to read. She dismissed them, ordering to check the perimeter of the library.
"You must not listen to them," she told Marc, nodding for him to continue searching for whatever books interested him. "They are soldiers. I doubt they can read as well as you."
Marc's eyes widened at her candor until he saw her crack a smile. Yes, Marc believed he preferred Tyree immensely to Elshal.
"Do you like to read, Lieutenant?" He asked her.
"I did as a child," she confessed. "I preferred books of fantasy to academic studies."
"You mean dragons and sea monsters, things like that?"
"Indeed." Studying him carefully, Tyree asked, "What are you looking to read today?"
His gaze dropped as he shifted from foot to foot. He explained he might like to find any book to explain why he did not know his own mind, or why he seemed to share his mind and body with another.
"Those types of books will be guarded," Tyree informed, noticing how his shoulders slumped. "But I could get you in."
Marc's eyes snapped back to hers, wide and curious. "Why would you help me?"
Tyree shrugged one shoulder. "I shan't speak it too loudly, but I believe anyone deserves to know his own mind. Highborn or low, man or woman. We are all human beings."
Marc wondered if Elshal had heard Tyree speak in such a way. "Even a concubine?"
Tyree motioned for Marc to descend the nearest flight of stairs. "Would you like my help or not?"
Soon enough, Tyree had dismissed one of the Guards of the Masters, insisting that the Master of Wisdom had summoned her, at the queen's request. There would be hell to pay for this lie, but the guard in question owed Tyree a favor.
Once inside, Marc beheld a vast room, dimly lit by sparse candelabras, casting an enchanting, if not eerie glow. Books, worn and faded, lay chained securely, stacked row after row.
"We haven't much time. Do what you must," Tyree instructed. "I will wait outside the door."
"Thank you. Truly," Marc sincerely voiced.
Eyes sweeping this way and that, he shook his head. "I do not even know where to begin."
As the door thumped closed, he felt urgency tighten his chest. He must find answers here. But that was the last thing he would remember from the libary.
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Steven Grant gazed around at the magnificent collection of books. "Oh my days," he uttered, stretching out his fingers to reverently touch the ones closest to him. As his mind tried to orient him, he realized this must be the royal library. Which meant he was under guard. He gasped out, scurrying behind a shelf, as if it would protect him from the queen or her guards.
Seeing he was alone, he rapidly engaged in a search for his disorder. The queen had threatened to hang him as a spy if information could not be found to explain his fractured mind.
With years of experience as a librarian, he worked quickly, flipping through page after page, climbing up and down the wooden ladder to reach obscure texts.
"Any help you wish to give me would be wonderful," he muttered into the shiny candelabra nearest him. "Since you brought us here and made the queen believe we are a concubine." Of course, Steven did not expect a response. He only wished he could know this other part of himself. This Marc.
After a while, Steven heard a commotion in the corridor outside. They must have come for him. Quickly closing the books around him, he dashed down several rows of books to hide.
The tall, violent Captain of the Royal Guard burst into the room, demanding to know where he was. Steven flinched, covering his mouth to keep from gasping. She was the one who shoved him to the ground, who put a dagger to his throat.
"The concubine is late for dinner with the queen. Why was he not returned on time?"
Tyree, matching her in ferocity but not height, glared at her. "Because my captain did not communicate the need for our return. Nor the time."
As the two of them argued, they began their search, with Tyree calling Marc's name, assuring him it was time to go.
Unwilling to encounter the tall one, Steven crept deeper into the archived books, desperately wishing he could disappear. Surely they would believe him a spy, no matter what he did. If he hid, it would make things worse, but if he confessed to reading the old texts, it likely would not help his cause.
The favored Queensguard kept up their search, but Steven continued to change his position, silently hiding from them. He would wait until he could find a way to run away. What choice did he have? The tall, violent captain would drag him before the queen and he would surely be put to death.
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You could not be more displeased that Elshal and Tyree had...displaced your concubine. Tyree continued the search with the Queensguard, while Elshal reported back to you.
Before long, they sent word that his hiding place had been discovered. You demanded to know why he should ever be hiding from you in the first place. Then you insisted that Elshal take you to him.
Elshal argued he would be brought to you once he answered for his behavior, but you would not hear it.
"He will answer to me and me alone."
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You could not hide your relief to see him even though you could not comprehend his actions. Not without speaking to him or looking into the sincerity of his earthen eyes.
"Leave us," you announced to your guard, with a glare that threatened Elshal to not challenge you.
Marc stood before you trembling, eyes cast to the ground.
You called his name, easing toward him.
"Your Grace," he uttered, bowing awkwardly. "I beg pardon. I'm afraid I became lost in your most magnificent library."
He sounded different.
Reaching out, you touched his arm. "Steven?"
Eyes flying to yours, he held his breath, awaiting your punishment.
Granting him a small but sympathetic smile, you motioned for him to sit at a table. "You do not sound like Marc. Now that I consider it, you don't very much look like him either, despite sharing all the same features. Come."
"I should not sit in your presence. I should -"
"You must obey," you insisted.
Elshal stood many paces off, carefully watching the rare sight of the queen seated at a library table with a concubine.
"You must not run from my Queensguard," you told him gently, now that the two of you sat, facing one another, alongside the carved, ornate table. "I was very worried."
"I beg forgiveness," Steven choked out, his voice strained. He gathered his hands to his chest, rocking slightly. "Only, I don't wish to die."
"You shall not," you insisted, reaching for one of his curled hands. You squeezed gently before leaving him to his soothing motions and habits.
Steven swallowed hard, daring to meet your eyes once more. "But you said-"
"I know what I said," you hushed him. "But we have learned more. My Masters are searching the old texts. I understand you searched some yourself. Tyree will need to answer for how you gained access to guarded texts."
Steven's dark eyebrows pinched in confusion. "Who is Tyree?"
You indicated who, but Steven seemed just as lost. You gathered then, that it must have been Marc who wanted to search the library and Steven who ended up hiding. But what had caused Marc to depart and Steven to appear? Why did it happen?
"You are a librarian. Did you find anything here of interest?" You asked him, eyes soft and voice kind. "You must show me."
Steven bloomed to life at your request, hunched back straightening, eyebrows arching with interest.
Soon enough, you descended deep into the dimly lit archives, joined by Steven, members of your Queensguard, a few of the Guards of the Masters and three of your own Masters. You commanded them stay well back as Steven's eyes constantly flitted around him, searching, terrified. Lieutenant Rena remained nearest, since Steven was too frightened of Elshal to move, and Tyree needed to explain her behavior here today.
As soon as Steven reached the old texts, he lit up, brighter than every lantern in the royal ballroom. His posture relaxed and became quite talkative. Both he and Marc spoke with a different accent than most people in the capitol, so the lilts and cadences of his speech intrigued you.
He explained finding more evidence to suggest studies of the mind, into issues of something called mental health and psychology. Many of the texts seemed to be dismissed or hidden due to religious reasons, and most afflictions or disorders of the mind were treated as religious or spiritual deficiencies.
After a while, your Master of Surgeons joined you, admitting that studies into mental health could, perhaps, be pursued more ardently. Many in your kingdom honored the gods, but religion could not explain everything.
You thanked everyone for their insight and decided to speak to your High Priestess, to include the religious viewpoint.
Now much more at ease, Steven was returned by Lieutenant Rena to his room, was to be changed and readied for dinner with the queen.
He seemed nothing short of uncomfortable in Marc's finery, jeweled and adorned in gold robes, curls tamed, gold cuffs around his wrists.
"Steven, is it still you?" You questioned as he sat down near you.
You had abandoned your typical gown and golden armor attire for something much softer. Embroidered petals of turquoise and green made a fitted bodice. The rest of your dress flowed, its soft fabric pooling around you like water. With simple jewels and your shoulders bared, you appeared like something out of a fairy story, perhaps a mermaid.
...which Steven blurted aloud when he saw you.
"I thank you," you laughed. "Have you read many fantasy stories?"
"I have read stories of every kind," he replied. "I have so much time to read and organize the books when I am not teaching the Tributes their lessons."
"You must be very learned," you encouraged. "I bet your knowledge could rival that of some of my Masters."
It was this evening that you found Steven to be far more talkative than Marc. Once you asked him a question, he would answer in excruciating detail, with multiple resources to support his thoughts and opinions. He did posses the manners to ask after the queen's interests as well.
"I am fond of history," you told him. "I want to understand my people, and my allies and my enemies. I used to flee from my mathematics tutor, I confess."
Steven's eyes went wide. "How many tutors did you have?"
"Many."
"How wonderful it must have been," he marveled.
You had never thought about it that way. In your privilege and comfort, you groaned about your lessons and dodged your tutors, some of them anyway, while a child like Steven, or Marc, must have been starved for knowledge. Steven confessed he remembered attending the schools for boys, but there were some things he simply couldn't remember.
The two of you talked past dinner, deciding to take a walk along a vast balcony overlooking the sea. Steven was very interesting company indeed, and so different from Marc.
"What would you like to do now?" You asked him, as the two of you stared up at twin moons.
Steven smiled. "I never thought a queen should ask for my opinion in such a way. What does the queen normally do at this hour, if I may ask?"
"Well," you slowly responded, turning your body to face his. "At this point, to be quite honest, I would normally take Marc to bed."
His mouth fell open as he blinked rapidly. "Oh."
You cleared your throat. "But since you have informed me you are not a concubine, but a librarian, I suppose I should allow you to retire."
Steven finally managed to shut his mouth, his fingers beginning to fidget under your scrutiny. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know how to please Your Grace. I believe my knowledge is all...literary in nature."
Your head tilted curiously. It had not occurred to you that Steven may, in fact, be a virgin. In his mind, at least.
Wetting your lips, you eased toward him slowly. "Have you read of such things, between lovers?"
Drawing in a shaky breath, Steven's eyes flickered away. "I confess, I may have read a romance or two."
"Only a romance?" You asked him softly. "Nothing...informative in nature?"
"Scientific, yes, a bit," he quickly nodded. "O-only to assist the Tributes in their...understanding, you see. Anatomy and things like that."
You hummed, considering his words. "So my Tributes read and learn about the female body, preparing to please the queen, all instructed...by you."
Steven gripped the railing behind him as you slipped into his personal space. "I do not presume to understand how to please the queen. I only tend to the library. I'm only a librarian, just that."
Seeing him so flustered gave you pause. He was very sweet and handsome, but you would never force him, nor any man. You restrained yourself and stepped away.
"Answer me one more question before you retire, Steven. Have you ever desired a woman? A real woman? One not perfectly printed on the pages of your books?"
Meeting your eyes, Steven stepped closer. "Not until this day."
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mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
Summary: Answers begin to unfold about Steven and Marc. Will you heed Elshal's warnings? Can you stay away from him? Will you send him away?
cw: on the fic masterlist • wc: 3.4k • gif does not indicate reader's race or body type
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PREVIOUSLY ON MINE...
“Steven Grant, or whatever your name is, I shall summon my Master of Wisdom and Master of Scholars. Pray they have a book that speaks of the same affliction as your books do.” You leaned in close to him, staring him down. “Or I shall have you hanged as a spy.”
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Confined to his, or Marc's, chambers for what felt like an eternity, Steven paced agitatedly, muttering to himself. After a while, he paused to peer into a looking glass.
"You're there, aren't you?" He asked his reflection. "You've always been there. I've always known."
The sound of footfalls sent Steven scurrying across the room. He sat down, perched nervously on the edge of a chair, drawing his hands to the center of his chest.
Elshal burst through the door, followed closely by Tyree. "On your feet. The Queen summons you."
Eyes wide and blinking rapidly, Steven flinched as the two Queensguard hauled him to his feet and practically dragged him toward your chambers.
"Please," he croaked, barely a rough whisper, as they neared your doorway. "Please," he tried again, finding his voice. "I'm loyal to the crown, please. I don't want to die. I don't want to, I don't want to-"
They hurried Steven inside your sitting room, where you were waiting, dressed in your typical gown and gold armor combination. Your prized dagger rested at your hip and your smaller, less ceremonial gold leaf crown adorned your head.
Upon seeing you, Steven panicked, almost incoherently murmuring again how he didn't want to die. Suddenly, before you could even speak, his demeanor changed entirely. His eyes fluttered closed for several seconds before he squared his shoulders. His fidgeting, curled fingers relaxed.
He smiled softly. "Your Grace." Attempting to bow, he seemed, only then, to realize he was being detained. Dark eyebrows furrowed as he swallowed hard.
"Steven," you calmly replied, feeling pinpricks in your chest at the doubt beginning to cloud in his eyes. "I've spoken to my Master of Wisdom and Master of Scholars, briefly. They assure me they will not rest until they find the answers I require of them. They have made some small progress, locating some information based on what you found in the Library of the Tributes."
"My queen? Who...who is Steven?"
Elshal jerked his arm roughly. "Enough of these games, Your Grace. I'll take him to the dungeon."
You turned a withering glare to the captain of your royal guard. "You do not presume to give orders to the crown, Captain."
"Forgive me," Elshal bowed her head.
Your concubine met your gaze full on, staring at you unflinchingly, eyes round and questioning. He almost seemed afraid to disappoint you, rather than fearful for his life. "Have I offended Your Grace?"
Elshal, clearly tired of his games, opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the raise of one your fingers.
Nodding to your loyal guards to release him, you waited until they retreated a few paces before taking a bold step forward. Peering deeply into his eyes, you placed your hand on his chest, palm resting over his heart. The heat of your palm seeped through the thin layer of his tunic.
"Marc?"
His lip trembled at the intimacy of your touch. He nodded once, the faintest smile ghosting his lips, eyes blinking at you curiously. "My queen."
"There you are," you sighed, relief washing over you.
"It's a trick," Elshal protested through gritted teeth, hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
Ignoring her, you turned to Tyree. "Take the concubine to my private bedchamber and wait for me there. Captain, you will stay."
Tyree complied leaving you alone with Elshal.
You paced back and forth silently for a full minute before revealing the reason for this impromptu meeting, which practically communicated your meaning to Elshal in advance of you stating anything aloud.
"You might be my oldest friend," you told her, staring out a floor-to-ceiling window with a breathtaking view out toward the sea. "I've known you since childhood and you're the only one left, after my father and mother..."
"Gods rest the king and queen," Elshal respectfully whispered.
"Then my sister. My husband." Your eyes misted over in a rare display of emotion. "And...my child." You eased into Elshal's personal space, jaw clenched, even as your eyes misted. "I know you worry for me. You've devoted your life to it - worrying after me, protecting me."
You sighed, steeling your emotions. "So say what you need to say to me here, now. Whatever foolish judgment you think I am using with Marc, say it plainly to me." You pointed your finger and poked it into her armor one time, sharply. "But do not make the mistake of questioning me in front of your subordinates, or my servants, ever, ever again."
Elshal slowly nodded, taking a step back so she could bow deeply. "Please, Your Grace, forgive me."
"Enough, Captain. I acknowledge your obedience." Once she stood, you motioned for her to sit down. "Do you have any further concerns, aside from being worried about the state of my concubine's mind, and the fact that he might speak the language of the enemy? Anything that would present a viable threat to me, or explain his behavior here?"
Her eyes dropped to the floor. "No, Your Grace."
"And," you went on, "if he were a spy or some sort of agent of the enemy, wouldn't these antics only draw suspicion? Why would he invent or fake such a condition of the mind?"
"I know not. I only know I do not trust him."
You stood, satisfied. "Very good then. It is your job to trust no one. Excellent work. As for Marc, I would like to know why he seems to be two men in one. Even if he is mad, I should wish to know why, and who at the House of my Tributes should be punished, if need be, for not informing me. Do you not think my course of action wise?"
"It is, Your Grace, please, just...allow me to stay close, to watch over you and this...concubine. Please."
"As you wish, Captain."
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You returned to Marc and dismissed your guards so you could speak with him alone.
His eyes brightened as you neared him.
"Marc," you smiled at him, motioning for him to sit down. "How was your morning?"
Scanning his mind quickly, Marc realized that he wasn't sure he remembered anything past falling asleep with you last night. "Any day in the presence of my queen is a gift."
"But we have been separated this day," you reminded him, scooting closer on the bench and taking his hand. "Do you remember what separated us? Why you suddenly leapt out of my bed early this morning?"
Marc, accustomed to a lifetime of covering his lapses in time, found himself at a loss. What had he done this morning? He simply could not remember. "I am sorry, Your Grace, for...this morning...if I've displeased you." Generalities typically covered all manner of missed moments and missteps.
"You do not remember," you whispered, observing each movement of his handsome face - how his mouth twisted as he tried to conjure what to say or how to explain. The purity you saw in his eyes - how ardently he seemed to want to please you. And a twinge of fear in the tense muscles of his body, prepared to receive harshness from a woman of power.
At a loss, Marc swallowed, shifting in his seat. "Are you angry with me?"
"No." You gently smiled, squeezing his hand. "But I want to talk to you about Steven."
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The two of you talked well into the afternoon. You shared what happened with Steven. He hesitantly confessed the missing pieces of time in his life, and the strange reactions from those around him after he came back to himself, such as making new friends or being told he spoke differently.
You laughed sweetly, letting him know that he did sound entirely different when he was "Steven."
Your Master of Scholars arrived at your sitting room, perplexed as you asked your concubine to join you.
But you commanded her to speak freely, so she did, reporting that she had discovered a couple reference books which referred to something called the dissociation of souls, whereby it was suggested that more than one soul, or person, may possibly dwell together in the same fleshly body.
"'Tis usually dismissed as blasphemy," the Master informed you both, closing the old, dusty book, before wiping her wrinkled hands on her long, shimmering gray robe. "However, I am more a woman of science, if I may speak plainly to Your Grace."
"You may indeed. So you believe there may be truth to this information? This...disorder?" You prodded, watching as Marc's countenance fell with each word spoken.
"If it please Your Grace, I do. If I may suggest that we speak to the Master of Surgeons. Perhaps she has treated a patient with a similar...presentation."
"Very well, Master. I thank you for your candor."
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Marc sat a the small table in your chambers, head in his hands, bowed in shame, ignoring the late afternoon luncheon set before him.
Your heart swelled with pity for him, not in the sense that you found him pathetic, but you truly felt for him. You wanted to comfort him, and somehow, his happiness had begun to matter to you.
You called his name, easing down beside him.
Mustering his courage, he lifted his eyes to acknowledge you.
An ache bloomed in your chest at the sight of him, sitting there so forlorn, eyes glossy but too stubborn to shed a tear, dark eyebrows pinched like an angry child. His lips pulled into a sharp line, jaw locked, hands squeezed into fists. His entire being clenched with an unbearable tension.
"May I ask Your Grace where you will send me?" He choked out in a strangled whisper.
Watching him carefully, you inhaled deeply, measuring your words. You must think responsibly and not simply respond emotionally. Although, all you could think about was how you wanted to pull this beautiful man into your arms, into your bed, inside you, to drown him in worthiness and adoration and affection. In safety.
"Where do you think I should send you?" You neutrally responded.
The wetness pooled in one eye enough to deliver one tear onto his soft cheek. "Is there a place for a mad man to live out his days and not be...touched?"
You frowned, uncertain of his meaning. "You no longer wish to be a concubine? Or do you mean abused?"
"Please," he hoarsely whispered, head dropping once more to his hands. "I do not want to be touched by anyone but you." Pushing off his chair, he knelt down in front of you, desperately clutching the long skirt of your gown. "Forgive me, my queen. I know I have disappointed you. I know I am not worthy to be near you. But I beg you do not send me to the brothels. Or the prisons. Although I know I am unworthy to make any request of Your Grace. I cannot...I cannot..."
His shoulders heaved as he seemed to struggle for breath.
If Elshal heard any of this, she would surely barge in and return her blade to his throat.
"Marc," you shushed him, caressing his cheek gently. "I do not wish to send you away."
He gasped out tearfully, shaking his head in disbelief as he he blinked up at you. "You do not wish to?"
"No." Pushing a stray curl away from his eye, you drew his face up to yours, leaning in to kiss his mouth tenderly. "I told you. You belong to me. You are mine. Come here."
You guided him up off the floor to sit beside you. "We shall learn more soon enough about the time you are missing and about this other part of you. About Steven. But I do not think you are mad."
"You do not?" He breathed, shuddering in relief as you took his hands in your own. You kissed each one and touched your forehead to his, tenderly rubbing your nose against his cheek.
"I do not," you confirmed.
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If for nothing else, then for the sake of Elshal's sanity, you slept alone that night. Or you planned too, anyway. Marc was escorted to his own chambers, which he then occupied rather forlornly.
He sank down on the edge of the bed, angry with this Steven who somehow took over his body, and upset with how his broken mind had already likely cost him the best position in life he could ever hope to attain. The crushing weight kept him from even lying down, let alone resting.
You rested no better in your own room, struggling to refrain from having Marc brought to you. You wished to lie with him, to feel the weight of his body against yours, to lose yourself in passion, if only to free your mind of the day's worries, and lull your body into a satisfied slumber.
You were the queen, you deserved any pleasure you wished. But still, you restrained yourself. Just for this night.
Perhaps you should take some time to clear your head. The days and weeks after attaining a new concubine always kept you distracted by pleasure until your council begged your attention on matters of state.
Yes, you would convene your council tomorrow. You would focus on pressing business and leave your Masters to research their books and patients and colleagues.
You would heed the warnings of Elshal. But not without explaining things to Marc.
Perhaps.
Dressing yourself in a silk robe, you paced agitatedly in front of your windows, pausing momentarily to gaze up at the twin moons. Their ethereal, crescent glow did nothing to soothe your agitation. With a huff of determination, you draped a heavier cloak over your robe and flung open your bedchamber door.
Elshal practially leapt into action, asking what disturbed you at this hour.
"Captain, surely your shift must have ended by now. When did you last sleep?"
She swallowed guiltily, knowing she should have rotated off her shift by now, if not a half day earlier.
"Take me to him. My concubine," you ordered. "Then you will take a day for rest."
Elshal's eyes flashed in defiance, but she had tried your patience already this day. Normally, Tyree would guard you from the early morning hours, while you slept, until around midday, while you attended to matters of state and held countless meetings. Elshal would attend to you during the afternoon and evening hours, when your activities turned more personal in nature. She would normally remain until you were asleep.
They rotated shifts with Lieutenant Rena, who helped in the training of Queensguard when Elshal and Tyree were otherwise occupied.
But recently, Tyree had been assigned to Marc. Elshal saw it as a demotion, but Tyree considered it an honor to guard the Queen's prize.
The two of you walked silently in step to Marc's chambers, and you were pleased to see Tyree not at the door, but asleep where she should be. Lieutenant Rena stood proudly at attention as you approached, but her eyes cut to her captain as she wondered if she missed an order to bring the concubine to the queen.
"Lieutenant," you greeted with a small smile, "I will join my concubine. See to it that the captain retires." You reached to grasp Elshal's arm, so she did not feel you were disappointed. "I thank you for your loyalty and your service. Please reassign the shifts and get some rest."
Lieutenant Rena idolized Elshal, and could only hope one day to receive such personal warmth from the queen.
As unusual as it was for a queen to visit a concubine's chambers, it did happen on occasion. Marc's chamber was small, but adequate. Beautifully furnished and by far the nicest quarters he'd ever known.
You slipped in quietly, hoping not to startle him. You found him staring out his window, whispering softly. Hesitating, you listened before announcing yourself, in case he was praying.
You heard him utter the name Steven, followed by the assurance that Steven could talk to him if he were there. Not wishing to intrude into a private moment, you cleared your throat and spoke his name.
He flinched, gasping out before quickly bowing.
"I didn't mean to startle you. Forgive me." You drifted toward him carefully, removing your outer cloak.
Eyes frantically scanning around you, Marc checked for your Queensguard, wondering if you were here to seize him. But surely he would be brought to you. Why were you here? Alone?
"You could not sleep either," you went on, soothingly caressing his forearm, drawing it slowly around your waist. Waiting until he graced you with his beautiful, moonlit eyes, you slipped into his arms, pressing your silk covered breasts against his bare chest.
His mind struggling to keep up with the sensations in his body, Marc inhaled shakily. "No, I could not sleep. Should I have come to you?"
"Yes, I should have summoned you." Slipping your arms around his neck, you twirled your fingers into his thick mess of curls. "But I am here now. Are you not pleased to see me?"
The breadth of his chest expanded with labored breath, which passed through his plush, pliable lips. "Always pleased. And...terrified. Begging your forgiveness," he whispered, hands bunching the soft silk covering the curve of your back.
"Why terrified?" You whispered, breath curling alongside his cheek.
Folding you closer, Marc touched his forehead to yours. "I thought you were here to arrest me. But I do not see your guard."
"No," you murmured, pulling his flimsy nightclothes away from his waist. "We are alone and free from interruption."
Marc hissed, gasping out as you caressed up the hardening length of him. Emboldened by your touch and the privacy between you, he pulled loose the tie of your robe and reached to push it from your shoulders. It pooled at your feet, separating your bodies for an agonizing moment before you crashed into one another, hands gripping, mouths fusing, bodies grinding.
You didn't make it two steps toward the bed before you sank to the floor, taking his body inside yours as you tumbled down, writhing wildly together.
Marc groaned at the sudden sensation of your wet heat sucking him in, disoriented by the darkness and delirious with desire. He gripped your shoulders as you rode him furiously, cursing before moaning out your name. Your real name.
"Say it again," you ordered, harshly panting as you worked yourself over him, rolling your body deliciously as he impaled you deeply. Pushing your fingers into his hair, you pulled, using the leverage to rock faster.
Marc's head fell back, exposing the corded column of his throat, while you licked and sucked as he murmured your name again and again. Your body seized in pleasure, which you chased with abandon, using his beautiful body to service you.
The clench of you around his length, the sounds of your ecstasy took him over the edge with you, and you mewled in delight as he spurted hot and wet inside you.
Your bodies collapsed in a boneless heap, sated and wet and spent. Panting harshly as you lay together, coming back to yourselves, Marc felt you shiver as the late night air kissed your skin.
He tried to speak but numb, syrupy, fizzing pleasure kept him on the floor beneath you. He gave into it, holding you and breathing for long, indulgent moments before finally reaching for your silk robe. He pulled it across your back, covering you tenderly.
"My queen should not remain on the floor," he whispered, smoothing his hands up and down your body as he tucked the robe around you.
"Do not advise the queen when she is enraptured," you murmured out a protest.
"The queen is very stubborn, I'm afraid," Marc lowly teased on your ear. 'If she will permit me to say so."
Lifting your head, you smiled at him lazily. "The queen does not have the stamina to silence you."
Pleased that you allowed him to speak plainly, Marc caressed your cheek, bringing your mouth to his. "Will you let me take you to bed? I want to hold you. This floor is too cold."
Pushing yourself up and stretching like a satisfied cat, you nodded. "Yes, take me to bed. I am too weary to return to my chambers."
Moments later, sated and cleaned up and tucked side by side in Marc's bed, you reveled in the feel of your lover's body against you, his arms enclosed around you, his warm breath on your neck.
"I will not send you away," you whispered as the two of you drifted off. "Only, do not betray me. Never do that."
"Never," he swore.
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mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
wc: 3k || cw: he's a werewolf, so...monsterfucking…oral, hand job, human p in v, creampie, this is a period piece - like arranged marriages and balls for society, titles, etc.
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He's come to you each of the last four full moons. You hear a scratching at your door - a pathetic whimper. If you delay more than a moment - a low growl.
All hair and claws and razor sharp teeth, he slices away your nightclothes, unable to even ask for consent in this form before his thick, long tongue laps at your sex - rough and raw, sniffing at you, claws shredding new holes in your mattress as you come hard and fast.
By the time you relax, he's rutting against your thigh, the one human piece of his brain knowing he can never really have you in this state lest he rip you open and destroy this body he worships.
So why does he come to you like this?
Because when the full moon rises, he can no longer control it.
He's rutting faster now and you blindly reach for his animal parts, an odd mixture of shame and arousal luring you into scandalous action. You touch him, grip him, coo on his ear, inhale his animal scent of wet woods and fur, urge him to come in your hand, which he does, eyes flashing wildly gold in the darkness as he howls out his release.
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You're to be introduced to your betrothed soon. You spend your days endlessly plotting how to hide your animal lover once married, or worse, how to learn to live without him coming to you each full moon, licking you to the height of pleasure, always leaving you wanting more.
You dream of him. Of what it would be like if he flipped you over, pushed your face into the mattress, mounted you and claimed you - letting the monster in him awaken your own beastly desires.
You touch yourself nightly to this thought. Your secret, seductive wolf claiming your body, ruining you for any man, likely spearing you open beyond repair.
You must regain control of yourself if you are to make some sort of life in society.
You gather your wits, are dressed in the latest fashions and carried to a most illustrious and opulent ball to meet your intended - a duke. A fine match indeed. Even if he is an ogre, his wealth and title alone should make you proud.
He is very handsome. You smile demurely and dance and talk, and on one whirl around the dance floor, you smell him.
Your wolf.
All wet woods and warm fur and heady arousal.
You almost trip over yourself as the steps of the dance signify you are about to change partners. When you do, you come to face to face with the deepest, near black eyes. A proud face, square cut jaw, petal soft lips, with inky curls slipping rebelliously from his attempted style.
His lips part as he inhales sharply. Quickly recovering, he guides you through the necessary steps - the touch of his hand on yours intoxicating you utterly.
He spins you this way and that - the scent of him heady and invasive, but somehow more appropriate for a ball - more clean, more human, yet still permeated with nature. His lips fall close to your ear during one of the final turns. "Congratulations on your engagement, my lady."
His voice, velvety smooth and rich washes down your neck, heating your skin.
You stutter out a 'thank you' as the dance comes to a close.
Your betrothed comes to collect you, taking your hand and kissing it gently, leading you away into a sea of well wishers. You throw a glance back toward the man with dark curls and you swear his eyes glint golden in the candlelight.
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The moon is full the next week, but he doesn't come to you. You become so insane with lust for him that you tie your robe around you and quite scandalously sneak out of the house, into the woods, calling for him.
If you are discovered acting madly like this, it will ruin your entire family and any hope for a future, but you don't understand. How could your wolf possibly know of your engagement? Isn't he merely an animal? Or half-man/half-animal at least? Why would an arranged marriage prospect preside over his animal urges? Why did he not come?
Cold air kisses your skin as your slippered feet struggle to keep from tripping over roots. You hear a howl. Slowly turning, you hold out your lantern.
"My wolf?"
But something else is there. Something menacing, with light gray fur and red eyes. It snarls, licking its chops as it nears you.
"Stay back!" You feebly cry, swinging your lantern toward the creature. It growls and lunges toward you, but is intercepted by another animal with inky black fur and golden eyes who attacks with all its might.
You fall down and scurry backward, your lantern breaking and extinguishing itself in the process. Vicious gnashing of teeth and yelps of pain fill the night as you hide yourself behind a wide tree trunk, hopelessly lost without your light to guide you.
You hear the sickening rip of flesh and a gut-wrenching, wounded cry and then the commotion stops.
Covering your trembling lips with your hand, you attempt to hide your presence, but only a moment later, a long snout appears beside your head, peering around the tree.
It growls lowly, and at this close range, you can see blood staining its razor sharp teeth. The full moonlight catches its eyes, which gleam golden.
You tremble in relief, rising from your hiding spot, Without much thought, you throw your arms around the neck of the giant, black-haired creature, inhaling his familiar scent.
"My wolf," you gasp out tearfully. "You saved me."
He sniffs at your hair, loving licking at the skin of your neck as you hold him.
"Why did you not come to me tonight?" You ask him sadly, eyes brimming and wet in the moonlight. "I came to find you. I missed you."
His head hangs in shame like a domesticated dog being scolded, but you reach for him again, stroking between his ears. He pushes into your hand, lapping up your attention.
It occurs to you that he is, in fact, an animal and your desires are not natural. Perhaps this is all wrong, but as he regains his confidence, he jumps up, gently but insistently pushing you to the ground. He licks at your cheeks, your neck, pawing at your clothes, using his sharp claws to shred them, as usual.
As your body lays on damp earth and dying leaves, exposed to him, in his own environment, he sniffs at your sex, a deep growl resonating in his huge body. Then he laps at your cunt in wide, determined strokes. You're the best thing he's ever tasted and he eats you like a treat, his arousal hardening as you moan and writhe.
His tongue is so long that he shoves it up inside your sex, wanting to taste you deeper, wanting to somehow know every single inch of you. He stuffs you so full, still licking, lapping until your body seizes and you scream out into the night so violently that it gives him, an animal, pause.
You desperately reach for him, touching his pulsing length, taking it in your hand and stroking.
"You can have me," you moan out, unabashedly. "You can have this body. It's yours. I'm yours. My wolf."
He's already whimpering at your touch, but when you release him, he stares as you position yourself on all fours, bare ass shoved toward him. "Take me," you pant, deliriously sated and simultaneously hungry for more.
He nudges at the perfect, round curve of your ass with his snout, trying to get your attention, but you keep begging to be fucked.
He finally sniffs at you this way and starts licking again. You whine and demand he mount you, but he keeps going, determined, until you soak his snout and collapse, spent.
You slowly recover, dragging yourself to your feet and starting to redress. He waits patiently until you are ready, then kneels down for you to mount his back so he can speed you back to safety, to home.
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You feign illness in the coming week, if only to hide the fact that you continuously cry into your pillow as to why your wolf doesn't want you, and furthermore, as to why you were not created a wolf.
In between bouts of tears come endless episodes of you touching yourself and remembering his wet, wide tongue fucking you deep.
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The next ball comes and thankfully, your intended is out of town. Still, your mother demands you make a brief appearance, since the doctor cannot find a thing wrong with you.
You smile and nod and do have a bit of fun speaking to the other young ladies. You dance and that's when you smell him again.
This time, he does little to hide his reaction. His jaw clenches as his eyes glint and when he spins you around, you swear you hear him growl.
You have to excuse yourself for some air as discreetly as possible, at the end of the dance.
He finds you there, hiding in the garden. His mere presence is a scandal-to-be, but the way he holds himself back is nothing compared to your carnal acts under the full moon.
"Why are you here, Lord Spector?" You ask him, bitterly.
He flinches as if you've slapped him across the face. Taking a full step back, he swallows hard. "You do not know me." It is not a question. "Forgive me, my lady. My mistake."
The he turns on his glossy black heel. The nerve of him!
"Wait," you cry, in a hushed tone, but most frantically. "Will you give me up so easily?"
His head cocks this way and that, most canine in fashion. "You do know me."
"Of course I do," you breathlessly gasp, stepping boldly closer. "At least...I think I do."
The corner of his mouth curls in satisfaction. Pushing in close to you, he guides you to a more secluded alcove, deep in the garden. "You smelled me." One hand grips your arm securely as his nose traces across your cheek. "As I smell you, even now."
Your breath stutters, your desires rising to the surface under the curtain of night. "How do I know for certain it is you?" Forcing your eyes open, you grab at the lapels of his jacket. "How can I be sure you are -"
"-your wolf," he supplies, easing back and smiling...well, wolfishly, his white teeth gleaming.
You falter, so he steadies you in his arms. "I am yours. Your wolf. Your servant, my lady. And the only person alive who knows how sweet you taste, or how you sound when you come."
He licks into your parted lips, chuckling at your gasp and swallowing down your surprise. You've never kissed the wolf - it's nearly impossible now that you consider it, but the smell of him - the sense and the familiarity washes over you. Reaching blindly for his thick curls, you yank him closer, feeling a growl rumble from his chest to yours.
You kiss endlessly, indulging your desires, touching and feeling one another until you can't breathe.
You almost forget to be cross with him, but the hurt tugs down the corners of your mouth as you remember... "Why do you do this? What do you want?"
His lips, ripe and kiss swollen, chase after yours as he murmurs, "You, my lady. I want only you."
"You do not," you protest, pushing against his biceps as he holds you. "You come to me once monthly, you take me to heaven, or - perhaps hell - I am not certain, with your tongue. You cause me to crave these beastly, carnal things, to crave you - and then leave me wanting, never taking my body as your own."
You push against his chest, continuing. "Then we meet on the dance floor and I realize you are not just a fantasy of my lustful dreams, but a man - a gentleman at that, with position and family - and you simply congratulate me on my engagement? Then follow me out here tonight to ruin me with scandal?"
He has backed away now, lips parting as his eyes go round. "My lady, forgive me, I...I -"
"Do. you. want me. Or not?" You grind out, frustrated tears burning your eyes.
His shoulders sag in relief as he realizes he has not lost his chance. With two determined strides forward, he cradles your face in his hands and breathes against your mouth, "You are all I want in this world, waking or sleeping, man or beast, new moon or full. I want you and only you."
He covers your mouth with his own, while his hands go to work dragging up your skirts. You wilt into his kiss, hanging onto him, yanking at his trousers as you moan into his mouth.
Tearing his mouth from yours, he kneels to the ground, but you stop him. "No. No more. Not tonight."
Pushing him by the shoulders, you force him down on a garden bench and continue loosening his breeches. His cock springs free, stiff and leaking and you wet your lips.
"Help me," you ask him, and the two of you work to lift your skirts and push and pull away your underclothes. It takes some doing, but you are finally bare and sinking onto his tip, hot and dripping.
"Are you certain, my lady?" He stutters out, fingers flying to unlace your dress at the front, licking his lips at the sight of your soft skin.
The wolf's tongue is as long as the man's cock, so you are prepared to take him, and your soaking wet cunt sucks him in, inch by inch, with only the slightest whisper of discomfort. Your mouth falls open in ecstasy as you sit astride your lover with him deep inside you.
"The only thing that will stop me now is if you refuse me again," you tell him, rocking your hips backward and forward agonizingly slowly.
He groans, deep and needy, finally freeing your breasts from the top of your dress. "Never. You are mine now." He rolls his hips up into you, hands cupping your breasts almost reverently.
The feeling of mating with your wolf, even in this form - of tempting fate with the scandal of the decade - unchaperoned, in this dark garden, with a man other than your betrothed - the thought of defying your parents in such a way and giving your maidenhood to the creature of your fantasies - it all culminates in you losing yourself in your passions. Your body undulates, rolling into his. His gentle hands caressing your breasts, twirling and plucking at your nipples has you singing in pleasure.
He swallows your sounds in his own mouth, with long, wet, delicious kisses. Shifting your hips slightly, you start to bounce, craving friction, craving more. His tip rubs you deep and raw inside, coaxing you toward a new kind of climax - different from those on the wolf's tongue.
This is a man- a real lover - his cock inside you, his hands all over you, worshipping you - his tongue inside your mouth, kissing you. You can't believe all the ladies who gossip about their dreadful marriage bed duties. This is heaven.
Pleasure washes over you in waves, surging from deep inside through your entire body until you melt against him. He kisses you again, but eases himself out of your wet core, still straining, leaking and hard.
"I'm close," he breathlessly confesses, "but better to be safe. We are not married."
Yes, yes, no sense in creating a child at this point. You lick your lips and reach for him. "I want to," you tell him, stroking him languidly. When he groans and twitches in your hand, you work it faster, reaching underneath to toy with all of him. After all the pleasure he's given you, it is your most fervent desire to do the same for him.
This prompts your lips down to his leaking tip, where you swirl your tongue around, tasting him for the first time. He curses, spurting hot and eager all over your lips and fingers, a wild growl piercing the night.
Yanking you up by the nape of your neck, he kisses you again, licking his come off your mouth and stealing your breath away.
"Will you cast me aside, now that you've had me?" You whisper, clinging to him as the two of you cool under night's breeze.
He turns deadly serious eyes to you. "You are mine. You belong to me now."
"Very good," you sigh in relief, hugging him. "I thought I might never have you. The wolf always refuses me."
Marc chuckles, holding you against his chest. "No, my love. He indulges you. To mate with the wolf would break your sweet body."
You suspected as much. Still, it is nice to hear that he was concerned for your safety and not outright refusing you.
"Did you really want to...lie with the wolf?" He asks after several serene moments. "You do not think it...improper?"
"Oh," you laugh, "it is highly improper. The most carnal and sinful desire, to be sure." You turn your face up to his. "But something I crave with my whole being."
He considers your words carefully. "It can be done, but...it can be quite painful, at first. But..." He trails off, clearing his throat.
"What?"
"If the wolf bites you, during the act, the pain will subside. It would become most pleasurable, but..."
"But what?" You press.
"Then you would turn."
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marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
Summary: Marc pleases you greatly but attention from the other women makes you claim what's yours. Then, you wake up beside a stranger.
cw: on the fic masterlist • wc: 3.3k • gif does not indicate reader's race
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PREVIOUSLY ON MINE...
The two of you collapsed, a wet tangle of his spend, your slick and a sheen of sweat from the late morning sun....
"I am grateful you chose me. No one's ever..." He swallowed, trailing off.
"Never what? Never chosen you?" With your thumb, you reached to smooth the wrinkle that formed between his eyebrows.
"Never wanted me."
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You and Marc took lunch on the balcony. It was the best food Marc had ever tasted. Sweet, flaky cakes followed the meal, and he thought that they maybe tasted almost as good as an orgasm felt.
The weather warmed so the two of you took a swim, naked, of course.
Wrapping your arms around his neck in the water, you licked into his mouth, pressing your breasts against his chest. Gripping your thighs, Marc guided them around his waist. He wasn't sure how much he had left to give you today, physically.
"You still owe me the truth," you told him, happy to bob in the water in the arms of a beautiful man, "about why you did not sleep. And what you're thinking now. And how could came to speak the language of our enemies." Your eyebrows arched wryly.
"I-I do not speak the language of the enemy," he said quickly. "Truly. I have only heard others curse in that way. Forgive me. I have offended your ears."
"Nonsense," you shrugged one shoulder. "My grandmother came to us from enemy shores. She spoke the language to me daily, against my father's wishes, and mostly without his knowledge. I speak the language myself."
"I do not know many words," Marc confessed.
"So, why didn't you sleep?"
Marc's fingertips traced circles in the curve of your back as he considered his answer. "I could only think of you. That is the truth."
"How dreadful. I apologize," you teased.
Realizing you were teasing, Marc visibly relaxed.
"I understand that unusual surroundings can prevent rest," you sympathized. "You will sleep beside me tonight. We shall discover if the presence of your queen makes matters better or worse."
Marc's lips parted as his eyes widened. "Thank you, Your Grace."
After the best day of his life, well fed and satisfied many times over, Marc fell into a deep slumber the moment he lay down.
You watched his long eyelashes kiss his tanned cheeks as he slept, mesmerized by the fullness of his lips and the strong line of his jaw. Smiling to yourself, you twirled one of his curls around your finger, delighted as it sprang back into place when you released it.
“You are pretty, aren’t you?” You whispered, eyes growing heavy. Draping your body gently over his, you lay your head against the breadth of his chest, allowing his heartbeat to lull you to sleep.
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Your concubine of choice always joined you at social balls and dances - anything not deemed an official state event. Everyone knew you kept male company - it was expected of a queen, so it was no surprise when Marc was dressed in shimmering jewels, his dark eyes lined, his cheeks dusted with gold powder. His inky curls were wrapped, one by one around the stylist's own fingers, made to shine and show his natural beauty.
Even the highborn gentlemen of the court would struggle to hide their envy over the way your young man commanded the attention of the room.
You entered the ballroom, the music stopped, and everyone bowed. Marc waited for you at the end of the room, near your throne - or the chair used as a throne in the ballroom anyway, and the thought came to you that this was where you first encountered him.
He diverted his gaze demurely, although you saw a playful smile tug at his lips before he bowed deeply. As you reached your throne, you lifted his chin, then his hand to lay a gentle kiss on his fingers.
You took your seat and the music and dancing continued. Many lords would come before you now to present their husbands, but more importantly, their young gentlemen. Each one of them cast either a judgmental or lustful (or both) glare toward Marc while fawning all over one morsel of your attention.
You quickly grew bored of the preening, reaching for Marc's hand which you squeezed. Struggling not to interrupt one of your most annoying subjects, Lady Fife, you finally found a moment to rise and tug at your concubine's hand.
"Dance with me."
Taking him in your arms, you gazed into his eyes, smiling adoringly. "You look astonishing."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Marc returned, beaming at your praise.
"You seem well-rested. How do you find my bed?" You leaned in, whispering the last bit scandalously.
The corner of Marc's mouth curled as he breathed upon your ear. "Restful. And...enthralling."
The two of you shared a laugh, remembering the last several nights spent making love half the night and sleeping soundly, tangled up in one another the rest of the night.
The attention of the queen demanded the attention of the room, so all eyes fell on the way you and your young man held one another, gazed at each other and shared an obvious closeness.
The thought came to you, unbidden, that a concubine such as Marc would fetch the highest prices from the wealthiest lords in the land. Once the queen approved of a young man, he was sought after and often spent an opulent life as the mistress of one powerful woman or another.
After tonight, offers for his service would begin to arrive quickly. Tributes to the crown would suddenly appear: livestock, weapons, gold, grain for the stores, sons of lords offered with obscene dowries as marriage prospects.
Marc would be snatched up as soon as he left you. It could be a good life for him.
And the thought of it made you ill.
Perhaps you would tire of him, as you always did, but the thought of those grasping lords getting their hands on your prize made you want to brand him with the sigil of your house.
You would never actually brand anyone. He wasn't a slave, after all. Slavery was outlawed in the kingdom hundreds of years ago, but the urge to make it clear that Marc belonged to you consumed your thoughts as whispers and stares escalated.
"We shall depart early," you told him, at the conclusion of the dance.
Dark eyebrows furrowed in concern. "My queen, are you well?"
"Very well," you nod. "But I tire of lustful eyes on my prize."
Marc swallowed, blushing. "I am certain all eyes are on Your Grace."
"You are a sweet boy." You smiled at him.
It would be frowned upon to not share a dance or two with noble gentlemen and you couldn't afford enemies right now. "Wait two dances and then Tyree will escort you to my bedchamber."
Marc bowed and you descended upon the sea of waiting gentlemen to grace a few of them with a dance.
Marc was not asked to dance - no one would dare touch him, but Lord Fife and two equally powerful women of your court made a point to speak to him, oogling him openly.
Concluding your second dance, you stalked out of the ballroom with determination, Elshal's imposing presence at your heel clearing a immediate path for you.
Never making it to your chambers, you instead intercepted Tyree escorting Marc. You burst your way into a parlor, waiting for Elshal to clear and secure it before you pushed Marc down by his shoulders onto a settee.
His eyes blown wide, his neck muscles strained as he swallowed hard. "My queen?"
Hiking up your skirts, you climbed across his lap. "You are mine," you said, voice low and husky, breath falling on his cheek. Pushing your fingers through his perfectly coiffed curls, you made a mess of them.
Marc's eyes fluttered closed at your touch, but flew open again as you yanked hard, pulling his head back and exposing his throat.
"You. Are mine," you growled, licking into his mouth as you rolled your hips, pressing against the bulge you felt growing beneath his luxurious robes.
Marc gasped as you pulled harder, grinding yourself, coaxing him to hardness. "You will not leave my court," You told him, nibbling his lip. "You will not go to another lord of my court."
"Yes, my queen," he groaned, eagerly kissing you back, his hands finally coming alive. He wrapped them around you, pulling you down into him.
"No one shall touch you, do you understand?" You gripped his throat and stared down into his eyes menacingly. "You belong to me."
"Only you," he swore, eyes darkening with lust at your rough treatment.
Outside the set of opulent, hand-carved doors, Elshal and Tyree exchanged amused glances as their queen's moans of pleasure filled the corridor.
"That's enough," Elshal warned, only half seriously. She executed her duties to the queen most effectively, but she had a soft spot for Tyree, who often, after much effort, could get her to laugh. Or at least smile.
"I said nothing," Tyree protested with an innocent shrug. Tyree's short stature, broad shoulders, dark brown skin and close cropped hair contrasted Elshal's towering stature and ivory skin. You would not find a man or woman in the kingdom who would cross them.
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Your ball forgotten and your possessive streak sated, for the moment, you and Marc spent the rest of the evening in your bed. You took it upon yourself to delight him with new pleasures with your tongue and your fingertips exploring every inch of him.
Once he could take no more, he begged for respite, blaming his weak manhood. You allowed him to be bathed and fall asleep. You bathed as well and answered some important correspondence before climbing into bed beside him.
Marc stirred as the mattress shifted. Realizing you were joining him, he rolled over and nuzzled into your neck, murmuring your name. Not your title, but your birth name - something he'd never called you.
You chuckled to yourself at how easily you could make him stammer and apologize when you brought it up tomorrow, but mostly, you wanted to hear him say it again.
It would set a bad precedent with a low born lover, but perhaps you could make an exception with this one concubine. Maybe he could call you by your name when he was inside you, when your bodies were joined and you shared one another's breath.
You shifted, letting out a sigh as thoughts of him panting your name on your ear as he came inside you, stirred you to desire.
Probably better to let the boy rest, but he was a concubine after all. Was he not here for your pleasure at any moment?
He saved you the trouble by whispering, "My queen?" against your skin, eyelashes slowly blinking open.
"You are weary," you whispered, smiling at him, while tracing your fingers up and down the curve of his bare back.
"I dreamt of you," he murmured, lowering his lips to your skin and pressing a reverent kiss there. "I hope you do not mind."
Your body shifted underneath his as he kissed down to the soft curve of your breast. "It was a pleasant dream, I hope?"
His answer was to suck your nipple into his mouth. Your head fell back against the pillow as you slipped your fingers into his damp curls.
He smiled against your skin as you moaned, and kissed a trail down your stomach, pausing to nuzzle the softest places.
"Very pleasant," he confirmed, easing down until he reached your sex. Separating your folds with his fingers, he peered up at your hazy, heavy-lidded gaze. "I want to hear you make my sound." Then he licked his way into the dripping core of you, already a more confident lover than he was a week ago.
He hummed as he worked, gripping your thighs and kneading your flesh, carefully dragging one after another over his shoulders and delving deeper with his tongue.
Your hands gripped and twisted the bedsheets, hips rocking up to meet his delicious mouth as you panted his name.
Eager to please you, he found the spot, heard his sound and took you to heaven.
Panting and buzzing with pleasure, you crawled out from under him, flipping him over and coaxing him to sit up. Licking your lips, your eyes dipped down to his fully erect cock, begging for attention, leaking already.
"I thought you were utterly spent," you teased him, but really, he had come to know it was your way of gaining his consent.
"Sometimes I surprise even myself," he cheekily replied, reaching for your hips as you straddled his lap and sank down on him in one smooth move.
He cursed in the tongue of the enemy again and your body heated in response. The words sounded natural on his lips. You answered him in your grandmother's native tongue, telling him to call you by your name. Your real name.
'I want to hear it while you are inside me.'
The feel of his queen straddling him, bodies pressed together, skin to skin, writhing in one carnal motion together, lured Marc into breathing your name against your throat. Gripping your shoulders, he pulled you roughly down into his hungry thrusts and called you, 'mi reina.'
Then he repeated your name as you rode him furiously, mouths fusing for one final kiss before your body surged with wild pleasure. Pleased when you felt his warmth filling you deep, you collapsed against him, panting and sated.
One thing was becoming clear to you. Marc had the best stamina of any lover yet. You wouldn't tire of him easily.
Easing back, you pushed his wild curls away from his eyes as he gasped for air. "You have pleased me more than I can say. Ask anything of me and I will give it to you."
Most young men asked for more wealth. Some lowborn begged for a title.
"You have given it," Marc breathed, touching his forehead to yours. "You have shown me kindness and care, pleasure I never thought imaginable. My only request is to please you and to serve you. And you have granted it."
You kissed him furiously, tenderly stroking his cheeks.
After briefly cleansing yourselves, you swore to allow Marc some rest. He fell asleep immediately in your arms and you followed the next moment.
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Hours later, at first light, you felt an urgent rustling, which jolted you awake. Marc untangled himself from your body and bolted upright as if he’d laid in a bed of scorpions.
The motion was so jarring that you almost called for Elshal, but one look at Marc gave you pause. Eyes blown wide, he drew his hands to his chest, fidgeting nervously.
“What is the matter?” You asked, allowing him a moment to explain.
He gazed at you, his head cocked curiously, mouth falling open. Then he dropped to one knee in a deep bow.
“Your Grace, forgive me, please.”
“Marc, what is wrong? Did you have a nightmare?” You shook your head, puzzled.
“M-Marc?” He questioned, daring to lift his face to look up at where you sat perched on the bed’s edge. “Forgive me, Your Grace. My name is Steven. Steven Grant.”
Your face went stone cold. “What is this? What are you doing?”
Here he was, right in front of you - your sweet concubine, but…different, somehow. Broad shoulders hunched in on themselves, and instead of holding your gaze steadily, his eyes darted anywhere but your face. He was still bowing, and strangest of all, he sounded nothing like Marc. His accent was from a different region entirely.
“Please, Your Grace, forgive me. I do not…I don’t understand…how I got here.”
You’d heard enough. Grabbing your robe, you called for the captain of your royal guard, who practically leapt through the door and across the bed before you could finish tying your robe.
“What has the whore done, Your Grace?” Elshal demanded, using her armored boot to push Marc to the ground and hold him there with little effort.
“Whore? I am not a whore,” he choked out in his funny accent. “My name is Steven Grant. I work in the Library of the Tributes. I teach them to read and how to study, please!”
You made a horrible face. “Marc, why are you doing this? You were presented to me as a tribute. My tribute. My prize.”
Elshal literally growled when she saw frustrated tears glistening in your eyes. “I told you I didn’t trust this one. You said he spoke in the tongue of the enemy. I’ll take his head right now.”
“No, no, please!” Marc…or Steven begged. “There has to be a mistake. I work in a library. I’m a librarian. I’m not a tribute.”
You nodded for Elshal to let him up. She obeyed instantly, albeit reluctantly, hauling this Steven to his feet, with her ivory handled dagger at his throat.
“If you are not a tribute, why have we spent many nights together as lovers?” You hissed, eyes flashing with anger.
Steven’s eyes darted to the bed, to the alluring outline of your body through your silk robe, and finally down to his nearly naked form. It would explain why he woke up in your bed, in your arms.
“Are you saying you were sent here by mistake?” You hissed. “And you did not inform your queen?”
Steven’s throat bobbed against the dagger, eyes wild with terror. “Please…I do not remember coming here. I don’t remember. Please, Your Grace. I am your loyal servant. I have always been loyal to the crown.”
“Let me slit his throat and be done with it,” Elshal offered.
“Stand down,” you commanded, insides twisting with confusion. You didn’t want to punish this man yet. You wanted answers.
Elshal put a robe over his shoulders, tied him to a chair and waited for your questions.
So Steven Grant of the Library of the Tributes told you his story, because you insisted he start at the beginning and spare no detail.
His father, his mother, his brother, who drowned. His mother’s violence, his father’s fear of such a strong, fierce woman. And sometimes, he was gone from himself. Another was there, perhaps to protect him. He knew he wasn’t alone, but he didn’t understand why. He ended up in the House of the Tributes, but not as a tribute. It was a safe way to stay out of his mother’s house and out of brothels. He would educate the tributes to be of great service and pleasure to their queen.
“But you already have,” you insisted, “pleasured your queen. We lay together many, many times. You were presented here, to me, as tribute.”
“I don’t remember,” he repeated, eyes darting wildly between your face at the shine of Elshal’s blade. “Please believe me. I don’t want to die here. Not after spending my life in your service.”
You paced agitatedly back and forth, wondering what to believe. “Where is Marc now?” You finally asked. “Is he gone? Will I see him again, or did he…disappear into you?”
Steven reluctantly explained that he had read in several books about what he believed was a disorder of the mind, or the soul. One which allowed many souls to reside in one body.
“Like a possession? A possession of dark spirits? Is that what you mean?” Elshal challenged.
“No, not spirits. People. Real people. As real as you and I. I swear it, Your Grace.”
It was too much for one morning, especially since you were longing to see Marc, to gaze into his eyes and ask him if he slept better next to you, to roll over and join your body to his, to spend another day in endless pleasure.
With a heavy sigh, you turned to your captain. “Take him to his chambers and see that Tyree keeps him there. Have him fed and ready to return to me if I should wish it.”
Elshal bowed, untying Steven and hauling him to his feet.
“Steven Grant, or whatever your name is, I shall summon my Master of Wisdom and Master of Scholars. Pray they have a book that speaks of the same affliction as your books do.” You leaned in close to him, staring him down. “Or I shall have you hanged as a spy.”
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
mine masterlist • marc masterlist • moon knight masterlist • main masterlist
cw: on the masterlist • wc: 1.9k
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
Marc left your bed, ushered back to his quarters by Tyree, a Lieutenant who reported directly to Elshal. He was encouraged to rest, as his queen would call upon him soon, if he had pleased her.
He hoped he had, more than anything, he hoped it.
To his delight, he was roused the next morning, directed to eat and bathe. He was oiled and perfumed and dressed in next to nothing. A loincloth of golden chains covered his bottom half. Over that, he wore a sheer white robe.
Despite your concubine's beauty, the palace staff and servants knew to turn their gaze away from your prize.
Tyree delivered Marc to Elshal, who delivered him to you.
They found you taking in some morning sun while drinking fresh juice on a balcony that overlooked the sea. You wore little more than a silk robe.
Marc swallowed thickly as you rose to greet him, shedding your robe in the process. Adorned in flimsy silken undergarments, your near naked body lured him forward.
"Your Grace," he remembered to greet you, bowing deeply.
"Marc," you softly replied, reaching for his hands to pull him to you. "I trust you slept soundly?"
Marc nodded, not wishing to lie to you, but unsure you would want to be informed that he didn't sleep at all.
"Answer your queen," Elshal directed, in a bored monotone.
"I...truthfully, I did not sleep. Not much anyway," he hesitantly responded, eyes clouding as his jaw clenched.
Your eyes narrowed. "Elshal, see that my guest has everything he requires to be comfortable and rested in the palace."
"At once, Your Grace." Elshal bowed and dismissed herself.
Marc wasn't sure if speaking without being prompted would make things better or worse, so he remained silent, rather than attempting to explain.
"Come." Looping his arm through yours, you escorted him to the lounging chairs in the warm sun.
Marc obeyed, wondering if he'd displeased you. You directed him to lie down, then you stripped naked. The morning sun bathed your breathtaking body in an otherworldly glow. Even the gods could not possibly compare to your beauty. Marc's mouth went dry at the sight.
"Did thoughts of me keep you awake, or were your accommodations not sufficient?" You questioned him, draping yourself over him and pushing his robe from his shoulders. Marc leaned forward so you could help him work it off his arms.
"I do not know how to answer my queen," Marc carefully responded as you unfastened the gold chains hiding his cock from you. Once he was bare, you carefully straddled his lap.
He sucked in a breath as he felt a pool of wetness coaxing him to hardness.
"Tell me the truth," you murmured against his lips, gripping his shoulders as you slid your cunt back and forth until you found just the right angle to pleasure yourself easily. Today was your first day with your new toy and you wanted to play.
Marc gasped out, eyelashes fluttering as his eyes drifted closed. As soon as he was fully erect, you shifted your hips and took his length inside you.
Marc cursed in a foreign tongue and your pussy clenched and fluttered in response.
"You speak the language of the enemy," you murmured, riding him vigorously now, shifting until you found the spot that made you lose your breath.
"I am your loyal servant," he gasped, already so close to coming he could barely think. "I live to serve you."
"You are close," you observed, noticing the straining of his biceps, hands gripping your hips, the corded column of his throat bobbing, the determined clench of his square jaw.
"No," he growled stubbornly, but it was too late. As you rolled your hips into him a few more times, breasts bouncing prettily, temping his mouth to chase after your nipples, he spurted hot and eager inside you.
"Sweet boy," you cooed, brushing his curls away from his forehead as his eyes fluttered closed in ecstasy. "My innocent thing."
Marc's body tingled with a warm, syrupy pleasure. If only he could wake up and do this every day. Perhaps you would wish exactly this from him. He was here to please you. He only hoped he could. But he came so quickly. His eyes flew open as he remembered himself.
"Don't worry," you smiled softly at him. "We will fuck some endurance into you. Today, you can come as many times as your sweet body can handle it."
You kissed his mouth, dragging your tongue over his. He kissed you back hungrily, fingertips digging into your hips, squeezing your flesh. Slipping his arm around you, his forearm flexed against the curve of your back as he cinched you close and flipped you underneath him. His mouth curled in satisfaction at the look of surprise on your face.
Eager to please you, Marc gazed into your eyes and dragged his fingers between your folds, puffy and soaked from riding him vigorously. “Show me where,” he murmured, sweetly fumbling his way around. “Show me where I licked you, when you made those pretty sounds for me.”
Your eyes went wide at his boldness. “I ‘make sounds’ for no man.” You gripped his wrist to place his hand where you wanted it. Sliding your fingertips down his middle two fingers, you guided them to your throbbing clit. “Try here.”
He smirked. “As my queen wishes.”
Capturing your lips in a lustful kiss, he pushed the pads of his fingers over and over your most sensitive spot - the thrusting of his wet tongue in your mouth matching the pace below. You signed and moaned into his mouth, rocking your hips to meet his hand. He increased the pressure, but kept the strokes steady, almost painfully slow.
Tearing your mouth from his, you panted, “More,” against his lips.
“Yes, my queen.” He obeyed instantly. As much as he enjoyed a little banter with you, he wanted you to come fast. He had to prove to you his ability to please and pleasure you as much and as often as you wished it.
He kissed you again, rubbing furiously, his cock stirring back to arousal as your hips rocked up against his hand. Then you moaned, deep in your throat. Wishing to hear more, he eased back, adding a little more pressure. He smiled against your lips as you let out that breathy, gasping moan. The memory of it had kept him awake all night long.
“That’s it,” he whispered, nibbling on your bottom lip. “That’s my sound.”
“Oh fuck…” you panted, as heat flared from your center, up to your neck. Pleasure surged through your body, more intense than the night before. You gave yourself over to it, moaning deeply and panting Marc’s name.
The sight and the sound of you coming coaxed him to hardness, but the sound of his name while you came nearly made him lose control of himself.
Shifting his hips, he pressed his tip to your wet hole, pausing to watch the bliss etched into your lovely face.
“Please, my Queen, can I?” He gripped his cock and slid the tip through your folds.
You nodded quickly, head falling back as he punched the next breath out of you with a powerful thrust. Sensitive from your climax, you savored every sensation - every stroke of his length, pulsing and twitching as your walls sucked him deeper.
Nothing in Marc's training could have prepared him for how it felt to push a part of himself into a queen - a beautiful goddess. For all his doubt about the path that led him here, he was glad he stayed in his training. Surely soldiering could never compare to this pleasure.
You watched as Marc's dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The sun kissed his tanned skin as he shifted his hips, hitting you in a different spot with each thrust. Perhaps he was trying to maintain control of himself, but he needn't worry. You were already impressed at how quickly he got hard for you again, and how earnestly he wanted to please you.
Ready to assure him he could relax and enjoy fucking you, you watched as he shifted his hips once more, hitting a devastating spot deep within you. His mouth curled in victory when he heard the sound. That gasping, sweet, breathy moan he'd already claimed as his.
"Don't say it," you playfully warned, gasping again as he held himself exactly in the same position with fierce determination.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," he panted, tasting your lips one at a time before pressing his forehead to yours. "I now live to hear the sound of your pleasure."
His chiseled body flexed and fucked into you slow and steady. You expected a man on top of you to pound into you like a senseless beast or wild animal. Most men were useless in the art of lovemaking, which was why you typically lay them down and rode their cocks until you grew bored of them.
A few had tried desperately to please you, and fewer still actually succeeded.
Marc was eager to learn and and prove his worth, but there was a careful, measured care he took with you. You felt certain the two of you were in for weeks if not months of endless pleasure.
At that point, you shut your brain off, gripped his shoulders and ordered him not to stop.
"Will you look at me?" He asked, voice low and raw with want. "If it please Your Grace."
You granted him your gaze, swallowing as he boldly stared you down, eyes darkening like coal. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, interrupting his huffs of panted pleasure.
You thought he might say something. Most men felt the need to narrate every moment. But he kept you there, transfixed, steadily working you up, thrust for thrust, slightly faster each time but never quite giving you the friction you wanted.
"Make me come," you ordered, releasing the breadth of his shoulders. Pushing your fingers over his throat, you caressed his face. "Do not come until I do."
Marc's eyes fluttered closed as you caressed him, but he nodded, dark curls falling over his eyes. "As my queen wishes."
Eyes locked on to yours once more, he braced himself with one arm beside your head. The muscles of his forearm nearly touched your cheek, straining as he sank into you faster, deeper, slipping his fingers between your bodies to rub you furiously.
That's all it took for your back to arch off the lounging chair as your body shuddered in ecstasy. You held onto him, riding out your pleasure. His pace faltered as he lost control of himself, falling off the edge right behind you.
The two of you collapsed, a wet tangle of his spend, your slick and a sheen of sweat from the late morning sun. Marc's breath tickled your neck as he caught his breath, his arm resting lazily across your torso.
"Is it always this way?" He panted. "When two people lay together? Is it always...perfection?"
Brushing his curls away from his eyes, you smiled at him. "You flatter me."
"Forgive me. I speak too freely with my queen. It is not my place to ask such a question." His eyes clouded over in that familiar way.
"It is a reasonable question," you shrugged one shoulder, "since I am an experienced lover and you were a virgin." You kissed his mouth. "My virgin."
You kissed him again, pleased when he pulled your body close instead of tensing with doubt.
Easing back, you touched your forehead to his. "It is often so between lovers, but I confess that you please me immeasurably."
"Do I?" He gasped. "I am grateful you chose me. No one's ever..." He swallowed, trailing off.
"Never what? Never chosen you?" With your thumb, you reached to smooth the wrinkle that formed between his eyebrows.
"Never wanted me."
☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･☾ ⋆*･:⋆*･
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