Before and After
So’lek x female sarentu reader
Words: 7.1k
Summary: Many men come with courting gifts and practiced words, hoping to win your favor, but they are all empty. None of them stay long either. The ones you allow into your presence never return twice. And So’lek watches, with a tight jaw, and wonders why you keep doing this to yourself.
Warnings: explicit smut, idiots in love, fluff, grumpy x sunshine, teacher/student, misunderstanding, argument, mentions of alcohol/ being drunk, age gap (So‘lek is around 40, reader is in her mid twenties), jealousy, possessiveness, flirting, sexual tension, reader has one night stands, mating rituals (biting, courting gifts), oral (f receiving), praise, p in v
Note: credit for the picture on the left goes to @cybercore_angel on x
So far, So‘leks life was a long series of befores and afters.
There was the time before he had joined the Aranahe clan, before the war had ground the forests into ash and memory. Even before that, long before the Trr’ong had answered Toruk Maktos call at the Hallelujah Mountains, when the world had still felt balanced, comprehensible and young.
So‘lek had been happier before. Lighter, too. Before the world taught him how much it could take and still ask for more. Before he‘d known nothing but loss and anger.
And then there was the after. After the anger that had hollowed him out. After he had become what the people called the Dog Tag Warrior, driven by revenge. After he had helped free the remaining Sarentu from their never-ending sleep. After he had taken one of them under his wing, shown her the ways of the People, taught her everything she now knew.
He had been smarter before, hadn’t he?
But this was after that time, after the days when you had followed at his heel, wide-eyed and curious, absorbing every word as law.
You had been a naive young thing back then. Still kind of are.
Too quick to smile, too ready to believe the best in everyone you met. Where So’lek speaks in silence and measured glances, you fill the space with questions, laughter, and this unshakable warmth that seems entirely misplaced in a world that had taken so much from you. He did not know such thing was even possible. You trusted so easily, learned fiercely, and carried hope as though it were as natural as breathing. To you, it was.
So’lek, by contrast, is all edges and restraint. A man of fewer words, but many scowls and even more discipline. Where you rushed head first into danger, he lingered, calculated, held you back by the tail if he had to. He taught you how to walk on this soil, how to listen for danger, how to survive.
And you taught him, perhaps without ever meaning to, that the world still allowed for light, even the darkest of times.
So‘lek had told himself that teaching you was his duty. That this was the path that the great mother had chosen for him, to make up for all the lives he had taken, for eywas laws that he had broken. He’s told himself that you were simply his numeyu [student] and nothing more. And perhaps that had been true, once.
But that, too, belonged to the before.
And suddenly, so quickly he almost missed the moment where time stopped, there was only the now.
Kneeling beside Ìley, So’lek’s hands were steady as they worked a salve of crushed leaves onto his leathery skin. His ikran gave a gentle nudge that was still strong enough to momentarily take him off balance, before it purred it‘s approval.
"Tam tam, Ìley", So‘lek cooed, patting its strong neck. "Feels good, does it?"
Routines like this always grounded him. They calmed his mind and gave him a sense of peace. Especially when life was getting busier than usual.
The Windtraders had arrived at the Aranahe hometree the day before and since then, the clearing had been alive with music, movement and color, woven fabrics bright as dawn, shells that caught the light, feathers and animal hide dyed in hues too vivid to belong to the forest.
Voices overlapped in easy laughter and loud bargaining. The exchange of goods and stories flowed in a rhythm older than his earliest memory of home.
But So’lek barely sees any of it.
His gaze lifted only briefly, sweeping over the gathered crowd out of habit rather than interest. Nothing that happened required his attention. Nothing, except for…
"You should come with us next time, there are many more pretty shells where these came from."
It’s the sound of laughter that follows which he would recognize even with his eyes closed and his head pushed beneath water.
It cuts through the noise with infuriating ease, as if calling for his immediate attention.
So’lek stills. Careful not to make it obvious, he lets his eyes wander in a subtle glance over his shoulder. His gaze finds you without effort. It always does.
Two Tlalim men stand far too close to you for his liking, their skin marked with orange and white paint, their voices smooth with practiced charm.
One of them offers you a string of shells, clearly made by the skilled hands of Metkayina, polished to a soft sheen that catches the light perfectly. The other laughs at something you say, as if you have shared a private joke. You accept the gift with both hands, cheeks warming and more laughter spilling free.
So’lek exhales sharply through his nose.
A shell? Why would you be impressed by a shell? It costs little effort, no real sacrifice. Anyone with access to the coast can bring one. This small, almost pathetic, gesture should not deserve the attention you give them.
But that’s the thing with you and men.
You’re always looking for love, for attention, for validation. Partially out of neediness, but also out of an open-heartedness that never learned to close itself. You give your warmth freely, assuming it will be met with the same sincerity.
So’lek thinks you are easy to please, but the thought carries no cruelty with it. It is not a flaw so much as an innocence you have never been forced to shed. You just don’t yet see how little it takes for others to earn your smile, how easily kind words and small offerings can sway you. You accept them as genuine because you have no reason to doubt them, because you believe people mean what they say. Because you are grateful for these mere crumbs that the men are giving you.
You just don’t know it any better.
Many men come with courting gifts and practiced words, hoping to win your favor, but they are all empty. None of them stay long. And the ones you allow into your presence never return twice. So’lek watches, with his jaw tightening, and wonders why you keep doing this to yourself.
These men are fools, clumsy and shortsighted.
The Tlalim men in particular are unremarkable.
They are too loud, too confident and too eager in the way of men who mistake friendliness for invitation. None of them are worthy of your attention, let alone your presence. They have not earned it, he thinks bitterly.
And yet, you allow it. That is what needles at him most. It is infuriating. It is sickening.
But So’lek only turns away, forcing his attention back to ìley, before he can witness any more of this madness.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The low glow of embers paint familiar faces in shifting orange and gold.
The people have gathered around the communal fire, sharing the tender meat from one of his recent kills. The fire fills the air with delicious scents of roasted meat and warmth.
Teylan sits beside him and Priya, legs tucked in too close, voice already in motion before the food has even been passed.
The boy talks and talks and talks.
About things So’lek does not understand and things he understands well enough, but still chooses not to bring himself into the conversation.
His words tumble over one another, but So’lek is only listening with half an ear.
Teylan is also seeking validation, he knows that much, but not in the way his sister does. Teylan’s need is loud and insistent. Like a child tugging at his mother’s loincloth, demanding to be seen, to be praised, to be told he is doing something right. There is no subtlety to it, but So‘lek has learned to handle it. It is entirely different from…
So’lek’s thoughts falter.
Without intent, his gaze drifts across the fire, and his face softens ever so slightly when he spots you. You’re sitting opposite him, your posture relaxed, with the firelight dancing across your beautiful features. But the sight next to you is less pretty and makes his face return to frown.
It’s Tarséy. A young Aranahe warrior. Broad-shouldered, quick to grin, quicker still to speak. An empty-headed idiot, if one were to ask So’lek, with a face only a mother could love.
Everybody knew that Tarséy‘s mouth ran faster than his thoughts, and neither knew the path.
So’lek does not know what you see in him, but he watches anyways. It’s not like he could look away now that he’s spotted you with him.
Shoulder to shoulder you sit with him, close enough that your arms brush when you move. Then Tarséy leans in, says something meant only for your ears and you laugh, soft and breathy, before ducking your head, cheeks warming as you whisper something back into his ear. Tarséy grins like he’s won something and So’lek’s jaw tightens.
You look at ease. Comfortable. And it makes his teeth grind audibly.
Then, to his sheer horror, you suddenly raise to your feet in one swift motion and tug the warrior to his feet with a laugh. Your arms curl around Tarséy’s biceps and he stumbles a little, pleasantly surprised at your eagerness and follows without hesitation. The two of you disappear into the shadows beyond the firelight, voices fading, your little giggles trailing behind you like an echo So’lek cannot escape.
The sight burns. Hot and sharp beneath his skin, an ache he does not allow himself to name.
Still, he does nothing.
If this is the male you choose to spend your time with, then that is your right. He tells himself this with the same discipline he applies to every unwanted thought. He has no claim over you. Whatever he feels is irrelevant, and he will not shame you by interfering where he does not belong.
"I will go," So’lek says quietly, the words offered to Priya and Teylan without explanation. No one stops him, but their faces tell him otherwise.
Still, he rises, turning his back to the fire, to the laughter, to the space you had left behind. And instead of following the path you took, he disappears into the forest in the opposite direction, letting the dark swallow him whole.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
There was a time, before, when So’lek was particularly annoyed at your strange little antics.
You were a whirlwind then, and perhaps you still are. A walking ray of sunshine that was always smiling, always laughing, always finding connection and so very impossible to ignore.
Even more impossible to contain.
Training you was no small matter. It had cost a man his age more than one sleepless night. You simply leapt into action without hesitation, without pause to consider consequence.
You had him tense, on edge, with his heart hammering in his chest even long after the sun had set, worrying for his numeyu [student] that was so oblivious to it all.
Somehow, you carried on with the sort of blissful ignorance that would have been admirable if it weren’t so infuriating. Every morning you had greeted him with the same wide-eyed grin, that same reckless bravery as you wagged your tail and followed him around wherever he went, peppering him with questions and talking about whatever came to mind.
Really, So’lek sometimes thought, if it weren’t for your stubborn charm, he might have throttled you by now. Instead, he just bit back a grin and rolled his eyes so hard he feared it would cause a permanent injury.
Even now, watching you with others, Tarséy or any fool who had managed to capture your attention for the day, So’lek feels that old tug. That irritation, the irrational worry and silent, unspoken fear threaded beneath his stoic exterior. You had always been too much, too bright. His little sunshine. And So‘lek has always carried the weight of ensuring that your own brightness did not burn you.
The Aranahe feast comes with ceremony, swelling naturally as night settles over the forest. It is meant as a farewell to the Tlalim clan that was already overdo to continue their travels.
Music was rising with the smoke of fire, laughter spilling freely as drums and voices find their rhythm. Lanterns sway in the branches overhead, casting warm light over painted faces and moving bodies. The air hums with song, with the sharp sweetness of fermented fruit drinks and unrestrained joy.
So’lek does not enjoy gatherings like this.
There are too many bodies and too much noise pressing in at once. It makes him feel out of place, so he stands stiff at the edge at first, shoulders tight. Someone claps him on the shoulder in passing and then another calls his name in greeting. A fleeting conversation here and there was all he could muster, but then Ri’nela appears long enough to shoot him a look that leaves no room for refusal, and so he’s forced to stay a little longer.
Eventually, though, the noise becomes too much.
So’lek withdraws to the outer ring of the gathering and lowers himself onto a fallen root, back against the tree. From there, he can still see without being seen. Hear without being forced to listen.
Lifting a carved cup to his mouth, he takes a slow sip of swoa [liquor, alcohol]. It burns faintly on his tongue, leaving a warm taste in his mouth.
"There you are, chicken."
The sound of your voice makes him straighten despite himself. He glances up, and there you stand. The firelight catches on the loincloth he recognizes immediately, the one you had been working on days ago with stubborn focus and a tongue caught between your teeth. The colors are rich and warm, stitched with careful, uneven patterns that make it unmistakably yours.
You look… stunning.
So’lek smiles fondly before he can stop himself, but your eyes do not quite meet his. Not fully.
"What are you doing here, moping around all alone?" you ask. Your words suggest teasing, but your tone is flat and dulled around the edges. Your usual bite is missing and the soft little giggle whenever you called him chicken, whatever this word meant, was nowhere to be found either.
So‘leks smile falters into a faint frown just as you drop down beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm. It’s an innocent touch, but he shuffles away as if it burnt him. Opening his mouth to answer, he closes it just as quickly when you’re a little too eager to take the cup straight from his hand. You tip it back and take a long, unwise gulp.
So’lek blinks and his brows lift.
"Sarentu," he starts, already reaching for the cup, "this is very strong. You should not—"
"Urgh, So’lek, please!" you snap, clearly frustrated as you clutch the cup to your chest. Your words slur just enough to make him realize that this probably wasn’t your first drink of the night. "Give me that. I can decide what is too strong for me and what not."
This mood does not belong to you. Not to his sunshine, and he studies your face carefully now.
Softly, carefully, he dares to ask, "Where is Tarséy? I thought you were…"
"Tarséy can fuck himself."
So’lek makes a face as he cringes from your foul mouth. He has heard worse on battlefields, and from other warriors, but never from you. Never like this.
He lowers his voice. "That is not how you speak."
You laugh, the sound short, bitter and nothing like yourself. "Oh? Is there a rule for that too?"
His jaw tightens, but then he forces himself to breathe.
"Tell me what happened."
You stare at the drink in your hand for a moment too long, then wipe your nose with the back of your hand and scoff. "Nothing. He just got what he wanted," you say flatly and shrug. "And then he left. Just like the others."
The words sit between you and him, heavy and ugly. They make something in his chest starting to hurt.
So’lek’s hands tighten into fists. "Then why," he asks, unable to keep the edge from his voice, "If all they do is disappoint you, why do you keep giving these skxawngs [idiots] your time? Your…," he wanted to say your body, but doesn’t finish that sentence. There’s no need to, anyways.
You turn on him then, eyes flashing. "Don’t," you snap. "Don’t talk to me like that."
"I am only trying to understand you," he says, frustration bleeding through despite himself.
"No, you’re not," you shoot back, slurring a little. "You’re judging me, talking to me like I’m a child. You always do that!"
"That’s not—"
"I‘m not stupid, So‘lek." You take another sip from his drink.
The swoa has loosened your tongue, tangled your thoughts and is now turning hurt into anger. So’lek can see it, he knows this pain all too well and still, something in him snaps.
"No, you are not stupid, Sarentu. But you are naive," he says sharply. Too sharply. "A foolish girl who believes words too easily. These men are blunt, dull as an unsharpened blade, and you let them in simply for smiling at you!"
The moment the words leave his mouth, So‘lek regrets them deeply.
Your face goes still. Hurt flickers there, raw and exposed, before it hardens into something colder.
"I knew it…" you whisper, turning away from him.
"That is— That is not what I meant," he tries, but the damage is already done.
"Oh, don’t worry, So’lek. I know exactly what you meant."
Silence stretches for an unbearable long moment. The music from the festival feels distant now, muffled and irrelevant.
So’lek exhales, slow and controlled, and then he pushes himself to his feet. "You are drunk," he says, voice flat. "And this conversation will lead nowhere."
He does not wait for you to reply.
Turning away, he steps back, leaving you and the rest of the fest behind.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The next few days feel wrong. After the argument.
So’lek feels off-balance in a way he does not like, as if something essential has shifted just out of his reach. His routines remain intact, yet they feel unfulfilling, hollowed out, missing a familiar weight. He catches himself listening for footsteps that never come, for a voice that no longer fills the quiet. Not even the chirping sound of your ikran as it nuzzles against Ìleys side or steals a fish out of his basket are there. The perch beside his ikran remains empty and the familiar sound of wings and impatient chuffing are nowhere to be heard.
The spaces you normally fill suddenly feel strangely empty.
You are not where you usually are. The training grounds at dawn aren’t occupied, there is no one already stretching and talking before anyone else has fully woken. Not near the cooking fires, stealing bites from your siblings. Not chatting with Priya, weaving with Nefika or even racing Etuwa.
No one is trailing after him with questions he pretends to be annoyed by, but loves to answer all the same.
It feels… odd.
On the third day, Teylan finds him.
Not for personal matters, but with a datapad tucked under his arm. He talks about a minor complication that needs solving and So’lek listens, answers where necessary, nods when expected.
When there is a brief pause, he slips in a question about you— careful to keep his tone level, almost uninterested, as if the question means very little at all.
"She told me she wasn’t feeling well, said she needed some time away," Teylan looks at him in sympathy, his lips pressed into a thin line. "If you’re looking for her, I think she’s staying at one of the Resistance field labs. But don’t tell her you got that from me! She will kill me if she finds out I’ve told anyone about her secret spot…"
"Thank you," So‘lek tells him with a hand on his shoulder.
Luckily, your so called 'secret spot' was not so secret after all.
There are several field labs scattered through and around the kinglor forest, hidden well enough from human patrols. But only one in which So’leks spots a fire burning low and the familiar colors of an ikran sitting on the roof nearby.
Tracking you down had taken far less effort than he expected and So’lek can’t help but grin as he urges Ìley to land. Perhaps he had not been such a good karyu [teacher] after all.
"Did Teylan tell you I’m here?" you grumble, rolling your eyes as So’lek pats his ikrans strong neck and then walks over to where you sit in the grass, poking at the fire with a long stick.
Your gaze is stubbornly fixed on the flames, avoiding him entirely.
"Do not be too hard on your brother, he wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t asked," So’lek explains softly. "He worries for you."
You snort, still staring at the fire. "Oh, he worries for me, yeah?"
So’lek does not respond to that. Instead, he sits down beside you, letting the quiet stretch for a moment before he speaks again.
"Why are you hiding, Sarentu?" He asks softly, his face tilted slightly to look at you.
You fiddle with a loose strand of grass, everything to avoid his gaze as his eyes bore into the side of your face.
"I… I don’t know," you mutter finally, your voice small. "I guess… I just needed space.“
So’lek considers your words for a moment, then, cautiously, he asks, "Space from what?"
Biting the inside of your cheek, you shy away from his gaze even more. Truthfully, it breaks his heart to see his sunshine hide behind dark clouds like this, so he carefully reaches out and cups your jaw in his hand, slowly turning your head back to him.
Although you let him, your eyes still refuse him.
But the words that had sat on your tongue spill out anyways.
"From everything, I guess. From men, from the others and… from you." Your voice falters, almost a whisper now as you add, "I… know you’re disappointed in me."
So’lek’s gaze softens and he almost smiles at the silliness of it. How could he ever be disappointed in you?
"Disappointed?" he repeats quietly. "Why would you think that?"
Finally, you glance up at him, eyes red-rimmed, and your lips press together. "Because what you said at the festival was true," you admit. "About how naive I am, about how easy I am to please. You’re right, So‘lek. Your always right. And now I feel stupid and—" You pause, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. "—easy. Great mother, you must be so disappointed in me!"
The last part comes out frustrated and angry and you ball your hands into fists in the grass.
So’lek remains silent for a long moment, letting your confession hang in the air. Then, softly, he says, "Sarentu, you are none of those things. What I’ve said at the festival was not… that was not what I truly meant."
You shake your head, "But it feels like it."
“So it feels like it,” he repeats, tone firm but gentle. "But feeling is not truth. And I am not disappointed in you. I am…" So‘lek sighs deeply, and then it’s his turn to let his eyes shy away when you look at him. "…angry only that you allow others to treat you as less than you deserve. These men are not worthy of you and it angers me to see them with you."
"I know, okay? I know that!" you groan. You scrub a hand over your face as if trying to hide in shame. As if you could somehow erase what happened if you only scrubbed at your face hard enough.
So‘lek feels confused and lost.
"Then why are you letting this happen? Why do you let them treat you as less?" He asks immediately.
The look in your eyes changes then and So‘lek watches the way your blush creeps over your cheeks and all the way up to the tip of your ears.
"I— I kind of…" The words come out hushed, like a secret you’re sharing only with him. You breath in and out, your voice suddenly small and hesitant, "I thought you had no interest in me since I’m your student. You— You see me as a child! And I guess I kinda wanted you to see me as a woman with… with needs."
Your confession comes unexpected. So unexpected, that So’lek feels all blood drain from his head and wander elsewhere. He swallows thickly, his throat suddenly dry as you blink up at him through your lashes with those big eyes, as if you could somehow see right through him. His chest feels tight, and it takes him a long moment to get his thoughts under control.
"You are not a child," he responds matter-of-factly. And it’s true. You might be younger, yes even a little naive from time to time, but you are not a child. Great mother, no. You are not.
You huff a bitter laugh. "You say that now."
"I say it because it is true," he replies, leaning forward slightly. "And because I should have said it sooner." He exhales, slow and controlled. You catch the way his eyes fall to the softness of your lips, before he regains composure and meets your gaze again. "I am not blind to you, Sarentu. I was simply trying to be… disciplined."
So‘lek watches with great satisfaction as your eyes widen at his words, only for your blush to deepen into a dark hue of purple.
"I-I just thought as my teacher you’d be—", you stammer, the words faltering as your courage wavers.
"Your teacher," he repeats gently, a low chuckle slipping free. Then he lifts a hand before he can second-guess himself and cups your cheek. Your breath catches when he stares openly at your lips, no longer hiding it. "I am not your teacher anymore."
Then, So’lek leans in slowly, giving you all the time in the world to stop him, to back away. But you don’t.
"Then don’t act like it all the time," you murmur, softer now, closer. The hand on your cheek moves to the back of your neck, pulling you impossible closer.
"That," he murmurs, voice strained, "is because you still have much left to learn."
"Like… what?" you whisper, eyes fluttering shut.
"How you are supposed to be treated," he answers, stopping mere millimeters from your mouth, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your rapid breathing.
"Then show me, So’lek," you whisper against his lips. "Teach me."
And that is all the invitation he needs.
He closes the distance at last, no hesitation left, no before or after to hide behind. Only now. Your lips smash together and in a desperate, hungry way and he could practically feel your entire body melt into it.
So’lek kisses you with all the power he could muster, making up for all the months, weeks, days, even minutes and seconds his lips hadn’t been touching yours when he had wanted to so badly it hurt.
The groan he exhaled into the kiss was anything but subtle and disciplined. It was raw and unapologetic and so full of need. Need to feel you, to taste you, to have you close— closer.
So‘lek moves quickly, doesn’t break the kiss as he shuffles to his knees and moves between your thighs. His other hand comes to cup your face as well, holding onto you as he tastes your lips, your tongue, even your sweet salvia. He wanted to drink it all, taste it forever, let it seep into his skin to become part of him.
Your chest is raising and falling in short pants as he lays you down onto the grass, his lips never leaving yours, not even for a moment to gather his breath. You’re both just panting into kiss, exchanging soft little noises that sound like sighs and moans with how good it feels.
To So’lek, you taste sweet and warm and like home. It is addictive. And he could smell your desire, tinged with a subtle base note of your natural scent. It’s the only plausible excuse for him to finally untangle his tongue from yours and instead burry his nose into the space where your shoulder meets your throat.
"Sarentu," he sighs as he inhales deeply the sound of it almost painful with how heavy the weight of need settled over his voice. And then he groans when he feels heat surge through him and settle in his groin, before he captures your lips in another kiss.
You make a sound that’s close to a moan, your hands impatiently fumbling with his tactical west and so he’s forced to break away from your mouth again, helping you slip the west off of him before he returns the favor and unclasps your top.
The sight before him is a long anticipated one. Enough to make him momentarily forget to breathe. You’re such a pretty little thing, with your chest heaving, face all flushed and lips swollen and wet.
"Why‘d you stop?" You pant.
"Don’t be so impatient. I am admiring," So‘lek smirks, then cups one of your breasts in his hand. His thumb brushes gently over a hardened nipple, before he lowers his head to press a wet kiss to the underside of your breast.
"L-Later, you can admire me later."
He slowly, so very slowly kisses his way down your body, tongue tracing invisible patterns onto your skin, marking you indelibly as his. His tongue dips into your navel, kisses it, and he chuckles lowly as you squirm and sigh under his ministrations.
"So needy," he says, his breath tickling your skin where it’s wet from his tongue and goosebumps raise over skin. "Did none of the men you occupied yourself with ever satisfy you?"
So’lek presses a kiss below your navel, where a V-shaped valley guides him down. His eyes are glued on yours and you hesitatingly shake your head, no. That should make him angry, he thinks. But instead, all he feels is triumph.
"Then they were truly useless," he sighs in disappointment, then slips your loincloth down your legs and tosses it aside. "What a shame. For them."
Settling himself between your parted thighs, broad shoulders holding you open, he tugs your calves over them. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. Your slit is glistening in arousal, wet and needy and just begging for him. For someone to treat her right.
His breath is warm against your skin and you toss your head, the anticipation making you crazy. But you’re completely at his mercy as he rubs his jaw against your inner thighs, forced for patience you could not muster in this very moment. Goosebumps erupt all over your body at the sensation of him rubbing himself all over you.
"I will show you exactly how you deserve to be treated, paskalin [honey]," So‘lek says with the certainty of someone who knew for a fact that he could. "And I want you to remember this moment. Remember who‘s name you will be crying by the end of the night. This is your lesson for today, sweet girl."
His thumb then carefully strokes your clit, his touch gentle but his skin roughened with calluses, and it’s perfect— even more so when he bends to slide his tongue over you, spreading your thighs with his hands and tasting you with unexpectedly delicate licks until you’re whimpering and your hips are twitching.
You taste like Tana‘rìng he knows from home. Sweet.
Finally, though, finally he opens his mouth properly against you, his broad hands holding you open as he fucks you with his mouth. Your back arches off the ground when his tongue pushes inside you and more moans tumble from your parted lips.
His tongue is firm and sleek, thrusting inside before tracing back over your folds to suck hard at your clit. One, then two fingers dip inside, past the tight ring of your entrance, curling and thrusting and creating just the right amount of friction as he groans filthy praise against your cunt.
Your voice cuts through the air then, a desperate cry of "S-So‘lek, I’m—"
"Come for me, numeyu [student]," he says between licks, pulling you closer against his face. "Let me taste your pleasure."
You can't help but scream as he goes back to sucking on your swollen clit. It feels like an eternity but no time at all before you're coming, flooding his mouth as your body quakes and spasms for him.
In all of his years of living, So‘lek doubts he has ever heard a sound so beautiful before as the noises you make as you come on his tongue. From the sound of it, it might even be the first time a male has ever succeeded in doing so.
His mouth is determined as he strokes you through it, easing you down, hands soothing on your thighs.
When he pulls back, his mouth and chin are shiny with you. He wipes his hand across his mouth and licks his lips, giving a low hum of approval before he briefly closes his eyes and returns to let his cheek brush over your inner thigh. It’s not for long though, before he slowly slides up your body.
After a moment, his sinful mouth presses against yours once more, coaxing your lips open. You sigh when you taste yourself on his tongue and So‘lek hopes you enjoy the taste as much as he had. Pulling back, he smiles when you try to follow his lips.
"Paskalin [honey]," he purrs, his voice low as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. You can't even form words, just nod your head as he kisses you once more, quick and dirty while he slips himself free of his remaining clothes and settles himself between your spread thighs. "Will you let me make you feel good? Will you let me prove myself to you properly?"
"Y-Yes," you whisper breathlessly, "eywa, yes, please!"
You immediately wrap your legs around his waist, enjoying both, his warm skin against your legs and how his hips hitch towards you as he groans in approval.
"Then I will not disappoint you as the others before me."
So‘lek enjoys the tiny hitch of your breath, the way your tail suddenly curls tight around his thigh and your pupils dilate at his words. You’re so eager to find out just how good he could make you feel, when what you had just experienced had already been more than any other male had ever been able to.
He holds you like that, spread open and with a hand on your hip while the other lays above your head, taking as much weight off of you as possible. His hand is close enough so he’s able to stroke your hair and the top of your head and you let out these sweet noises that are close to a purr. It makes him feel fantastic, knowing that you feel good. That you’re happy and content where you are. And he wishes to be the reason for his sunshine to glow until the end of time.
Your small hands are at his back, holding onto muscles and warm skin, your dull nails scratching him gently, urging him on.
His cock throbs in a way it hadn’t done in what feels an entirety as he slowly slides inside, filling you, inch by inch.
So’lek moans as he pushes further, pushes harder, and you whine and cling to him, unable to do anything but lie there and take it. He's panting now, too, not as unaffected as he wants you to think and you use it to your advantage. You want him to lose it for you, in you, with you. And so you clench yourself tight around where he's buried inside of you, visibly enjoying the way his hips thrust almost involuntary in response, before he stops all movement completely.
"Sarentu, you are…" he breaths heavily, his eyes closed shut to focus on breathing, on calming his nerves, on not coming right away. "…very tight."
Despite the way your trembling beneath him, your legs locked tight behind his back and your wonderful wet and silky walls fluttering around him, you still somehow manage to let out a breathy little giggle.
Not believing if his ears have heard right, So‘lek manages to pry his eyes open to look at you. Already, there was sweat beading at your temples, but the same grin that he had grown so used to seeing when you teased him was now spreading over your soft lips.
And there was also this feeling of your walls clamping down around his cock, squeezing him so painfully tight it felt like he might come undone at any second.
Little menace.
"W-What, old man? Are you gonna—"
"Quiet," he groans. "Before I tie your mouth shut."
"You would like that, w-wouldn’t you?" You say softly with that lazy grin on your face that made you look almost drunk of it.
The next time you open your mouth to speak and continue your teasing, a moan slips out instead. And then another, higher pitched, a little gasp that’s punched out of your lungs with thrusts deep enough So‘lek could feel the opening to your womb against the tip of his cock.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he said, "You talk too much, numeyu [student]. We will have to change that."
The slow drag of his length as he withdrew from your warm, wet and velvety-like walls made So‘leks own tail curl in enjoyment, and his eyes fluttered close once more as he lets himself drown in the feeling of you.
Then his hips move on instinct, pushing forwards, thrusting into you. It’s slow and languid, with muffled groans pressed against your skin.
So’lek wants it to last. Wants to stay like this forever, soft touches and warmth and the fond familiarity of your skin under his fingertips. But he can't resist that voice. Can't resist that desperate, pleading tone.
"S-So good," you whimper, "Karyu [teacher], more, I need more! F-Fuck me!"
"Such a foul mouth you have on you," he chuckles, teasing the lobe of your ear with his sharp canine. "I did not teach you that."
You barely started to relax and stopped clenching around him, when he pulls himself all the way out just to rock right back into you in one sharp thrust. He repeats the motion, harder, deeper, until his pace and your moans increase in volume with every passing second.
"So‘lek!" His name rolled off your tongue as a gasp, followed by a choked-off moan as he gripped your hips and pressed himself closer against you, buried his face into the crook of your neck and lapped at your skin until a purplish mark appeared right there.
Mine, it said in the most intimate way So‘lek could think of.
Anyone could claim their mate with a courting gift, he thought proudly, sucking yet another hickey into your throat as he simultaneously trusted into you. But these marks, they were an art that required precise observation from their presenter and the complete trust from their acceptor.
These weren’t cold, lifeless symbols of affection, no. You couldn’t just take them off like a necklace. Although they had short lifespans, he knew it would give him the opportunity to continue to give you new ones over and over, of different sizes, shapes and colors; and if he didn't feel like putting them on your throat, then he could put them on your breasts, your hips, on your wrists, your shoulders or your thighs.
So’leks thoughts went wild with all these new possibilities of marking you as his. If you allowed it, your entire body would turn into an available canvas for these markings and he would take great advantage of this.
They were profoundly intimate, a powerful symbol that was physically felt each and every time it was given to an extent that any other courting gift never would be. That was what would make him stand out from all the others.
Because what was a pretty shell compared to the shaking of your thighs, the quivering of your breasts and the hoarse voice that called his name over and over in pleasure? What was a shell compared to how good he was making you feel in this moment?
His hips only increased their pace from there, taking you harder, hands holding you tighter, tail coiling around your ankle to spread your legs impossibly wider. There’s this sensation, hot and burning and he allows it to rise within his core— he allows it, and welcomes it.
"Let go," So‘lek breaths hot and heavy when he feels your walls clench down hard on his length, "Let go and come with me, my sweet girl."
The kiss he captures you in is hot and dirty and your skin is slip-sliding against his with every movement. When the kiss breaks you moan loud. His nose drags along your cheek as he pants and rocks and fucks and you can't take it, can't take it one second longer.
His name falls from your spit slicked lips in incoherent brabbles and moans, greedily pleading for more, more more, until—
"S-So‘lek, oh! I‘m gonna— gonna… Fuck!"
You come in deep wracking shudders around him, calling out his name. Almost immediately, he follows, thrusting hard one last time, burying himself in you to the hilt as he comes, emptying himself inside of you with a low groan of your name.
So‘lek holds you so impossible close as you both shudder and moan from the intensity of it, he fears he might hurt you from how hard he was squeezing the soft flesh of your hips.
Nothing, he thinks. Nothing has ever felt this good before. He could still feel the tremor of your legs, the little twitches of muscles slowly loosening up in the afterglow of your orgasm.
So’lek’s breathing gradually steadies, though his hold on you does not loosen. He lowers his voice to a murmur meant only for you, words pressed softly into your hair, about how good you feel against him, how beautiful you are like this. There is no heat left in the praise now, only sincerity.
You let out a soft hum that tells him you’re listening, but your eyes are already closed and the tension in your body has melted away in the safety of his arms.
Carefully he shifts then, rolling onto his back and guiding you with him until you rest on top of his chest. One arm curves securely around your shoulders, the other settling at your waist
His chin dips, brushing your crown, and then he presses a slow, soft kiss to the top of your head.
And for once in his life, So‘lek feels truly content. Because his life had divided itself cleanly at last, into everything that came before you, and everything that will come after you.
