Do You Trust Me?
Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Female!Reader (NSFW)
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 9k+
Tags: tattooartist!reader, alternative!reader, light dom/sub tones, sub!Robby, dom!Reader, soft dom, funny Robby, anxious Robby
Summary: Reader meets Robby and discovers that maybe he just doesn't want to think for a bit.
Author's Note: Look, I just think it would be nice for Robby to get a big titty goth (alternative, in this case) girlfriend. Moreover, I want more representation of goofy Robby and sub Robby. I think it's important for the ecosystem or whatever.
-- -- --
You had ended up in his emergency room after a car accident. Robby hadn’t actually been the doctor working on you, that had been Mel and Langdon. You had come in with a concussion, dislocated shoulder and three cracked ribs.
Robby later heard that throughout your whole time in Trauma 1 you spent most of it cracking jokes. He appreciated patients who used humor to cope with something overtly traumatic. He’d later seen a picture of your car and was astounded how few injuries you actually had. He first, officially, met you when he was rounding with Mel. You were vomiting excessively, and Mel was concerned.
“Isn’t this a charming way to meet a new person?” You asked him in between bouts of using the vomit bag. “I must look like a million buck.”
You certainly weren’t looking good, but after a cursory glance—incredibly clinical, he swears—you really didn’t look that bad. Sure, you were disheveled, but it would take a blind man to miss how striking you were. The thing he noticed most were the tattoos. You were covered in them. They were all black, grey and white. They had thick lines and shading.
He couldn’t help but notice the jewelry and piercings adorning your body. He had heard from Mel they were a pain to remove prior to your CT but between your own efforts and Princess’, they were taken out for the CT and put back in shortly thereafter. If he cared about categorizing patients in such a way, he might describe you as goth or alternative, but that was something he typically avoided doing if he could help it.
“Well, I’ve certainly met people in worse circumstances. I’m Doctor Robinavitch, but you can call me Dr. Robby,” he replied lightly giving you a small comforting smile.
“You have a good vibe,” you told him before promptly throwing up again.
“What do you think, Mel?”
“It could be an intercranial hemorrhage?” she asked worriedly.
Robby slid on his glasses and pulled up your chart. Thankfully, you had been to this hospital previously for a consult with a specialist. He looked at you again, the lights in the room were dimmed but you still had an arm thrown over them. He could see a vein in your forehead distended and combined with the medications you were on, he knew what was going on.
“Have you checked her chart?” Robby asked.
“Yes, there are no medications that might suggest this response,” Mel replied.
Robby nodded, “Sure. Take a wider look. Don’t just look at today.”
Mel slid over and glanced at your chart again—paying special attention to your previous visits with…the migraine specialist.
“Ah, I see,” Mel replied.
“That sounds encouraging,” you murmured from your prone position on the bed.
Robby smiled and gestured for Mel to speak.
“You have a migraine,” Mel stated.
“Oh my god, I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I didn’t realize,” you groaned. You retched, but nothing came out. Robby winced at the effort it put your body through.
“Not at all, just a concussed patient who got hit by a car,” Mel replied. “We’ll get you some pain and anti-nausea meds.”
“Thanks Dr. King. You’re a great doctor. You too Dr. Robby—you sound like a great teacher. If either of you want a tattoo I’ll give you a heavy discount,” you said.
“The health risk of tattoos can be significant,” Mel replied, making you laugh.
“Good thing I have my blood borne pathogens certification, and I certainly spend enough on those needles to know they’re sterile,” you said. “But no need to take me up on it. I’ll send you donuts or muffins or whatever else you would like.”
The next time Robby saw you was a week later. You walked into the Pitt holding a bag of four huge foil containers of what smelled like tacos. It was impressive considering one of your arms was still in a sling and he was positive your ribs still must hurt. He watched as you briefly spoke to Dana, who grinned and pointed you towards Robby.
You were taller than you seemed on that bed a few days ago. In front of him today, you had a formidable presence. It was more than your appearance, which was alternative now that you were in clothes other than a hospital gown with all your accessories and makeup—not quite severe enough to be considered goth in his own opinion. You stood tall and with square shoulders; you walked with purpose and even though you had a smile on your face Robby could tell that you had sharp teeth. Metaphorically. Although, a traitorous voice in his head said, maybe it would be fun to find out if your teeth were sharp literally as well.
Swallowing down the flush that was creeping up his neck, he nodded as you approached him.
“The lovely charge nurse Dana said that you’re the man I should talk to about a donation of tacos?” you asked.
“I certainly am. I’ll take you to the break room,” he said.
“Oh, you were one of the doctors I had,” you said. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you; my eyes were closed the whole time.”
“Understandable,” he said.
He led you to the back of the Pitt and held the door open for you as you sat down the foiled containers. He watched you shake out your arm and then turn towards him. You were wearing a long black skirt, with a sheer black long sleeved top on. There was a tasteful thin strapped tank top on underneath. Your heavy boots added at least an inch or two to your height. There was heavy jewelry on your fingers and neck, and Robby caught a glimpse of a barbell on your tongue. His brain briefly short circuited but he managed to rally,
“Thank you, for this.”
“No problem at all. Last week was terrible for me and you all did a phenomenal job treating me and keeping me from having a breakdown,” you said. With your good hand you dug around in your pockets and brandished a business card. “I wasn’t joking about the tattoos. My brother-in-law and I run a shop on Magnolia Street. Anyone in the ER gets a discount.”
Robby grabbed the card and his fingers lightly brushed yours. He noticed the dark berry colored lipstick on your lips and wondered if you knew exactly what your appearance did to people. Based on the way you were looking at him, he suspected you knew exactly what you were doing. Still, you let go of the card
“Well, I suppose if you let me stick you with a needle I should return the favor,” he replied. You let out a delighted laugh.
“Unfortunately, mine don’t come with a healthy dose of pain meds,” you replied.
“I think I would be plenty distracted,” Robby surprised himself by saying. You grinned again—more feral this time and headed towards the door.
“Thank you again, Dr. Robby. It was nice to put a face to the voice. And it was a great voice,” you said winking and then you were gone.
It wasn’t until after you left that Robby processed the one bit of your appearance, he couldn’t bear to give conscious thought to—at least in your presence. Nestled in between your breasts, right on your sternum was a hilt of a dagger and Robby desperately wanted to see the blade.
It was almost another month before he got the courage to go by your tattoo shop, and even then, it was more happenstance than planning. The cool spring air had been gradually warming, and his daily mental health walks his therapist insisted on were becoming more tolerable, almost enjoyable.
He was wandering around the historical district without much of a plan. He hated that these walks were so helpful. He hated that eating well was helpful. He hated that working out with Jack—who was a monster in the gym—was also helpful. There was still this vibrating energy underneath his skin. Sometimes he could walk it off, sometimes he was able to sweat it off in the gym. Today, however, it seemed to be getting louder, and Robby was worried the vibrating was going to turn into ringing if he wasn’t careful. The problem was he had used all his coping mechanisms.
He then spotted something nestled between a pastel themed stationary shop and a bizarre Asian fusion Canadian cuisine restaurant. There was hand painted sign above the door that read “Cloak and Dagger Tattoo Co.”. He remembered the name from your business card.
Like a good boss he had put it on the bulletin board in the break room. Unfortunately, like an absolute creep, he would find his eyes drawn to each time he walked into the small, bleak space. There was a large panel of glass that allowed Robby to peak into the shop. The inside was filled with artwork, shades of green and brown. He saw you walk into the back and that was the decision made.
He walked inside, a soft bell announcing his presence. From the back of the shop, behind a few tables and two other tattoo artists working on their own clients, he heard you yell,
“I’ll be right with you!”
Robby rocked back on his heels. Was it a good idea to get a tattoo when he’s one inconvenience away from a panic attack? Maybe not, but he didn’t have any better ideas. He recalled a patient he had years ago saying that the process of getting a tattoo was meditative. Robby had no idea what he wanted inked on his skin. He had four tattoos. Two of which had meaning, while the two on his wrists had been acquired during a night with copious amounts of alcohol during college. Part of the reason he always wore a watch.
“Hi, welcome in. I’m…” he looked up as you walked back into the main part of the shop. You grinned at him. Your lips were covered in dark lipstick again and he couldn’t help but stare a little. “How about that. The first person to take me up on my offer.”
“Really?” That surprised him. Both Princess and Jesse had mentioned something about checking your shop out.
“Really,” you said. “Are you looking to get a tattoo?”
“I think I am,” he replied. She walked over to the counter and dug around before handing him a small binder.
“Unless you have something in mind, here is my portfolio,” you said.
“I have nothing in mind,” he told you.
“Do you have any other tattoos?”
“Two I’m willing to admit to,” he stated making your snort.
“I have a snake smoking a cigarette on my ass cheek, I’m sure whatever you have is not that bad,” you told him.
“I don’t know that seems fun,” he responded. “I have Memento Mori on one shoulder and Amor Fati on the other.”
“And the ones you aren’t willing to admit to?” she asked. Her grin almost seemed predatory, and he couldn’t help but say,
“Elements from the periodic table,” he grumbled.
“Aww,” you cooed. “That’s so nerdy.”
“Well, I was a drunk biochemistry major, and I thought it was charming,” he laughed. “Now, I know that is not the case.”
“I think it’s cute,” and Robby couldn’t help the flush at your words. “Well, if you want something in line with the sober tattoos, I might suggest this.”
You flipped a few pages in the binder—you were so close he could smell the lightly fruity scent of your perfume. Eventually you pointed out the phrase “As Above So Below” in heavy gothic font.
“What does it mean?” he asked.
“I don’t believe tattoos need to have meaning, most of mine don’t. However, this means a bunch of things depending on who you are and what you practice. For some, it means that the world is a reflect of the divine and the divine a reflection of their world. For others it’s more akin to the ‘dust we begin and dust we shall return again’ sentiment,” you said. You leaned your hip against the counter while he thought.
“I think I’ll do this one,” he told you. You nodded and began the perfunctory paperwork. Once he had his ID checked, filled out the necessary questionnaire you began asking him questions.
“Have you eaten today?”
“I had a bagel sandwich,” he said.
“Fantastic. And water?” you asked.
“Some, not a lot.”
You sat Robby at your station and then disappeared in the back to return with a plastic water bottle.
“Drink half of that before we begin,” you said pointedly.
“Yes ma’am,” Robby replied smiling. He watched your face flit through an emotion he couldn’t identify, but it was back into a pleasant smile before he had time to investigate.
“Okay, I’m going to print out some options. Be thinking about where you want the tattoo.”
You walked to the back again leaving Robby with his thoughts. He would have liked the tattoo on his thigh, but he was wearing jeans and was unwilling to take them off in a public shop. With legs no longer an option, he wondered about putting it on his back. But, if he was going to get a tattoo, he wanted to be able to see it. He had already shrugged off his jacket by the time you returned with the stencils.
“Where do you want it?” you asked digging around in your station.
Your station mirrored the four other stations in the shop. There was a tattoo chair, a table against the wall, one large double doored cabinet and what looked like a set of metal drawers one might find in a garage. You opened the cabinet and began grabbing materials.
First came paper towels, a bottle of soap, a razor, and some kind of lotion he didn’t recognize. You also moved to pull out sterile equipment and wrapped your rolling tray in cling film after disinfecting it. It was encouraging for Robby to see the steps you went to in order to ensure everything was safe. It was hard to turn off his doctor instincts—that was unfortunately his main problem.
“My chest. On the right side,” he said.
“Sounds good. The chest can be painful,” you told him.
“I have a high pain tolerance,” he said. You snorted,
“No offense, Dr. Robby, anyone who has ever said that to me has been a wimp.”
“You can call me Robby or Michael,” he said without meaning too.
“Have a preference?”
“Michael,” he decided.
“Sounds good, Michael. Well, as long as you promise to not be a wimp,” she started jovially, clearly joking, “take off your shirt. I’ll adjust you briefly and then get started.”
There was something about your directions that made the vibration under his skin pause, like knowing that someone else was in charge and responsible was comforting. It was strange. Not being in charge had never been comforting a day in his life. Yet following your instructions he couldn’t help but allow his brain to turn off a little. He didn’t need to think about the hospital or the residents. He didn’t need to think about the water heater he should have replaced or if his front garden needed weeding.
Instead, he stood in front of you while you shaved the area of his right pectoral and applied some of the clear lotion to his skin. After inspecting it, you placed the stencil on firmly pressed against him. The pressure was comforting. Like a small hint of a weighted blanket. His therapist had suggested a weighted blanket. They weren’t every heavy enough for him. Robby was positive that if something heavy enough laid on him his brain might finally shut up. You steered him toward the mirror, and he approved the location.
It took a few more minutes before you were ready. You looked at him,
“You a talker or prefer silence?” you asked.
“Silence,” he replied.
“Thank god, I just got to a great part in my audio book,” you told him. He laughed as you slid in one earbud and pressed a few things on your phone. “Okay, I’m about to start. We’ll do one test mark and if it’s too much here’s your chance to tap out.”
You placed the needle along his skin and drew a line.
“Good?”
“Perfect.”
You nodded and got back to work. Robby laid back against the chair and closed his eyes. It certainly wasn’t comfortable. He would describe it as a continuous cat scratch—if the cat was angry and mean. Still the repetition and humming of the machine focused his mind and allowed everything else to fall to the background.
He noticed the tattoo shop smelled like cinnamon and cloves—a very Christmas scent for late March. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the narrator of your audiobook through the single earbud you wore. You had one hand on the upper part of Robby’s chest while the hand with the tattoo machine rested on his sternum.
Part of your arm also rested along his body. You were wearing a cropped t-shirt of a band he didn’t recognize. Both of your arms were covered in ink, but he hadn’t had a chance to take a look before you laid him down. Still, the feeling of skin on his torso was weird and good all at once. Someone he didn’t know super well touching him was not his favorite, and yet the pressure of your arm and the softness of your skin were grounding.
It had been a while since someone had touched him like this. That last time he had true physical contact was a few nights ago with Jack. The smaller man had given him a hug Robby wished had lasted longer than it did. It would have been weird to ask for it, but somewhere in the back of his mind Robby knew that if he asked, Jack would happily oblige.
Combined with the pain from the needles, the pressure of your arm on his body began to relax him. The lights in the tattoo shop were dim, and the sky outside was overcast. The muted lighting put Robby in some kind of a doze. He was still aware of everything, but his mind had finally slowed down to a crawl. All he could think about was the muted sound of your audio book, the hint of your perfume mixed with the clove scent of the shop, and the pressure of your hands on his chest.
“Need a break?” you asked. Robby blearily blinked his eyes open.
“No, I’m good,” he said yawning slightly. You laughed.
“Apparently, not a lot of people doze off in my chair. I guess I’ll have to acquiesce you do have a high pain tolerance.”
“Thank you, it’s good to be recognized for your strengths,” he joked making her laugh. He enjoyed her laugh.
“Seriously, anything you need? A different position? A snack?”
“I’m fine. It feels…meditative. You’re good at your job,” he told her.
“I’d like to hope so,” you replied giving him a genuine smile.
“It’s nice not having to think for a bit. I know that you’ll move or adjust me, and I just have to exist for a while.”
The look he saw earlier on your face appeared again, it stayed for longer this time, and it almost looked like…desire. You hummed and handed him his water gesturing for him to drink. He did. He handed it back to you and you settled back on your stool.
“I take it being the chief attending at a major ER comes with a lot of pressure?” you asked adjusting the materials on your rolling tray.
“Excessively so. It’s hard to turn it off. But apparently some light pain and good company does the trick,” he replied.
“Good company, eh?”
“I stick a lot of needles in a lot of people. I wouldn’t let just anyone return the favor,” he said. “Plus, you brought my ER tacos and that made you incredibly popular.”
“So all it takes to win your affection is being polite and tacos?”
He thought for a moment, “I think so, yes.”
You laughed. “You should raise your bar there, Michael.”
“It worked out well this time,” he replied. You rolled your eyes and pushed him into position again. He went readily.
“Ready to start again?”
“Sure.”
The rest of the session went much the same. Robby felt himself drawn into an almost zen state, paying attention to only his immediate senses. Every so often you would chuckle or hum at your audiobook. Occasionally, you had him readjust and ask him to move. By the time the tattoo was done, the vibrating under Robby’s skin was gone and he felt like the world was a little more crisp—like looking through a new pair of glasses.
You cleaned up the wound and placed some second skin over the tattoo and gave him some to take home and replace that night. You walked him through aftercare and when he said his last artists hadn’t been this thorough your eye actually twitched. True to your offer the tattoo was heavily discounted and so he tipped generously. You glared at him.
“That wasn’t the point,” you grumbled.
“Too bad,” he said, shrugging.
You looked at him again, the same way you had studied his chest before placing the stencil and said with the same confidence you seemed to have for everything, “Forgive me if I’ve read this wrong, but do you want to grab dinner tonight? No hard feelings if not.”
“Yeah, I really would,” he said.
Your first date was simple. It was dinner at a small brewery in a more industrial part of town—the place where it’s not technically gentrification if it was just factories being repurposed. Still the Bearded Lady was a favorite of yours. Normally you didn’t bring people to this restaurant, you were attached to its staff and regulars.
Robby seemed to be an exception for you. You never asked out clients—never wanted to frankly. You never flirted with your doctors before Robby. And you never brought first dates to your favorite restaurant. Still, he sat under the slightly heated patio—Pittsburgh was still a little chilly this late in March—and the Edison lights gave him a warmer glow than you’d seen in the hospital. He seemed charmed by the way the server greeted you by name and how more than one regular waved.
The date was fun, and you found yourself laughing at his goofy reenactments of hospital shenanigans. He questioned you about the ins and outs of your job. How you ended in your career and what was your favorite and least favorite part. It was almost closing by the time you both called it a night. Robby walked you to your car and asked,
“Can we do this again?”
“I would be delighted.”
He kissed your cheek and waited until you got in your car before heading to his own.
Your next few dates went much the same way. Often you both would meet up at a restaurant or coffee to chat and spend time together. He hadn’t done more than hold your hand or kiss your cheek and you wondered if that is why every time you saw him butterflies erupted in your stomach like you were fifteen again.
You learned a lot about Robby during this time: you learned he was a walking anxiety attack—though you doubted that was something he wanted you to see. It was obvious in the way he discussed some of the ways he dealt with work. He also mentioned “mental health walks” which you so desperately wanted to ask more questions about but refrained since it seemed like a touchy subject.
You learned he had a friend named Jack and Dana, both of whom he worked with. You learned he cared deeply about people and worked within the system because that was his only option, but he was probably one bad day away from setting it on fire.
You learned that he liked your dark lipstick. He hadn’t said as much, but every time you wore a dark red or berry, he kept starring at your lips. He asked about your tattoos and seemed a little disappointed that none of them had meanings. They all had stories—what inspired them or when you got them—but only a couple actually meant something. He liked holding your hand.
You also learned things about yourself, mainly, that you were a bit possessive. You both were at a bar a friend of a friend had told you about and when you arrived with Robby in tow, and you both ordered a drink and sat at a small table in the back corner. You didn’t drink—migraine meds and alcohol don’t really mix.
You were both shocked and a little impressed when a woman stumbled up to your table and clumsily flirted with Robby. He politely shot her down and she wandered back to her friends. Still, it made an angry green monster rear its ugly head before you could shove it back down again.
You also learned he was desperate to know what the hilt of the dagger in between your breasts looked like. Both of you were sitting on the steps of your porch and he had gone awkward and red around the ears before he asked about it.
You grinned before pulling down the shirt and bra to show him the dagger stabbing an anatomically correct heart. It gave you a lot of joy to watch Robby blink heavily a few times and clear his throat before looking away. Nothing you had shown was too risqué, but sometimes it really was the hint of something that sent mens’ brains to their penises.
It hadn’t taken you long to pick up on the more submissive aspect of Robby’s personality. The first time you clued into his preferences, was before you even had sex. After your latest date, you went back to his house fully expecting to get fucked into the mattress. Instead, he curled up around you on his couch while you watched terrible romcoms from the early 2000s. The evening ended with you laying halfway on top of him. At some point, he shifted you, so you were fully on top of him. The top of your head tucked under his chin.
“This comfortable for you?” you asked a little unconvinced.
“Extremely,” he replied letting out a sigh.
He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you mentally shrugged and did the same. Laying on Robby felt comforting and intimate in ways you hadn’t taken part of in years. After your last breakup went from bad to nuclear, you had taken a break from relationships. You had incredible friends and were close with your brother and his husband—you had to be since you ran a tattoo shop with said husband.
Now, nuzzled into his chest, your artwork mere centimeters away, you felt a little possessive of the man under you. He was full of anxiety and worries yet touched you in such reverent and awe-struck ways it was difficult not to react when someone else was in his space. You remembered how you felt that night at the bar a few weeks ago.
A rogue thought struck you and without thinking too much about it you tilted your head and lightly bit down on Robby’s chest through his shirt.
“Did you just bite me?” he asked incredulously. You may have read this situation wrong.
“Maybe?”
“Why?”
“Because I was marking my territory, I think,” you said. Perhaps that was too much too soon. You had only been on a handful of dates. This was the first time you saw his home, and he hadn’t even seen the inside of yours yet. Instead of any reaction you had been expecting, he laughed.
“So, you bit me?”
“Yeah,” you said a little embarrassed. “I don’t know why, my brain thought it sounded good at the time.”
Robby continued to laugh and placed a kiss on the crown of your head. “Do it again?”
“What?”
“Do it again, mark me.”
Who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth. You moved over to where his tattoo was and just above it, on his shoulder your bit down. You weren’t putting much pressure in it, just enough to be noticed and maybe leave a bit of an indent for a few minutes. Under you, Robby’s heartrate increased, and you felt his breath studder. Oh, he liked this. You pushed up on your hands and he whined almost inaudibly as you lifted up from his body. Readjusting, so you were closer to his mouth, you said,
“I want to kiss you.”
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Do you want me to continue the biting?” you asked. You saw his pupils dilate.
“Yes, please.”
You grinned and pressed your lips against his own. He was warm and held you tightly. Still the pressure of his lips on yours combined with the scratch of beard was an exhilarating sensation. You lightly tongued at the crease of his lips, and he opened them. He shuddered under you, and you pulled away just enough to sink your teeth into his bottom lip making him groan. You let him go and smoothed your tongue over it again, eliciting a small breathy sound.
“Feeling okay?” you asked.
“Incredible,” he murmured. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips and smiled. “That was better than I was imagining.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I forgot about the tongue piercing,” he said. He as whispering even though you weren’t the only two people in his house. As if he spoke too loudly, he might break the spell you both were under. You couldn’t help but grin at him.
“You’re very responsive.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled trying to kiss you again.
“Don’t be sorry,” you said pulling just out of reach. “I love hearing you. I want to hear you.”
You leaned down again placing soft kisses against his lips. One of his giant hands—hands you had already fantasized about—moved up and rested on your mid back, with the other firmly gripping the underside of your ass. You wished you weren’t laying on him, so you could cop your own feel. Instead, you settled with ducking your head down and open mouth kissing his neck. You would bite and then lick which seemed to work Robby up more than you were expecting if the increasing sounds of his groans were anything to judge by.
Robby was on cloud nine. Having you lay on him, your body weight shutting down every thought he ever had was already a gift. But now, the movie forgotten, you were nipping and licking at his neck. He could feel your tits pressed against his chest and his growing erection was nestled in the crux of your thighs.
It was surprising to Robby the way he reacted to you sometimes. You were vibrant and passionate. You were also aesthetically nothing that he had ever had before. The feeling of your tongue piercing against his sensitive skin was sending lightning bolts of sensation straight to his erection. He was groping the muscles of your thigh and ass when you rocked back slightly, grinding your pussy against his erection. He felt more than heard your gasp.
“Fuck you feel so good,” you said.
“Do it again,” he mumbled trying to find your lips again.
“Ask me politely,” you shot back nibbling at his bottom lip again.
“Please,” he whispered. You rolled your hips and the pressure against your pussy felt exquisite; you couldn’t help but hum against Robby’s mouth.
“God, Michael,” you hissed as he took his turn to mouth at your neck. The scratch of his beard and tight grip on the inside of your thigh was making your head swim. Nothing existed in the world except for your two bodies.
“Please do it again,” he whined in between his kisses on your neck. You obliged and began rolling your hips in earnest. At some point you had to press up on your arms for better leverage. The new angle and harder pressure made you tremble just a bit.
Your nervous system was overwhelmed but it was nothing compared to Robby’s blissed out expression under you. His hands had moved to your hips. You had to resist the urge to laugh at the fact you were making out and humping like horny teenagers. Still, this was the most erotic thing that had happened to you in years.
“You look so good under me,” you said looking down at him. Robby made eye contact with you and there was hardly any iris peeking around his pupils.
“You look so good—ah—over me,” he said moaning at a flick of her hips. “I want to touch you.
“One hand,” she said. Frankly, she needed the other to steady her balance.
Robby’s hand ran up her stomach and for once there wasn’t a nervous thought about how you weren’t skinny or toned. Instead, you focused on the almost reverent look on Robby’s face as his hand pulled your bra down and took one of your breasts in his hand. His fingers kneaded at the skin, while his palm scrapped your nipple.
Normally you weren’t super sensitive on your chest. However, most of your previous partners loved your tits—they were not small, and you had the back pain to prove it. They weren’t perky or perfectly round, but every partner you ever had seemed to enjoy them and Robby was not the exception. Despite the non-sensitive nature of your tits, when combined with the building sensations in your core, the little shocks of stimulation to your nipple from Robby’s palm made your gasp.
“Just like that,” you said dropping your head down. Robby leaned up and kissed you softly.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered. “I want to make you feel good.”
“Fuck,” you hissed in reaction to both his words and the rolling of your nipple between his fingers. God they were massive and at some point, you wanted them inside you.
He pushed you up so more of your weight was pressing into his erection and he was halfway sitting up. “Can I use my mouth?”
“God, please. Be a little rough,” you told him. You yanked off your t-shirt and without taking off your bra still sitting under your tits, he mouthed and licked at your chest. It didn’t feel like much when he swirled your nipple in his mouth, but when he lightly bit down you groaned and felt it straight in your core. “Just like that, so good.”
“I want to suffocate in between your tits,” he said making your laugh a little. “They’re perfect.”
“Ask to touch the other,” you said. In the haze of arousal, you barely thought of the demand. Some previous partners would have been very into it and other not so much. Robby seemed to fall into the first category.
“Please let me touch them both,” he said kissing your chest.
“Do it,” you said. While rolling the first nipple between his fingers, he bit and sucked at the second one. The grind of his erection against her clit combined with the ministration Robby was pay to her chest made you shiver. It intense and overwhelming but with an arm around your waist, Robby’s own hips began to meet your thrusts and the hint at the power of his hips was intoxicating. “So good,” you whispered in between moans.
“Yeah?” he asked switching focuses again.
“Yeah, you feel so good,” you said mesmerized by the sight of him. “You’re so good.”
His hips faltered and you felt his fingers twitch on your tits. You filed that reaction away for her non-horny brain to parse out later. It didn’t take much to finally send you over the edge. Robby bit a particularly rough bite on your nipple, and it made your cry out as you felt yourself orgasm. You kept grinding on his erection, riding out your own orgasm.
“Beautiful,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I want to watch you come, Michael,” you said. “Can you do that? I want to see you.”
Robby looked up at you as his own movements became more frantic. You gripped the hair at the nape of his neck and pulled it back, so he was leaning back starring at you while he fell apart under you. Didn’t make a sound, but his face went slack, and his brows furrowed. There was a tremor throughout his body, and he twitched each time you rubbed your hips over him.
“Fuck,” he groaned once your hips finally stilled. He wrapped his arms around you and rest his head on your chest. “God your tits are magnificent.”
You laughed and petted his hair you both came down from your orgasms. “I can’t believe we dry humped like teenagers.”
“I think it’s underrated. That was great,” he mumbled against your skin.
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm, I enjoyed touching you a lot,” he said rubbing his hands up and down your back.
“Even though I made you ask?” You joked.
“Especially then.”
So, it wasn’t a surprised that Robby enjoyed being told what to do. You made Robby have the talk with you before you both ever actually had sex. Robby seemed to be enjoying moving slowly—so far neither of your pants had come off although you learned that Robby’s nipples were far more sensitive than your own. You had laid out the options for him and together decided safe words, aftercare, and limits.
It was why nearly four months into a relationship and six months after you first met Robby was sitting on an ottoman only in his underwear, with his hands lightly tied behind his back (though he was sure he could get them free, if necessary, though, perhaps the choice of not choosing to free his hands was the point). He watched as you fiddled with something on the edge of his vision. You had told him to sit and stay, so he was. It was baffling in a way he couldn’t quite put into words—that sitting here, having you tell him what to do was the most relaxing part of his week.
“How are you feeling?” You asked walking up behind him running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms. He leaned back against you and looked up. It was view you would always adore.
“A little cold, a little in my head,” he replied.
You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “Let change that shall we?”
“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?” he asked.
“I thought you wanted me to make the decisions, Michael,” you said still standing above him. One of your hands was lightly holding his neck keeping him craned back to look at you, while the other was rubbing the skin of his chest and shoulder.
“I do,” he replied.
“Then don’t worry about it. You told me your limits and if you don’t like something tell me. Understand?”
“Yes,” he whispered suddenly aware that you were dressed behind him and he was in next to nothing. It felt vulnerable, but you were looking at him with such hunger in your eyes he couldn’t find it in himself to feel insecure.
You ducked down to kiss him again but pulled away before he could deepen it. You even placed a small kiss on the tip of his nose making him laugh. Your hand released his neck, but he didn’t move his head until you nudged him. He heard the sound of something opening and then you walked in front of him. You put on a dark color lipstick. Falling to your knees you ran your hands up and down his legs. You were dressed in a simple bralette and loose shorts. In between your breasts where he would normally see the dagger tattoo was a tube of your lipstick. Interesting.
“Dating you, I’ve learned a couple things about myself,” you said conversationally.
“Oh?” Robby asked watching you. He felt the excitement thrumming in his bones. It was different than how the anxiety seemed to vibrate him. This felt like a rumbling instead of a shake.
“Mm-hmm. I have discovered I am jealous. Or at least possessive. I don’t want people to look at what is mine,” you said. You placed a kiss in the center of his thigh and there was a dark mark of your lipstick on his leg making you grin.
“Oh.” Robby released a punched-out breath.
“Color?” you asked. You were curious if this was going to affect him the way you suspected it would.
“Green, so very green,” he said. He seemed to have trouble choosing whether to stare at you or his leg.
“Do you want another one?” you asked mildly. You had your hands resting on his knees and were drawing little circles with your pointer fingers.
“Yes please. Many more,” he said. You grinned thrilled your plan was working. Sometimes these were shots in the dark, but Robby didn’t have much of a poker face when it came to you.
You leaned up at kissed his cheek. A dark berry colored mark sat just above his beard on the apple of his cheek. Thus began the dance. You would kiss somewhere on his skin and leave a dark mark and watch as Robby’s body reacted to you. There was never a moment you weren’t touching him, even while deciding where to put your lips. At one point you moved him to your couch so he could lay down.
“This is beautiful,” you said running your hands over his torso. You hadn’t paid enough attention to his chest or stomach, most of your marks were one his legs, shoulders, and neck. Robby whined your name and you couldn’t help but tweak one of his nipples. He jumped and let out a breath of air. “Do you want me to touch you, Michael?”
“Yes,” he hissed.
“Tell me what you want,” you commanded as you lightly rubbed your finger tip in tight circles on his nipple. He let out a huff and said,
“Your mouth. I want your mouth on me.”
“Well, that’s a given. What part? Do you want me to mark you? Do you want to feel me lick and toy with your very sensitive nipples?” You asked. He didn’t answer and you lightly ran your nails down his chest. It wasn’t hard by any means—neither of you wanting pain in these encounters—at least significant pain. Still, Robby seemed to get the message.
“I want to know what it feels like to have your tongue lick me,” he replied.
“Good boy,” you said. The flush that broke out over his chest made you grin. “Do you like it when I call you a good boy?”
He nodded. His eyes were closed.
“Look at me when answering my questions,” you said softly but with no room for ignoring your ask.
Robby’s eyes blinked open and he said, “Yes I like it.”
“God, you’re a dream. How’d I get so lucky,” you murmured. You leaned down toyed with his nipple with the tip of your tongue. The breathy gasps he was making went straight to your core. You wanted him to lose the ability to speak by the time you were done with him. You devoted a few minutes to each of his nipples which had him squirming on the couch by the time you were done.
“You’re so sensitive,” you whispered nipping at his chest and up to his lips. He chased your lips to kiss you. “Color?”
“Green,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” you asked a little puzzled.
“This is insane,” he replied. His words were a little slurred with how blissed out he clearly felt. “I thought I should thank you.”
“Mmm,” you hummed against his lips. “I like that.”
You glanced down and saw that he was fully erect. Helping him sit up, you propped a few pillows behind his back, so he was sitting on the edge of the couch. You kissed and nipped at his stomach, making your way down to his bulging underwear. After kneeling on the ground (on a pillow yourself, you were not in your early twenties anymore), you placed a soft kiss on his erection, and he swore quietly under his breath making you grin.
“Can I take them off?” You asked. He nodded enthusiastically. He lifted his hips, and you pulled them off each of his legs.
His cock was flushed and leaking. It was thick and had a slight curve at the tip. You ran your hands up and down Robby’s thighs occasionally dragging your nails down his skin. He was very sensitive; you were almost envious. You certainly weren’t this sensitive to touch and based on his blown pupils, Robby was having a good time. You plucked the lipstick out of your bralette and reapplied. Robby watched you without blinking—seeming to memorize the movements. Previously, you hadn’t let the lipstick dry. You had wanted it to transfer. Now you waited until the tacky feeling dried. While waiting you said,
“How do you like to be touched?” you asked. Shaken from his reverie of watching your lips, he said,
“Honestly, whatever. It all feels good,” he replied. You frowned, that’s not typically how this worked. It seemed like tonight you would be studying his reactions to see what he liked best.
“Okay, tell me if you like something a lot, please. I want you to feel good,” you said placing a kiss on the inside of his thigh. The lipstick didn’t transfer, good. “I want you to watch me, okay?”
He nodded. You lightly pinched his thigh.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, I’ll watch you.”
“Don’t close your eyes,” you added. He shook his head and added,
“I won’t close my eyes.”
“Good boy,” you murmured before licking a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip.
He gasped and flexed his hips. You took his tip in your mouth and looked up at him, he stared back with heavy lidded eyes. It was the most intense eye contact that you had ever experienced. You were careful not to bump him with your piercing—knocking a metal ball into a soft tissue organ was not fun or sexy. You popped off his cock and moved down to his balls, taking one in his mouth.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “That feels so good.” Noted. You thought.
“Lick,” you told him holding up your hand to his mouth. His hands were still tied behind his back so getting the leverage to lick the palm of your hand was a little hard for him. When you felt it was wet enough, you began to stoke him while your mouth was on his balls. He gasped and you moved your hand up and down with a twist. You may not have dated recently, but you were very good at hand jobs. Playing with your partner like this was a favorite of yours. It was fun to learn a new body and new reactions. Robby certainly didn’t disappointment.
He gasped your name and then started quietly hissing, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
Oh, that was going straight to your core. You felt yourself get wetter at the sound of him thanking you for jacking him off. You spit into your other hand and added a second hand to his cock. You ran them up and down his shaft twist and cupping the tip. He keened loudly and you watched his breathing pick up. You moved one of your hands to his balls and replaced your top hand with your mouth.
Robby looked down at you as your dark colored lips locked around his dick. He couldn’t think straight. He knew his mouth was open and he was panting but there wasn’t a coherent thought other than this was the most intense he had ever felt with another person. Your eyes peered up at him and he couldn’t look away from you. This position was commonly seen as a submissive stance for the woman, but Robby was positive no one had seen you watching him fall apart above him. The tip of your tongue pressed against a sensitive part of his tip, and he gasped.
“Right there,” he groaned. He fought the urge to close his eyes. “Thank you. It feels so good.”
“Ask me for permission to come,” you said before continuing your ministrations.
“Yes ma’am,” he said without thinking. Your hand briefly pausing was the only evidence that his words had affected you.
Robby knew that he was getting louder. He had never been particularly quiet during sex, but the combination of the intense foreplay and lead up to what he might describe as the best blowjob of his life was resulting in gasps, moans and curses he had never heard himself make before. He tried to memorize the view of your dark colored lips around his cock. He almost wished he could take a photo. He yearned to know what your pussy would feel like wrapped around his cock. The thought only made his dick jump in your mouth.
“I want to touch you,” he moaned after a particularly overwhelming swirl of your tongue.
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked arching an eyebrow. God you were hot.
“No,” he whined.
“I thought so,” you replied. You lazily pulled at his dick rolling your tongue over the tip. “Tell me how you want to touch me.”
You went back to sucking the life out of him and he found himself at a loss for words. How was he meant to form coherent sentence while looking at you and not absolutely blowing his load without permission. You pulled off his cock again and said,
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll stop.”
“Fuck,” he hissed he bent over, overwhelmed. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.
“Color?”
“Green,” he replied. “It’s just hard.”
“Yeah, you are,” you replied squeezing him. He couldn’t help but chuckle.
“I’m not sure I can talk while you do that,” he said looking at her.
“Try for me, be a good boy,” you said pressing a longer kiss against his lips.
You went back to stroking the base of his cock and balls while swirling your tongue over the top of his dick. It was never the same pattern, and he was struggling to form an intelligible thought.
“I want you to—ah fuck—ride my face. I want to make you feel how you’re making me feel,” he gasped. Jesus this was hard. “I want you to use me and ride my cock until you’re satisfied. I want to make you feel so good. Jesus I’m so close.”
“Don’t forget to ask for permission,” you reminded him.
“I want to stretch you out on my fingers and feel you orgasm on my cock. Fuck! Please can I come,” he said.
“Beg,” she said pulling her mouth away. Both of her hands were on his dick now and Robby swore he could see stars.
“Please, please let me come. I’ve been so good,” he moaned. He fell forward leaning his forehead against hers. His voice broke as he pleaded with her.
“Cum for me, Michael,” you said.
You watched as Robby arched in your grasp. He let out a broken moan as the orgasm washed over him. It was one of the most intense orgasms he’d ever had. Your hands wrapped around him, squeezing with just the right pressure. He began chanting your name in between thank you’s and broken moans and gasps.
When he finally stopped shaking, you pulled your hands away and reached for the washcloth you had prepped before you began. Gingerly, you began cleaning him up. He twitched when you wiped off his softening dick. You untied his hands and they flopped by his side.
Robby was collapsed against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. After you cleaned him and yourself, you grabbed a makeup up and began to remove the lipstick from his body. The last one remaining was the one on his cheek and you vowed to repeat this later just so you could get a photo of him marked with your lips. Gently, you crawled onto the couch and pulled him into your embrace.
“You were so good,” you murmured against his head as you stroked him softly. “You were beautiful. How are you feeling?”
“Insane,” he replied nestling his face into your neck. You could feel his eyelashes tickling you.
“Good or bad?”
“Good,” he stated wrapping his arms around your waist. It was bit of an awkward embrace, but you didn’t think Robby was quite willing to move just yet. “There’s nothing in my head.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” you replied kissing the crown of his head. “You deserve someone to take care of you too. I want you to feel good.”
“What about you?”
“Me?” you asked confused.
“You didn’t get off,” he said. You snorted.
“Maybe not but watching you fall apart and listen to me was exactly what I wanted out of tonight. You can get me off some other night. I liked your suggestion about stretching me out on your fingers. I think about them a lot, you know.”
“Yeah?” he asked. He pressed his lips against your skin.
“Mm-hmm,” you grabbed his wrist and placed a small kiss on the palm of his hand. He cupped your face and ran his thumb over your lips. You gently nibbled at it making him chuckle. “What did you think about the lipstick?”
“Loved it,” he said. “How did you think of it?”
“The other night when I applied some in your car you got a hard on,” you said. He laughed and buried his face in your neck.
“I hoped you didn’t notice that.”
You laughed too. “Oh, I noticed. What a compliment.”
“Everything you do makes me hard. I feel like a teenager.”
“Aww you have a crush on me,” you cooed making him chuckle. “Do you want to move this to my bed? I want to hold you some more, but honestly, the couch is hurting my back.”
“Yes please. I also want to put pants back on,” he said sitting up.
“Don’t feel like you should on my account,” you stated blatantly looking him up and down. He tossed a pillow at you making you laugh.
“You already made me cum within an inch of my life, do not get any more ideas,” he said pulling on his underwear. You pouted as he leaned down and kissed you. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” you replied.
After you both got ready for bed, Robby climbed under the covers with you and found his head pillowed on your chest while you stroked his hair. It was the most relaxed he had felt in months. Mental health walks and exercise were important but letting you take control and trusting that whatever happened you would listen and make him feel good was something so prodigiously powerful, he could barely find the words to describe it.
And now, falling asleep in your arms, surrounded by the softest bedding he had ever felt, was exactly what he needed to slide let his eyes blink close and finally get a solid night of rest.
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