Mine to Keep
Day 3 : Possessiveness
@rustshippingevents
Title and beta-ing by @espressoth
Corbeau had been counting, carefully noting each place that eyes had lingered throughout the day. Desire, curiosity, fear—no matter what the looks meant, if they were aimed at Philippe—his Philippe—then Corbeau took note. Then, when they’re alone after another long day of cleaning up the city, he undresses his lover—his partner in both business and life—piece by wonderful piece.
Philippe had removed his own jacket, so Corbeau maneuvers the matching vest off his broad frame, eyes roaming where the dress shirt sits tight around muscle and fat. He presses a single, soft kiss over Philippe’s heart, dozens of unspoken promises on his lips. Then he holds Philippe’s hands—big and strong and capable of so much harm, but now only raised in care and protection—kisses the warm, calloused palm before carefully removing each silver ring and returning to kiss the knuckles.
Philippe inhales sharply, tensing under Corbeau’s touch for only a moment before relaxing. His cheeks and ears are pink. He fumbles for a moment before finding words.
“Did…someone really stare at my hands, Boss?”
“You’d be surprised,” Corbeau responds casually. “Some people are big hand fans. I know I’m a big fan of yours.” And he licks the junction of Philippe’s left ring finger before pulling back to find his next target.
He gets Philippe’s shirt undone, kissing each revealed bit of flesh as the buttons pop open, smirking at the way Philippe’s heartrate and breathing quicken. He looks up at him with those sharp, mischievous eyes as he pushes the shirt over his shoulders and down his arms.
“Lay back for me.”
Philippe quickly does as he’s told, shaking his shirt off before laying flat and watching Corbeau watch him. Corbeau leans down, hands planted on either side of him, eyes hungrily roving his naked torso. After some consideration, he starts kissing a wandering path from his collar bone, over the softness of his stomach, to the thick patch of hair trailing beneath his waistline. He squeezes Philippe’s thighs, looks up at him for consent—a swallow and a wide-eyed nod—and undoes his pants. A team effort of wiggling gets them shucked, and Corbeau enjoys the view before resuming his eager kisses.
Philippe is dizzy. Corbeau hasn’t even touched him sexually, but he can’t help getting wound up whenever Corbeau is fully focused on him. He’s panting, muscles jumping under Corbeau’s hands and lips, and he starts to speak but is cut off by a yelp when Corbeau nips his hip.
“C-Corbeau!” he gasps, unhurt but startled.
Corbeau laughs and soothes the little mark with more kisses.
“Sorry. I just…wanna devour you, y’know? And there were a lot of eyes on you today. Seein’ them want you, fear of you, admire you…I love it. You deserve to be seen. My big, strong, handsome, brilliant Philippe…The whole world should see how amazing you are. But I’m the only one who gets to touch and keep you.”
He kisses and then bites a spot on Philippe’s thigh. Philippe’s hand flies to his mouth, trying to contain the noises falling from him. Corbeau laughs, mouth still pressed to Philippe’s hot skin, pupils huge. His voice comes out wet, muffled, growly.
“Mmf…They like your thighs, y’know. Not that I blame ‘em. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous. I’m so lucky you’re mine…”
He leaves more messy kisses and nips down the inside of Philippe’s thigh, none of them as rough as that big mark, already bruising beneath the ink. Philippe can take it—enjoys it—but Corbeau wants to be gentle tonight. They haven’t done this in a while—take time to worship each other, too exhausted at the end of the day to do anything but sleep—and Corbeau wants to be thorough, remind Philippe of how beautiful he is, how much Corbeau loves and adores him.
“I’m yours,” Philippe agrees easily, reaching out to pet Corbeau’s cheek. Corbeau leans into it, eyes slitted happily. “And you’re mine. Right?”
“Only yours. Always.”