tagged by the wonderful @lilyoffandoms (love seeing your art on my dash, and you literally caught me just as I started picking at wips again, immaculate timing!! <3)
snippet from the final part of the porter fic kiss me softly (and devour me)
He fits into their life easily, as if he’d always been there, another pair of hands as they go about their routine, catching up on the tasks they’ve fallen behind on during the week.
It's strangely domestic, folding sheets together, even if he’s as helpful as he is distracting, his gaze lingering on their wrists, their throat, their mouth.
And he knows it, a gleam of white flashing in his smile as he catches their gaze, eyes crinkling in amusement.
tagging - you, reading this! also (no pressure): @glassbearclock @dominimoonbeam @taelonsamada @pearl-kite @evilbunnyking @lovelylonerliterature @autisticempathydaemon @cashandprizes
it's been a while since I've done one of these, but I'm poking at wips again!! >:3 here is a snippet from the morning after fic featuring Porter Solaire, the sequel to kiss me softly (and devour me).
redacted audios: porter solaire/treasure, rated mature for mature themes (if you're up to speed with the character, he is masochistic, and uses pain to help deal with his more predatory instincts)
He doesn’t sit, hovering at the side of the bed, a dark shadow in the twilight of the room as he waits until they've shut the door behind them.
“I need you, and I need it to hurt.”
Another step, and they’ve closed the distance between them, his eyes finally meeting theirs, and they’re burning. His breath smells of alcohol, sharp - champagne, they think. He’d mentioned an event, a dinner party of sorts. Family business.
They reach for him, fingers twisting into the front of his shirt, feeling the race of his heartbeat beneath their fingertips.
“This is what you want?”
He bares his teeth in a snarl, the elongated shape of his fangs long and sharp. “Hit me.”
They hit him. Hard enough that their palm stings at the contact, sharp enough that his head turns to the side, his breath hissing between his teeth. His hand reaches out to grasp their hip, his grip bruising, leaving marks in the shape of his fingers on their skin.
“Yes.”
They shiver at the way he says it, half-moaned, cupping their palm against his other cheek as they turn him back to face them. “Colour?”
“Green.”
They kiss him then, hard and deep, feeling the sharpness of his teeth as they lick into his mouth, the way he trembles and groans as a fang slices through their lip and the taste of their blood reaches his tongue.
“I like the glimpses I've seen of you, the real you. And I want to know more.”
He holds their gaze for a long moment, an intensity there that steals their breath away, before he finally breaks the contact and looks away.
“I’m not sure you’d like what you find.”
READ IN FULL ON AO3
--
can I come home to you?
“What do you see when you look at me?”
His voice is a low murmur, barely audible over the sound of the water, the glide of his hand along the skin of their naked back. They’ve been soaking together long enough in the deep seated bathtub that they run the risk of the water growing cold, but neither of them make any move to leave, lingering in the warmth of their shared body heat.
They can hear the slow, steady beat of his heartbeat through his chest, a familiar rhythm, reverberating against their cheek. It had surprised them to feel it that first night, the thrum of it beating beneath their palm through the silk blend of his shirt.
Expecting something else? His silver eyes had glinted as he asked the question, a sharp smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Don’t believe everything you read, my dear.
A lot of time has passed since then, and they know better. Vampires weren’t like the stories.
“Why do you ask?” They say instead of answering his question, twisting in his arms until they can meet his gaze. The water swirls around them, the cooler currents sending a chill across their skin, but they don’t mind it, watching him as they settle against the otherside of the tub.
“It’s just a question. Call it… curiousity.” He watches them back, a smile curling up the corners of his mouth. They can’t help the way their eyes are caught on the soft plush of his lower lip. “It’s been a while since I’ve had an arrangement like this. Indulge me.”
When he speaks, they can see the sharpness of his teeth.
It’s a symptom of the hunger. His eyes are darker than usual too, and they can see flecks of crimson in the halo of his iris, stark against the winter storm harboured there.
He hasn't fed from them yet. He’d hesitated when they’d opened the door to their apartment, the dark, sleek lines of his dinner jacket blending in with the shadows of the hall, his eyes sharp as he took them in, head to foot. They could feel every inch of their exhaustion as if it were a weight, dragging at their body. He could sense it too.
At their invitation, he’d crossed the threshold and taken them into his arms. You look exhausted. Let me take care of you.
And true to his word, he had.
“I see a beautiful man with striking eyes and a sharp smile. Intelligent. Charming. Devious.” He tips his head in acknowledgment, a smile curling his lips, pleased. “You know what you want, and aren’t afraid to ask for it. And I think that most of the time... you get it.”
His smile widens, an amused glint in the silver of his eye. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”
They return his grin, resting their arms against the side of the tub and tilting their head, considering him from under their lashes. “I… also think there is more to you than meets the eye. You hide behind your charm, but you’re not as slick as you think you are.”
Slowly, carefully, they shift in the water, drawing closer until they’re crouched between his legs, the subtle contact of skin on skin sending a thrill through them. His eyes don't leave theirs, dark pools so deep they could drown in them.
“I like the glimpses I've seen of you, the real you. And I want to know more.”
He holds their gaze for a long moment, an intensity there that steals their breath away, before he finally breaks the contact and looks away.
His voice is soft when he does speak again. “I’m not sure you’d like what you find.”
“I think I can be the judge of that.”
Reaching up, they cup their hand to his face, letting their thumb trace the soft curve of his cheek until he turns back to face them. He parts his lips, his eyes dark, the heavy weight of his pupils swallowing the iris, and he looks - hungry. On the edge of his control.
“You don’t scare me. And I want to help.” They offer him a soft smile, before they press the base of their thumb to the sharp point of his canine, applying pressure until it slices through.
A soft, broken sound escapes him as the blood reaches his tongue, before his mouth seals over the wound, sucking hard. His tongue laps at their skin, and they feel the edge of his teeth, before he reaches up to grip their wrist, his grip tight, but not tight enough to hurt.
Slowly, but firmly, he draws their hand back, the red of their blood staining his lips. Holding their gaze, he tilts his head to press a kiss against their thumb. Their skin tingles like pins and needles, before flooding with a rush of warmth. When he draws back, the cut is gone.
“You really are sweet,” he says as he lowers their hand, adjusting his grip until it’s clasped between them. His palms are soft, warm to the touch. “But you don’t need to do that.”
Their heartbeat skips inside their chest. “But you’re hungry.”
“I am.” When he meets their gaze again, his eyes are black as pitch, none of the iris remaining. His voice is soft, removed of inflection, and it’s hard to read his expression like this, caught in the dark well of his gaze. “But I didn’t come here for this.”
They’re not sure they believe him. It’s not as if they minded, either way. Their blood is a gift they offer to him freely. But… there’s a tension in him now, tightening the line of his jaw, and they realise that maybe they’d crossed a line, overstepped a boundary.
They take their hand back as that thought sits in their gut, the guilt a sudden, heavy thing pooling like lead in the pit of their stomach. “I’m sorry. I should have asked first-”
“None of that,” He cuts them off with a shake of his head, the dark strands of his hair curling around his face. “You did nothing wrong. Look at me, treasure.”
He waits until they do, his dark eyes steady on theirs, but not unkind.
“You’re kind, and generous. Perhaps… too generous.” He releases a soft breath, a smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “But that isn’t a bad thing.”
He holds out a hand, and after a moment, they take it, letting him draw them back towards him, lifting their hand until he can press a soft kiss against their palm. His eyes are silver when he meets their gaze again, the animal within contained, for now.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m older than I look. I can control my hunger. And this…” he brushes his lips against their knuckles, “...will be enough for tonight.”
He lowers their hand gently into the water and lays back against the edge of the tub. With a twist of his wrist, the water heats again, the steam curling around them like a soft caress.
“Stay here with me a little while longer.”
–
They’re not sure how long they spend together like that, warm skin on skin, touching, talking. At some point, they must fall asleep, as they wake to find themself in his arms as he carries them to their room, dressed in fresh pyjamas and the nape of their neck still damp.
From the flash of the night outside that’s just starting to lighten, clouds stained a reddish pink, the prelude of a new day. The sight of it sends a flicker of panic ricocheting through their chest, and they twist in his arms, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt. “Porter… the sky…”
He hums as he glances down at them, before following their eyeline to the window, smiling at the first signs of the encroaching dawn. “It won’t take me long to reach my lodgings. The sun won't be able to touch me. Don’t you fear, love.”
Love. Their heart skips a beat inside their chest at the way he says it, soft, as if he didn’t even notice himself saying the word as he carries them through their apartment
He places them gently on the bed, tugging their blankets up around them, and not for the first time, they want to ask him to stay the night, take shelter with them through the day, let this be more.
They swallow down the urge and instead say, “I’m glad you came.”
He pauses beside the window, lowering his hands from where he’d been lowering the blinds, a smile flickering across his features in the dim light, softer than they think they’ve seen from him before. “I am too.”
He watches them for another long moment, before he steps back from the window and turns towards the door. “Sleep well, treasure.”
as I never linked the full, smutty version on tumblr, here is the full fic that explores milo/sh's first time, in an alternate ending to 'tending to a fiesty flirty werewolfs injuries' >:3
redacted audio: milo/sweetheart, rated E for explicit, 18+ mdni
AO3 LINK - snippet below!
--
“Shit, sweetheart.” When they glance back to meet his gaze, he’s grinning, a sharpness to his smile, his canines longer than they were before. “You’re fucking incredible, you know that?”
They glance over him pointedly, letting their eyes linger on the toned line of his abdomen, and down, down to where he's straining against his sweats. “You gonna take those off?”
His smile hooks wider, before he lifts his hips, kicking the sweats down and off, shifting his angle on the couch until his head is leaning against the armrest. His dark eyes find theirs, and there’s that glimmer of gold again, reflecting the light. A flash of eyeshine, reminding them of what lies beneath, the wolf.
“What’re you gonna do with me now, investigator?” His smile is back, playing at the corners of his mouth, and there’s a challenge there, a glint in his eye, as if he’s taking their measure.
They run their hand along his thigh, enjoying the way his muscles flex, his jaw tight as he watches them, eyes dark and hungry.
“Fuck.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “You should know better than to tease a wolf.”
>:3 an early bday gift to me from me, sweetheart and milo's first night together. this gets spicy, so I'll put the full version on ao3 <3
redacted audio: milo/sweetheart, rated mature
Milo and Sweetheart, and an insight into the rest of that first night after taking down the shade…
-
His dark eyes find theirs, and there’s that glimmer of gold again, reflecting the light. A flash of eyeshine, reminding them of what lies beneath, the wolf.
“What’re you gonna do with me now, investigator?”
READ IN FULL ON AO3
--
bad idea right?
They like seeing him like this, splayed beneath them. Their wolf.
They’re not sure when they started thinking of him as theirs. Around the second time they broke into his apartment, maybe? Or earlier that day, at the meeting point, their magic thrumming in their core as they tracked down the shade, his voice in their earpiece, promising them he was on his way, keep yourself safe ‘till I get there, you hear me?
Now they’re sitting in his lap, his wide palms on their hips anchoring them against him, splayed fingers slipping beneath the hem of their shirt, the contact searing against their skin.
He’s watching them, waiting. Waiting to see what they’ll do next.
Their hands are still against his chest, his skin flushed and hot beneath their palms. They can feel the way his breath hitches as their touch travels lower, skating down the toned muscle of his abdomen, their nails scratching against his skin, just enough that he can feel it.
His head tilts back, a low groan escaping his chest as their mouth finds the hinge of his jaw, tasting the salt of his sweat on his skin. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
They hum against his throat, rocking their hips down into his. It feels good. Christ, it feels good.
The moment they decide they’re gonna go all the way, sneaking their hands beneath the waistband of his sweats, he catches their wrists, his dark eyes on theirs, irises swallowed by the weight of his pupils.
“Whoa, sweetheart. Hold up a sec. Are you - sure?”
And they stop, taking a moment to catch their breath and look at him beneath them. He’s all sweaty and flushed, his hair a mess, very kissable lips all swollen, and there’s still blood on his mouth and down his chest, but he’s holding their hands gently and looking up at them like they’re everything-
Fuck.
“Yeah.” Their voice is breathier than they’d originally intended, but they can see that he likes that, the tug of his mouth pulling wider, revealing sharpening canines as they continue, “But if it’s too fast, if you want to stop-”
“-no.” The word flies out of him and he flushes again, deeper this time, as if embarrassed by his own urgency. “No, nothing like that, sweetheart.”
He tilts his hips up, until they can feel the pressure of him against their thigh, the sweats he’s wearing - which are barely holding together after all the abuse they’ve taken today - hiding very little of what’s beneath. “Can you feel that? Shit, the way you get to me…”
They hum, leaning down until there’s only inches between them, until they can feel everything when they grind their hips against him again. “You get to me too, lover boy.”
Drawing back, they reach around to tug up the hem of their shirt, pulling it over their head and tossing it to the side. The cooler air is a welcome relief against their flushed skin, still tacky from the fight, and they’d feel self-conscious, if it wasn’t for the way he was looking at them, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide.
“Fucking hell, sweetheart.”
He reaches out, slow enough that they could stop him if they wanted to, his hands finding their hips and sliding up to their waist. His fingers splay beneath the span of their ribs, his hands warm, so fucking warm, as he looks at them, drinking them in.
“Look at you.” His dark eyes flash, seeming to shift into a burnished gold for a moment, before fading back to their natural colour. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
>:3 look I was inspired by the enigma that is Porter Solaire.
redacted audio: porter solaire/treasure, rated mature for mature themes. see the full list of tags on ao3. 18+ minors do not interact.
He made them feel like an animal, and they liked it.
READ THE FULL VERSION ON AO3
–
“...so. What happened to you the other night?”
They’re in a rundown diner off of Fifth avenue, their friends seated on the shiny, cherry-red vinyl across from them, the air thick with the smell of burnt coffee and grease.
The food here is cheap, which is why it’s one of their group's favourite haunts, especially after a night out, of which there have been many lately. Letting off steam.
They shift in their seat, their breath hitching as the rough material of their jeans catches against the still healing scrapes on their knees, the skin exposed and tender. But they don’t mind it, the sting of it, the reminder.
They still remember the taste of his blood on their lips, and their blood on his. The intensity of his gaze, an eclipse of silver on black, the pressure of his hands on them, firm and well-practised, learning the shape of them just as they learned the shape of him. The thrill of it. The danger.
You cannot tell anyone.
The rattle of the cash register pulls them back into a moment, and they offer an apologetic smile, rolling their shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Family emergency. Sorry I couldn’t stay until the end.”
Lucy pouts, throwing an arm around her girlfriend as she reaches with the other across the table, flapping her hand at them until they take it, squeezing. “We missed you.”
She hadn’t. Not really. But they didn’t mind that. A lot has happened lately, and their group has grown in number. It was harder to keep track of everyone now, especially with the new relationships – easy to fall into the backdrop, the reliable friend. The DD.
Still, they offer a smile. “There’s always next time.”
Her girlfriend - Maeve - lets out a derisive snort, not looking up from her menu as she adds, “As long as you don’t flake again. That Uber wasn’t cheap.”
When was the last time your friends even glanced over here?
“Maybe you can drive next time,” they suggest, their voice carefully level as they take another sip of shitty lukewarm coffee, and Maeve gives another snort, amusement tilting the plush curve of her mouth.
“Maybe,” she agrees, eyes narrowing over the filmy plastic of the diner menu, before the waitress comes by to take their orders and the conversation moves on, the exchange all but forgotten.
