My Apologies
This Pantalone smut is dedicated to @noctipherr as part of a fic/art trade! PLEASE check out his art if you haven't yet, it's absolutely stunning and he deserves all the praise. (I'm absolutely obsessed with the art he sent me, I'm gonna use it for my sideblog pfp, I keep getting distracted by it!)
Notes: 18+ only, minors do not interact. Submissive top Pantalone x power bottom oc. One instance of slapping and a bit of hair pulling, but mostly just Pantalone being pathetic for his husband. This is oc x canon, so it's a little different from my usual oneshots! Also the dividers I used came from @/priestboy
Fic beneath the cut. Hope you like it, Eros!!!
The meeting was this morning, and to the untrained eye, one might think it went well. For the most part, that assumption would be correct, but Pantalone knows better. If the not so subtle twitch of his beloved’s ears didn’t give it away, then it was the way Eros regarded him with little to no warmth. He declined the Regrator’s invitation to lunch, saying he’d eat later because there was still paperwork that needed filling out, then doubled down when Pantalone offered to eat with him later, or even simply bring him lunch. He spent the ride home staring out the window saying nothing, pretending he was the only one in the carriage.
It’s evening now, and the silent treatment is starting to grow old. Hours after a tense dinner, Pantalone finds himself in front of Eros’ study. He knocks on the door, and while he expects to be ignored, there’s no harm in trying.
“What is it?”
He’s still annoyed, but it’s a start.
Pantalone steps inside, shutting the door behind him. Eros looks up from his notes, and the moment he locks eyes with Pantalone, his ears flatten. Pantalone smiles, still finding the sight of his beloved so cross with him adorable. Alas, as cute as Eros is when he looks and acts like a grumpy fennec fox, Pantalone would like to talk to his husband properly at some point.
Pantalone comes around the side of Eros’ desk, which the analyst makes a point to ignore. This does not deter Pantalone, though. He can’t give him the cold shoulder forever.
“Oh, come now, sweetheart,” he coos, “how much longer are we going to play this little game?”
“I’m not playing, I’m working,” Eros replies curtly.
“And you’re that buried in your work that you cannot give me the time of day?”
“Look who’s talking.”
Pantalone chuckles. He gently brushes aside a strand of dark brown hair, getting Eros to glare at him from the corner of his eye. “My dear, while I think your angry face is quite cute, I don’t like it when you actually are mad at me. Talk to me.”
Eros looks up at Pantalone, his ears still flattened back in irritation. “And what gives you the impression I’m mad at you, Regrator? Why would I ever be mad at you?”
“You’ve been short with me since this morning’s meeting,” he says, “even though it went better than anticipated.”
“You would think that.”
Pantalone sighs. “Does it have anything to do with me answering the director’s question about the budget?”
“The question he asked me? The question he asked about my proposal for how the budget should be used? Are you talking about that question?”
There it is.
“Does it really matter all that much if he still agreed?” Pantalone asks.
“You explained my idea to him!” Eros snaps. “You completely took over my point and made me look like I didn’t actually know what I was talking about!”
“I told him it was your idea.”
“And all he is going to remember is you explaining it instead of me explaining it. You still get all the credit.”
“Baby–”
Eros stands, gathering his documents together before walking to the other side of the room where the cabinets are. “Do not ‘baby’ me, Regrator.”
Pantalone shakes his head. “What do I have to do to fix this, then?”
“You’re a grown man,” Eros remarks, searching through the cabinets for the right files, “I’m sure you can figure it out. You can probably do that away from me, too.”
His ears twitch at the sound of Pantalone’s footsteps, stopping right behind him. He pretends the man isn’t there as he sorts through his papers, even when he feels Pantalone leaning in close. He ignores Pantalone’s arms wrapping around his waist, and how his head settles on Eros’ shoulder, choosing to focus on making sure everything is in order.
Pantalone’s voice is like velvet when he speaks. “And is there anything I can do about your mood in the meantime?”
“No, there isn’t.”
Eros jolts a little when he feels Pantalone’s lips on his neck. He can feel him smiling against his warm skin. “Nothing? Nothing at all?”
“I’m working.”
“No, you’re not,” Pantalone purrs, “you’re just finding an excuse to ignore me.” He kisses his neck again, this time a little higher, and then kisses his pulse point. “And I think you’re running out of them.”
Eros doesn’t fight him when one of Pantalone’s hands tilts his head to the side, nor does he push the Regrator away when he kisses the little beauty mark on his cheek. He lets out a little growl, but there’s no real aggression to it. He loves the attention, he’s just too stubborn to admit it right now.
“Watch where your hands are, Regrator,” Eros warns, but makes no move to stop the gloved hand slowly dragging down his stomach, playing with the bottom of his shirt. Pantalone leans in more to kiss him properly, only for Eros to turn his head enough that Pantalone catches the corner of his lips instead. “I mean it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.”
Eros twists around and swiftly grabs Pantalone’s face, planting his palm over his mouth and squeezing his cheeks. Pantalone’s gasp is muffled into Eros’ hand, as is his amused little laugh. He pulls his head back and frees his mouth, with Eros grabbing him by his jaw instead.
“Fine, fine,” Pantalone playfully relents, “I know what you want me to say.” He clears his throat for dramatic effect. “I’m sorry I spoke over you and stole the spotlight during the meeting.” He gently takes Eros’ hand away from his jaw so he can kiss his palm. “I would never want you to feel overlooked, my love.” He kisses his wrist. “Could you find it in that big, beautiful heart of yours to forgive me?”
“Hm… I don’t know,” Eros remarks, “it’s not the first time you’ve spoken over me, so what good is your word?”
“Goodness, I really messed up today, didn’t I?” Pantalone jests.
“Are you really sorry?” Eros asks.
Pantalone nods. “Truly and deeply sorry.”
Eros’ expression shifts with the twitch of his ears. The annoyance disappears, replaced by something more sinister. Finally, Eros smiles at Pantalone, but it is by no means sweet. It’s an invitation, in the same way the venus flytrap invites its prey to come closer.
“Prove it.”
Evidently, Eros was more annoyed by his husband stealing his thunder than he initially thought. A lot more annoyed than he thought.
Pantalone knew it was going to take more than simply getting him off to earn his forgiveness. No, it’s never been that easy, but you’d never hear Pantalone complain (and it’s not just because his mouth is busy, either). He hoped that if he couldn’t fully earn Eros’ forgiveness tonight, then at the very least he would be pacified by pleasure, too tired to be mad anymore.
Well, he can hope as much as he wants to, but that doesn’t mean he’ll get his way.
“Sweetheart, please,” Pantalone rasps through grit teeth, “it’s been over an hour of this, how are you still going?”
Eros settles for a moment in Pantalone’s lap, just long enough to let the man catch his breath. It’s a short moment, cut off when Eros rocks his hips and grinds against him, relishing in the pathetic little whimper it pulls from him.
“You said you’d prove how s-sorry you are,” Eros replies, a subtle shakiness in his voice and a smirk on his lips, “and you still haven’t convinced me…”
Pantalone’s head falls back against the pillow, groaning in overstimulated exhaustion. “I said sorry,” he whines, “I said it a m-million times already.”
Eros lifts himself up off of Pantalone’s lap, but before the tip can slip out, he drops back down and swallows his length down to the hilt. Pantalone’s hips jerk and his voice breaks, caught between pain and pleasure as his cock throbs inside Eros. His fingers dig into Eros’ waist for stability, hard enough to leave bruises.
“Then what’s a million and one?” Eros teases, picking his pace back up in spite of the strain in his shaking thighs.
Pantalone swears under his breath. “Can– hah, can I cum at least? I-I’ll do whatever you want, just let me cum once.”
Eros hums, pretending to be deep in thought. He takes in the sight of Pantalone’s flushed skin, how his black hair spills around his head like ink against the pillows, the tears welling up in his gemstone eyes, and the shiny gloss of drool smeared on his lips. To see the Regrator in such a pathetic state evokes something in his husband, and it is not mercy. Far from it, actually. To have someone so powerful, untouchable, falling apart and eager to please, it only serves to spurn Eros on.
“No,” Eros answers, slowing down once more to Pantalone’s dismay (or maybe relief?), “I’m still mad at you.”
Pantalone tries to sit up. “That’s not fair–”
Eros’ palm striking his cheek surprises him more than it hurts him. In fact, Eros’ fingers digging into Pantalone’s jaw and forcing him to stay still hurts more, but not by much. Nothing that will leave a mark, while the fingertip shaped bruises pressed into the Eros’ copper coloured hips can’t say the same.
“Prove you’re actually sorry to me,” Eros hisses, his hold on Pantalone’s face making the banker wince a little, “tell me how sorry you are, and maybe I’ll let you cum.”
Pantalone swallows, face burning brighter as what little dignity he had left leaves him. Still, he tries to maintain some semblance of class by burying his face into Eros’ neck, ironically looking more desperate and pathetic than if he let Eros see how flustered he is.
“I’m sorry,” Pantalone rasps, quietly at first, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby.”
Eros’ smirk grows wider. “What for?”
“For talking over you, stealing– hah!”
Eros pulls Pantalone’s head back by the hair, getting a good look at his pitiful expression and letting Pantalone see his smug face. It’s a face he picked up from the Regrator himself, and in other circumstances, Pantalone may have teased his darling husband about it. Not tonight, though, he lost that chance the moment Eros lured him into this.
He wouldn’t have it any other way, though, as embarrassing as it is to admit.
“Sorry, Regrator,” Eros coos, rocking into him. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry for st-stealing your spotlight,” Pantalone tells him, barely suppressing a whimper, “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”
“And why shouldn’t you have done that?”
“It was your idea,” he pants, barely able to focus on his words. “Your brilliant, brilliant idea, f-from such a brilliant mind.”
“Aw, you think my mind is brilliant,” Eros praises, overly patronizing as he watches his husband try not to cum.
Pantalone manages to shake his head. “It’s not just, ah, not just your mind,” he moans, “it’s everything. Your mind, your voice, your eyes, your body–”
Eros begins actually moving again, growing bored of grinding as it fails to soothe the ache inside him. The sound Pantalone lets out is music to Eros’ ears, sending a pulse to his core. He feels Pantalone’s hips jerk, and for a second thinks the man’s restraint has broken, but does not feel his warmth spill out. He’s almost impressed Pantalone’s still holding on, let alone that the man can speak, and speak he does, in spite of how breathless he sounds.
“More than brilliant,” he almost babbles, “you’re perfect. Every part of you is perfect, I-I can’t get enough of you.”
Eros’ pace stutters for a moment and he manages to bite back a moan, but it’s obvious he’s holding back. Riding Pantalone for this long would’ve been enough to tucker him out, without having the man get him off with his fingers and tongue before. He almost wishes he held back when Pantalone offered to do anything for his forgiveness, if only so he could drag this out a little longer and torment his husband just a little more.
When Pantalone feels Eros tighten around him, feels his pace falter and sees him trying to hide his voice, he shifts his focus. If he can heap on the praise long enough to make Eros cum again, he has to relent. He uses that very thought as his own distraction from his impending orgasm, and leans back in to plant messy kisses along Eros’ shoulders.
“The way you feel and look and taste,” he groans, “sometimes, y-you’re all I can think about in those stupid meetings.” He kisses his neck, and feels Eros shiver. “I’m so lucky I can come home to this,” he whines, “c-can’t imagine what I’d do without you. I don’t want to.” His lips find Eros’ jaw, and he’s unable to pull away from him, mumbling into his skin just loud enough that Eros can hear his broken voice. “Just, a-ah, seeing your face and hearing your voice and getting to touch you, let alone fuck you, th-that’s all I need.”
“Y-You really mean that?” Eros asks, feeling the aching pressure building with each word of praise that falls from Pantalone’s parted lips. Pantalone just nods, too delirious to speak. That then changes when Eros speeds up, making Pantalone cry out.
“W-Wait, wait!” Pantalone pleads, “I can’t hold back if you keep going like that–”
He yelps when Eros tugs his head back by the hair again, only to whine when he finally feels Eros’ lips on his, slipping his tongue into Pantalone’s open mouth. He feels Eros’ grab one of the hands on his hip, guiding Pantalone’s hand between his legs. Pantalone takes the hint, his fingers rubbing quick circles into Eros’ clit. Eros jolts, breaking from the kiss with a gasp.
“Better cum before I change my mind,” Eros growls, though it tapers off into something that sounds more like a whimper. Pantalone barely gets the chance to nod before Eros kisses him again. All he can do is moan sweetly into Eros’ mouth, his hips jerking and cock throbbing when Eros squeezes around him just right–
Eros feels Pantalone’s body shudder as he is finally allowed climax. His head tilts back just enough to break the kiss, hoarsely crying out for just a moment before he’s muffled once more by another kiss. Eros’ sore thighs force him to sink down fully, giving his tired legs a break. He feels their combined mess staining his thighs and leaking out from his aching heat.
He gasps when he feels Pantalone’s hips rock into him for a change, and he moans into his mouth when he feels his fingers move again. Careful not to press too hard, Pantalone rubs Eros’ clit faster, either somehow rejuvenated by his release or simply trying to be a gentleman. It could honestly be some attempt at payback, but Eros doesn’t care right now. Not when he finally feels the pressure burst and send pleasure pulsing through his body, letting him see stars once again tonight.
The noise Eros makes and how he feels around Pantalone would almost be enough to get the man hard again if he hadn’t already climaxed moments ago. It doesn’t stop him from enjoying it, though. Eros can feel his stupid smile before he pulls away and sees it himself.
“You know,” he pants, “you look really smug for someone who was just begging for my forgiveness, Lonnie.”
Pantalone manages a chuckle, wrapping his arms around Eros. He lays back, pressing a kiss to his sweetheart’s cheek. “And it certainly seems like I got it.”
“You did not,” Eros grumbles.
“Oh, right. My apologies, sweetheart.”
Eros lifts his head up, glaring at Pantalone. “You’re still not off the hook, you know.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Pantalone replies, pecking Eros on the lips, “I just need a moment to breathe, and then I’ll get right to pampering you.”
Eros’ ears flick downward, as if the almost petulant expression on his face didn’t give it away already. Still, like Pantalone had hoped, he’s too tired now to fuss about it, choosing to instead nuzzle into Pantalone’s neck.
“Better not fall asleep, old man,” he warns, though there’s no actual threat in his voice.
Pantalone kisses Eros’ forehead. “Likewise, sweetheart.”
