Grisham being very stressed and asking Corbeau to poison him so he can relax and the poison is an aphrodisiac 👀 Grisham who is usually outwardly composed being reduced to a whiny desperate mess and Corbeau gladly helping him through it
Can’t be stressed out if you’re too horny to function!
So. Uh, I saw this forever ago and I went insane. But then I died so I never finished writing it, BUT I will not leave you hanging any longer.
Corbeau x Grisham | Corbeau chokes Grisham while he blows him
CW: Choking, degradation, dacry, dubcon, aphrodisiac usage, uh daddy kink for a moment there
Minors DNI
“Fuck, you’re a vision like this.”
Corbeau smiled, dragging his fingers over the side of Grisham’s face. He whimpered, his beautifully flushed, feverish skin even more of a vision in the dim lights. He opened his mouth again, trying to say something he couldn’t quite get out, voice coming out in whiny moans that went straight to Corbeau’s dick.
“Cute.” He added, grabbing Grisham’s jaw and tilting his head back to expose his neck. How loud would he cry if Corbeau bit him now, he wondered?
The first brush of his sharpened teeth against Grisham’s skin was already enough to get him tugging on the restraints that kept his wrists tied to the headboard. Lifting his hips uselessly to hump the air with the most vaguely coherent thing to come out of his mouth since Corbeau upped the dose. “Be-au… ah.”
“Behave.” Corbeau ran his finger over the line of Grisham’s throat, tracing his adam’s apple before closing his grip around his neck just hard enough to make his lover a little lightheaded. “I thought you were always so proud of your patience, weren’t you? Well, it’d do you some good now.”
The look Grisham gave him, the brown of his eyes dark as coffee, brimming with tears and need, tested Corbeau’s own restraint more than he expected it to.
Irresistible. He thought, squeezing his throat just enough to make him part those beautiful lips for a gasped breath, eyes rolling back. Completely fucking irresistible.
“Just a little longer.” He promised, hooking his thumb inside Grisham’s mouth, pressing until he opened it enough. “Be good just a little bit longer for daddy and he’ll give you what you want.”
If Grisham heard him, he showed no sign. Corbeau eased the grip on his throat long enough for him to gasp for air, letting him try to pull himself together while Corbeau sat up close enough to press the tip of his cock to Grisham’s lips.
He immediately stuck his tongue out and licked it with a desperate little whimper.
“Good boy, Grisham.” He praised, “Such a good boy for me.”
His eyes rolled back as Corbeau sunk deeper into his mouth, eagerly leaning forward as best as he could to take more and more of him. Hollowing his cheeks with a moan that made Corbeau tighten a hand into his hair, holding Grisham still for a moment so he could keep himself together enough to not toss the entire plan out the window and fuck his mouth like he’d never get to do it again.
Corbeau guided him slowly, cock twitching against his tongue until it hit the back of his throat, every whimper and moan from Grisham vibrating against him and making him feel like he’d lose his mind.
The look Grisham gave him wasn’t helping, peering up to him from behind those beautiful clumpy lashes, a few tears sticking to them like little gems.
“Fuck, you look perfect like this. Like you were made to take my cock.”
The corner of Grisham’s eyes creased and Corbeau tightened the grip in his hair, earning him a beautiful little moan that made Corbau throw his head back and roll his hips, fucking into his mouth on instinct.
Corbeau closed his hand around Grisham’s throat again, and the way it felt so wonderfully tight around his cock when he squeezed nearly made him come then and there. Grisham whimpered, a few tears slipping from his eyes, and hollowed his cheeks again.
“You’re so desperate to be good.” Corbeau patted his hair, slowly moving his hand down to hold Grisham’s face and swipe at his tears. “It’s pathetic, really. I could do whatever I wanted to you and you’d still beg me for more. You would do anything so long as it made you feel a little less worthless, wouldn't you?”
Grisham sobbed a little, bobbing his head faster now, swirling his tongue over the sensitive underside before taking him so deeply his nose brushed against Corbeau’s pubic hair.
He paused there, looking up to Corbeau with such a desperate look in his eyes it bordered on feverish. Waiting, for his commands, for his grip to tighten around his throat again, for anything Corbeau could have wanted to do to him. Any way he wanted to use him.
A gift for @godserene - Happy Birthday! May you always have a song to find joy in, and may you always find a moment to be kind to yourself 💕
Inspired by your fic of team flare era Corbeau and Grisham, this time as a waltz.
Written to: Waltz Katzen Blut (The Cat Returns)
The chamber orchestra’s song drifted through the open doors behind Corbeau as he stood alone on the moonlit balcony, a smuggled cigarette lit in his hand, the smoke curling into the clear night. How Lysandre managed to swing renting out a historical site for a gala had amazed Corbeau at first, but as the gala dragged on, he found himself slowly becoming uncomfortable with the ordeal. The suits, the perfect smiles, the metaphoric masks. It was all so tailored and ingenuine. Stiff in a way that was starting to feel suffocating.
Corbeau knew it wasn’t just the formalities that were causing him to feel that way, but he squashed that feeling down. Lysandre had taken him in, taken him off the streets, and offered to finance the business venture Corbeau had recently told him about. To doubt the man who had brought Corbeau into the light felt wrong.
He took a drag of his cigarette, the taste far from the cheap acridness of his very first cigarette. If he wasn’t allowed to drink yet, Lysandre could at least allow him to smoke, and better to smoke something of a higher quality than whatever Corbeau could get off the street. It was an imperfect habit, and Corbeau knew he’d eventually have to quit it if he was to stay around for much longer. But it was his imperfect habit.
“You know I hate when you don’t say anything.” Corbeau sighed, turning. Behind him in the shadow of the glass doors had been Grisham. He stood tall and perfect in his white and red suit, a stark contrast to the black and purple suit Corbeau wore. There was a beat, and then Grisham stepped onto the balcony, hands folded politely behind his back, head held high.
“Don’t let Lysandre see you smoking, he wont be happy.”
“Doesn’t matter, he’ll smell it on me later.” Corbeau flicked the ashes off to the side, looking back out over the carefully curated garden, “And I doubt I’ll see him until tomorrow anyways.”
“Mm.” Grisham made a small noise, still clearly checking to see if they were alone. They were, Corbeau knew when he had complete privacy. Corbeau leaned against the balcony, taking another drag.
“Are you not having fun, pretty boy? You had your pick of dance partners back in there.” He said pretty boy softly, kinder than any insult that had been sent Grisham’s way, and Corbeau could see the subtle shift in Grisham’s stance at it.
“They’re not you.” Grisham said it without thinking, his posture stiffened when he realized what he had said, “I mean- They didn’t- they weren’t. They- Don’t look at me the way you do.”
“The way I do?”
“You see me. Not what I should be.”
“What you should be or what you are? You’re Lysandre’s chosen scion, you’re the light in the dark. Perfection made human.” Corbeau waxed poetic, an insulting lilt to voice as he mocked the compliments that had been thrown Grisham’s way before, “And I’m his shadow. A project.”
“You know you’re more than that.”
“Mm, maybe.” Corbeau settled into silence for a moment, ignoring the way that Grisham’s ears were absolutely burning, “So, why not dance with any of them? It can’t just be that you don’t like the way they look at you.”
“Maybe I wanted to dance with you.”
It was Corbeau’s turn to blush. He turned his face away, knowing he had walked right into that one.
“First I kiss you, now you want to dance with me?” His retort lacked any bite, earning an unseen and rare sly smile from Grisham, “What will the others say when they see Lysandre’s chosen dancing with an outsider?”
“They’ll say nothing if they know what’s good for them.”
Corbeau cracked a smile at the promise, grinding out his cigarette.
“What the hell, why not?” He stood upright, “Let’s do this right.”
Corbeau gave Grisham a perfect bow, right hand resting over his heart, left hand extended outwards. In the distance, the orchestra was beginning a new piece, introduced in sighs by an accordion.
“May I have this dance?”
Grisham hesitated for a moment, his ungloved hand ghosting over Corbeau’s outstretched hand. He exhaled a shaky breath, sliding his hand into Corbeau’s with a quiet certainty.
“You may.”
Corbeau stood upright, taking a step towards Grisham and resting his free hand on Grisham’s shoulder, exactly where it belonged. He squared his shoulders, steeling his will. He’d never danced before, at least not outside the lessons he’d been taking leading up to the event. But Corbeau knew Grisham could dance, that he’d been taking lessons for years, that his movements would be naturally elegant and masterful.
But there Grisham was. Letting Corbeau lead him around in a simple box step. The gala inside was far from both of their minds, only the orchestra’s waltz surrounded them.
“I am loosened up.” Corbeau huffed, “You’re just... Taller than I’m used to.”
“Mm, sure.” Grisham hummed, pausing the waltz to switch his and Corbeau’s hands around so he was in the lead, “May I?”
“You already have-” Grisham moved before Corbeau could finish his sentence, guiding him into a proper waltz and supporting him fully. Grisham leaned in, whispering which foot Corbeau should move.
Corbeau’s eyes were on Grisham’s face. On his eyes, for once not hidden behind thick sunglasses. On his lips, wordlessly expectant and looking just as soft as the first time Corbeau had kissed him. To Corbeau, the orchestra was now a distant haze. To him, all that mattered was the young man before him.
Grisham might have been leading their slow waltz, but Corbeau was the one to draw them to a pause. The one to stand on his tip toes. To cradle Grisham’s face in his hands. To close the distance between their lips. To kiss him again. Not at all desperate to claim ownership, but self assured, almost loving. And Grisham melted into Corbeau’s kiss, into the taste of expensive cigarettes that lingered on his lips, into the warmth, into the comfort of it.
He pulled away, settling flat on his feet and grinned at the off guard expression he’d left with. His own cheeks burned, and if he wasn’t holding Grisham right now his hands would be shaking as much as his knees were.
It was more than a kiss between friends, but neither of them wanted to say it out loud. Instead, it would remain their closely guarded secret, unspoken and thought of often alongside the hope that one day they’d have the chance to figure out whatever was going on between them.
-Bonus Scene-
Corbeau blinked, he’d been staring out the window with his drink in hand for too long. The waltz had ended and the turn table had come to a stop, the arm lifted as if inviting Corbeau to lower it at the start again, if only to relive a kinder time.
He forgot he had that waltz in his record collection. He took a drink, the alcohol burned his throat. He wondered if Grisham remembered it, if he still thought of Corbeau the way Corbeau thought of him.
Setting his drink aside, Corbeau moved to lower the needle at the start of the record. The waltz followed him out the balcony door to the railing he now leaned against. Tie undone, sleeves rolled up, a different brand of cigarettes that didn’t taste the same.
