Not just because it's animalistic — but because in this position he doesn't have to look at you. Easier to pretend you're nothing when he can't see your face. He can watch the way your spine dips under his palm, the way he sinks into you with a loud — squelch!— of your puffy cunt.
He's got you bent over the wooden table of his warehouse, his bloodied butcher knife right beside your trembling hands that clutched the edges desperately.
"Look at you.." His voice came out as a heated growl, his pupils blown out wide as his gaze landed on your slick coated folds — you're always slick for him, traitor body that it is. He splits you open slow, watches the way your pussy grips him like it's trying to keep him there. Pink and swollen and stretched around his width. He watches himself disappear into you, watches the ring of wetness coat his shaft when he pulls back out.
"Fuckin' soaked down here.. will never ever get enough of this shit — fuck —.."
He sets a rhythm that's all his. Deep and deliberate, the kind of fucking that means something. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise. He pulls out again, until only the tip catches on your entrance, then slams back in.
He watches his cock slide in and out of you, glistening now, your slick mixed with his own cum, coating his thighs. A low growl escaped his lips on how good you look like this — on your elbows, ass up, taking everything he gives you.
how he could do this for hours and how he has.
And then he grips your throat from behind, pulls your back against his chest, and he reaches around, fingers finding where you're stretched around him, rubbing tight circles over your swollen clit to pull that orgasm from you again.
"Unna ipidiyey vechukuren.. love seein' you fall apart on my cock..'
And he bites down on your hickey littered neck with a muffled growl mixed with a groan, just as he comes again, filling you up once more.
Yeah.. he's never forgetting this position anytime soon.
The deep, familiar timbre rolled through, warm enough to make your shoulders loosen before you even turned. A tiny frown tugged at your lips as you looked over your shoulder, only to find Him already watching you.
Saravanan stood a few feet away, dressed in his usual white lawyer shirt whose sleeves were lazily folded to his forearms. His his eyes that always undid you raked over you currently. Dark. Intense.
Ancient somehow.
One eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, amusement dancing beneath heavy lids.
You mirrored the expression with one of your own.
"Yen sir? Ungaluku illaya?"
(Why? Don't you?)
A breathy chuckle escaped him.
"Apdi illa..." he drawled, shoving one hand into his pocket as he strolled closer. "Neenga adikadi court-ku vandha inga varinga... illa na avaroda koil-ku poringa... padayal panringa... kula deivam naala ya?"
(It's not that... Every time you come to court, you either end up here or at his temple. You even bring offerings. Is he your family deity?)
You didn't answer immediately.
Your folded hands remained pressed together before the towering idol of Vettai Karuppasami. Only one eyebrow arched higher as you slowly turned your head towards him.
"...Idhellam unnaku epdi theriyum?"
(How do you know all this?)
He froze.
Oh heavens.
His expression froze, the teasing glint disappearing almost instantly. His eyes widened just enough to betray surprise before His lips parted.
Did He really blurt that out loud? He almost had to close His eyes in embarrassment.
Damn.
Two people knew who he was already. Baby Kannan already knew. Challenged him even. Preethi knew.
But you...
No.
Not you.
Not yet.
"Preethi sonna."
(Preethi told me.)
the excuse left Him quicker than He'd intended.
He cleared his throat, fingers absentmindedly straightening the collar of his shirt despite it sitting perfectly against His neck. His gaze slid away for a brief second before returning to you with practiced ease.
You frowned. "Pree..." The name lingered unfinished on your tongue. Yet after a moment, you simply shook your head and turned back toward the deity instead.
He exhaled so quietly it almost disappeared beneath the rustling neem leaves above the statue. Your voice, when it came again, was softer, almost reverent and His attention drifted back to you.
"Kula deivam nu mattum illa..." Your eyes rested on the feet of the deity where the offerings lay neatly arranged.
A folded betel leaf.
A bottle of arrack.
Beedi.
Everything He loved.
Everything He accepted.
"Avara kumbuduna..." Your fingers unconsciously tightened together. "Oru paadhugaapu irukura maari irukkum... edhu vena modhi paakalaam nu oru dhairyam varum... en nizhala pakkathula irupparu nu oru nambikkai."
(When I pray to him… it feels like I'm protected. Like I could face anything. Like… no matter where I go… I have this confidence that he'll always walk beside as my shadow.)
As though your words themselves had summoned Him, your gaze drifted to the stone floor where an impossible shadow stretched behind you—broad shoulders, one hand resting on a hip, mid length hair stirring in a breeze that did not exist, the silhouette of flowing cloth shifting against the ground. No one stood there. Yet it lingered for a heartbeat before vanishing, leaving only a strange warmth blooming quietly inside your chest.
Delusional.
...yet comforting.
The corners of your lips softened before you crouched down, collecting a pinch of cool vibuthi between your fingers. You pressed it gently onto your forehead before dipping your ring finger into the sacred ash once again.
When you turned around, Saravanan was already looking at you. Not playfully. Not curiously. Simply… looking. His eyes met yours with such unwavering steadiness that your footsteps slowed on their own. There was something almost magnetic about His gaze, something that held yours without force, as though He already knew you wouldn't look away.
As you walked closer, His eyes softened, the usual sharpness melting into quiet affection that lingered over every feature of your face. His gaze dipped briefly to the streak of sacred ash adorning your forehead before returning to your eyes, where it remained impossibly gentle.
You stopped only a breath away from Him. He didn't step back. Instead, he inclined his head ever so slightly, silently inviting your touch. Your fingers brushed his forehead, leaving a streak of cool white vibuthi against warm skin, and for a fleeting moment your fingertips lingered there.
His lashes fluttered only after your hand withdrew, yet His gaze refused to leave yours, holding onto your eyes as though they alone deserved His full attention. Rising onto your toes, you leaned close enough for your breath to graze His skin as you gently blew away the excess powder.
The distance between your faces became so small you could see the amber temple flames reflected in His pupils.
And for the briefest second, they looked less like a man's eyes and more like something ancient watching you with quiet, unwavering devotion.
"Unnaku sonna puriyadhu..."
(You won't understand.)
you murmured before adding, "Oru thadava vendi paaru... nalla balan kedaikkum."
(Pray just once… You'll receive good blessings)
Then, without another glance, you turned and walked away. He watched until your figure disappeared beyond the temple entrance, a fond smile slowly finding its way onto his lips. Only after you were gone did He turn towards the deity standing before Him—His own form cast in stone. His gaze dropped to the offerings at the idol's feet, lingering on the beedi you had left with such innocent faith.
A quiet chuckle escaped Him as He bent to pick it up, rolling it between His fingers before it lit itself with nothing more than a faint flick of his eye. Smoke curled lazily from his lips as he took a slow drag,His eyes never leaving the path you had taken.
If only you knew; should the world ever dare reach for you, it would have to go through its own lord first.
Maybe the mortal world wouldn't be just about defeating baby kannan after all..
it's always so interesting to me how different cultures think of love metaphorically. often in western culture (cultures from places that tend to be cold) i see it depicted as a crackling, constant fire or a warm hearth. but typically in south indian culture – places where it is hot year-round – there's a tendency to describe it as a crystal of snow or snowflakes, or just colder imagery in general. something something the grass is greener on the other side changing our perceptions of emotion itself
