CW: Edging, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjobs, vaginal sex
I have a kink and its boys taking care of their injured women and worrying about their health and safety.
This is my first CoD smut sooooo I hope everyone enjoys
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Cloaked in black, Wyn climbed through her chamber window and heard the sound of clattering on her desk. With only the moonlight, it was difficult to see, although that was rather the idea. She was out way past curfew and she didn’t want to alert Qelsum or anyone else to see her sneaking back in after hours. Not only that, but something’s had gone awry while she was out. Counting cards was easy enough money, most nights. She’d make a deal with a gambler, help him win the lot, and take a percentage of the profits. It was supposed to be easy, anyway. Someone caught wind of what she and her partner were up to, and it broke out into a fight, and Wyn had to parry an offensive spell or two. It left her with a steady running trickle of blood down her nose, a few burns, and some bruises. Nothing a salve or two couldn’t fix, and besides, she managed to make off with the entirety of the wins. She could get Christoph his birthday gift, and then some to make the day really special…
“Blighted late for a nightcap, isn’t it?”
Wyn’s head jerked up and saw Lance waiting on the settee. He would normally be lounging, but he sat upright, on the edge, with an eerily stoic expression.
She ducked her head low, again, and let her hair and hood fall farther over her face. Blighted hells.
“Dragon’s teeth, Lance. Announce yourself next time,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Lance scoffed and clicked his tongue.
“Waiting around for you. What were you doing that took some time?”
Wyn was standing by the window, holding herself upright with the edge of her desk. She was feeling the burns on her body, now that the adrenaline had worn off and she was safe inside her chambers, and it was difficult to not sink into herself or sound strained when she spoke.
“It’s late,” she said. “You should go to sleep—”
She wasn’t able to finish. He had stood, and crossed to her, whipping her hood off of her head. Caught red-handed, she kept her head low, in a last-ditch effort to hide from him.
His voice sounded exasperated but gentle and it made guilt trickle down into her belly. He had asked her, on more than one occasion to stop spending time in the back alleyways, and she had said she would. Eventually. But if he knew the reason for this time in particular--
She felt his thumb and finger on her chin, and he lifted it into view. A fat silence fell upon the room as he saw the drying blood on her nose and lips, and the bruise on her cheek. Wyn winced, waiting for him to admonish her.
“It’s just a few scratches,” she said. “And a few burns but I can handle it myself.”
Lance’s brow was furrowed, deeply, and he looked about ready to hex her himself when he bent and scooped her into his arms. Startled, Wyn opened her mouth to argue, but his warning eyes found hers and she shut it, quickly. Carefully, he placed her on the bed, and he sat close.
“What?” She asked. He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue at her.
“Are you completely daft? Show me where else you’re injured.”
The last of his patience dissolved and he stood, abruptly, startling her once more. His strong hands pushed through his hair, and Wyn saw the deep frustration carved into his features. Anything she would say would just make it worse, so she watched on, helpless as Lance paced the room, and then disappeared into her washroom. Sounds of rustling and cabinets opening and closing were heard, and he reemerged with a clean cloth, bandages, and a small basin of steaming water. As he set them all down beside her, Wyn attempted to sit up, but with a flick of his wrist she was pinned back down to the mattress.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Wyn struggled a little against the magic, but it was useless.
“Hush,” he said, and did away with her cloak and oversized cargo jacket with another wave of his fingers. “Don’t be more of a bother than you’ve been. Show me.”
Lance drew close to her, and for a moment they locked eyes. He was pleading with her, in his way, and Wyn knew that she couldn’t refuse, not unless she wanted to make things between them even more tense.
Sighing, she gripped the hem of her tattered tank top, and careful not to aggravate the burns on her body, pulled it up over her head.
There were a few black and blue bruises on her chest and stomach, and the burns were mild, on her ribs and just over her hip bones. Lance’s eyes scanned her body, stopping only for a second on the black lace of her bra. He swallowed hard and seemed to steel himself.
“Where else?” He croaked.
Wyn hesitated. He looked angrier than she’d ever seen him, and she wondered if after she revealed the rest, if he might leave her right then. If she could only explain the situation, if she could only tell him that she had done it for Christoph and the plans they were making—
She arched her back slightly off the bed, hooked her thumbs into her waistline, and peeled her trousers from her bruised legs. When she was done, she looked at Lance who had gone rigid.
“It looks worse than it is,” she said, sheepishly. Blighted hell. Now she was eager for him to say anything at all, to call her daft, and reckless, and that she had the brains of a rodent. Anything at all, other than the heavy silence that weighed in the room.
With heavy steps, Lance approached her, and leaned down, and Wyn looked on with wide eyes as he took her face gently in hands, and placed his lips on hers.
Taken off guard, Wyn gasped slightly, but soon melted in his grasp. He was fervent but soft, and it was soothing, as she sighed and let go of all the tension she held in her body. Sweet relief washed through her as he punctuated each kiss with one more.
When they pulled apart, Lance kept his face inches from hers and met her gaze.
“You’re the most dreadful pain in the arse,” he said, and pressed his forehead to hers.
“If I am such a bother, then why were you waiting for me in my room,” she asked, nipping at his nose.
“Because you’re also the love of my life,” he blushed, slightly, and frowned. “And I dread losing you so much, that I lose sleep. So, I came to find you and you were gone, again. Creator, you’re hopeless, can’t even help yourself, can you?”
Lance brushed his hand over the burns and cuts and applied healing magic, to his best ability. Most disappeared, and the ones left behind were much less painful. He worked to clean and bandage them as carefully as possible. When he was done, he sat by Wyn’s side, and the exasperated frustration was back.
“There, that should suffice,” he said. “I’m not Qelsum, mind you, but good luck explaining to him how you got the wounds in the first place—”
“I have the money for Christophs cake, and presents,” she blurted. Lance eyes widened.
“I thought I told you not to worry about that,” he said.
“And I ignored you,” she replied. “I wanted to play a part in making his day special. He means much to me, and I know how much he means to you. So, I won the money. Sort of.”
Lance’s eyebrow rose, and as the pieces came together, he sighed deeply, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“That’s what this is about? That’s what you were almost killed over?” He sounded angry again.
“I’m not a child, you know. I grew up in the slums, I can handle myself, and furthermore, you have no business—”
He grabbed the back of her neck and, this time, crushed his mouth against hers, silencing her. His other hand found itself tangled in her indigo hair, and Wyn grasped at the front of his shirt and collar, as she let him lay her back on to the mattress. Despite her being injured and exhausted just moments before, he breathed new life into her, deepening each kiss with the rotation of his head.
They pulled apart, panting.
“We shouldn’t,” Lance gusted. “Your injuries.”
“Don’t be thick,” Wyn said, and crawled over to straddle his lap. She ran her fingers through his disheveled hair and looked down at him, fondly, before licking a stripe across his bottom lip. He gasped, quietly, and then smirked.
“I should punish you for worrying me so,” he said, and sank his fingertips into the soft skin of her hips, guiding her to start riding his thighs through the cloth of her undergarments.
Wyn’s breath turned ragged as arousal pooled between her legs. Gripping his shoulders, she tried, and failed, to mask the quiver in her voice.
“What kind of punishment,” she said, but it came out as a whimper. He gave her a cocky smile and took his time gliding his fingers over her breasts, down her abdomen, and into the front of her panties. Wyn arched her back, leaning into his touch, anticipating pleasure as he found his way just before her slit, and stopped.
“I shan’t give you what you’re looking for until you promise you’ll cease going to the back alleys,” he said.
Wyn pushed her hips against his palm, but he did not yield, and she let out a sigh of frustration.
“And if I refuse?” She breathed.
The room spun, suddenly, and then she was on her back, looking up at Lance, with pupils wide and dark. A low growl rumbled from his throat as he bit down on the side of her neck with just enough pressure to make Wyn’s eyes flutter close from the sensation. He then ran the flat of his tongue over the spot, and she gasped, chest already heaving.
Soft lips left a trail of kissed from the dips of her collar bones, and down the soft mounds of her breasts. The calloused tips of his fingers trailed over her shoulders and slid the straps of her bra off, and as his mouth found one of her peaks, she keened and arched her back off the sheets. Pleasure melted like hot wax down the length of her spine, and Wyn shivered under the feel of his soft tongue.
A soft moan escaped her lips, and he stopped, abruptly. She looked down at him to see what caused the interruption but the look on his face said it was done on purpose.
“Promise me, and I’ll be lenient,” he repeated.
Wyn took a breath and breathed slowly out her nose. Surely, he wasn’t that serious about it. There was no way he would outlast her if this was the game they were playing.
“I shan’t,” she said, and smirked at him, confident that she would get her way, regardless. Lance raised an eyebrow and licked his lips.
“Are you quite sure?” He asked, and the low timbre of his voice sent another shiver down Wyn’s spine.
“Go on, then,” she said. “Do your worst.”
Lance’s eyes narrowed and smoldered. His hands moved to slide her panties down over her ankles, and he slid in between her legs, so she could feel his warm breath on her wet core.
“I’ll see to it you regret those words,” he said and laid his tongue flat over her entrance, and dragged it over her hardened bud, flourishing around it.
Wyn gasped, and gripped the iron bars of her bed, her mind suddenly completely blank. Biting on her lower lip to stifle her cries, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having her so easily subdued.
Lance knew his paramour, all too well, however, and knew she would do her blighted best to resist. As he swirled his tongue around her pink apex, he slipped two fingers through the velvet of her folds, and pumped, slowly, finally dragging choked moans from Wyn’s chest.
Heat and tension built up inside of her limbs, and her knuckles were now white against the cool bars. Her climax quickly approaching, she squeezed the sides of his head between her thighs and her mouth dropped open.
“L-lance,” her voice quaked. “I-I’m going t-to…please, I’m going—”
“Hmm?” He pulled his mouth from her, and the tension, the sweet pressure of her orgasm dwindled away.
Wyn sat up, immediately, chest falling and rising heavily, and looked at him, gob smacked and gutted. It felt as though the floor fell out from underneath her, and there he was, smirking up at her with vindication in his eyes.
“Why in seven hells did you stop,” she sobbed. “I was so cl—”
“Close?” Lance finished for her, and he seductively licked her slick on his lips. “I thought so.”
“What,” she said, still shaken.
“Make the promise, love,” he said, and nipped her thighs before getting off the bed to stand over her naked body.
Incredulous, Wyn gaped at him. He was serious. He was going to bring her to the brink, continually, until one of them finally broke, and gave into the other’s whims. And she wanted him. Badly. Her eyes trailed from his open buttoned up shirt, down his lean body, to the imprint of his erection pressing through the fabric of his trousers. He was breathing rather ragged, himself, and there was a flush in his cheeks. Tongue in cheek, she chuckled, wryly.
“What’s so funny,” Lance asked, eyebrow raised.
Wordlessly, Wyn slid off the bed, and on to the floor, where she kneeled before him, and undid his belt, making sure to make eye contact, the entire time. His eyes widened in realization, but he quickly steeled himself.
“This won’t work,” he said, but swallowed, thickly.
His cock now freed from its restraints, Wyn stroked the length of it in her hand, and gently kissed the tip. She could feel it throbbing in the palm of her hand, and she looked up at him, knowingly, and batted her eyelashes.
“If you’re sure,” she said, and took him into her mouth.
His head fell back, and a quiet groan of relented pleasure escaped him. Wyn, determined to exact her revenge, sank further down his length, and worked her tongue against his shaft. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and obscene, wet sounds filled the air, as she bobbed her neck and took more of him with each stroke, using her hand to glide the slick over him.
“Creator, Wyn—” Lance choked, and pushed his hands through the mess of her hair.
Knowing she had him where she wanted him, she went slower, excruciatingly slow, going deeper still, until she felt him at the back of her throat.
His cries were guttural, and the satisfaction ignited something in her core. Her sex twinged and dripped with pleasure, nearly bringing herself to climax, as she held her head down, until she felt him pulsing, ready to burst—
She pulled herself from him, gasping for air, grabbing his thighs to keep herself upright. Lips swollen and eyes wet with tears she looked up once more at Lance to see his jaw locked, and eyes pinched shut in frustration.
“What were you saying, love?” She asked innocently.
There was an eerie silence. Only the sound of their panting could be heard. Then the shuffling of clothes, as Lance magically did away with the rest of his garments, and lifted Wyn once more to the bed, where he crawled on top of her. He planted his hands on either side of her head and as he searched her face, he shook his head absently.
“Yield,” he rasped. Wyn shook her head in return, although she could feel her willpower wilting away as she breathed in the scent of the sweat on his skin.
“I shan’t,” she said, quieter this time.
Lance growled and, pinning both of her wrists to the sheets, kissed her, forcefully, pushing his tongue through her lips, and promptly biting down on her bottom lip, hard enough to draw a whimper from her.
Tears were filling Wyn’s eyes and the pressure in her loins was unbearable. She hadn’t lost, yet, though their threads were frayed and thin and the torture was driving her mad with need.
Lance growled, the sound raking against his throat like gravel and iron, as he aligned himself at her soaked, dripping entrance, and pushed the tip of his cock in.
Wyn arched her back, and mewled, trying desperately to push down on his length, but he held her firm in place.
He pressed his forehead to hers, and they could no longer tell whose limbs were trembling. Tears fell from the corner of her eyes, and she writhed, in exquisite agony.
“Yield,” Lance seethed through his teeth. “Creator’s sake, blighted hell, Wyn—”
“I y-yield!” Wyn sobbed, drinking the air. “I promise, I’ll stop going to the alleys, Lance, Creator please--!”
The sound of her pleas dissolved the sliver of restraint Lance had left, and he buried himself to the hilt inside of her. Warmth and the silk of her walls encased him, and they both moaned in tandem, relief and abandon stripping them of all pretense. He rocked his body flush against hers, and her world suddenly expanded to make room for him, to keep him there, in between her thighs, where he belonged, where he could fill her to the brim, and it would still never be enough. She was lost in a sea of sighs, and sweat, and hands, and tousled hair, and whispers, and the taste of salt on his skin, and did not want to come up for air.
Pleasure built itself to a mountainous peak inside her core with each thrust, and it wasn’t long before Wyn was sinking her nails into Lance’s shoulders and locking her legs tightly around his waist, trying to anchor before she was sent to oblivion.
“Lance…I-I’m going to come,” she whimpered. “I’m going to--!”
Stars blew apart on the back of her eyelids, and she wailed, crying out his name, the Creator’s, and cursing all seven hells. She felt Lance shudder against her, calling her name, before they melted into the sheets, stunned and sated, heavy with the afterglow.
They gasped for air for a few moments before turning their heads to look at the other. They burst into breathy laughter.
“Dragon’s teeth,” Lance said, tucking the sweat soaked strands of hair from Wyn’s forehead behind her ear. “You’re the most stubborn woman in all of Saligia.”
“Well,” she panted. “It seems I have finally met my match.”
He pulled her close, and she settled in the crook of his arm, with her head on his chest.
“Do you mean it though?” He asked, suddenly sounding quite sheepish. “I can’t stand the idea of you never coming home—”
“I promised,” Wyn said, and planted a chaste kiss on his jaw. “Although, I rather liked bargaining with you.”
Lance chuckled and held her tighter to him.
“I’m sure we’ll find something else to bicker over,” he said, and they nestled in between her sheets, as the first glow of morning began to peak into her still-open window.