anatomy lesson
synopsis. you and rafayel have been living as humans for a while, yet there are parts of the human life he has yet to understand. human women’s life, that is. but you’re there to help your best friend!
pairing. best friend! rafayel qi x lemurian! non-mc! reader
content/mdni. fem!reader, best friends!au, lemurian!reader, non-mc!reader, , dom-ish!rafayel, tease!rafayel, slight condescending!rafayel, curious!rafayel, slight manipulative!rafayel, embarrassed!reader, semi-clothed sex, CLIT PLAY, FINGERING, orgasm (f receiving), teasing, cum eating, dirty talk, praise, pet names (muse, siren), no PIV but allusion to sex.
word count. 2.9k
a/n. rawr finally an actual fic. i needed a lemurian! reader smut, so i hope you don’t mind that too much. please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
the sun had slowly goldened itself, dripping liquid amber across the sky as it sank towards the horizon, painting rafayel’s mansion in warm, languid shades. the ocean outside was a humming, rhythmic breath, its soft roar a distant lullaby that seemed to seep through the walls.
a constant and steady reminder of the world you had both left behind.
you were nestled deep into the plush, oversized couch, its fabric a soft and cooling linen against your warm skin.
you wore only the slightest echo of clothing: a tiny tank top, the fabric so thin and stretched it was almost translucent, and a pair of shorts so brief they were merely a gesture, a shadow of decorum that did little to conceal the curves of your body.
you were trying to read, the book a heavy weight in your lap, but you were restless. you kept tossing, turning, shifting your weight from one hip to the other.
the movement a quiet, frustrated dance.
rafayel, sprawled in an armchair across from you, was supposedly skimming through a magazine. but his dual-coloured eyes were a thief, stealing glances at you.
he was a living sculpture of contrasts, his human form a well-tailored body he’d grown accustomed to, yet there was still something… undulating about him, a lemurian’s grace translated into long limbs and smooth movements.
his stare, usually as calm and deep as the sea, had a storm running beneath it.
why?
it was during one of your restless shifts — a turn that was just a little too sharp, a little too free — that the hem of your shorts hiked up, offering a brief yet startling glimpse of the valley between your thighs.
it was merely a moment, a flash of soft, shadowed skin, before the fabric fell back into place.
but it was enough.
the torrent lurking underneath his orbs brewed harsher.
“wait, wait.” he said, his voice a low and roughened whisper that cut through the sound of the unceasing waves. he put down his fashion magazine on the coffee table in front of him, his full attention now drew to your lower body.
“you– why don’t you wear panties?”
the question was so blunt, so direct, it should have been startling. but in the space between two good friends, with the sea’s rhythm and the golden light, it felt less like an intrusion and more like a natural curiosity.
you closed your book, marking the page by folding the upper corner, then tilted your head towards rafayel. there was no shame in you, only a hint of amusement.
like him catching you commando was something insignificant.
“they’re uncomfortable.” you said simply, your voice a soft hum. “i don’t understand why human women wear them. it’s like they’re enjoying feeling suffocated 24/7.”
“suffocated?” rafayel frowned, his brow knitting in genuine confusion. “but... you’re human now. doesn’t it feel… natural? to the way your body is shaped now?” his gaze shamelessly flickered down to the spot where your thighs met, a quick look at the place that made his ears burn slightly red.
he returned to your face soon though, seeking your answer.
“it’s different to me.” you admitted, sitting up slightly, the motion causing your tank top to stretch tensely across your chest. “when we were in the sea, we had... well, a slit. a mere fold, but nothing like this.” you gestured vaguely at your own lap. “this is more... intimate. it’s partly hidden, protected by folds of skin.”
“it feels weird to cover it with tight ass panties.”
rafayel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his interest palpable in his furrowed gaze. the golden light caught the curve of his lip, hinting at a devilish smirk. “hmm, i don’t know.” he muttered back, a sing-song tone dominating his words. “i’ve never had that issue.”
“maybe because your panties have nothing to strangle–”
“excuse you? matter of fact, i do–”
“you can’t really compare women’s and men’s anatomy. it’s all different.”
and with that, you hoped rafayel’s strange curiosity would be satisfied at once. you even extended your arm towards your previously abandoned book, ready to dive back into the section you’ve discarded.
but it was all put on hold as his unfathomable proposal filled your ears.
“show me then.” he said casually, his voice a low purr. despite the low intensity, it somehow managed to drown out the sound of the crashing waves, cracking goosebumps all over your skin and even making your thighs quiver with sudden arousal.
“i want to understand women’s anatomy too.”
this fucker.
you laughed, a light, bubbling sound that floated out of your constricted throat, trying to cover up the embarrassment such a request created. “no, you pervert. look it up on the internet like everyone else.”
but as much as you wanted to reject him, there was no real heat in the refusal. only a teasing challenge.
testing the waters.
“but you’re right here.” he persisted, his voice inflected with a sultry persuasion. his eyes, those beautiful, gleaming orbs, were darkened by his growing pupil — swallowing the colour as raw desire took over.
“you’re a living, breathing human woman. why would i want a lifeless picture on a screen when i can learn from the muse herself?”
and with that he stood, the motion smooth as a dolphin cutting through water, and moved to sit on the edge of coffee table, right in front of you.
rafayel was extremely close now, his knees almost brushing your closed ones. his presence was warm, salty like the sea.
and undoubtedly intoxicating.
“come onnnn.” he whispered, his voice a murmur of the ocean at night. tempting you. wooing you. “just a glimpse. just to satiate my curiosity. then i’ll stop being such a pest.”
the way he looked at you, with a mixture of adoration and restrained hunger, was your undoing. you felt the well-known heat of arousal pool in your own belly, a response to his intensity that you couldn’t quite ignore.
“fine.” you sighed, your own voice threaded with a nervous excitement. “but just a look. and then you stop.”
with slow, deliberate movements, you shifted on the couch, turning slightly so you were facing him more directly. parting your knees, you allowed rafayel to lean forward into your body. then, carefully, you hooked your thumbs around the center of your shorts, the barely-there material that covered your cunt, hesitated for a mere moment, and then gently pulled the gusset to the side.
“s-shit.”
the fabric slid aside like a curtain drawn back from a secret stage, revealing the most intimate part of you.
the golden light of the dying sun poured across your skin, illuminating every nook and cranny of your sex. the lips of your pussy were trembling slightly, showing a softer texture that deepened where they folded into one another, dewy and glistening with the faintest sheen of arousal.
arousal that had gathered there without your conscious permission.
you watched his face, waiting for the shock, the awkward retreat, the apology that would let you both laugh this off and return to your friendship.
rafayel did not retreat.
his breath caught — a sharp yet stuttered inhale that seemed to pull all the air from the room into his lungs. his eyes had gone utterly dark: the pupils had swallowed nearly everything, leaving only thin rims of color that burned with an intensity that made your stomach clench.
and more wetness to drip down.
“fucking hell.” he groaned, and the curse was more of a prayer.
he leaned closer, his elbows digging into his knees, his face now mere inches from the place you’d just exposed. you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your inner thighs, could smell him — salt and musk, the scent of lemurian waters stirred from their depths.
“rafayel–” you called out at his lack of words, your voice already thinner than you intended.
should you close your legs? should you–
“shh.” his hand came up right on time. not touching, just hovering. his fingers, long and elegant, trembled slightly as they traced an arc through the air above your skin. “let me look. just… let me look at you.”
the awe in his voice stole the protest from your lips.
“you’re so…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing as though language itself was failing him. “it’s not like the diagrams. not like the paintings.” his fingers drifted lower, still not touching, and you felt your thighs clench involuntarily at the nearness.
“it’s wet. you’re already wet, aren’t you?”
heat flooded your cheeks at his remark, your stomach flipping at his straightforwardness. “that’s– that’s just how it is. it’s normal.”
“is it?” he tilted his head, that curious, damn attractive motion he still had despite the passing of time. “or is it because of me? because you wanted me to look?” his lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, something sharper and darker.
the grin of a man that knew what he was doing to his target.
“you’re so delicate here. soft. like the inside of a shell.” his finger finally — finally — descended, tracing the outer seam of your folds without parting them fully, just skating along the edge where your thigh met your cunt. “and so warm. i can feel the heat coming off you.”
your hips jerked, an involuntary movement towards his touch that you couldn’t quite control. the sound that escaped you was embarrassingly close to a whimper, a clear indicator of the reaction your friend had on you.
“oh?” he said, and now there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice. “you like that.”
“i said just a look.” you bit back immediately, but your voice had gone breathy, unrecognizably weak.
“you did.” he hummed as his finger traced back up, circling now, yet still not quite touching the parts that ached with need. “but then you moved. you wanted me to touch you, didn’t you? you could have pulled your shorts back. but you didn’t.” his eyes flicked up to yours, and in them you saw the storm fully consuming him.
“you want this as much as i do.”
before you could answer — before you could even formulate a denial that neither of you would believe — he moved.
his hand settled against your skin, palm flat against the top part of shorts, and his thumb found the hood of your clit with an accuracy that spoke of either instinct or careful study.
and to make it all worse (or actually better), he pressed down, just barely, making you see stars.
“there.” he mused, watching your face now instead of your cunt, labeling every micro-expression with the focus of a researcher and the hunger of a predator. “that’s the spot, isn’t it? that little pearl hidden up here.”
his thumb circled, agonizingly slow, and your hips chased the motion, twitching with every twist of his hinger. “raf–”
“what does it feel like…” he asked, genuinely curious, as though you weren’t falling apart beneath his hand right in front of his eyes. “when i do this?”
“it’s– hnn– ahhh– it’s sensitive. too sensitive.”
“too sensitive?” he lifted his thumb immediately, feigning worry, and the loss of contact made you whine, made you reach for his wrist.
“but you don’t want me to stop, do you? your body says something different.”
he wasn’t wrong.
you could feel yourself growing wetter, could feel the slickness spreading, making his eventual descent towards your quivering hole inevitable. your shorts were pushed so far to the side now they might as well not exist, material stretched to extremes, and your thighs had fallen open of their own accord, presenting yourself to him like an offering.
“please.” you heard yourself say, and you weren’t even sure what you were begging for.
“please what?” he leaned down, and you felt his lips brush the inside of your knee, feather-light. teasing you with his plush lips and wet tongue. “use your words, little siren. tell me what you need.”
“touch me. properly.”
his smile was devastating, earning another glob of slick from your sticky cunt. “properly. i like that.”
and then his fingers — two of them, clever and confident — slid through your folds, gathering the slickness there, spreading it upwards to where his thumb was already circling again.
the sound it made was obscene, a drenched, sticky noise that seemed to fill the quiet room, and you felt your face flame even as your hips rocked into his hand.
guiding him to penetration.
“that’s–” he paused, his fingers stilling at your entrance, and you could feel how close they were, how easily they could slip inside. “that’s the opening? that’s where you’d take me?”
“ughgh– rafayel.”
“i want to hear you say it.” his thumb pressed harder against your clit, making you jerk against the couch. “this is anatomy study, remember? tell me what i’m touching.”
you were going to kill him. or fuck him.
possibly both.
“that’s my vagina.” you gritted out, the clinical word feeling absurdly out of place with your hips grinding against his steady hand. “my cunt. my pussy. whatever you want to call it. now will you please–”
he pushed in.
two fingers slid inside you in one smooth motion, and whatever you were about to say dissolved into a choked cry. he filled you perfectly, his fingers, longer and thicker than your own, reaching places you’d never quite managed to find yourself.
the stretch was exquisite, the fullness sending sparks up your spine.
making your head lol back in pleasure.
“ohhh, fuckkkkk.” he breathed, and now his voice had lost its teasing edge, gone rough and needy. “nghh– that’s– you’re so tight. so hot inside. i can feel you squeezing me.”
he curled his fingers experimentally, and your vision whited out for a moment at the edges. only your moans and the blurry view of the ceiling were registered by your mushy brain. when it slowly materialized back to reality, you were gripping his forearm with both hands, your nails digging crescents into his skin.
and he was watching you with the most ferocious concentration you’d ever seen on his face.
“there.” he said, not asking. “that was the spot. i found it.”
rafayel pressed again, harder, and you cursed out loud, thighs convulsing harsh around his hand, threatening to close completely.
“raf– fuck– don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“wasn’t planning to.” his thumb found your clit again, working it in tight circles while his fingers pumped slowly in and out, fucking you with a rhythm that was at once gentle and utterly relentless.
“you’re so wet. i can hear it. i can feel it dripping down my hand. is that all for me?”
“yes.” you sobbed.
because it was, it was all for him. every drop of slick, every flutter of your walls around his fingers, every desperate sound falling from your lips.
“good.” he leaned forward, and his lips brushed your inner thigh, his breath hot and uneven. “because i’ve wanted this. wanted to know what you’d sound like. what you’d look like. what it would feel like to have you fall apart on my fingers.”
his fingers crooked again, finding that spot inside you and pressing, pressing, pressing, and you felt the coil in your belly wind tighter than it ever had before.
“you’re close.” he observed, and there was awe in his voice. “i can feel you fluttering. you’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? going to soak my hand like the good little muse that you are.”
you couldn’t answer. couldn’t breathe. the world had narrowed to the place where his hands worked you open, to the swishing sounds he was pulling from your body, to the heat building behind your eyes and between your legs.
“come on.” he whispered, and his voice was like the pull of the tide. calling you to obey. “cum for me. show me what you look like when you fall.”
so you fell.
the orgasm crashed through you like a wave, like the ocean you’d left behind, endless and unstoppable.
you cried out — his name, maybe, or something wordless, you couldn’t tell — and your body arched into his hand, your cunt clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever. through it all, he held you, his fingers still pistoning inside you, his thumb still circling lazily, drawing out every last shudder, every last drop.
when you finally collapsed back against the couch, boneless and trembling, he withdrew his fingers slowly, carefully. and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his lips.
“ra-raffff?!”
he tasted you without hesitation, his eyes closing as his lips engulfed his digits, a sound of pure pleasure rumbling in his chest.
“so so sweet, my siren.” he murmured, and when his eyes opened again, they were still hungry. but fueled by something more primal. “but now i wonder…”
he was already slanting over you, his body covering yours, his knee pushing between your thighs and opening you once more. and you could feel it — hard and ready against your hip, wanting to go beyond foreplay.
“you wonder...” you managed, breathless, eyes glued to the cock print in his loose pants. “what exactly?”
his laugh was dark and low, and when his palm found the soft curve of your tummy, his index and thumb spread. drawing an invisible line through your belly button.
“how many inches can go inside?”
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