Down Comes the Claw
Jamil thinks he’s finally caught you.
Turns out, he’s just provoked you to sink your teeth into him.
This sure has been a long time coming. Y'all can thank dio for enabling me to actually write this. Includes: age difference (you're older than Jamil), reader's not Yuu, dominant reader, hair pulling, spanking/impact play, pegging / anal play, some name calling / degradation, overstimulation, a bit of questionable conduct from reader, and just, so much smutty smut with just a sprinkling of plot on top. Could be considered brat-taming, maybe? Basically, not cuteness aggression but hotness aggression. Hope y'all enjoy!
Jamil Viper fancies you, and it is kind of a problem.
It is not that you mind him – quite the opposite, in fact.
But, since you're well past that age yourself, you do mind getting involved with a man who can’t be far out of college.
Even if said man does have his charms.
So you keep on rebuffing him gently, striving to keep your interactions purely friendly.
Even if sometimes you find your eyes lingering on him, or his on you in return.
Even if sometimes, the temptation is rather hard to resist.
Just the way Jamil looks… He’s certainly easy enough on the eyes. That hair, those eyes, just the way he moves…
And sensible, too, so very mindful of what he does. With glimmers of something mischievous, yet determined underneath.
Yet, for anything more than looking, you’d rather stick with someone a little closer to your age.
Jamil, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have such reservations.
Of course, it isn't like him to shower you with outright declarations. But it is clear enough that he keeps on poking and prodding, seeking a way in.
Finding reasons for you to spend time together – even when you start out with a group, you keep on ending up with just the two of you.
Lingering touches that inch on being more than friendly – he certainly seems to find more than enough excuses for those.
All the little things he does for you, showing you just how much attention he pays to you. Things you’ve mentioned off-handedly, things you’ve not even considered, he has a knack for seeing to them all.
And his eyes… the way his gaze seems to burn, whenever you’re the only one to see it.
Of course, every time you set down a boundary, Jamil gracefully pulls back, as if he'd never been toeing it in the first place.
But then he finds a new angle, a new line of approach.
Making your heart flutter, even as you try to keep your wits about you.
He’s persistent, you’ll give him that.
And sure, it is peeving, the way he won’t take your no for an answer.
“You’re certainly aware of how much older I am than you, right?” you’d told him one time, finding yourself somewhere between exasperation and wry amusement. After all, you’d been dropping more than hints before - and Jamil was anything but oblivious.
And his response?
“I am, yes.”
He had said it like you were just discussing the weather, mentioning the inconsequential fact of the gentle breeze blowing on your skin.
Yet, you have to admit, it is flattering, too. That someone like him would express such interest in you. So, while you’re not sure just where all this attention is coming from, you can’t help enjoying it even as you try not to encourage Jamil too much.
And perhaps, if you’re quite honest with yourself, there is something rather thrilling about being chased.
So why not enjoy it while it lasts?
After all, Jamil certainly can’t keep on trying to woo you forever.
Or keep on trying to get in your pants, as it might be. You still aren’t quite sure.
Not that it matters that much, if things aren’t going to progress beyond harmless flirting, anyway.
Yet, eventually Jamil squirms his way all too close to you – in the privacy of your own home, too, just to drive the point home.
It’s clear Jamil thinks he’s already won, getting this far. Pressed against you on your couch, lips hot on yours, hands roaming your body.
“Would it reassure you to know I'll do anything you ask?” he murmurs, his voice smooth silk wrapping around your ear.
“Yeah? You’re just gonna be a good boy and call me mistress?” you ask with a laugh. As if.
“Yes, mistress.”
Oh, he doesn’t mean it. Not really – not with that teasing glint in his eye and that challenging grin on his lips.
But you could make him mean it.
If he insists on giving himself to you, you will take it.
Take everything he can give you and then some.
So you let go, bury your fingers in that wonderfully soft, thick hair, firmly tugging his head to where you want it. Delighting in that soft, breathy sound of surprise it pulls out of Jamil, the sudden tension you feel beneath your hands.
“If you insist,” you purr, sucking on that spot where Jamil’s neck met his shoulder – your lips finally learning the shape of that tantalizing curve which your eyes are already far too familiar with. “I hope you’re ready.”
Your other hand delves between Jamil’s legs, bold and claiming as you trace the shape of his arousal. Delightfully hard already, a wonderful gasp falling from Jamil’s lips as his hips stutter.
Well. Perhaps you grasped him a little more firmly than was strictly necessary.
But who could blame you, really?
“Hmm? Something on your mind?” you ask, the veneer of innocence thin enough to verge on mocking.
“Nothing.”
You can’t help but laugh with the heightened pitch of his voice and the way he’s trying to downplay his fluster. Undeterred by the tightness of his grip, you nip his neck – determined to find all the spots to pull reactions out of him.
It’s so unfair how pretty he is.
Splayed over your bed, half of his clothes discarded in various places over your apartment. Hair a mess around him after you’d insisted on seeing it undone – or rather, had seen to it yourself before he had a chance to protest, your fingers unable to keep away now that you had the chance.
His chest is already decorated with your bites and scratches, rising and falling in a hypnotically ragged rhythm.
You roll your hips against his, just to crack that composure a little further. A punishment for the way he affects you – yet of course, every groan, every twitch, every grasp of his hands, only inflames you further.
Yet, that smirk still remains, that satisfaction he’s clinging to, like he’s still getting his way.
As if.
“Have you tried bondage before?” you ask, oh so casually, while reaching for the drawers of your bedside table.
“Bondage?”
You can feel the way he stiffens beneath you, muscles tensing under your palm.
“Mhmm. You know, being tied up,” you clarify – rather unnecessarily, you’re sure.
You drag the cuffs over Jamil’s peaked nipples, watch the way he licks his lips.
He really has to stop looking so delicious, or you won’t know what to do with him to sate your hunger.
He takes to the spanking even better than you dreamed. In the mirror, you see the way his eyes squeeze shut, his mouth falling open despite himself.
Of course, he had tried to hide his face in the sheets, had tried to avoid seeing the way his reflection looked.
But now his hair is wrapped firmly around your hand, head yanked back, his spine in a delightful curve.
“Come on, don’t get shy on me now,” you taunt him, your paddle landing on Jamil’s sore buttock in another burst of warmth that jolts all the way up to the base of his skull.
“Just keep that mouth open. Let me hear every noise that wants to bubble up. It’ll be so sweet, I promise,” you croon, momentarily settling the paddle aside to brush your fingers soothingly over the back of his thigh.
With every strike, you remember all those times Jamil pushed you, poked you, tried to get under your skin.
And with every strike, you get your retribution as his cries rise in volume and pitch, turning from involuntary gasps and whimpers to beautiful, drawn-out moans.
And then Jamil cries out your name, an actual plea, and your body is wrecked with a shudder that pools into a burst of warmth in your core.
You’re forced to take a slow breath before your hands run away from you, before your urges get before your senses.
“Just like that,” you praise Jamil, your eyes meeting through the mirror. “Just a few more. You can do that for me, won’t you?”
And he does.
Oh does he.
And all the while, your core clenches to the point of bursting, the warmth of your arousal pooling beneath you.
You can’t help it.
You need to clear your head before you absolutely lose your mind.
Need to feel that beautifully aching cock inside you.
So you make Jamil fuck you, your hand grasping onto the chain connecting his cuffs together like some kind of reins.
You warn him against coming, of course. He told it to you himself – he’ll do anything you ask. And you’d so love hate to punish him for misbehaving.
You’re not sure which one of you groans louder, squeezes their eyes tighter, when he slides his way into your sopping cunt.
“Mmm, yeah, just like that, nice and slow” you urge him, savoring the sensation.
And savoring the sight of Jamil. Brows furrowed in concentration, the usually sharp eyes tinted with a certain delicious faraway look. His hair a tangle, his whole body coiled.
And it’s all your handiwork.
Oh, he’s trying so hard, you can tell. Trying to hold back, even as he yearns to sink inside you in earnest. Fingers twitching against your skin, not quite able to grasp you as he’d like.
“You feel so good,” he groans, voice wavering. “Why won't you let me take care of you properly, hmm? Let us both feel so good.”
“Nope.” You flash him a grin, all sharp and certain. “And surely you wouldn’t be the sort to disappoint me so quick, now would you?” The purred words are a lure, an all too obvious bait.
You can see the flash in Jamil’s eyes, as quick as he is to hide it.
Not tamed yet.
But he will be.
So you respond by digging your fingers into his sore ass, relishing in the hiss he gives in response.
After all, he’d been the one to offer himself to you on a silver platter.
Wasn’t your fault if you only took that which was offered to you.
When it seems Jamil’s control is about to crumble, you make him finish you on his fingers, that clever, deft mouth latched onto your chest – his aching, unspent cock twitching against your thigh.
For a moment, you think you can feel him hump against your leg, and the thought fills you with wicked satisfaction. Enough to push you over the edge, to slick Jamil’s still-cuffed hands with the fruits – or fluids – of his labor.
Yet far from enough to sate you, even as you afford him with praise and pleasured sighs.
By the time you’ve taken out your strap and prepare to slide it inside, Jamil’s skin is slick with sweat and flushed with exertion. He trembles beneath you as you trace your palms along the alluring lines of his back, taking in every delightful curve, every twitch of muscle.
He truly is a work of art from all angles.
Looking at him now, the long lines of his body accentuated by the way his wrists are tied together at the end of the bed, pulling taut his torso…
Delicious doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“Relax,” you purr, massaging the firm globes of his ass that fit so wonderfully into your palms. “I’ll make sure you’ll feel good.”
Jamil gives a frustrated grunt in response, impatiently tugging on his cuffs and shifting his hips.
With the way you’ve been edging him, ruining his orgasms one after another – while seeing to your own – you can’t quite blame him for that reaction. He's tasted you, touched you, filled you, all for your benefit – and his torment.
Yet it was only fair for you to get some recompense for your frustrations, was it not?
Oh so slowly, you spread his ass cheeks apart and press the tip of your toy against the hole you’ve been so carefully coaxing open for you. The wet squelch of lube is drowned out by a most delightful gasp from Jamil, the sound turning into a drawn-out groan as you inexorably push your way inside.
“There we go,” you murmur, running your hands along his spine as you rock your way deeper and deeper.
“Make sure you tell me what you like the most, hmm?”
Whether you’ll do what he asks, or simply go for whatever gives you the best reactions, is another matter altogether.
Yet, it seems by now, you need to do surprisingly little to earn the music that graces your ears. The whines, the groans, the pleas… You revel in every single one of them, savoring the spoils of your conquest.Oh, you’ll make him sing yet.
It’s a breathtaking sight when you finally allow Jamil his climax. When his pleas sound earnest rather than calculated, when your desire to see him undone overrides your desire to stretch him thinner – that’s when instead of pulling him back from that ledge, like you’ve done time and again, you finally allow him to fall, straight into your clutches.
Besides, you do need to reward him sometimes for being so good for you. Almost as obedient as he’d promised.
Your thumb is between his lips, pressing down on his tongue to ensure not a sliver of his pleasure escapes your ears. The thrumming quiver of his muscles breaks into something violently ecstatic – hips stuttering, muscles rippling, body jerking in your grasp like he’s feeling too much and not enough all at once. His groans are heavenly, his pleasure intoxicating.
And his face… So achingly blissed out and relieved that you almost feel bad for putting him through the wringer.
Almost.
“One more time for me,” you coax him.
It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve pushed him over – what matters is that it’s not enough.
“More?” Jamil manages to pant, clearly struggling to accept the concept.
“Mhmm. More,” you confirm, your tone sickly sweet.
He may think his body has no more left to give.
That just means you have to up the ante.
Multiple points of pleasure, cresting and cresting and cresting, as your toys, fingers and mouth all do their work.
Relentlessly pushing him over, again and again – sometimes with you, sometimes after you, sometimes just for you to watch and enjoy.
As much as he can give, and a little more besides.
You don't notice how ragged your own breaths are, how your pulse is racing, hot and molten and bursting at the pit of your stomach.
Not when your body and mind are both consumed by the man before you, writhing in the throes of remorseless pleasure – and the jagged edges that follow, the burn that sears once it can no longer merely warm.
And you, the firestarter, fanning the flames ever higher because there’s no other option you could accept.
“No, please…” Jamil gasps, body spasming as you find yet another raw nerve, as you demand even more of him.
“No?” You croon, breath hot and heavy in his ear, tongue wet at his lobe.
“And how many times have I told you no without you listening? Told you to back off?” It’s an accusation, plain and simple. Promise of your continued retribution.
So, your fingers curl, your teeth bite, and Jamil's hips buck, a drool-coated whimper falling from his lips.
You wonder if you've ever seen him as authentic as this, as thoroughly stripped of any pretense.
You've certainly never seen him prettier.
Then again, that’s what you keep on thinking nearly every moment, every second you plunge him deeper and deeper into your abyss.
The utter ruin of him, slick and hot and relentless. It certainly is a good look on him. An exquisite one.
For once, Jamil can’t think, every coherent thought shattering into pieces as soon as he tries to grasp it. There’s only the haze, the never releasing coil in his body, the cloying heat that leaves him numb and raw all at once.
The pulse.
The throb.
Wave after wave of inescapable sensation, pulling on frayed nerves and trembling muscles, suffocating and blissful all at once.
He’s long ago forgotten to worry about the noises he’s making, the mess he is, because simply trying to understand the words you speak takes up all the capacity he has left.
All he can do is survive – survive the onslaught, the tide, the endless fire you’re dragging him through.
And brace for the unfathomable feeling of losing this, eventually having to come back to his senses.
If he could forever take leave of those senses, he would.
For even as he rails against the overwhelming nature of it, the blend of too much and still not enough – or would rail, had he still the strength for it… The alternative, the possibility of it all coming to an end, feels even worse.
And through the haze, you fill his ears, his veins, latching your hooks into his very bones. You pull open his cracks and fill them with your own essence, until he fears he might just shatter if you were to suddenly pull apart. Until he cannot fathom how he could function, how he could breathe, without you woven into him.
“So, are you mine?” you coo, lifting up Jamil’s chin.
“Yeah, nnhh…” Jamil swallows thickly, eyelashes fluttering. “Your slut.”
Fuck.
That has no right to sound as hot as it does.
You inhale sharply, trying to keep some control over the itch to push, to have, to own.
“My slut, huh? Well, well, haven't you changed your tone,” you croon, thumb brushing Jamil's bitten lower lip.
And the way he looks back at you, spent, hazy, yet somehow adoring…
Like he doesn’t regret a single moment of this.
Oh, you can’t take it.
You can’t take it without letting it out on him, without making him the full, utter weight of just what he does to you.
You smother Jamil’s ragged breaths with your sodden cunt, one set of fingers curled in his hair and the other on the headboard.
After all, you weren't cruel.
That is: cruel enough to make him move – much – when he is all boneless, all but a mess of nerves and flesh.
"You really have been such a good little slut for me, letting me have my fun," you breathe out as you rock feverishly against his tongue, aching for just a little bit more.
More of him, more of the bloom, the pleasure, the heat. The power.
More.
And you’re starting to wonder if it will be possible to ever have enough.
In the end, you bring him down slowly.
Toys give way to hands and lips – still making him twitch, making him gasp, but no longer burning.
Squeezing and pushing turn into caressing and cradling – gasps into groans, moans into gentle hums.
You do actually like him, after all – perhaps even more after all this.
And when Jamil’s breathing finally evens out, when you’re nothing more than skin against skin, the fumbling brush of his lips on your shoulder suffuses your chest with unbearable warmth.
“You know… I'm starting to think I might actually keep you.” The teasing is softer, more gentle now. Now that you've gotten the urges out of your system – mostly, at least.
Jamil actually has the audacity to scoff.
"You’d better,” he complains, burying into you like a petulant child.
You laugh and pepper kisses on his darkened cheeks.
Perhaps you will, indeed.
Perhaps he's more than worth it. More than worth breaking your own rules for.
And perhaps there is no other way to satisfy the hunger he’s awakened in you. To manage the itch still lurking beneath your skin.
Besides, when you’re tangled up like this, Jamil burrowed against your side, when he looks at you with that mock offense and exhausted satisfaction…
This might be him at his prettiest, in the end.
Fic tag list:
@colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist
@lex752 @perilous-pasta @twstgo @moonyasnow
If you'd like to be
added to the tag list
removed from it
only be tagged for sfw/nsfw
just let me know!