COME BACK TO ME
summary: Just a burning passion in Viltrum... Would you go back to him?
warnings: fingerpicking, drama, strong language, blood, injuries, Nolan desperately seeking contact, Viltrumite rules.
tag: @jasyy15
author's note: just another fanfic I decided to write, this time featuring young Nolan. I hope you enjoy it! by the way, sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language! Happy reading!
"Damn it, Nolan, you look terrible," your voice comes out in a soft whisper, your lungs filling with air rapidly as you see your friend’s face.
His blue eyes were cast downward, slightly bruised as the Viltrumite healing process worked its way through—his face was bloodied, his nose broken, crimson trickles running from cuts on his lips.
"What happened?" You narrow your eyes as the automatic door closes behind Nolan after he enters your room. His shoulders are tense, he sniffs minutely, likely to stop the blood from dripping further from his nose.
"My... parents," he exclaims, looking like a statue amidst your inhospitable, small space. [Name] is sitting at your small desk, letting your pen rest beside the paper. "I reached the age of majority, didn't I?" Nolan laughs, low, but there is no real humor in it.
"That stupid Viltrumite tradition." You stand up, the chair dragging across the floor. Nolan doesn't tense up, he just stands there—while your fingers go vaguely to his chest, pushing him minutely toward the bed. "Let me take a look." He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
"There's no need," he assumes, harshly, feeling the softness of the mattress beneath him. You sit beside him, bending your leg slightly and leaning in. "You know how our traditions work."
"Bullshit," she suppresses a sigh, your fingers moving up from his chest to his chin, analyzing a contusion. "It doesn't matter if it's tradition, it's still bullshit." Your tone is lukewarm, slightly acidic. "And they went hard on you."
"I thought I was going to die," Nolan laughs softly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I thought my mother wouldn't hold back and would end up killing me right there." Again, there is no real humor. "I thought I wouldn't see you again..."
"Nolan," you sigh again, this time through your nose. However, he is faster—grabbing your hand with some force, making you lean over him a little. "You would come back to me, anyway."
Those words encourage you, definitely. He smiles, his lower lip bruised. The healing process is a bit slow, yet automatic—his ocean-blue eyes focused exclusively on you.
When did that start? Nolan doesn't remember. You are two young Viltrumites who had finally attained independence, who would conquer planets on behalf of Viltrum, but... all Nolan wanted most was to return to your arms.
"I thought of you, when my mother almost killed me," his fingers move to your wrist, caressing it. "The only thing I remembered was you... Your voice, your smile."
"Nolan," you call him, trying to reprimand him.
"Your moan," he inhales sharply, as if he were controlling himself. "Please... Let me feel you, again." Your [color] eyes widen.
You had promised that those furtive affairs between you would end—being young warriors, there was no space for love, or whatever that burning feeling meant.
"We can't," you try to pull away, but Nolan won't let you go. "You know we can't get into this."
"There is no Viltrumite law that forbids me from feeling you," he retorts, low, his eyes analyzing your body in that stupidly tight Viltrumite uniform. "God, [Name], let me suck you," he swears.
A shiver runs through your body, you tense up slightly at his words.
"You are all fucked up," you laugh softly, biting your lower lip while analyzing Nolan's face and his lowered eyes. "I don't want to mess up your cute little face even more."
"You won't," he assumes, low. His fingers tremble on your wrist, out of expectation. "I am a Viltrumite, you won't hurt me."
"I am not sitting on your face again," you reply, sharp, and Nolan's eyes close automatically with some force. "Especially since you are definitely that bad off."
"Damn it, [Name]," he starts again, low, panting. "Please... Just this once." It is visible, the growing erection in his uniform, as if he were holding himself back, but in the end, he was just too desperate.
"You always say that... Just this once," you breathe deeply, trying to control yourself, receiving that single remnant of consciousness while you feel your intimacy pulsing. "And it's never just once, Nolan... It's always many times."
Silence, inhospitable, Nolan's other hand grips your knee with some force, caressing it.
"What if I... get pregnant in one of these?" Your tone of voice is mild, however, that doesn't seem to affect Nolan directly. "I don't want to raise our child in this dictatorship, Nolan."
It is practical, your words fixed in his mind. Swallowing hard, agreeing with your words—however, still looking so desperate to feel you dissolve on his tongue.
"We won't raise our child in Viltrum," his fingers are quick, heading toward the waistband of your Viltrumite uniform. "I won't let it." He bites his lower lip, and you try to swear, to pull away, but you can't.
And with a single movement, he kisses you—it is soft at first, you feel the taste of blood in your mouth automatically. Metallic, saliva, and teeth... And everything seems to intensify when Nolan's fingers move inside your underwear.
You moan into his mouth when you feel his index finger separate your folds, collecting those remnants of lubrication that begin to leak. Your head falls back, your throat becoming exposed to Nolan, who proceeds to nibble and kiss.
"D—Don't leave marks," you repress, trying to create a single remnant of consciousness when Nolan simply shoves a finger into your soaking wet vagina, making your hips and legs tremble.
"I'll try," he lies, because in the end, he is going to leave a mark on you—however imperceptible it may be. His tongue goes to the pulse in your neck, sucking on your skin with unbridled affection, leaving a trail of saliva.
Your legs tremble when the Viltrumite's fingers insert themselves even deeper, almost into the folds. You close your eyes tightly, and you feel—the way Nolan moans low, hoarse, likely holding back some moans and swear words, as you were in the main dormitories of the east wing.
"You're sucking me in," he states, hoarse, panting when his thumb hits your clitoris with some force. You jump to the side automatically, that sensation dissipating through your body like fire. "You liked that, huh?" He moans in your ear, his other hand tangling in the nape of your neck.
"N—Nolan," you moan low, you need to control yourself, but it is impossible when he hits that unknown spot again. Obviously, you had had some joint relations before, but that sensation is... new, burning. "Sensitive."
"Sensitive, eh?" He laughs, squeezing that bundle of nerves with his fingers. "You're all wet... It slips easier that way," he grunts softly, and you finally open your eyes: seeing that blue immensity, his face still bruised, yet confident. "I wonder if I'll be able to get inside you now?" He asks, and you moan at that in such a spoiled way that something settles in your being.
However, the alarm echoes—low, a yellow light flashing on the white walls of your room. Nolan trembles, and you do too... Yeah, damn it, it's too much, and being interrupted at this hour left you frustrated.
"I need to go," however, Nolan grips your hips tightly. "My parents are waiting for me too," he grinds his teeth, his expression darkening.
"You don't need to go," his hands tremble as they withdraw from inside your pants. His fingers come out stained with lubrication, like spider webs. "We could... run away or just stay here..."
You pull away, low. And he looks at you as if you were the only thing capable of keeping him alive on that cursed planet.
"It's tradition." Nolan doesn't delay in pulling you in one last time, kissing you so desperately that it makes you moan.
His large hands help you with your clothes, and when he pulls away, he notices your pleading eyes: the look of an abandoned puppy, a slight pout forming on his lips stained with saliva and blood.
"Come back to me, okay?" You laugh softly, walking in stumbling steps toward the door.
"I will always come back."
Or maybe not.
