Luck of the Irish
Jordan Parrish knew St. Patrick's Day was coming, and he also knew his boyfriend Y/N had a mischievous streak when it came to pinching anyone not wearing green. Determined to avoid the inevitable pinches, Jordan had come up with what he thought was a foolproof plan: wearing a pair of bright green shamrock-print underwear and nothing else all day.
As he walked around the house shirtless, displaying the vibrant green fabric barely covering his hips, Jordan smirked. "No pinching today. I'm wearing green."
Y/N leaned against the doorframe, eyes slowly trailing down Jordan's chest and abdomen to the waistband of his underwear. "That's clever, deputy."
"I thought so." Jordan said proudly, turning to show off the back.
Y/N's smirk grew. "But you know, there's more than one way to make someone feel lucky on St. Patrick's Day."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, Y/N stepped closer, fingers tracing the elastic of Jordan's underwear. "This green is nice, but I was thinking about a different kind of pinch today."
Jordan's breath hitched as Y/N's hand moved lower, palm pressing against him through the fabric. "Y/N..."
"You're not wearing much." Y/N whispered, leaning in to kiss Jordan's neck. "Makes it easier to get to you."
Jordan swallowed hard, feeling his body responding despite his intentions. "That's not... that's not fair."
"All's fair in love and St. Patrick's Day." Y/N murmured, other hand sliding up Jordan's chest.
Within minutes, Jordan's plan had backfired spectacularly. He was now hard and wanting, the shamrock underwear suddenly feeling too tight. Y/N's clever loophole had worked, and now Jordan was the one feeling trapped.
"Brat." Jordan growled, but there was no heat in it.
"You love it." Y/N replied, teasing Jordan with practiced ease.
Jordan's eyes flashed with orange—the telltale sign of the hellhound within him stirring. "You're pushing your luck."
"Am I?" Y/N challenged, hand slipping beneath the waistband of the green underwear.
That was all it took. Jordan let out a low growl as he grabbed Y/N, pulling him close. The hellhound was fully awake now, its desires merging with Jordan's. In one swift motion, Jordan had Y/N pressed against the wall, mouth claiming his in a demanding kiss.
"You wanted to play games?" Jordan's voice was deeper now, rougher. "Let's play."
Clothes were shed in a frenzy of movement. Y/N found himself bent over the couch, Jordan behind him, the green underwear now on the floor. There was no gentleness in Jordan's movements—only raw need and possessiveness.
"You like being a brat?" Jordan asked, positioning himself.
Y/N could only moan in response as Jordan entered him in one swift thrust. The pace was punishing from the start, Jordan's hips snapping against Y/N's with bruising force. The hellhound's influence was clear in the primal way Jordan took him, hands gripping Y/N's hips hard enough to leave marks.
When Y/N became too loud, Jordan paused, grabbing the discarded shamrock underwear from the floor. "Open up."
Y/N complied, and Jordan stuffed the underwear into his mouth, effectively muffling his cries. The taste of Jordan's arousal mixed with his own saliva was intoxicating, pushing Y/N closer to the edge.
"That's much better." Jordan grunted, resuming his relentless rhythm. "Now you can't complain about being pinched."
The combination of Jordan's size, the hellhound's raw power, and the humiliation of being gagged with his own underwear sent Y/N spiraling into pleasure. He came hard, body convulsing around Jordan's length.
Jordan followed soon after, burying himself deep with a guttural cry that was more hellhound than human. For a moment, he stayed there, breathing heavily against Y/N's back before slowly pulling out.
When he removed the underwear from Y/N's mouth, there was a mixture of satisfaction and concern in his eyes. "Too much?"
Y/N shook his head, voice hoarse. "Perfect."
Jordan smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N's shoulder. "Happy St. Patrick's Day, brat."
"Luck of the Irish, I guess." Y/N replied with a weak grin, already planning next year's loophole.
