You’d gone to the hospital to pick him up after the accident—a nasty fall during a late-night basketball game with his brothers. He’d broken his leg clean, but you still wanted to kill him for being so smug about “still winning the game.”
“Stop smirking,” you told him as you helped him through your apartment door, your other hand holding a plastic bag of his pain meds. “You’re not hot shit right now, Choso. You’re a cripple in Hello Kitty pajamas.”
He’d just grunted, but when you turned your head, his eyes had lingered on you, tight black t-shirt, hair messy from rushing out to get him, irritation written all over your face. He’d licked his lips like you were the dessert after the painkillers.
That was two weeks ago.
Now, the Choso you knew, your tall, muscled, silver-ringed, black-nailed boyfriend, was starting to unravel. Being stuck in your apartment, not able to do much, had turned him restless. And restless Choso was dangerous.
You’d just walked out of the room for thirty seconds to grab a glass of water when his voice called out, low and rough, “Babe?”
You came back to find him sitting on the couch in those same pajama pants, leg stretched out on a pillow, head tilted back against the cushions. His chain bracelet caught the lamplight as he reached for you.
“I was gone for half a minute,” you said, raising a brow.
“That’s thirty seconds too long,” he muttered, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts as soon as you were in range. “Come here.”
You rolled your eyes, but his grip was warm and insistent, the silver of his rings cold against your skin. He tugged you down until you were half on his lap, half braced against the couch.
“Choso, your leg—”
“Is fine. I don’t care.” His voice had dropped lower, that dangerous rasp you knew meant trouble. His thumb brushed under the hem of your shirt, tracing over your ribs. “Two weeks stuck here, baby. Two weeks of you walking around in little shorts, wearing my shirts… you’re killing me.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Oh? Poor baby can’t handle a little teasing?”
His hand slid higher, palm flat against your back as he pulled you closer until you felt his breath at your ear. “It’s not teasing when I’m this close to fucking you right here,” he whispered, slow and deliberate, “and I don’t care if I can’t bend my leg right.”
The heat that rolled off him was suffocating, his cologne faint but still clinging to his shirt, the flex of his bicep under your palm, the steady weight of his rings pressing into your thigh where his hand rested.
“Someone’s needy,” you teased, though your voice wasn’t nearly as steady as you wanted.
He grinned. The kind of grin that meant he knew he had you. “You have no idea.” His mouth found your neck, slow, open-mouthed kisses dragging against your skin until his teeth grazed the spot he liked to leave marked.
Your breath caught. “Baby…”
“Yeah?” His lips brushed your jaw.
“You’re not getting laid until you say you love the Hello Kitty pants.”
He froze for half a second, then huffed against your skin. “Oh I love the pants. Now take your shirt off.”
The laugh that slipped out of you was cut off when he pulled you fully onto his lap, the movement making you straddle him. The press of his body under yours was solid, and the way his hands slid under your shirt like he’d been starving made you wonder just how long he’d been holding back.
His nails scraped lightly down your back, just enough to make your hips twitch forward. He caught the sound you made with his mouth, kissing you deep and slow at first, then messy, his tongue sliding against yours, teeth catching your bottom lip.
“I missed you,” he murmured between kisses, as if you hadn’t been here every single day. His hands found your hips, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “Missed this.”
The heat between you spiked, the air thick with the kind of want that left no space for patience. His rings were cool as they dipped under the waistband of your shorts, thumbs hooking in and dragging them down.
And even with his leg stretched awkwardly, Choso still had you exactly where he wanted you, leaning over him, lips swollen, skin prickling from every place his hands touched, that chain bracelet glinting as he slid it higher up your thigh.
“Babe,” he said, voice low, gaze locked on yours, “you’re not leaving the couch until I’ve made up for the last two weeks.”
And judging by the way his mouth was already back on yours, you knew you weren’t going anywhere.
His mouth was hot against yours when you leaned in again, teeth clashing in that messy way that made your stomach knot. You rolled your hips forward and felt him trapped between you and your lips curled in a smirk you didn’t bother hiding.
“You needy little whore,” you whispered into his mouth, your voice sharp enough to make his eyes darken.
His tongue slid into your mouth in answer, slow and deep, tasting you until he pulled back just enough to murmur, “What can I do?” A small, breathless laugh escaped him before it softened into something heavier. “I love you so much.”
The words almost made you falter, but then his big hand slid from the small of your back down over the curve of your ass, his cold silver rings catching against the fabric. He traced between your cheeks, teasing, making your breath catch.
You shifted, hovering just enough to grab the waistband of those damn Hello Kitty pajama pants and drag them down far enough to free him. The heat of him hit you instantly, flushed and aching, and your own body clenched in anticipation.
One of his arms looped around your waist, hauling you forward, the other wrapped around the base of himself, lining up. You sank down slowly, stretching around him, the heat swallowing him inch by inch until your hips were flush with his.
His head tipped back with a loud, unrestrained moan. “Fuck—” His breath came hard and fast, one hand sliding back to your ass, his cold chain bracelet pressing into your hipbone. His rings were icy against your overheated skin.
Then he teased with two fingers, the pads of his ring—and middle finger slipping just between you, sliding over the sensitive flesh before his pinky and index finger stretched across you in a rough caress. The sensation made you twitch around him.
“I can’t,” he groaned, chest rising and falling as he shifted his grip. He brought his hand up to his mouth, eyes locked on yours the whole time and spit into his palm before guiding it back down. His fingers pushed in gently, careful because of your position but still filthy-hot, the slick sound making your pulse race.
You gasped, your body jerking forward instinctively. One hand clutched his shoulder, the other gripping the hard swell of his bicep. He used that arm to brace you, holding you steady while he worked you with both hands.
His breathing was loud in your ear when you glanced down at him, hair falling into his face, eyes heavy-lidded and shining with hunger, mouth parted in a smile that was all yearning and pride.
“Move,” he rasped, voice low but sure. “I got you.”
And from the way his hands held you, you believed him.
You kissed him as you started to roll your hips, slow, dragging every inch of him inside you. His cock was deep, hot, stretching you in that way that made your stomach twist.
The hand at the small of your back was steady, palm warm and broad, fingers spread low enough to press right above the curve of your ass. But it wasn’t just to hold you, every time he pushed that hand forward, you sank down onto him deeper, and when he drew it back, you rocked away just enough for the movement to make you gasp.
Because his other hand was already buried behind you, two fingers sunk where he’d pressed them in so carefully earlier, his palm flat so he could use it to guide you. Each forward push made you take him to the base, each pull back had you clenching around both his cock and his fingers.
“Okay…” His voice cracked with a moan, eyes dark and half-lidded. “If I use you as my little toy, then choke me at least.”
The smirk you gave him faltered into a breathless sound as you shifted your grip from his bicep up to his throat, your palm wrapping around it firmly.
“Yeah,” he rasped, moaning when your hips rolled again, his palm pressing at the lowest part of your back to set the pace. “Be rough.”
His bracelet was cold where it brushed your hip, his rings icy against your skin every time he flexed his fingers inside you. He kept you moving forward, down onto his cock until you were flush against him, then back so you felt every inch drag. The stimulation hit from both sides, deep and overwhelming, and every sound he made told you he wasn’t planning on letting up.
Your grip tightened on his throat, rough enough to make his breath catch, and you yanked him forward into a kiss. His tongue pushed into your mouth immediately, hot and greedy, right before his fingers curled deep inside you from behind. The motion shoved you forward, his cock sliding in deeper until your walls squeezed around him.
“Fucking—hah—” he broke the kiss just enough to groan against your lips, “I love taking both holes. Makes me so fucking stiff.”
Your grin was wicked, breath mingling with his. “Enjoy, then.”
But he wasn’t waiting for permission. His fingers gripped inside you like they were holding onto you from the inside, using that leverage to drag you off his cock and slam you back down again, over and over. The rhythm was obscene, his palm at your ass keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
Your hand tightened on his throat, your other clawing into his shoulder.
“Yeah, baby,” he moaned, eyes half-lidded and burning into you, his chest heaving under your touch.
“Fuck, Choso—” you panted, head tipping back as he moved you faster, every thrust of his hips meeting the pull of his fingers so you had nowhere to escape the sensation.
He groaned low, the sound vibrating under your palm on his throat. “You don’t make me last long—”
“You sound so fucking good.,” you breathed against his mouth, voice shaking, “just as good as you feel.”
Something in his face twitched at that, his jaw tightening, eyes darkening and then his arm around your waist cinched in, the solid weight of his forearm locking you flush against him. You could feel the muscle flex under your palm as he held you there, his hips driving up while his fingers behind you curled and pumped, hitting that spot that made your whole body shiver.
“Fucking—fuck—” he gasped, teeth catching your lip before he kissed you hard, wet, almost sloppy. “Keep saying shit like that and I’ll fucking ruin you.”
“Do it,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulder.
His grip only got harder, pulling you down so deep on him you swore you could feel the pulse of his cock inside you. Those two fingers moved faster now, his palm pressing into the curve of your ass so every stroke shoved you forward into him. The stimulation was brutal, your body clenching around both points at once, the push-pull rhythm driving heat straight up your spine.
“God, baby—” he groaned, head tipping back for a second before he looked at you again, sweat clinging to his temples. “You’re so fucking tight, both of you—feels like you’re trying to keep me inside forever.”
You choked on a laugh and a moan all at once, your hand still tight on his throat. “Maybe I am.”
His teeth bared in a shaky grin before his head dropped to your shoulder, muffling a loud, broken sound as his thrusts got messy, erratic. You could feel him getting close in the way his fingers dragged you harder onto him, using you like he couldn’t choose between chasing his own high and wringing yours out of you.
“Choso—” your voice cracked, legs trembling, “I’m—”
“Yeah, baby, come with me—fuck—” he panted into your neck, his hips jolting up one last, deep push that left you breathless.
Heat hit you in a rush, the overstimulation tipping into that edge-breaking snap, your body clenching down around him as his own rhythm fell apart. He groaned into your skin, raw and loud, his grip like iron until the last pulse left him shivering against you.
For a moment, neither of you moved, just heavy breathing, your hand still curled around his throat, his arm still tight around your waist like he didn’t want to let go.
When he finally lifted his head, his mouth curved into that tired, cocky smirk. “Two weeks was too fucking long.”
You kissed him again, slow this time, still catching your breath. “Guess you’ll just have to break the other leg if you want me all to yourself again.”
His grin widened, filthy and soft all at once. “Don’t tempt me.”
You stayed there, breathing hard, your chest pressed to his, your hand loosening on his throat but not pulling away completely. He still had you filled everywhere, his cock deep inside you, his two fingers still buried behind, unmoving but holding you there with his palm pressed flush to him like you might even try to escape.
“You’re not letting me go, huh?” you teased, your voice still unsteady, hair clinging to your damp skin.
He leaned back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing slow circles over your hip. “Nope.”
You smirked, but it faltered when his fingers twitched inside you, not much, just a lazy curl that made your muscles flutter around him.
“Choso…” you warned, though it came out more like a gasp.
He tilted his head, watching you closely. “What?” Another curl, this time paired with a faint push from his palm to make you rock forward on his cock.
Your breath hitched, the slow tease making your body tighten without warning. You clenched around him, both where his fingers were and where he was so deep inside, and the reaction it pulled from him was instant, his mouth stretching into a grin, teeth showing, eyes locked on your face like he was memorizing it.
“Oh, you like that,” he murmured, his voice warm with smug affection.
“You’re such an—ah—asshole,” you muttered, but you were already leaning into him, hands curling into his shirt.
He didn’t move much, just kept that slow, minimal rhythm, a flex of his fingers here, a slight rock of his hips there but enough to make your breath quicken without tipping you over again. His other arm tightened around your waist like you were his anchor.
“Gonna keep you like this all night,” he said softly, but with that wicked undertone, “so you remember who you belong to every time you walk.”
You laughed breathlessly against his mouth. “At least I can walk.”
He kissed you slow, deep, his grin pressing against your lips. “Doesn’t matter. Still got you.”
He finally eased his fingers out of you, slow and careful, his palm dragging over your skin before he lifted his hand between you. His tongue darted out, warm and wet, running over them in one long, unhurried stroke as his eyes stayed on yours.
“I would love to clean you up with my tongue,” he murmured, his voice low but almost shy with how honest it sounded, “but I can’t move. Makes me sad.”
You couldn’t help the smile that softened your face. “Don’t worry, baby,” you said sweetly, brushing his damp hair off his forehead.
Before you could shift off him, both of his arms locked around your waist, pulling you down into him. You felt the heat of him still pressed inside, the solid weight of his forearms braced around your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish.
He didn’t rush, just pressed his mouth to your cheek, lingering there for a moment before trailing down to your jaw. His lips were warm, slow, almost reverent as they skimmed down the line of your throat, then lower, over your collarbone where his teeth scraped just enough to make you shiver.
The pout was gone from his face now, replaced with that quiet, dangerous affection that always made your chest ache. “Not letting you go yet,” he mumbled against your skin, his rings cool where they pressed into your back.
And you didn’t move, letting him kiss, letting him hold, feeling every bit of that needy, sweet, filthy love he only ever gave to you.
You stayed there a few minutes longer, letting him nuzzle and kiss you, feeling his breath against your collarbone. Eventually, you ran your fingers through his hair and whispered, “Come on, baby, we need to clean up.”
He groaned softly, burying his face into your neck. “Don’t wanna.”
“I know.” You kissed the top of his head. “But if we don’t, you’re gonna be stuck like this all night.”
That earned a reluctant sigh, but when you shifted to slide off him, his hand shot out and caught yours, threading his fingers through yours tight. “Fine,” he muttered, “but you don’t let go.”
You helped him sit back against the couch and adjusted his bad leg on the pillow. He watched you disappear for a moment, only to reappear with a warm, damp towel.
Kneeling between his knees, you worked gently, wiping him down, your touch soft enough to make his eyes flutter half-shut. Every few seconds, his free hand would drift, brushing your jaw, playing with the hem of your shirt, tugging lightly at your hair, anything to keep you connected.
When you were done, you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Better?”
He smirked, squeezing your hand. “Only if you stay right here.”
You laughed and stood to toss the towel aside, but he tugged you straight into his lap again, bad leg be damned. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until your chest was flush to his.
“See?” he murmured against your temple, “Now we’re both clean, and I still have you.”
And you stayed there, curled against him, while his thumb stroked your side and the silver of his rings pressed into your skin, your clingy, hot, impossibly sweet boyfriend exactly where he wanted to be.
Two hours later, the TV was still on low, some late-night rerun casting a dim light over the apartment. You’d shifted into the corner of the couch with a blanket thrown over you both, your legs tucked under you, Choso stretched out beside you with his bad leg still propped on the pillow.
His head rested heavy against your chest, hair tickling your skin, his breath slow and warm through your shirt. At some point he’d drifted off, but even in sleep, his body stayed curled into yours, one arm snug around your waist.
The hand on you wasn’t idle, his fingers were lazily hooked into the waistband of your shorts, thumb brushing over the skin of your hip like his subconscious couldn’t stand the thought of not touching you. Every time you shifted even slightly, his grip would tighten for a second before relaxing again.
You ran your fingers through his hair, smiling at how peaceful he looked, jaw slack, lashes brushing his cheeks. He looked younger like this, softer, all the rough edges smoothed out by exhaustion and comfort.
When you tried to reach for the remote, he made a low, half-conscious sound, nuzzling further into you and tugging you closer with a strength he shouldn’t have had while half-asleep.
“Mine,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
You kissed the crown of his head, letting him keep you exactly where he wanted you. “Always,” you whispered back.
And he didn’t move again, just sighed, thumb stroking lazily over your skin, even in dreams.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ full already? didn’t think so. my masterlist’s right here.
It happens in the world that one man borrows from another, be it money or other things: what is taken is called a debt, and he who takes it is the debtor. The more he borrows, the more his debt increases and the more he owes to the creditor. Similarly, when man transgresses God's commandments and sins before Him, he accumulates a debt before God and becomes His debtor.
The more divine commandments he transgresses, by sinning before his Creator, the greater burden of debt he gathers, and the more indebted he becomes to the Most High God. Human sins are called a debt to God, and sinners are the debtors, as we read in the Lord's Prayer (Our Father): “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us” (Matthew 6:12).
-Saint Tikhon of Zadonsk, Spiritual Treasure, gathered from the world
Icon of Saint Mary of Egypt receiving Communion a day before her passing, from Father Zosima.
