Discover Top Posts Tagged with #slainweek2026

Drug of Choice

Pairing: Dain Aetos x Sloane Mairi Word count: 7.5k Rating: Mature - Explicit sexual content - 18+ MDNI

Summary: Sloane surveys her reflection in the mirror. She smiles at her handiwork. The femme fatale who stares back at her is nearly unrecognisable.

It’s never been just about sneaking out to Chantara to perform exotic dance for a bit of thrill and extra coin. Gods, no. She’s too sophisticated for that. But co-ordinating supply chain to smuggle churam and other illicit substances back into Basgiath? Now that’s the kind of intellectual chess she relishes.

But leadership is on her tail now, and they’ve tasked the wingleaders with bringing the perpetrators in. Abandoning her scheme and deserting would be the smart thing to do, but Sloane knows which wingleader will be undercover tonight and there's something she wants from him.

It’s risky, but she’s willing to roll the dice and tempt fate. And perhaps, if she's lucky, the Gods might allow her a proper hit of the drug she desires most.

Also available on AO3: Drug of Choice Credit goes to the owner of the image I've used in this post @hmmr.art.

@empyreanevents - For Day 7 of Slain week.

Sloane surveys her reflection in the mirror of the poky dressing room situated out the back of Silk & Ale.

Kohl-rimmed blue eyes twinkle back at her, framed by smoky burgundy shadow on her eyelids and a matching, boldly drawn lip. Her fingers gently prod at the cap at her hairline, adjusting the wine-red wig that tumbles in glossy curls down to her upper back.

She smiles at her handiwork. The femme fatale who stares back at her is nearly unrecognisable. It’s a look she’s perfected over her time performing at the club, but tonight she’s achieved her best yet.

After all, she’s expecting a visitor.

Running the flats of her hands down her front, Sloane straightens the hem of her long-sleeved black lace crop top. The lacework is delicate. It starts at her wrists, swirling in intricate florals up her arms. But the beauty of this piece is that the lace clusters begin to lessen the higher up her arms they go. It eventually tapers out to plain mesh at her shoulders, leaving her chest and back bare with nothing to conceal the salacious black brassiere she has on beneath it.

It was quite the find at one of Chantara’s more sensual clothing boutiques. It suited her needs perfectly to hide the rebellion relic that twines up her right forearm. A pleated black mini skirt, thigh high fishnets, and leather boots that hug her toned calves complete her get-up.

“Selene! How far away are you? The crowd is getting antsy!” Madam Morgana calls from behind the drawn velvet curtain that conceals the open doorway.

“Five minutes!” Sloane replies.

Selene. It’s the alias she uses here.

Her true identity has had to remain a furtive mystery, of course. It’s the only way her lucrative little conspiracy has been able to run so successfully.

It’s not simply about sneaking out to Chantara to perform exotic dance for a bit of thrill and extra coin. Gods, no. Sloane is too sophisticated for that. The dancing is just the tip of the iceberg.

But acting as a drug courier and co-ordinating supply chain to smuggle churam and other illicit substances back into Basgiath? Now that’s the kind of intellectual chess she relishes. That’s where the real dough is made.

Silk & Ale isn’t frequented much by Basgiath’s cadets due to its shadier reputation and location. Most prefer The Six Talons for its large venue capacity and closer proximity to the war college. However, whispers have been swarming at Basgiath of late about the club and the substances on offer.

Rumours and gossip about the supply of churam and Hex have made their way through the various quadrants, and up the chain of leadership. The information being spread was lousy at first, inaccurate and some of it just plain ridiculous. But Sloane is convinced one of her regulars has been bribed and has ratted the scheme out.

Sloane knows this because Bodhi shared with her and Imogen last week that leadership wants to crack down on the supply and are actively seeking out the perpetrators. They’ve identified several strong leads which all point to Silk & Ale, and they’ve tasked the wingleaders with bringing those responsible in.

That may have simply been juicy gossip for Bodhi and Imogen, but it was a final warning for Sloane.

She regards her reflection one last time.

Well, she’s had a damn good run. She’s made plenty of coin and if tonight is her last night at Silk & Ale, so be it.

Sloane did consider shutting it all down immediately and deserting after that tip off from Bodhi. Madam Morgana would’ve been pissed, but there would’ve been fuck all she could do about it if Sloane disappeared back to Basgiath and never returned.

Deserting would’ve certainly been the smart thing to do considering the fallout, if she’s discovered and turned in, will be huge. But Sloane knows which wingleader will be undercover tonight to verify if the leads are accurate.

It’s risky, but she’s willing to roll the dice and tempt fate. There’s something she wants from him.

Perhaps, if she’s lucky tonight, the Gods will grant her a proper hit of the drug she desires most.

***~~~***~~~***

She moves like fucking sin.

That is Dain’s first thought as watches his target from where he’s standing at the bar. He swirls the remaining fruit cordial round in his glass and downs it. Fuck, he hates this stuff but alcohol is out of the question when he’s on official wingleader business at leadership’s command.

Lean and lithe, the redhead sways, bends and coils with a tantalising beauty that has every onlooker entranced. Man or woman, it’s impossible not to appreciate the skill with which she performs her art. Every prop, no matter how mundane, is transformed into an object of desire.

She twines round the pole in the centre of the stage, her supple body undulating, her lissom legs fanning and extending. Her hands brush down her body as she sashays to the side of the stage closest to him, drawing attention to her breasts and slender waist. She steps one long leg out to the side, turning so her back is to the main crowd, then bends forward in a racy display of her rear. The men near the front of the stage cheer raucously, sloshing mugs of ale and slapping each other on the back.

Dain smirks to himself. He’s willing to bet that she’s exposed underneath her skirt.

Squinting through the persistent fog of churam that lingers in the club, he maps out the area behind the stage. He can see a couple of doors in the wings that lead to the back. It’s smoky enough and dim enough here that he shouldn’t have any issues slipping past the bar staff and out to where he assumes the dressing rooms will be. He should be able to corner her there for questioning.

The leads that he’s been supplied strongly indicate that Selene is a key player in whatever scheme is going on. Not only might she be able to confirm that there are mules smuggling substances into Basgiath, she’ll likely even know the exact individuals responsible.

The music changes and Selene begins her next set. She sets out a couple of metal chairs and circles them. She tosses her red curls over one shoulder and on her next rotation round them, she locks eyes with him. Dain arcs an amused eyebrow and the smile she shoots him is impish as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. She throws him a wink.

The rest of her set is no more sensual that her previous ones, but she deliberately continues to seek his eyes out whenever she faces him, almost like she’s performing for him specifically. Dain might be on official business, but he’s still a red-blooded man who appreciates a beautiful woman, and Gods is she stunning.

It doesn’t help that he hasn’t had sex in a while. So his entire being and psyche is magnetised by Selene’s performance. He is primed with lust, which heats his blood and sends it roaring to every erogenous and carnal place on his body.

When she holds his gaze while drawing her full lips over the slim neck of an empty ale bottle several times in a crude mimicry of a blowjob, Dain has to consciously clear his head and try to disassociate from the situation. He discreetly tugs at the collar of the navy-blue infantry tunic he’s wearing, feeling very warm and roused.

Selene finishes her set with a shimmy and a flourish, laying herself across the seats of the chairs, with her legs kicking playfully in the air as the crowd applauds and hoots.

Dain is presented with an unimpeded view up her skirt. Yep. No underwear... Loial’s sweet tits…

The myriad of stage lights over the performance platform dim and Selene disappears into the curtained wings.

Dain waves a hand about, attempting to disperse some of the fog of churam around him. He needs to focus. He needs to get to Selene, question her, hopefully get the information he’s been tasked to, then get out and head back to Basgiath.

He assesses the club with keen eyes. There are no staff around the stage at present and only one barman manning the bar on his left, who has his back turned cleaning some glasses.

Dain slips away on soundless feet, making for the wings backstage. He makes it to the cramped corridor that leads to the dressing rooms. One door is closed while the other is ajar, casting a thin strip of light into the shadowy space. He can hear tuneful humming coming from the room and he edges forward.

A stern clearing of the throat stops him and he turns around to see a stout, plump woman, regarding him censoriously with her arms akimbo. The establishment owner.

“And just what do you think you’re doing back here?” The woman admonishes.

Dain squares his shoulders, “I need to see Selene.”

The woman barks out a cynical laugh, “I’m afraid not. She’s a look-but-don’t-touch kind of girl. She doesn’t provide any of those services. Now scrat!”

“I’m not here for that. I just need to speak to her.”

A scathing snort leaves the woman, “As if I haven’t heard that one before!”

Dain goes for a more direct approach. He reaches into the pocket of his brown leather pants and pulls out a small bag of coin, “I’m here to buy from her. I was told she supplies churam and Hex?”

“Well now, I can get you some of that if that’s what you’re after. No need to bother Selene-”

“It’s alright, Morgana.” A husky feminine voice, heavily accented, sounds from behind Dain, and he turns to see Selene leaning against the doorway. She’s clad in a short silk robe and a masquerade half-mask obscures her forehead, eyes, cheeks and nose.

Morgana raises a shrewd eyebrow, “You sure, darlin’?”

Selene steps up to Dain and she snakes a bold hand around his upper arm, squeezing his bicep, “Yes. I’ll speak to this one. You know I can handle myself.”

Morgana huffs and cautions Dain, “Watch yourself, handsome. Don’t try anything funny because she’ll slit your throat before you so much as get your cock out. And getting your blood out of the rug in there will be a bitch.”

Dain watches the woman leave, a little amazed by her candid demeanour, “She doesn’t mince words, does she?”

Selene’s chuckle is a charming peal, “No. Come, we’ll talk inside.”

Her accent is thick, of Tyrrish origins if Dain had to guess. He follows as she leads the way into the lambent glow of her dressing room through a set of velvet drapes, throwing him a suggestive look over her shoulder.

It’s a small space with only enough room for a dressing table and chair, a simple armoire, and a large plum velvet armchair that sits on a plush cream rug. He notes with mild amusement that Morgana is right. Cleaning blood out of that rug would be a near impossible task.

“Please, sit.” Selene gestures to the armchair.

Dain complies, folding himself into the chair while continuing to observe the finer details of the space, alert for any weapons or threats. Once he’s satisfied that the room appears innocuous enough, his attention returns to Selene, who has a slender leg propped on the dresser chair while she slides her fishnets off.

There’s a whole lot of creamy thigh on display and the brighter light of the dresser space illuminates every line and contour of her body beneath the very thin, very silky looking robe. He spots the peaked outlines of her nipples against the fabric and he curses to himself.

She’s naked behind the robe.

Selene’s mask obscures most of her face, leaving only her painted mouth visible. Her lips quirk into a seductive smile and Dain quickly averts his gaze. She is eyeing him with unconcealed desire. Her eyes are a startling shade of blue, and for a fleeting second Dain thinks he’s seen them before, but he doesn’t know many redheads and he abandons that train of thought.

With bare legs, she pads towards him in a leisurely manner. Then without any preamble, she climbs into his lap uninvited and straddles him.

Dain stiffens, and his hands instinctively fly to grasp at her robed hips to stop her from pressing any closer. The armchair is large enough that her knees are folded comfortably on either side of him. Her splayed position in his lap has caused the hem of her silk robe to ride up dangerously around her upper thighs, and he’s very conscious of keeping his hands on the fabric and not on her skin.

“There’s a chair over there.” Dain points out deliberately, nodding at her dresser stool.

Selene hums coolly and purposefully wiggles her hips closer, “I like to be comfortable when I discuss business.”

He can smell her, and every nerve-ending in his lower half is hyperaware of her weight nestled in his lap. He likes it far too much for his own good.

“I’m after churam and Hex. And I want to discuss the potential for a bigger arrangement of supply too.”

She runs her hands temptingly up the breadth of his chest to loop her arms around his neck, pulling herself flush against him to whisper by the shell of his ear, “Oh? How much are you after?”

Delightful shivers prickle down the back of Dain’s neck and he swallows tightly, “Twenty or thirty rolls a week for the churam, maybe forty if my friend chips in. And a packet or two of Hex too.”

Selene tuts her tongue, nosing brazenly at the sensitive skin behind his ear, “Ooh Hex doesn’t come cheap, sugar.”

“I’ve got the coin. That’s not an issue. Who’s your contact running supply at the college?”

She makes an innocent sound of confusion, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a contact at Basgiath. You want your supply? You get it here from me.” She licks a daring stripe up his neck and the feeling shoots straight to his cock.

Impatience unfurls in Dain’s chest, mixing with his rapidly intensifying lust, “That’s bullshit. I know there’s at least one mule running supply there. I’d rather not have to make a trip out here every time I want a hit. I’ll pay you extra if you give me the contact’s details.”

Selene shushes him with a throaty laugh, “No need to get snappy. It’s not coin that I want from you.” One of her hands slithers to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck while her hips continue their tormenting swivel over his thighs and groin, “Perhaps we can make a deal, if you give me what I want.”

Dain’s mind and body are engaged in an ugly battle for control. On one hand, he wants to the intel from her, but his better judgement is warning him that selling his body to get it is one step too far. On the other hand, his thumping heart and raging libido are tremendously in favour of the idea.

It would hardly be a chore to let off some steam with Selene. Hell, he might even interrogate her while he fucks her into the rug on the floor. It’s astonishing how mouths can loosen when amid the throws of passion.

But Dain has always prided himself on his discipline and his principles, and no matter how beautiful and willing she is, sleeping with her for information is a violation of his personal code.

Things escalate in the next moment when Selene begins nipping and lavishing open-mouthed kisses against his neck, grinding down harder with a sensuous moan when she discovers his erection. She hums in enjoyment. Pleasure jolts through Dain and his hands fumble at her hips as he makes to remove her from his lap.

However, he stills when his eyes catch on swirling pattern of red at her hip. It has a telltale shimmer to it that he recognises. The silk bunches under his fingers as she continues to move and the pattern is revealed in full as a sleeping dragon, its tail curling towards her inner thigh.

He sucks in an astounded breath.

It’s a dragon relic.

She’s a rider.

Dain leaps to his feet and Selene emits an indignant cry as he deposits her none too gently on her own feet.

“You’re a fucking rider.” Dain snarls, jabbing an accusing finger in her face.

Selene composes herself and she breathes out an aggravated sigh, “Good spotting, Wingleader.”

Dain’s anger flares. There’s a maelstrom of questions whirling in his mind, and there’s also a sour sense of betrayal at the knowledge that one of their own is violating code of conduct to such an obscene degree.

“Reveal yourself, cadet. And state your wing, section and squad designation.” His tone is punitive. He is scrutinising Selene’s appearance now, but he can’t place her. There isn’t any cadet he can think of who resembles the woman standing before him.

Selene purses her lips and she warns, her Tyrrish accent somehow less intense than before, “Ignorance is bliss. Some things are better left unknown.”

Dain glares daggers at her and he’s tempted to reach for the one sheathed at his hip to press his point, “I won’t ask again. Reveal yourself and state your designation!”

She regards him quietly through narrowed eyes, her hands fidgeting lightly against her robe. She makes no move to remove her mask, but her accent vanishes and a hauntingly familiar lilt replaces it, “Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing.”

Dain feels a boulder of cold dread drop into the pit of his stomach.

That’s his wing, his section, and his squad.

His heart is racing and his feet carry him closer to the woman, his brain still trying frenziedly to place her identity. But the mask impedes his ability and he doesn’t recognise the shape of her mouth either through her heavy lipstick.

However, he knows her voice. His body recognises it before his brain does.

It’s a voice he’s heard in many tones; mainly furious and cutting, but also teasing and tender, especially of late.

It’s a voice that plagues him in his dreams and in his fantasies, because he’s become so beguiled by her that she has tested his control and challenged his resolve to stay uninvolved with her.

“No.” Dain utters the word in a whisper of denial. He shakes his head and grits his teeth. He seeks her eyes out again and they are blue like the sky on a clear summer’s day. Recognition hits him and he scowls at her concealed face. He demands, “Take it off. Take it all off. I need to see you.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Dain.”

She turns to face the full-length mirror that stands next to the dresser, and Dain steps right up to her back, glowering at her though her reflection. He can feel his disbelief like a physical ache in his chest. He needs to see it to believe it; needs to see her face unmasked and unmade.

She removes her wig first, nimble fingers prying the mass of red tresses from her head. Sure enough, platinum blonde hair lies pinned and bundled into a sleek knot beneath it all. She removes her mask next and Dain curses long and low under his breath, shaking his head in rancorous denial.

There she is.

Beneath the smoky eyes, rouged cheeks and painted lips, it’s definitely her. The make-up is heavy enough that it adds a certain maturity to her features, and Dain can see how he failed to recognise her earlier. But up close and without the red curls? It’s definitely Sloane.

“Can you pass me that flannel?” She asks, pointing to a square of white cotton that sits in the middle of the dresser table.

“Can’t you get it yourself? It’s right there.” He gripes heatedly.

“I don’t know. You look like you might stab me if I move.” Sloane retorts, her tone acerbic as she fixes her sharp blue eyes on him through the mirror.

Dain scoffs and hands her the damp cloth. He watches wordlessly as she cleans her face, wiping it methodically over her eyes, cheeks, mouth and neck. The flannel is stained a murky coloured muss by the time she’s finished, and Dain thinks to himself that the it looks very much like how he feels: staggered and darkly furious.

Fresh-faced, Sloane tosses the flannel back onto the dresser and raises her brows at him, “You’re seething like a riled bull.”

Dain’s fists clench and unclench, trying to relieve some of the ireful pressure that courses through him, “What the fuck, Sloane? How are you even here? First-years aren’t allowed out to Chantara! And it’s you smuggling illicit substances? All this time, it’s been you?”

Sloane works on unpinning her hair section by section, the flaxen strands falling in waves down her back, “I told you it’d be better if you didn’t fucking know. But now here we are.”

“Do you know what they’ll do to you? Leadership will reprimand you severely for this and that’s if they don’t decide to execute you for the numerous violations you’ve committed!”

Sloane has the gall to laugh, “They won’t kill me. I’m a bonded rider. We’re in the middle of a fucking war with dark wielders. They need all the bloody dragons and riders they can get.” She smirks at him, “Besides, you won’t turn me in will you, Wingleader?”

“Do I have a choice?” Dain spits.

“We always have a choice, Dain. I knew you were coming tonight. I could just as easily have abandoned my scheme and you’d never have found me.” She reasons, shaking out her long hair as she removes the last of the pins.

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I needed to get you alone.”

Dain swears and drags a hand down his face, “We’re not discussing this now. Not when there’s a more pressing matter at hand.” He blatantly side-steps the very personal conversation that Sloane wants to have with him. He turns and begins pacing around the confined space in a small circle. “Why is it that every time there’s trouble, every time there’s a commotion, it’s you I find at the centre of it all?”

“Maybe it’s because you insist on running from me.” Sloane accuses bitterly. There is acrimony in her tone but it doesn’t mask the hurt that creeps into her voice. “Maybe I’d be at the centre of your peace and at the centre of your contentment too if you didn’t keep pushing me away. Maybe I’m always at the centre of your trouble because it’s the only way I can get your attention.”

Dain looks incredulously at her, “So what? You’re smuggling drugs into Basgiath, risking your life and your safety, to get my attention?!”

“No! Me meeting you here today just happened to be a coincidental opportunity!”

“I can’t believe you!” Dain exclaims, and it’s almost a shout but he reigns his volume in at the last second, “I don’t fucking believe it.”

Dain’s thoughts race by in his head as he contemplates what Sloane has been doing: Sneaking out of Basgiath to perform as an exotic dancer for coin, while also co-ordinating a very successful, very profitable drug smuggling scheme, that has been wreaking havoc throughout the quadrants.

And her exotic dancing… Gods above, his blood boils with rage at the thought of other men looking at her, salivating and lusting over her body. He might have enjoyed her performance earlier, but the thought makes him green with jealousy now that he knows the truth.

“Well either turn me in to leadership like the good little bloodhound you are, or let me be.” Sloane hisses, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You need to stop what you’re doing,” Dain insists, closing the gap between them so he can loom over her, “All this raunchy dancing-”

Sloane interrupts, “Oh, that’s what you want me to stop? Just the dancing?”

“All of it, Sloane. The dancing, the drugs, everything involved in this-”

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do! You’ve made it quite clear that I’m not someone of significance in your life. You don’t get to dictate my choices when I’m very clearly not one of yours!”

Dain is taken aback by the hurt that blooms across her face.

Amari help him… He knows he’s fucked up more than once with her recently…

He’d tried so hard to stay away from Sloane at first, despite the intense attraction between them. That attraction spiralled out of control when he began helping her train her signet by letting her practise siphoning his power from him after Draithus.

He recalls her cool hands on his wrists, drawing his power from him. She’d very quickly became more adept at it and the initial pain that came with it stopped, only to be replaced by a blissful relief from the overflowing well of Cath’s power. But that relief soon morphed into a gratifying pleasure, intimate and addictive, that neither of them expected and with all that unavoidable contact, Dain was falling for her before long.

He’d tried so hard, but he ultimately failed to keep a respectable distance.

And then he failed a couple more times after that too.

Dain begins to utter an apology, “I’m sorry-”

But Sloane isn’t done with her tirade, “No, you’re not! I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit. I was upfront about my feelings for you from the beginning. And I accepted it when you said exploring things wasn’t something you wanted. But then you fucking started it. You kissed me. You kiss me again and again, and then you run like a coward afterward to convince yourself of a million stupid reasons why we shouldn’t be together.” She pauses and her eyes shine, and not in a way that makes Dain feel good. “We’re at war, Dain. Our choices matter. I choose to live my life every day like it’s my last, because it might be. So make your choice. I’m done waiting.”

Her ultimatum is two-pronged.

Turn her in to leadership, or keep her secret and keep her safe.

Choose her, or lose her forever.

Dain doesn’t have a choice. His choice has always been made for him whenever it comes to Sloane. He’s just been too much of a stubborn asshole to admit it. It’s why he failed the first time. Once he’d had a taste of her lips, he was helpless not to want to sip from them over and over.

He exhales deeply and reaches cautiously for Sloane’s face, giving her ample opportunity to move away or stop him. When she doesn’t, he frames her face between his hands, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. He gently leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I’m not going to turn you in.” Dain murmurs, “I could never. Especially not when I know what they could do to you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to you. I’ll break all the rules if it means you’re safe.”

Sloane’s hands gently clutch at his wrists and she angles her head up to touch her nose to his. He feels the familiar sensation of her siphoning from him, his power only too eager to give in to her summons. She draws from one of his wrist and imbues it back to him through his other in a pleasurable loop that feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Dain sighs and feels her sweet breath against his mouth. He thinks for a moment that she’s going to kiss him, but then she speaks and she sounds so small, so vulnerable.

“Do you feel that? We’re balanced, you and I. We’re good like this, good for each other. Are you going to keep running from this, from me?”

Dain’s resolve shatters and he strokes his lips over hers, “No, I’m done with that. And you’re wrong. You are important to me, Sloane.” When her lips part, he responds quickly with a swift press of his lips to hers. Flashes from earlier in the evening whip through his subconscious, of her rocking and swaying to the music in the club in front of the leering crowd, and he growls, “Fuck, I don’t want you dancing like that anymore. All those filthy bastards looking at you.”

Sloane moans into their next kiss, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she balances on the balls of her feet to reach him, “Not your decision, remember? I do what I want.”

Dain pulls away to look at her, but his arms grab at her hips to pull her against him, “What do I have to do to make you listen to me?”

“Make me yours.” Sloane states, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “No more stolen kisses and hiding in empty classrooms to avoid being seen. No more denial.”

A twinge of sadness pulls in Dain’s chest, “I graduate in a week. I don’t know where I’m going to be posted. It’s not right for you to be tied to me.”

“What’s not right is you constantly presuming you know what is best for me.” Sloane rebukes. She runs her fingers through the short scruff of his beard, then grabs his jaw to pull him down into a deep and languid kiss that makes him groan into her mouth. She parts for air, “I don’t care if I hardly get to see you. I’ll wait. But I do want to spend the rest of this next week memorising every part of you. Your smell, how it feels to wake up next to you, the feel of your body over mine, inside me as you’re fucking me.”

Sloane’s words fray at Dain’s already fragile control and his desire thrums throughout him like a taut string. He claims her mouth again, his tongue stroking hers as she grants him access. He walks her backward until the backs of her thighs hit the wood of the dresser top.

“That mouth of yours drives me insane.” He breathes, skimming his hands up her sides and savouring how close he is to her bare skin through the silk of the robe. He nibbles at the lobe of her ear, earning a whimper from her and he says, punctuating his phrases with scorching kisses to her neck, “I’m still angry with you. Fucking furious. You’re a brat. But my control is shit when it comes to you.”

A mischievous giggle leaves Sloane and she challenges him, “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t think any amount of dish duty, archives duty, or grounding from flights will make up for how serious your misconduct has been, cadet.”

A gentle push against his chest causes Dain to pause in his ministrations, and the gleam in Sloane’s eyes is wicked when she looks at him.

“Perhaps you could take my punishment into your very uncontrolled hands, Wingleader.”

***~~~***

Sloane tugs the robe’s sash free at her waist and shrugs it off her shoulders, letting the silk skate down her naked frame to pool at her feet.

Her nipples stiffen and she doesn’t know whether they do from the cool air hitting them, or from the way Dain is watching her with unbridled hunger in his dark eyes. His jaw is slack and his gaze rakes eagerly down her form. Goosebumps erupt all over Sloane as if she can physically feel the way his molten eyes are devouring her inch by inch.

“Fuck, Sloane.” Dain rasps.

“That would be great.” Sloane teases, and she fists the front of his tunic before moving to help him lift it over his head, “I do prefer you in rider black, although naked is even better.”

Dain’s tunic is unceremoniously discarded, leaving his upper half bared to her. Her fingers fumble impatiently at his belt and she hears his gruff laugh as he helps her divest him of his brown leather trousers by stepping out of them.

Loial save her… He is carved so sinfully that it makes Sloane’s mouth water. Dain is well-muscled without being too bulky. His broad shoulders taper in to powerful abdominals and a lean waist, and his legs are athletically muscular. There is a telltale bulge behind his form-fitting undershorts and Sloane doesn’t need to let her eyes linger on it for longer than a glance to recognise that he’s likely as impressive there as he is everywhere else.

“Can I touch you?” Dain asks.

Sloane’s body is prickling with excitement and her reply is a wanton sigh, “Yes.” She takes his hands and guides them to her breasts, immediately arching into his touch as her nipples graze the hot skin of his palms.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He gently kneads her breasts, flicking gentle thumbs over the peaked buds of her nipples.

The motion shoots tingles of pleasure straight to where she’s beginning to ache between her legs, and she feels her pelvic muscles clench and release in anticipation. His mouths is on hers again and he tastes sweet on her tongue. His hands continue to fondle her breasts while his mouth wreaks devastating delight against her neck and collarbone.

Sloane feels his large hands take hold of her upper thighs and he lifts her to sit on the dresser top. She brings her knees up and bends them, settling her heels on the edge of the dresser so she’s completely and utterly exposed to him.

Dain reacts with a vulgar curse that makes Sloane giggle. He huffs out a short chuckle and licks his lips, “You’re going to be the fucking death of me. Show me how you like it.”

Sloane grins and chews on her lower lip, lowering her right hand to rest between her thighs. A choked groan leaves Dain when she spears her fingers through her folds, finding herself already slippery. She moistens her fingers and brings them back up to circle at her clitoris. She sets a circling a rhythm and sucks in a breath at the delicious sensation.

“Touch yourself, Dain.” Sloane orders, and he obeys without complaint.

She watches keenly as Dain steps out of his underwear and proceeds to curl a fist around his length. He closes the distance between them, putting himself between her spread thighs. He strokes himself leisurely, the head of his cock bumping against her thigh with each upstroke. A gratified breath judders out of him and Sloane swears she can feel her pussy lubricating copiously as it pulses.

Sloane reaches for his cock with her right hand and he slots it into her waiting fingers. She squeezes him and gives a few cautious pumps of her fist, trying to gauge what he likes. Dain nearly folds over in pleasure and he braces his left hand against the mirror behind them, his torso curving inward as he thrusts shallowly into her grip.

“Is that good?” Sloane asks.

Panting, Dain nods and breathes out a breathy laugh, “Fuck, this feels more like punishment for me than you.”

“Shhh,” Sloane hushes him pacifyingly, “I’m just getting you warmed up.”

Dain groans, “I’m hot, Sloane. I’m fucking burning for you.”

His knuckles brush the folds of her pussy, and Sloane watches him marvel at how ready she is for him. She’s about to demand that he touch her when his fingers find her clit and he begins the same circling motion she demonstrated earlier. She gulps and her head falls back against the mirror as his fingers begin their ruin of her.

“So fucking beautiful. And you were dancing up on that stage, all bare underneath.” Dain snarls, “But only I get to touch, right?”

Sloane nods, stifling a cry when he slides two fingers inside her and curls them, immediately seeking out and finding the spot on her upper wall that makes her toes curl in delectation.

Gods, it feels amazing… His fingers are longer and thicker than hers are, and so much more satisfying. She is vaguely aware that Dain is still thrusting lightly into her fist, timing it with the strokes of his fingers within her.

“Does that feel good?” Dain pants, and she nods dazedly, her eyes half-lidded in bliss. She’s concentrating on the throbbing pulse of pleasure where he’s working within her. Her left hand settles over her clitoris and she hears Dain’s hum of approval as she helps herself. He purrs, “Good girl, touch yourself for me.”

Sloane’s thighs begin to quake as the waves of her pleasure start to crest higher and higher. The walls of her pussy are fluttering in a steady rhythm that she knows will give way to an orgasm before long, and her hand stills.

Her voice is thin, almost desperate as her eyes fly open to find Dain, “No, I don’t want to come yet. I want to come with you inside me later.”

A smug grin spreads across Dain’s roguishly handsome face and he assures, “You will, I’ll make sure of it. But I want you to come now too. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment is enough to tip the scales and Sloane careens over the edge with a cry. Her body goes rigid as she rides the surges of ecstasy until they ebb. She slumps back against the mirror, breathless and limp.

Dain places a tender kiss to her temple before he gathers her up in his arms and walks them over to the armchair. He sits, settling her in his lap in the same position they started the evening in. Sloane can feel the rigid press of his cock against her stomach where it’s nestled between their bodies, and though she feels thoroughly sated, she still craves the feel of him inside her.

“I’m cursing my idiocy.” Dain remarks, “I would’ve known the beautiful sound of you coming before tonight if I hadn’t been so stubborn.”

Sloane steals a biting kiss from his lips, “Yes, you’re a stupid asshole.”

Dain’s hands settle at her hips and his fingers press into the softer flesh there. He nuzzles into the side of her face and then traces the tip of his tongue over the shell of her ear, “I want you so bad, Sloane. Now, tonight. Tomorrow. For as long as you’ll have me.”

She presses her knees into the softness of the armchair, lifting her hips to position herself over his cock. She reaches down and guides him into position. She sinks down and when she feels him slip inside her, Dain emits a tortured grunt. Her mouth falls open as she takes him all the way until she’s fully seated in his lap. The mild stretch and burn of him is exquisite, and it makes her feel full in the most delicious manner.

Mumbled curses are falling from Dain’s lips and his head is tipped back against the armchair’s back. His eyes are screwed shut, “Holy fuck, you feel so perfect. So good for me.”

Sloane has dreamt of this; has imagined the feel of his hard body against hers, but nothing compares to the reality of it. She tucks her hands behind his head and claims his mouth, lifting and rocking her hips while his hands steady and assist her.

This isn’t her first time, but it might as well be. It’s the first time that this counts.

The coil in her lower belly is tightening again and her pleasure spikes when Dain encloses one of her nipples in his mouth and sucks. His other hand pays its dues to her other breast and Sloane’s hips began to rock harder, chasing her next orgasm. His cock is somehow growing impossibly harder inside her and his moans are matching hers now.

“Dain.” Sloane sighs his name like a plea, tangling her fingers in the dark curls on his head.

He kisses both her nipples, “That’s it. Good girl. Are you going to come for me again?”

Sloane doesn’t know if she does anything to indicate her response. Her breaths are coming in harsh pants now as Dain helps to lift and press her back down onto his cock. Every inch of Sloane’s skin is tingling in anticipation; her nipples tight; her pussy pulsing and squeezing around his him. She’s almost there, almost, but she can’t quite seem to reach the pinnacle she’s stretching for.

“I need more.” She pleads, “Deeper. Harder.”

He’s been so gentle so far. And she doesn’t want gentle anymore. She wants him to abandon the tight reins of his control. She wants him to lose it.

As if she weighs nothing, Dain is on his feet and moving them. He slips out of her in the process and she whines in protest. Dain soothes her with a kiss.

Her back hits the plush rug on the floor and she feels him settle his weight in the cradle of her hips. His hands find the backs of her knees and he gradually presses them back until they’re almost in line with her ears.

“Is this alright?” Dain queries.

Sloane nods, squirming impatiently, “Yes just- Please just hurry up and fuck me!”

“So demanding.” Dain tuts, but he complies, repositioning himself and penetrating her in one unforgiving thrust.

Sloane screams.

Dain sets an unrelenting rhythm and she clutches on to his upper arms as he mercilessly snaps his hips against hers. He drives into her long, hard and deep, the sparse hairs on his chest rubbing deliciously against her nipples. He is everywhere; over her, inside her and Sloane commits the feeling to memory.

His breaths are coming harder and faster by her ear. His moans alternate from deep and guttural, to breathy whimpers, and Sloane thinks his pleasure is the most titillating thing she’s ever heard. The variety of noises only serve to heighten her own enjoyment and she’s rapidly racing towards another orgasm.

Sloane feels wound too tight, suspended in a vortex of throbbing pleasure that’s threatening to implode any second.

Dain lets out a throaty growl, “Fuck, you’re going to make me come so hard. Can you feel how hard I am? How close I am to losing control? You make me wild, Sloane.”

The words are music to Sloane’s ears and her orgasm slams into her with blinding intensity. Her fingernails rake over Dain’s shoulders as a wild cry of abandon tears from her throat.

Dain’s answer is a roar as he topples over the edge after her, pressing his hips as tightly as possible to hers while his own orgasm pulses and he spills into her.

Their comedown is full of tender kisses and shared breaths. Sloane feels blessedly content, caged in by his brawny arms and pinned under his heavy weight. It’s where she wants to be always, in the mornings and at the end of a long day. His heart thunders against hers and she presses a lingering kiss to his head where he’s sprawled over her.

Dain carefully rolls onto his side not long after, his arms bringing Sloane with him and he tucks her against his chest. He kisses her forehead, “You’re mine. And you’re never coming back here, you hear me? No more dancing, no more smuggling drugs.”

Sloane snorts, “I won’t need to. I’ve got my drug of choice now.” She rubs a palm over his chest, listening contentedly to steady beat of his heart, grounding her in the blissfulness of the moment.

“You’re more than life to me, Sloane. I mean it. Wherever I go, I’m yours.” Dain vows, “You’re my life.”

***~~~***~~~***

Later, Sloane makes her way to the wagons waiting at the gates of Chantara. She’s back in rider black now, her face and hair bereft of the alter ego she has assumed in months past.

Dain is walking alongside her and though they walk in silence, it is comfortable and natural.

“Mairi?” Sloane hears a surprised voice call from a wagon up ahead, and she sees several of the second and third-years in her squad sitting in it.

“Oh shit, it is you.” Rhiannon says, “What the fuck are you doing here?” Her squad leader’s eyes flick nervously between her and Dain, no doubt thinking that their wingleader has caught one of her squad’s unruly first-years in an out-of-bounds area.

“She’s fine.” Dain states, and Sloane feels a rush of happiness when she feels him take her hand in his, twining their fingers together in an open show of affection.

Imogen’s eyes widen.

Violet is smiling knowingly.

And Ridoc hoots out a laugh, “Fuck, Aetos. You snuck her into Chantara? That’s siiick, boss.” He turns to slap Imogen on the shoulder, “Pay up, Cardulo. I told you they’d get their shit together before graduation.”

Imogen’s face takes on an unimpressed moue and she grudgingly tosses him a couple of coins.

Sloane climbs into the wagon and takes the empty space next to Imogen.

Dain settles himself next to her and the grin on his face is boyish. He leans down and whispers to her, “No more hiding.”

Author's note: Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this or have any reactions to share, it would make me so happy to hear from you. <3

#slainweek2026

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#slainweek2026