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Percy’s gone for all of ten minutes before Rafayel confronts you with The Box™.
To be fair, you should’ve expected him to snoop. You were asking for it when you brought out the collar. But what, were you supposed to let him walk around bare-necked while he had those ridiculous ears?
You find him in the bedroom spinning said collar around a manicured finger, tail triumphantly swaying above your illicit container of toys. “Forgive me, Miss Bodyguard,” he purrs, quite literally. “I was unfamiliar with your game.”
In reality, there’s nothing that eye-popping inside. Handcuffs and dildos. A butt plug or two. You didn’t even mean to hide them, really. You’d only just started inviting him over to your apartment and when you did feel compelled to bring sex toys into the equation, you pointed him to the vibrator in your nightstand for the simple fact that he could reach over while inside of you. It was a quicker solution than seeking out the spicier options hidden at the back of your closet.
Rafayel reaches in and draws out your strap with a low whistle, admiring how it dangles from his hand like it’s spun gold.
“Grow up,” you groan, swiping at it. With a cheeky grin, he snatches it away.
“What? I’m just trying to get to know you better. What’s so wrong about that?”
You huff in surrender. He has a point. It’s not like he’s shaming you for it. If anything, he seems delighted. Considering how eagerly he craned his neck for you to put the collar on (not even thirty seconds after you whipped it out, mind you), you should’ve figured as much.
“So when were you planning on introducing me to your little treasure trove, huh? Don’t tell me you got all this for me.”
“I’ve had those for a while. And I was hoping to break that in with Simone, actually.” Rafayel’s blinks in surprise. He stares at you, probably trying to gauge if you’re serious, but between the literal strap-on in his hand and how stony your face is, it doesn’t take him long to understand that you very much are.
It’s not exactly how you planned on divulging the finer points of your sexuality to him. Again, not because you were hiding it. It just felt like a non-issue. It’s not as if the arts had a dearth of bisexuals (see: Thomas) and Rafayel is Like That, be so fucking for real.
You do start to worry, though, when his face falls. His cat ears go flat and the stupid tail drops with them, hanging between his legs like a dead rag. It resurrects a moment later as his expression cools, fur bristling up its length as it flicks agitatedly from side to side.
“Oh? And here you were telling me I was enough for you.” Rafayel tosses aside the collar and throws the strap-on back into the box with more force than necessary, crossing his arms with the most dramatic of pouts. “Sorry to disappoint.”
He’s still in clingy house cat mode. You somehow forgot about that.
“It was before I met you,” you groan. “And she’s very, very straight!”
“Oh, poor you!” Rafayel exclaims. He turns his back on you with so much flourish it’s a wonder that you aren’t knocked back against the wall. “Thank god you had the good fortune to stumble on a consolation prize.”
“You are not a—”
“A hot and exceedingly wealthy consolation prize!” Rafayel adds over his shoulder.
In an ill-advised move, you retort, “It’s not like you’re the only wealthy person I know.” (Just one shelf in Sylus’ vault alone…)
He turns back just to gape at you, ears pitched upright over wide eyes. They narrow back into a glare moments before he whips back around. “Wait!” You rush to say. “Isn’t that a good thing? It means I picked you anyways—”
“Nuh-uh. Too late!” It’s only by luck that you manage to grab his tail before he stomps out the door. The loser actually yowls, and it takes all of your self-control not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. You’re pretty sure, at least in this moment, you two are the dumbest motherfucking couple in the world.
“Let go!”
“Oh? Where you gonna go? Back to the kitty cafe?” You croon.
“Away from you!”
“Rafayel,” you begin through gritted teeth. His tail is stronger than you expected, writhing like an eel. You think you might be dreaming or dying. Like, bleeding out and hallucinating some fucked up catboy universe after a wanderer knocked you sideways. “Who did I put the collar on?”
His tail pauses in your grip. When it resumes, its thrashing seems less certain than before. He doesn’t answer, because he’s stubborn that way. Like a good little soldier, you press on.
“And who have I been taking care of for the past three days?”
This time, Rafayel mumbles.
“Say that again?”
“…Me.”
“And whose texts force me to clear my phone storage on a regular basis?”
“...Mine.”
“Now. Do you really think I’d do all that for a ‘consolation prize’?” You edge closer as subtly as you can, so as not to scare your dramatic catfish away. “I’m not that nice.”
Rafayel flatly retorts, “Well, that much is obvious.”
The sass comes with his default setting, though. As far as you can tell, he seems sufficiently pacified. You slowly release his tail and bring your hands to his cheeks, squeezing his pout between your palms. You give him a little shake when he refuses to look you in the eye. “I chose you. I still do.”
Rafayel regards you with a vague cross of hope and suspicion. “You really mean it?”
“Yes, you silly, silly cat.”
His ears perk up (the furry ones) and it’s adorable and yeah, you’re going insane.
Rafayel tackles you onto the bed before you can pull away, the two of you landing with a thump. The box rattles beside you and the stupid cat bell’s tinkling beside your ear. Burying his face in your neck, he grouses, “No gang leaders. And no Simone.”
“No Simone,” you agree, before pausing. “I don’t think I said anything about—”
He cuts you short by plucking up the collar and offering it to you with gusto. His request is silent but obvious. You clip it around his neck with a defeated sigh.
Rafayel promptly takes your hand afterwards, returning it to its place on his cheek and nuzzling into it, just as he did on the floor of your living room before Percy ruined the mood. His tail’s wagging with renewed enthusiasm now, maybe even more than back then. “So…?”
“So?” You say, even though you know where this is going. Rafayel’s smirking at you like (to be on the nose about it) the cat who got the cream and there’s something stirring against your leg.
With a cheeky shrug, he suggests, “Break it in with me.”
You stare at him blankly. You would’ve found yourself here at some point. Still, you think as you let your gaze drift up to those twitching cat ears, what a time to ask.
Before they can start to droop on you, you say, “I mean, before that, you should probably—”
“Maybe I already have.”
After a moment, you raise a brow. “When did you say you found my toys again?”
“I didn’t,” he chirps happily, pecking at your fingertips.
“…Slut.”
Rafayel preens himself on the insult, smirking back at you without a lick of shame. He’s got you. You both know it. You wish he wouldn’t look so proud of himself, though. It’s not like you were ever opposed.
You slip your fingers under his collar and yank him towards you with some force. Unfortunately, he already knows this move. He doesn’t even have the decency to feign surprise this time. “We do it my way.”
“No complaints here.” Rafayel grins and you wonder whether it’s the “Kitty Evol” that’s given him fangs or whether his teeth were always that sharp. “Should I call you master from now on?”
“You’re not calling me anything,” you say, reaching for The Box™. You extricate yourself and shove it over to him. “Pick a size.”
“One click to check in. Two if it’s good. Three to tap out.” You slip the training tool between Rafayel’s fingers, waiting for his thumb to find a secure place on the button. “If you want to check in, wait until I say ‘click’ before giving me your answer. That’ll keep us from getting confused. I’ll say the same if I want to check in with you.”
His eyes follow you as you sit back to admire your handiwork. It’s not a glare precisely, but it’s not pleased. He’s offended, probably, that you’d be so cruel to incapacitate him like this. He’s already collared, nude, and kneeling on the covers. His hands are restrained in leather cuffs connected to a harness around each thigh. Throw the cat ears in and it’s ridiculous as it is arousing.
Because you can’t help yourself, you say, “Good thing Tara already had a clicker for Percy, right?”
Well, it’s definitely a glare now. You’d be in for an earful if not for the gag.
It’s a bit gag. You went easy on him. You’re not sure how much experience he has with all this and you didn’t want to spend much time worrying about whether he was able to breathe. Besides, you thought the fact that it was bone-shaped was a bit corny when you first got it, but between the way his fangs are poking out over the silicone and his cat ears are twitching you’ve come to understand the appeal.
“Shall we practice?” You ask blithely. “Ask me to check in.”
There’s a bit of a pause as Rafayel tries to figure out if you’re serious. Then, an uncertain: Click.
“Very good,” you coo mockingly. Rafayel flashes another glare, only for it to blink away when you slip your hands under the hem of your shirt.
“Tell me you want to stop,” you say as you pull it over your head. You skipped the bra today, seeing as you’d planned on having a lazy day at home. He’s definitely already noticed, but that doesn’t stop him from ogling tenfold when your breasts fall free.
Click. Click click.
“No. That’s too slow. Do it in quick succession.”
Rafayel notes your hands perched on the waistline of your shorts and you stare at him, patiently waiting.
Click-click. Click.
A pause.
Click-click-click.
“That’s perfect.” You slip your shorts over your hips. Your underwear is a dark cheeky pair he’s always appreciated on you. His eyes linger on them as you command, “Again, so I know it wasn’t a fluke.”
His answer’s instant: click-click-click.
“Exactly.”
Click click-click click click. Click-click click. Click-click click-click click—
This piece of shit.
Rafayel keeps going on like that, looking quite pleased with himself despite his binds. He pops his chin up in challenge as you climb onto the bed to join him. He doesn’t even seem to care you’ve left the underwear on.
“Is that really how you want to do this?”
He gives you a little shimmy. His eyes are sparkling, tail sweeping cheerfully behind him as the clicks go on and on and on.
“Fine then,” you say, stalking closer.
Click click-click click—
You give a hard flick to his cock, squarely on the pink head peeking out from his foreskin. Rafayel jumps. He stares at you wide-eyed, his thumb frozen on the clicker as your lips spread into a satisfied grin. “Tell me it’s good.”
Click. Cl-ick.
“Losing your grip already?” You tease, glancing down to make sure his finger’s still on the button. “Let’s try that again.”
You slink closer, letting your hand slide languidly across his knee and the leather strapped over his thigh. By the time it reaches its destination, his cock’s already half-hard. He twitches as you wrap your fingers around his shaft. You give him a testing squeeze and he grunts, almost begrudgingly, as you begin to work him in short, shallow strokes.
You let him settle into the sensation, tuning in to how his breath deepens before you press a kiss to his collarbone. His eyes drift shut as you move higher, sucking gently at the crook of his neck, the bell tinkling softly at your cheek. Nibbling at the sensitive skin where jaw meets ear, you murmur, “Tell me it’s good.”
Click-click.
“There. Wasn’t that easy?” He shivers. You can see his tail flicking rapidly out of the corner of your eye. “Again,” you demand as he firms up between your fingers.
Click-click.
“Click,” you reply. A test.
When you don’t get a response, you pull back and find Rafayel’s brow pinched slightly in confusion or concentration. His eyes, so mischievous just minute ago, already look lost in a haze. You take your other hand and grip roughly at his chin, forcing him to look at you. “Click.”
Those same eyes finally flash with understanding. Click-click.
“Good.” You run your fingers through his hair to reward him. Rafayel sighs around the bit as your nails graze pleasantly across his scalp. Just when he seems comfortable, you grip at his hair at the base of his skull and yank. He hisses, though probably more in surprise than pain. You deepen your strokes and he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing gently along the exposed cords of his throat.
“Click.”
Click-click.
No hesitation that time.
He hisses again as you begin to pump harder. Not particularly violently, but it’s still too rough, too soon. His foreskin snaps harshly over his sensitive head and back. His stomach flexes against each glancing brush of your knuckles. After a minute, he begins to grunt in discomfort, his throat shifting with each sound. His cock softens slightly, but you know to trust the process.
“Click.”
There’s a brief pause before he responds, either to reconsider his life choices or because his brain needed time to buffer. When a reply does come, it’s done with confidence: click-click.
“You’re a quick learner, when you want to be.” You fingers tangle themselves in his hair more surely, giving him the slightest shake just to remind him they’re there. His ears, already twitching wildly to begin with, quiver in reply. “I might just train you yet.”
There’s a split second where his eyes narrow. Normally he would’ve already thrown some smartass comment back at you. Obviously, he can’t. The glaring still pisses you off, though. He jerks in place with a muffled yelp as you press your nail meanly into his slit.
You tick your head to the side as his eyes pinch shut, pressing a teensy bit harder. He shudders into the pain, growling against the gag. “Be nice,” you warn, before easing off.
Rafayel sucks in a breath as your thumb begins to rub at his cock’s head, as if to soothe where you’d hurt. It might’ve actually worked, if not for how much pressure you’re putting into it, or for how you wander from your path to threateningly trace your nail’s beneath its ridge. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm as he bears the sensation. Meanwhile his cock is throbbing intermittently in your hold, like it’s still uncertain of how to respond.
“Poor thing. You wanted this so bad. Don’t tell me it’s too much?”
As if to coax it in your favor, you release your hold on his hair and bring your hand to his shaft. Rafayel groans as you lift your thumb from his head and replace it with the cup of your palm, your other hand pumping as you rub across him in circles. The technique is steady, almost clinical, as if you’re performing maintenance on an unruly machine.
It doesn’t take long for him to start to fidget. He’s not used to such rough handling from you. But he adjusts in time, just as you expected he would. Before long, his cock’s stiff and risen in line with the planes of his stomach. The head’s flushed and probably even more sensitive after the blood rush—it’s nearly red beneath your hand.
You continue without much mercy, shushing him as the movements of his tail grow uneasy, jerking restlessly from side to side. You narrow your circles into harder twists, and within moments the center of your palm has turned damp.
“You’re already leaking, pretty.”
You can’t decide what’s more satisfying: that stupid tail swishing around or Rafayel’s high-pitched whine.
He shifts his weight atop the covers, his ears swiveling anxiously. You squeeze harder, pumping a bit faster and twisting more firmly despite the tremors in his thighs. His hands jerk towards his center as if to grab your wrists and stop you, only the chains pull taut and he moans around the gag. He probably doesn’t even know whether it’s because he’s sick of it or if he’s close to coming. When his hip jerks back in a tiny attempt to draw away, you suck your teeth and deliver a sharp smack to his shaft.
Rafayel yelps as his cock’s head swells against your palm like a traitor. Stares at you with a delicious mix of intrigue and shock.
“Click,” you snap coldly. He takes a couple of deep, shuddering breaths before responding: click-click. “Then take it and sit still.”
His eyes roam briefly across your face, assessing you, before he surrenders with a little nod.
You glare at him as he catches his breath, considering your next move. “Lay back,” you decide, releasing your grip on him. “And spread your legs.”
As he clumsily adjusts himself on the bed, you reach for the lube and gloves you set aside. You turn back to him as you slip the glove on and find him leering at you with unabashed interest.
“Don’t get too excited,” you warn, snapping the white latex against your wrist. “We’re just getting started.”
The blue of his eyes deepens. The reds flare bright. You move closer to assess his position and, with a cluck of your tongue, set the lube down to grip his hips and drag him closer to you in one hard tug. Rafayel takes a sharp breath when you do it, his cock bobbing with the motion.
(His first pose was actually fine for your purposes, but you had to do it for the bit.)
“Should’ve known you wanted this,” you mutter, squirting a generous amount of lube into your hand. “Look at you enjoying yourself while I do all the work.”
You slide your fingers across his perineum. The lube’s still cold because he deserves it, with all the shit he’s given you since you met. Rafayel yelps once more, shooting you yet another glare. He starts grunting around his gag again, clearly trying to chew you out.
“Yap, yap, yap,” you mock, the words lilting. You slide your fingers lower, coating his skin as you roll your eyes. “You’ve got some nerve. Cat’s got your tongue and you still refuse to shut up.”
He’s even more incensed now. He didn’t appreciate the turn of phrase. As he chatters (gnaws, really) around his bit, you press the tip of your finger firmly to his asshole with an exasperated sigh. His hips jerk at the contact and the noise ceases with a squeak.
“Seriously? That’s what it takes?” You lightly circle his rim, poking in ever so slightly. He tightens around the intrusion and you decide to change tack, drawing the back of your knuckles back up his perineum in a firm slide. “And here I am just trying to make you feel good. You trust me, don’t you?”
Rafayel looks at you a bit warily before he nods. With a noncommittal hum, you say, “I don’t think I believe you.” You unfurl your index and middle fingers and press them to the tender skin beneath his balls.
He tenses at the pressure, only to relax as you begin to massage at the spot. His cock, which softened slightly during your bickering, shifts below his navel. As your fingers move across his taint, searching, your other hand moves up to stroke at his shaft.
Click-click.
You hesitate before pressing a bit more firmly at the spot you just passed over.
Click-click.
You lift your head to look Rafayel. His eyes are half-lidded, a pretty red (cadmium, you think he’d call it) dusted across his ears and cheeks. With a little laugh, you say, “I didn’t ask.”
His face falls, but you oblige him, digging deeper into that precious spot. Rafayel shivers gratefully beneath the touch, and his cock rapidly expands. “For all your whining,” you say, beginning to lengthen your strokes over the spot and down his taint, lower and lower, “you really are easy to please.”
The next time your fingers brush against his entrance, it takes a bit longer for him to tense up. “Shh,” you coax, gently circling at his rim again. “C’mon, baby. Relax.”
His breath catches and your eyes zero in on the reaction. The nickname slipped out without much thought on your part, but… that’s new.
You ease the tip of your finger in. Pause for a little more lube. You reposition yourself at his side, beside the hand without the clicker, before bringing them back. You run your ungloved thumb across his cock’s head as a bit of a distraction, far gentler than before. Rafayel breathes deeply as you breach the tight ring of muscle. You ease in a bit deeper with shallow pumps. When you finally push in to the second knuckle, he lets out a little moan.
“There it is. I got you,” you murmur. When you manage to slide the full-length of your finger into him, you poke a second at the rim. “Click.”
Click-click.
You ease it in with the same patience. This time, you don’t chide Rafayel for how he fidgets against the stretch. When he seems a bit more comfortable, you begin to pump his cock in time with your fingers. Rafayel’s brow furrows as he makes sense of the sensations, before he melts into the mattress with a low groan.
You decide, then, to hook your fingers. Rafayel’s back arches right off the bed. There’s a rattling of metal as his hands pull against their restraints. He glances down as if remembering himself, the hand without the clicker scrambling aimlessly before bunching into the covers. You shush him again, working his prostate in patient strokes as you coo, “I know. I know it’s intense,” not that you actually do.
You release his cock and he doesn’t even notice. He’s too focused on your fingers, his eyes pinched shut. You delicately brush your hair behind your ear and over your shoulder, wishing you’d thought far ahead enough to have a tie on hand. A tiny oversight, in the grand scheme of things. It doesn’t stop you from dipping down and taking his cock into your mouth.
Rafayel jumps. Inadvertently, his cock slides deeper across your tongue. You pull back instantly, releasing him with a pop.
“What did I say?”
After a long moment, Rafayel settles beneath you and pins his hips to the covers with a needy whine. You praise him with a smile that’s probably too sweet for how you’re debauching him. “Very good.”
He shakes as you ease yourself back over him, your fingers persistently pumping despite how he’s clenching as you slide him over your tongue inch by inch. He whimpers when he tickles at the back of your throat, wanting—expecting—movement. But rather than give it to him, you hum contentedly, teasing him with a slow shake of your head. He shudders under the vibration, breathing harder around his gag. His hand writhes beneath you, fisting itself into the sheets.
You poke a third finger at his entrance as you draw your mouth up, up, up over him in what is perhaps the slowest upstroke known to man. You stop at the head of his cock, gently sucking and swirling your tongue to clean off the precum. You don’t even know if Rafayel notices the prodding. He’s too busy whimpering under your lazy suckling, trembling as he uses every muscle in his body to keep himself flat on the bed.
You lift yourself off of him suddenly, no warning nor winding down. Rafayel’s eyes flutter open as he peers at you, watching as you reach aside and present him with a butt plug that has a pink heart-shaped gem at the base.
He blinks once, twice, before his expression crumples into a venomous scowl.
You can’t help but giggle. “Sue me. I thought it was cute.”
You pull your fingers out of him and poise the plug at his entrance. Just to be safe, you coat it with a bit more lube. He seizes up a bit when you first press it into him. “Relax,” you urge him softly. “Breathe through it for me. It’ll help later. You’ll feel so good.”
You ease it in just like you did your fingers, nudging it deeper and drawing back in turns. When he finally expands around the plug’s widest point, you push more firmly. Rafayel grunts as it slides home, his body closing neatly beneath the gem.
You flick at the heart with a grin. “Oh, it’s very cute. It’s a shame you can’t see.”
He huffs. He shifts his hips and you see the moment he feels the plug moving with him, pushing against his prostate. His brow pinches in pleasure as he—despite himself, it seems—lets out a blissed out hum. As he adjusts to the new fullness, you pull the glove off your hand and toss it in a nearby waste bin. After tidying up, you tug at his hips again, pulling him even further down the mattress. He looks just pleased by your manhandling as he did the last time, though he makes a questioning sound.
“Sit up a bit.”
Rafayel awkwardly obeys, struggling to brace himself on his free hand. You help him before he flounders too badly, sliding into the space between him and the headboard to cage him between your legs. His ears perk up in pleased reflex, tickling at your breast as you guide him into a resting position against your thigh. You reach around and grasp at his cock with a little sigh of your own, running your fingers through his hair as you begin to stroke his cock, scratching between his ears more kindly than before.
“Comfortable?”
He answers with a nod.
You fall into an easy rhythm. His cock is wet from all your licking at it, plus his own dribbling slit. Even you can tell that the glide of your hand is perfect—smooth and not too slow.
He melts against you, his gaze drunken. His tail languidly swishes across the covers somewhere near your ankle. He mindlessly nuzzles at your breast. The silicone bumps against it and you realize that, if not for the gag, he’d be mouthing at your nipple by now. The thought settles between you like an ember licking between your legs. You make a note for next time, because there will be a next time. But meanwhile...
Your hand leaves his hair to loop around him, sneaking under his arm. He mistakes your first brush across his nipple as a coincidence, giving you more than a little shiver. It takes a little tweak and a flick for your intentions to become clear.
His flush spreads and grows deeper by the second, until even his shoulders radiate heat against your leg. He makes a muffled sound, he begins to squirm. When you pinch, working his nipple until it pebbles between your fingers, one of his legs kicks against the sheets as if scrambling to buck you off. You squeeze at him more firmly. Stroke a bit harder. “C’mon, baby. Take it. I know what you like.”
He shudders through a hard throb of his cock.
It doesn’t take much from you. It’s lazy work: tweaking and pinching. But after a couple minutes, his head tips back with a muffled, Oh, god. You laugh softly above him, pressing a kiss to his hair. He begins to shake against you, his whines growing pitchier with every pump.
“Such a pretty boy,” you murmur, letting your breath blow across that soft, restless cat ear. “We should’ve done this sooner.”
On impulse, you take it between your teeth and give it a tug.
Rafayel seizes up in an instant. Bites around the bit with a pitiful keening sound. His cock surges against your grip as he comes, spurting across his abdomen in white streaks.
“Oh!” You say in mild, genuine surprise. You frown, tilting your head to the side. Even as he comes down from his high, your hand doesn’t let up on him in force or pace. Rafayel begins to thrash when he realizes you have no intentions of doing so, his legs digging into the mattress and scrambling across the covers as if he actually has any hope of fleeing from your ministrations. All the while, you’re pumping more fluid from his slit, making a dripping mess of your hand.
Coming was against his best interest, really. All he did was give you a slicker slide.
“I don’t think I said you could come,” you say lightly, a threat woven in silk. Rafayel shakes his head, whining in the cadence of, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You bite at his ridiculous cat ear again and his dick twitches. He whimpers, bucking his hips in hope of a second’s reprieve.
“Stay still,” you hiss, and you suppose you really meant it this time. Rafayel makes a strangled sound as he suddenly obeys.
It’s only by its otherworldly glow that you’re able to spot the mark surfacing on the dark red flush of his chest, and that does give you pause. Rafayel gasps as your hand slows, his chest heaving. Your other wanders from his nipple to touch at the mark. It’s never appeared in this context. It didn’t even cross your mind that it could. The implications of it make you a bit queasy.
Deviating from your own rules, you plainly and sincerely ask, “Do you want to stop?”
Rafayel peers up at you as he catches his breath, eyes swimming with a nameless emotion. He considers your offer, his gaze traveling from your cheeks to your lips, before hardening in resolve.
Click-click.
You frown at him. “Raf—”
Click-click, he repeats, somehow insistent.
You swallow against your hesitation. His eyes flit down briefly to your throat. Finally, you demand, “Show me how you tap out.”
Click-click-click.
“You can do that at any time,” you remind him, needing him to believe you. Then, steeling yourself, you lay your hand across the mark. “Until then, you can’t come without my permission.”
Heat blooms under your palm and fades just as quickly. Rafayel shudders, his pupils contracting ever so slightly before snapping wider than before. You lick your lips, readying yourself to pick up the reins back where you left them. Your fingers drift back down to his nipple. As you readjust your grip on his cock, you ask, “Should we test it out?”
It’s rhetorical, obviously.
Your hands start moving as mercilessly as before. Rafayel takes it well for about the first ten seconds. It’s when you start nibbling at that stupid cat ear again that he begins to yell. You should’ve figured they were sensitive (he was so hot-and-cold about you petting his tail these past few days), but judging by how quickly his cock firms up again, you clearly underestimated just how sensitive he was.
It’s not long before he’s whimpering again, sputtering around the bit. Vague approximations of words are sprinkled through his torrent of groans. You can’t tell his muffled, Oh, god, from, Oh, fuck, but you know him well enough—the inclinations of his body. The exact way his release closes in.
The pitch of his moans climb higher and higher. His legs begin to quake. His breath catches in his throat, spine arched like a bolt of lightning, and then—
Rafayel whimpers. Shakes his head. Pries one eye open just to look down his body and watch you fist his cock. It tenses and swells as it usually would, only for precum to seep almost shyly from the slit.
“Huh,” you say lightly. “Well, that’s fun.”
He doesn’t even seem to have the energy to glare at you, which is better proof than any that it’s worked. You free him for the time being, gently working your way out from behind him. You stack a couple of pillows to replace your support and lay him in slight recline.
“Can you swallow?” You ask, just to make sure he’s not going to suffocate while your back’s turned. He nods. His throat bobs, though you suspect it wasn’t meant to be a demonstration. “Good.”
Rafayel’s eyes trail after you as you step off the bed. You keep your smug smile to yourself, turning your back on him to strip. Now that you’re parted from him, you begin to recognize the demands of your own body. Your underwear is dark and soaked, your cunt dripping. You were so focused on him you didn’t notice your own arousal pooling between your legs.
You put on the strap-on with languid purpose, careful not to look his way. Let him steep in his own anticipation. Let him watch. It’s only when you step back towards him that you look him in the eye. His gaze is hooded. Dazed. As you reach down to grip the cock he chose for himself, there’s a spark in it that flickers on the thin wick between excitement and fear.
“Click.”
Click-click.
Thank god, you think, though you don’t show it. As you climb into the space between his legs, you can feel your temperature slowly climbing. The dull empty ache between your thighs. You temper your own impatience as you reach for the gem and gently pull.
Rafayel grunts softly as it slips free, his flush deepening. Whether intended or not, his hips shift towards you, as if eager for more. He watches as you coat the dildo with a copious amount of lube, your hand sliding easily over the silicone.
There’s a twitch in the line of his shoulders as you poise yourself at his entrance. You place a hand on his hip, stroking softly. Just letting him know you’ve got him. “Breathe.”
You work your way in in tiny increments, gently rocking into him and falling back. It’s a patient prodding that has him biting at his bit and sweating, his bangs sticking to the light sheen on his skin. You encourage him softly, pause for lube, watching his discomfort fade to pleasure in a slow gradient. When the tip finally slides past the worst of his body’s resistance, he shudders with a sound half-relieved and half-terrified.
“There,” you murmur, waiting as he catches his breath. “You’re doing so good, baby. There we go.”
His eyes drift shut as you begin to roll your hips against him, pushing further inch by inch. When you’re deep enough, you toy with the angle by slight degrees, searching for the place that has Rafayel throwing his head back, clamping around the strap.
You shower him with encouragements and filthy promises. “You have to relax for me, baby. Can you do that for me? I’ll fuck you so good.”
He manages, despite his trembling. You push deeper on your next thrust, dragging your cock against his prostate. Again. Again. Rafayel bears it, his legs twitching open wider. From around the bit, a long thread of whimpers unspools.
“You’re taking all of me now,” you tell him, though he probably hears it for himself—the soft slap of his skin against the base. “Wanna go harder. Can I give you more?”
He gives you a groggy nod, clicker forgotten. Makes a needy sound at the back of his throat. You pitch deeper and his stomach flexes under the impact. Rafayel groans. His head nods once more, answering a question you haven’t asked as you drive into him, back and forth and back and forth.
You haven’t touched his cock since you put the strap-on, but it’s still rigid between you, beckoning. Bouncing slightly with every thrust. You reach for it, barely tracing your fingers across the shaft. Rafayel jerks suddenly, driving your cock even harder into his prostate. You drift lower and watch his eyes roll back as you grip his balls in a tight circle at the base.
“Sweet boy,” you croon, picking up speed now. “Do you see how much I do for you? See what you get when you behave?”
He moans and keeps moaning. A needy, lowing sound that couldn’t possibly be contained by four walls. His cock looks abused, red and still wanting, his head smearing his stomach with shining streaks. It makes your mouth water, it’s so pretty. Every bit of him is.
You release his balls and fuck harder, wrapping your hand around his shaft. You dig your thumb into the tiny pinprick of a mole beside his most prominent vein and the pitch of his moans spikes higher. The bond mark resurfaces with a violent glow as his cock seeps a thin, milky fluid. Rafayel shakes against you, whimpering as his body’s wracked by a pleasure refused release.
You cluck your tongue, almost actually pitying him. “Oh, you poor thing.”
His pathetic keening shoots straight to your clit as you begin to stroke.
His cock twitches, persistently stiff as the rest of him goes boneless. You aren’t pumping particularly hard. It’s almost an idle motion for you—a matter of indulging in the easy slide of his skin—but after a few minutes of this, Rafayel breaks. He goes quiet in the overload, reduced to emitting short, thoughtless grunts. To your own shame, you realize you only noticed it because you could suddenly hear your own moans.
“Click,” you say, just to check on him. He almost seems to miss it, peering up at you through his delirium. Click-click, he answers, and somehow even that sounds dazed.
His ears are barely moving now, exhausted as the rest of him. He’s fucked out and broken. A helpless creature in your palm. The next time his cock throbs and dribbles, he only manages a faint, weepy whimper. The sound makes you more aware of the neglected weight of your breasts. The strap-on’s persistent grind against your clit. Need bubbles up in you, insistent and impatient, along with the distant thought that you’re seriously sick in the head.
“Come.”
His eyes fly open, clarifying for one brief fraction of a second. And then, he’s gone.
His release comes slowly at first, legs quaking as his cum spills thickly and pools in his navel. It quickly gains momentum, shooting across his abdomen in white ropes. You focus on pumping him through it, your hips forced to slow to a grind by his vice grip on the strap. He splutters desperately around his gag. Begging, you think. Not that you care.
Only—just when his orgasm would normally start to ebb, it doesn’t stop.
“Oh,” you say lightly, watching in fascination as his pleasure brutalizes him in waves, emptying him of every orgasm you stalled. His binds rattle as his hands search for something to cling to. His groans turn to bellows, guttural and almost pained, as the mark pulses mockingly with every wet, hard swell of his cock.
By the time it begins to let up, your fingers are coated white. A strand of cum glistens and hangs between the pale, smooth skin of his stomach and his slit. Rafayel twitches under each cruel stroke of your hand, shuddering through the aftershocks. Even after his abdomen is striped white and sticky, his cock continues leaking in little spurts.
“Stay hard,” you demand, “You’re not done yet.”
Rafayel huffs in disbelief. His eyes are wide and betrayed, blinking back a thin sheen of tears. You withdraw from him, stripping yourself of the strap-on in a bit of a rush. You mount him easily, briefly grinding your pussy across his soaked shaft before angling your hips to impale yourself on him. You both moan at how easy it is—you’re both so wet—for him to slide home.
You ride him desperately, selfishly, grinding into the slick mess of him. Rafayel sobs beneath you, blubbering as you set a merciless pace. Hungry for the taste of his mouth, you reach for him to remove his gag.
“Witch,” Rafayel manages to wheeze before you kiss him, his lips raw and messy with spit. “Tyrant,” he adds when he has a moment to wrench himself away.
Your giggle almost sounds innocent, like you’ve been tickling him or something instead of plowing him through your mattress. “Be nice,” you purr, hips bearing down as you nibble at his ear. “You’ve been so good for me, baby. Give me one more and I’ll let you suck your cum from my cunt.”
He sucks in a breath as he glares up at you, angry and determined. The fog in his irises has cleared, their hearts blazing red. You gasp as he bucks under you, planting his feet on the bed and lifting his hips to fuck into you. A hand falls on your waist and—
You glance down your body, catching a glimpse of empty cuffs and bare wrists. There’s a faint sound of plastic hitting plaster as Rafayel chucks the clicker at the wall. He clutches your hips, his hold bruising, and grits out, “You’ve had your fun.”
He pistons into you, relentlessly dragging your hips down to catch each thrust. Each one lands with a clap of your bodies and a delicious ache deep inside you, Rafayel seeking to pay you back for your abuse tenfold. Each thrust is as sharp and precise as his dagger, wrenching ragged moans from your throat.
He turns you both with a growl, your back bouncing slightly as you hit the mattress. Drives into you at a vengeful pace. You clench around him, your pussy drawing him deeper and he bites back a traitorous whimper.
“Witch,” he repeats hoarsely, the word taut at the edges.
You laugh softly around your next moan. “Slut.”
Rafayel laughs back despite himself. A moment later, his expression crumbles and goes dumb. His mouth drops open, a shiver rolling up his spine. He comes with a heaving breath, trembling so awfully you’d think he might shatter.
“Oh, good boy,” you tease, reaching up to scratch him between the ears.
Rafayel huffs another sharp laugh, or at least he tries to before his orgasm tears another hard grunt from his gut. He braces himself on his hands to lift himself, slowly and deliberately pumping into you as if to make sure he’s emptied himself of every last drop.
You sigh when he finally slides down your body. Smirk as he hikes your legs over his shoulders and drags you closer with the same force as you did to him. His mouth moves over your pussy like he’s starving, like it always does. Behind him, his tail wags. Unable to help yourself, you reach down and playfully tug at his ear with another giggle.
Rafayel growls again, the sound reverberating between your hips. He draws away with a piercing glare and for a moment you really think he might spit bubbles at you. Instead, his hand leaves its resting place on your thigh to drive two fingers into your cunt.
You moan in approval. Grip at his hair as you grind your hips against him. He laps at you hungrily, drinking you up with loud, savoring licks, hooking his fingers in you and using them to coax out more of his cum.
Each lick sends heat surging up your vertebrae. Numbs you at your scalp. “Just like that, baby,” you murmur, drunken despite all your teasing. He shakes his head against you, whether out of annoyance or embarrassment or simply to push his tongue deeper. “Just like that.”
Your orgasm washes over you, hot and gradual—as soothing as Rafayel’s were sharp. It lasts for long seconds, sending subtle shudders through your frame. You suspect he wouldn’t even have noticed if not for how wet you get around his fingers, the last vestiges of his cum seeping into his waiting mouth.
You sigh in contentment as you come down from it, only for Rafayel to shoot you a faintly scornful glare from between your legs.
He keeps licking at you in focused retaliation. Amps up the pressure. Sucks and nips meanly at your clit. You squeak in protest as he grips your hips in place, and yeah, you deserve it. Before you know it you’re squirming under his mouth, laughing between sharp moans.
“Asshole,” you gasp when he finally eases off you, sliding back up your body with a bit of a sneer.
“Annoying, isn’t it?”
“A little,” you reply, smiling warmly as he settles beside you. “But it feels good in the long run.”
Rafayel matches your smile with a soft snort. “Yeah, I guess.” You reach up to unstick his hair from the sweat on his brow. He catches your hand before you can pull away, placing it firmly on his cheek. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he adds, “This cat curse was bad enough. Now I’ll never be able to have sex again. You really sucked me dry, you know.”
“You asked for it. Also, I don’t know that sucking is the right word.” Rafayel makes a face, nipping at your thumb with his little fangs. Laughing, you say, “Let me draw you a bath. I can’t have my big catfish drying up because of me. Does that sound good?”
“Yeah, if I can even make it to the bathroom. Forget sex, who knows if I can walk.”
“If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you.”
Rafayel hesitates before smiling at you. You’ll never get tired of it—his surprise at your simplest affections. How he still takes on the same shade of gold as the sun. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Of course you end up carrying him. Obviously he drags you into the bath. He keeps you there, your skin pruning as you lay against his chest for an hour or more.
Rafayel’s fingers glow as he stirs lazily at the water, heating the water to the perfect temperature with a low flickering flame. “You know,” you murmur, drowsily nuzzling into the crook of his neck, “I’m pretty sure I should be the one spoiling you right now.”
“Who says you aren’t?” He says warmly.
You hum, the water rippling as you snuggle even closer. Before sleep takes you, you etch it into memory: his chuckle rolling over you; his fingers tracing gently at your jawline; the melody he hums as your bodies blur in the steam.