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“How many times have I told you”—Red Velvet crowded into your space—“to not. Distract me. While I’m—mmf!”
You closed the distance as fast as you could, tiptoeing up and all but tumbling your lips onto his, shoving whatever other angry words he had back into his mouth for a blissful second. In true adherence to the classics, you attempted to throw your arms around his neck, but Red Velvet grabbed your shoulder with his normal hand and firmly pushed you away.
“Listen to me! The heat from the ovens will—”
Oh, there was heat alright. You could feel it radiating off of his hand, still gripping your shoulder, and it matched the ire gracing his features: the tightness of his brows over the glaring shine of his mismatched eyes, the downturned lips that were still fruitlessly forming words, the bead of sweat running down from his wild, streaked hair. Your gaze followed the droplet’s journey over that delicious skin, across a jawline that was as strong as the rest of him, until it disappeared out of sight, shying away into the fur of his jacket.
Red Velvet shook you out of your reverie.
“Are you listening?” He was using his commander voice now, all stern and whatnot.
“I am!” For good measure, you laid your hand on his and then slid it down the length of his forearm. “I am…”
Red Velvet exhaled what seemed to be his entire lung capacity and gave you a critical once-over. You looked so very eager and he was so very stressed from having to catch you before your ‘surprise tackle’ turned you into fuel for the furnace five minutes prior. Add the culmination of a long day’s work to the mix and Red Velvet was a man at the end of his baking sheet, but he was not without reason.
“Do I have to discipline you?” asked Red Velvet, dropping his timbre to the low gravel he knew you liked. “Hm? Is that it?”
A regiment of goosebumps swept you head to toe and you had to swallow a smile lest you gave your astoundingly obvious game away.
“Maybe,” you mumbled, casting your gaze to the side in what you thought was the embodiment of the word ‘coquettishly’. “Otherwise how would I ever learn?”
Without further faffing about, Red Velvet shifted his hand from your shoulder to fist into your top, jerking you forwards as he leant down and properly kissed you. He pressed in almost harshly, his lips as warm and smooth as his precious ovens. Heat enveloped your senses, bracketing your head in as his hand slipped around to thread through your hair, pushing you closer. You could feel his larger, looming body giving off an aura of warmth, bolstered by the dry heat still clinging to his clothes.
Red Velvet had always run hotter than most, especially where it counted.
The sweat you saw from earlier was making a comeback in your awareness when you discovered that this particular flavour of Red Velvet was one of your favourites. Fresh out of the sweltering cake forge and wrapped in an indubitably masculine scent, blended from semi-dried sweat, smouldering exasperation, a good helping of confidence, and the fragrance note of a well-built physique. It kindled something base in you, trundling along in the depths of your abdomen, and you carelessly heeded its call by grasping the lapels of his jacket, looking to worm your groping fingers around his chest.
Too late did you see his red right hand twitch.
That massive and clawed and incredible hand.
“Omfph-!” Air was dashed out of your lungs as you were suddenly hefted up and slammed against the wall, your torso enveloped in Red Velvet’s mutant hand. One of Red Velvet’s claws cushioned the back of your head so you were spared the concussion upon impact, but your vision still struggled to clear. Your feet dangled off the ground and your arms were pinned in by his claws; Red Velvet held you as easily as one did a doll.
Maybe it was the whiplash vertigo, but your heart was pumping all the blood in your body downwards.
Red Velvet took a step, bringing him practically nose-to-nose with you, and you felt the claws clench. The one behind your head dipped down to hang by your chest, its knuckle crooking around your neck. The deep rise and fall of your breathing barely did anything to budge it.
“Is this what you want?” His voice was thunder over water by your ear, his breath hot and heavy.
If you turned your face just a fraction, you’d get a cheekful of Red Velvet.
You nodded as vigorously as you could with your head cradled in a claw, the words coming after: “Yeah. Yeah, give it to me, Red, hard and rough and just destroy my—”
It was with a great huff that Red Velvet—the claw leaving its feathery groping to angle your chin—smashed his lips against yours, silencing what would’ve been an outpour of embarrassment. He bit you wholeheartedly, chasing your lips with his teeth, letting your saliva freely mix together as you eagerly tried to nip back as best as you could. Your tongue entered the fray, getting a couple of licks into his mouth before Red Velvet seized it in his teeth and tugged lightly, drawing away from you and then letting go with a gentleness that belayed your bruised and spit-slicked lips.
“To think that I’d associate with such a shameless slut,” growled Red Velvet, squeezing your body. You did not miss the faintest blush dusting across his cheeks.
“Only for you,” was your breathy reply, and his jaw clenched.
“Do not talk back to me.”
Red Velvet squeezed you further still, and with his other hand, unceremoniously shoved your pants down, underwear and all. Your legs wriggled about immediately, the muggy air suddenly clamping down on your bare skin an unpleasant contrast to the considerable dampness between your thighs. None of it new, mind, as Red Velvet was swiftly finding out, the blush growing more vivid on his face as his seeking fingers patted up, up, up your inner thighs.
You let out a tiny squeak.
“Is-did you-?” A black glove, wrenched off by teeth, fell to the floor. His pointer slipped inside you far too easily and you brought your legs up to wrap loosely (but insistently) around his trim waist, angling your hips to give him even easier access.
If Red Velvet had deigned to look down, he would’ve noticed the slight, wet stain on the crotch of your underwear, now heaped in a discarded pile. Unfortunately, the sight of your entrance slick with a moist shine, all ready (all for him), had goaded his simmering urges into a burgeoning flame.
“Uh-huh,” you nodded, hooking your ankles together, trying to grind down on the single—now, two—fingers almost ponderously spreading you open. “You’re always saying to be prepared for battle, for the enemy, for this and that, so. I’m prepared.”
And then your chuckle gets strangled off as Red Velvet plunged a third finger in, dangerously close to the knuckle, his odd-eyes closing briefly. He curled his fingers none-too-gently, seemingly enjoying the slippery give of your walls and playing with how far he could push them around. You sighed in relish at the same time his breathing notably grew a tad more laboured; the claw tips had started unconsciously digging into your skin.
In the next breath, he opened his eyes, their sky blue shade searing with an amalgam of emotions only you could name. You pulled on him with your interlocked legs, but it was like tugging on a statue—a statue that was unbuckling his belt with urgency, dragging down his white pants only enough to free his straining cock. The dexterity of his single hand never failed to make your skin prickle with a certain kind of electricity.
You eyed that thick, angry red, dripping cock, jutting your hips up once more. It was what you’d had in your sights this entire time, after all.
Your mouth only just began to form words to say as much when Red Velvet and his velvety cock jammed up into you—or rather, you came down on it. Thanks to your rather hopeful foresight, the initial slide was smooth enough, but it was the forceful stretch from his girth that plungered the breath out of you as he manhandled you exactly like a fleshlight. Your chest heaved as you struggled to gather together more than a few puffs of air. Your body wanted to escape the dull, heated burn in your hole, evident in the minute way your hips tried to resist, but even if you had wanted to (which you didn’t), there was no way you could fight the steely clutch of Red Velvet’s claw.
Red Velvet’s teeth were clenched in concentration, his focus wholly on you as his bright cerulean eyes roved over your face: your fluttering lashes brushed with the barest of tears, your bitten lips parted in unabashed panting, the colour high in your cheeks. He did all of that—your reactions were for him and him alone. The feeling of you around him, tight but warming up to snug, knowing that you were here and secure and safe in the hand that was finally good for something other than sundering and shredding…it made his heart ache.
And not just his heart, either, as your gasping breaths quickly turned into breathy gasps of pleasure. Taking this as a green-light, Red Velvet upped the ante, all but slamming into you as his claw stilled in its motions and his hips took over. He adjusted you so that you could properly wrap your legs around him and so he could wipe your hair out of your face, the tenderness of the gesture insanely at odds with the unrelenting firebrand pounding at your insides.
You tried to say his name, but the syllables kept getting jumbled up and the stifling heat was doing you no favours, so you opted to whine in your throat and attempted to move your arms instead. Said arms were still bracketed in by Red Velvet’s claws, and there was something you wanted to attend to that required their use. Not that Red Velvet’s cock wasn’t doing some good work, but you knew that things could be boatloads better if you could just—
Red Velvet spared you only the briefest of glances and ignored your shaky pleas. He did, however, let one of his claws (the equivalent of a pinky finger) drift down and aimlessly, lightly caress you. It wasn’t enough by far and only served to make your need blossom into a fine frustration of a thing.
“Urgh, a-a-ah, Ruh-Red—!”
“You wanted it rough,” grunted the man whose name you were trying to push out of your mouth. “You’ll get it rough.”
And he relaxed his grip on you, leaving your entire body hovering in the air with only your legs around him. Reflexively, you threw your arms around his neck, falling forwards onto his chest as your hands sought through his thick, wild hair. Now, skin to skin, it was sweltering. You were dying to rip off the rest of your clothes and had no idea how Red Velvet could stand (literally) thrusting up into you so vigorously, hilting at one specific place every single time with military precision, while still wearing his feathery jacket. His single, normal hand had a firm grip on your ass, supporting you the rest of the way.
Sometimes, it was too easy to get caught up in the sheer size and power of his claw and forget that Red Velvet himself was nothing to sneeze at.
You were leaning your head into the crook of his neck, keening into his ear, overwhelmed with the heat that enshrouded you inside and out. Your hips were moving as best as they could, attempting to grind onto Red Velvet’s abdomen for some semblance of relief.
Red Velvet cottoned on quicklike and clicked his tongue. A troublesome one, you were, and he squeezed your ass once before switching hands, leaning you back on the palm of his claw. He slipped his hand down in the scant space between the two of you to where you were joined, all moist and wet and filthy, and got to work.
“Finally-oh, mmmh, Red Velvet, hah,” your voice was dripping with appreciation and relief the same way your nethers were. You hardly had to say anything beyond some garbled noises and Red Velvet knew the where, when, and how.
You basked in his ministrations for all of five seconds until your hips began a-callin’ again.
“…Why’d’you stop moving?” you asked a tad petulantly, just for the drama, clenching yourself around him and delighting in how his eye twitched. “Or can the great commander not multitask?”
A sound like the ones his beloved hounds make rumbled from Red Velvet’s chest as he pinned you with a knowing glare.
“Troublesome and demanding; how do I put up with you, hm?” Red Velvet stopped you from replying and further increasing his blood pressure by pulling you into a sweaty kiss, his sticky fingers finding their way into your hair.
Then, with you temporarily distracted, Red Velvet strode briskly into the forge’s adjoining ‘break’ room: bare bones, with a fold-out chair and table (and an irrelevant water cooler), but perfect for his purposes. He kicked the door open, kicked the chair out of the way, and walked up to the table. Withdrawing from the kiss in which he had his eyes open the entire time, he leant down and urged you to unravel yourself from his person.
The cool steel of the table had you flinching for a breath of a second, but you welcomed the sensation readily enough. Red Velvet made sure to keep close so his cock never left your person, and once you were lying down in relative comfort, he gave an internal sigh and pressed his claw on top of your body. He pushed down on your entire torso, a few degrees short of flattening you, leaving your lower body bare and exposed.
He could feel the miniscule rise and fall of your chest under his claw. It reminded him how ridiculously easy it would be to turn you into pie crust.
A frightening thought for him.
But you were absolutely revelling in it. Look, your eyes were glimmering with so much lust and your hands, restricted as they were, were trying to reach for the closest claw they could. So for you, he bent forwards slightly and restarted his pace, giving you no quarter and fucking you so hard the table screeched back and forth several centimetres with each thrust. Within the safety of four walls, thin as they were, you had no qualms about cranking up the volume of your moans. Red Velvet himself was no slouch in that department either, and you drank up his husky groans and deep panting, the exertion finally just about getting to him.
His beautiful, but dreadfully hot claw hand on top of you and the cold steel at your back (though it was rapidly slipping into lukewarm territory) made you feel a bit like a sandwich in a panini press in arguably the sexiest way possible. Being held down, with oxygen a strictly regulated commodity, by Red Velvet’s tightly reined-in strength as he throbbed within you while your ankles locked him right where you wanted him was a mouthful of a sensation and one of your dearest favourites.
The air in the room was growing fraught with humidity. You saw a few beads of sweat fling off Red Velvet’s hair and deliriously hoped that they landed somewhere on you.
And then Red Velvet, still harbouring a bit of sourness from your faux remark earlier, brought his normal hand back into the mix, cajoling you towards the edge. Your cries grew higher in pitch, your mind swiftly abandoning ship, and your hips canted up and up and up to meet whatever Red Velvet meted out to you. It was with a sharp-toothed flash of a smile that he pressed down a fair bit harder on you at a critical point and the coil twisting in your lower stomach snapped with eager relish, sending your brain right off that diving board.
Red Velvet fucked you through the afterglow as hard as ever, chasing his own finale, the sound of your cries resonating through his very being. His hand slipped up to brace against the top of your thigh, sparing you from any oversensitivity in exchange for a highly likely bruise later. His claws curled slightly into the steel, seeking purchase, further caging you in. The lewd, wet noises that had been omnipresent throughout made themselves crystal clear in your ears, now that you had been satisfactorily short-circuited. They, and the sight of Red Velvet panting above you with a focused, hungry gleam in his eye, made your mouth move before you knew it:
“In-inside, Red Vel-nnh-in, inside,” you felt the tell-tale beat skip in his pace that signalled he was close. You tried to tug him closer using your legs, but your energy reserves were all but gone. “Inside, come-mm, come inside, please—”
“Be quiet,” growled Red Velvet, jaw clenching and eyebrows drawing together.
“But-ah, I want-I want you to—”
“Be.”—he slammed himself inside, the smack of flesh upon flesh impossibly loud—“Quiet.”
You whimpered as he pulled out in one fell swoop, your walls desperately clutching at a whole lot of nothing just when it was getting good. Red Velvet held himself over you, shoved your clothes up, took his claw off, pumped once, and came over your abdomen, sadly a layer above where you had wanted him to finish. Thick, white splatters smeared up to your chest and neck—one of his claws was hovering close enough over your face to protect your moneymaker from any splash damage.
Heavy panting became the room’s white noise. Your body, with all of the pressures surrounding it both inside and out removed, began to relax a bit too much in the residual heat, taking bits of your consciousness down with it. Red Velvet’s come was making your skin feel unpleasantly tingly, but you couldn’t be bothered to even stand just yet, your arm thrown over your eyes with decadent poise.
Thus, you missed the way Red Velvet was staring down at you with the tides of war on his face. He had wanted to so badly, more than you would ever know to tease him about, to fill you up the way you should be. He had fought every instinct in his body, every impulse to breed, breed, breed, and wrenched himself out, and even then it had almost been too late. Not that you would’ve minded, he knew, but someone had to be the responsible one around here, and he would rather it be him and his long-honed willpower.
Of course, you didn’t make it easy. You didn’t make anything easy.
But you certainly made it worthwhile.
“Alright, up we go,” murmured Red Velvet, gently scooping you up with his normal arm, careful not to let any of his own come spill onto the floor where it would be a supreme pain to clean. He watched the globules sluggishly ooze down your skin and pursed his lips.
“Mmm, an’ where’re we goin’?” you mumbled in reply, turning your head into his bicep.
“To get you cleaned up.”
Though he was pants-less, Red Velvet made his way to your shared room with the grace and dignity of a fully-clothed individual. There was skittering and scampering behind him halfway along the journey: Chiffon had manifested from the tower’s depths and wanted to have a paw in current events.
On your end, Red Velvet’s words were near-indecipherable as he talked to the hound; you were preoccupied with tuning in to the beat of his heart. Quite a speedy little champ before, now calming down to a post-workout pace, but never once did it falter in its rhythm, so steady was its cadence. It lulled you into something approaching sleep, but Red Velvet laid you down on the bed before you could properly get there.
“Chiffon, dear, stay outside for now, alright?” said Red Velvet to Chiffon, before not quite closing the door. Then, he gazed at you, giving your spread-eagled body a once-over. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to run a bath.”
“Damn, and here I was thinkin’ I could maybe go for a walk, grab a smoothie,” you replied hoarsely, raising your voice a little as Red Velvet trundled into the ensuite bathroom.
Over the sound of running water: “I can get you one afterwards.”
You smiled. The bedroom door opened with a scuffle of paws and Chiffon leapt onto the bed, right next to your legs, triumphant. He began to sniff, as dogs do, and you (weary, aching, bruised, sticky, tacky with drying sweat and come) tried your utmost to shoo him away without moving too much lest you sully the sheets.
“Chi-Chiffon, no boy, this isn’t, er, no, please don’t go there,” you tilted left, away from his snout, but that only made the hound more curious and you feared he might start licking. “Chiffon, this’s for your own go-Chiffon!”
“Hold there, Chiffon,” Red Velvet swooped in for the clutch save, his wet claw hand acting as a barrier between your body and the hound, herding the latter onto the floor. “I thought I told you to wait outside, boy?”
Chiffon merely looked up at Red Velvet with sparkling eyes and wagged his tail.
“He loves you too much,” sighed Red Velvet, turning back to you and helping you wriggle out of your remaining clothes. You noticed that Red Velvet himself was now in the nude and stared appreciatively at everything on offer.
“Just like his master?”
Red Velvet hummed nonchalantly and said, “Maybe so.”
He popped back into the bathroom to get the warm cloth he’d prepared and emerged to see that Chiffon had once again encroached onto mattress territory and had settled by your head, snuffling into your ear. Having not the heart to deny the hound something as benign as this, Red Velvet got to work cleaning up his own mess.
You watched him the same way he was assessing your body.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” muttered Red Velvet, seeing bruises in the shape of his claws already forming on your ribs.
“You’re not. You don’t.”
The cloth left a damp trail across your skin. Refreshing, though.
“There are lots of places I’d poke you if that didn’t prove my point and turn me into a hypocrite at the same time.”
“I’m sturdier than I look, Red, you know this. Plus, I trust you, so you should trust me.”
“And you just had to like it like…this,” Red Velvet shook his head slightly in fond exasperation—though it was a bit more of the latter. “Making me say such, such vulgar words, testing my self-control—”
The same old blush from before was cranking up on Red Velvet’s face again. You decided not to comment on it in case he towel-whapped your body with that come-sodden cloth or something.
“Don’t forget your big-ass hand,” you added, and said hand came up to pat you and Chiffon on the head. One would never believe the gentleness with which it did so, and you rested your hand on one of the claws. “Maybe next time, you could, y’know, open things up with one of these, yeah?”
“Do you want to become a flagpole, dearest? Because that’s how you’ll become a flagpole. No.”
You pouted at his raised eyebrow. You could take it. Probably.
Red Velvet disappeared briefly to check the water and dispose of the cloth. You were summarily carried to the bathtub even though you’d recovered some of your energy, and Red Velvet got in alongside you. It was a big tub, made with Red Velvet’s proportions in mind, and the two of you took turns bopping Chiffon’s peeping nose off the tub’s rim. There was already enough hair (particularly in varying shades of crimson) floating around; adding hound to the mix would turn the bath into an impromptu kelp forest.
Much later, the forge would sport a sign that said please, keep out or keep to walking speeds, with a hand-drawn portrait of you underneath the words.
You pretended you couldn’t read twice and all you got for your efforts was several underlines underneath the word please.