Work Text:
Your fiancé’s mouth is hot against your neck. His teeth are busy nipping at your skin, just hard enough to force out timid, staccato gasps. As your eyes glaze over, his grip on your thigh — currently hoisted over his hip to let him press you harder against the door — tightens, his nails lightly indenting the flesh. Everything feels so hot and delayed: every new point of pressure, every shift in position leaves your senses scrambling for clarity and clawing at the air. Artem is irrepressible.
“Promise me that you’ll only look at me,“ he grits. His voice is low and breathy, and his words sound hoarse. Needy. “Don’t worry about irrelevant people, or else I’ll be sad. Never leave me . . . and stay by my side.”
There’s a reverence behind his words, one that makes heat roll down your stomach and up your thighs. Artem’s always been possessive, something he displays much more comfortably with you now than before, but something about him currently, with the conversation from the car ride and the elevator driving the mood . . .
‘That thought, over time, has made me . . . insecure to the point of obsession.’
‘You’re my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I will always be waiting one step away from you.’
‘I yearn for your everything.’
The meaning is clear, but despite his intense devotion, you cannot refuse him. No . . . his fervor spurs you on further, awakening desires for him that stretch beyond any rationale. You dip your head to his ear, feeling his back shiver as you whisper, “I will do as you wish. Look only at you, think only of you . . . “
His yellow tie, stripped off in a moment of courage when he had easily lifted you, slips from your hand. It falls delicately, making a faint sound when it hits the floor.
“ . . . and be always with you.”
“Yes . . . ,“ Artem sighs. He twists his head to catch your lips, groaning as you meet him halfway. His lips are soft yet firm, and each of his kisses is insistent with intention. Distantly, between the flutter of your lashes, you can make out the single nightlight above flickering. Something clings to the corner of your mind, urging you to get to the bed instead of letting this unravel here, but Artem’s tongue is tracing the seam of your lips, and you’re too busy bringing him closer to care.
His eyebrows furrow as he lifts your other thigh up, propping you onto his waist. The friction suddenly turns into a necessity: your arms wrap around his neck tighter and wrinkle the cloth of his suit as he grits out, “You . . . “
Kiss. “Drive.” Kiss. “Me.” Gasp. “Crazy.”
You can’t take this searing tension anymore. As the nightlight finally blows out for good, leaving the two of you backlit by Stellis’ downtown lights, you curl your hands into his hair and moan, “Show me.”
And he does. His palms are firm as he pushes off the wall, keeping his mouth to yours as he navigates through his dark apartment. You've walked through these corners hundreds of times, but right now, everything feels unfamiliar through your foggy lust. You cling onto him, exhaling hard as he tugs your bottom lip outward. Before you can process the sting, you’re suddenly tumbling over an arm of a velvet couch. The drop in your stomach eases out as Artem settles above you. He keeps you pressed to the cushions as his hands cradle your cheeks, your jaw, and then your throat. His kisses follow his fingers, leaving a trail of burning bruises slipping further. Further.
“I don’t understand,” he admits breathlessly. “I can’t think straight around you. But when we’re like this . . . “ To demonstrate, he rolls his crotch over your thigh, letting you feel the thick bulge waiting in his pants. You sigh, and he continues, “You are the only thing that makes sense in my head.”
His eyes are clear and bright despite the dimness of the room. The tender look he gives you carries an undercurrent of lust, and sparks trickle down your spine as you sigh, “Artem, ah . . . !“
At that moment, he cups your breasts over the silken fabric of your dress, a low noise building in his throat. He knows your body well by now, knows that when he massages your chest like this, firmly rolling in slow, controlled motions, your face flushes and your mouth parts with that beautiful look of passion. He presses his forehead to yours as his fingers pinch and prod, and soon, he’s hooking the top of your dress and pulling down the blue cloth past your ribs.
The chiffon ribbon slides off your shoulders and the cold air of the night puckers your nipples slightly. Artem’s breath is a bit more labored now, matched up with the strokes of his fingers as he plays, feels. “You’re so perfect. So, so perfect.” His voice is shaky. “I’m in awe that you’re mine. That I will spend forever with you.”
“I’m lucky, too,” you reply, and he shakes his head for a moment before lowering his head to your cleavage and sucking along the slope of your breasts. His words come out as sharp, stern bites behind his teeth. “No, no. It’s fate. There is nobody else like you. No one could ever . . . “
He trails off as he stares into your eyes, and you push your fingers through his bangs as you nod. You understand what he means: there is no word for the way you and Artem connect, interact, and exist with each other. Soulmates . . . but it is somehow far deeper than that. This burning in your body, the strain of invisible threads tightening around your heart: it is impossible to describe how much you feel for the man atop you. He is your destiny. Your deliverance.
Artem goes back to paying attention to your chest. His tongue circles around your nipple before his lips close over it, and your eyes roll at the suction. “Oh my god, yeah . . . “
“Mmm . . . ,” he hums. He sucks harder, flicking his tongue quickly while his fingers tug and pinch at your other bud. Each pull sends a shock of pleasure through your body, rough and twisted. Your concentration ebbs and flows with his rhythm, lapsing when he switches his mouth and hands. And your nipples, beyond simply stiff, slick with spit and raw with sensitivity. Begging for relief and attention simultaneously.
Artem provides the former and peppers your breasts with slow, parting kisses before grazing his nose down your stomach. You can feel his unsteady exhales with each inch, as his hands shift to the underside of your thighs. “Tell me what you want.”
While you moan unintelligibly, he skates his palms up the curve of your hips, squeezing the flesh of your ass while your dress follows his path upward. His firm grip shoots your heart with bursts of adrenaline, further multiplied by his intense gaze on your ruddy face. You whisper unsteadily, “I want to feel good, Artem.”
“I won’t disappoint you,” he assures. You watch his head bob between your knees, and soon, you’re hissing at the sweet drag of your thigh between his teeth. Artem plants sloppy hickies up your skin, building up your wanton desire only to ghost over your panties and mirror his previous actions on your other leg. Your lashes tremble as your eyes roll, unable to handle his intentionally slow pace. “You’re going to kill me,” you whine.
Artem smiles softly before hiking your knees onto his broad shoulders — Christ, you forgot how wide he is — and licking a stripe over your blossoming bruises. “Good. Then you’d only ever belong to me.”
“I’d never be anyone else’s,” you insist, but he’s not listening. His eyes are narrow and his brows are furrowed once more; there’s a purpose to his movements as he rubs the bridge of his nose along your clothed slit. Your damp, clothed slit.
You’re soaked. Completely.
Instinctively, your heels dig down into his back as you arch up, and Artem takes the opportunity to tug your underwear up past your knees and lock your legs with his forearm. Tracing past your thigh, his free hand cups your slick pussy and pushes in a steady rhythm. His wrist is deliciously thick against your entrance, his fingers unyielding on your clit. Harder, a little more.
Artem’s eyes open a bit wider, perfect cerulean pools studying you. He hoarsely responds, “I know. I know and I can’t . . . you don’t know what you do to me.” He presses his cheek to your thigh, taking in your soft gasps as he kneads your pussy. “I constantly think about trapping you here in my bed, privy to no one but me and me alone. I’d keep you hidden here forever.” Your arousal coats his palm and wrist completely now, and he takes a moment to pull away, taste his hand, and softly groan at your tanginess. “You said you’d always stay by me. That you’d never let me leave your mind. How am I supposed to stay composed anymore?”
There’s a desperate wire under his words, one that makes your heart open and bleed in impossible longing for this man. He slowly leans forward, middle and ring finger gliding between your folds, and places his lips over your swollen clit. As your entrance stretches over his digits, his lips close and his tongue licks and Lord, he’s good at this. Good at tasting you, savoring you, making you yearn for more, more, more.
You grind and buck helplessly against his face and hands, softly moaning his name and gripping the couch. The leather gives under your fingers, a cool sensation against your hot body, glowing from Artem’s mouth. He hums and gasps as he laps at your pussy, as he pushes his fingers in and out. His tongue draws stripes over your folds, circles around your entrance, and sweet words along your clit, lingering a moment and fluttering. God. God. Your voice grows weaker with each new moan, the high sounds melting together. “A-Ah, fuuuck . . . I think I’m close.”
“I know, love,” he murmurs. His fingers curl a little faster with each piston, stroking against the ridges of your walls just right. “I can feel it, can you cum for me? Can you do that for me?”
Pleasure spreads in your stomach before popping in an instant, rushing through your body in a burst of ecstasy. His name fills the room, all mangled and strained, and as you grind your hips over his face — his hands — limply, he whispers words of wonder, “Mmm, just like that, just like that, baby. . . mmph, ah, so good . . . “
Oh. His sweet words are so confident, so encouraging. Each syllable helps ride you out into a puddle of gasps and shivers. Artem kisses up your slit, your pelvis, and along the slope of your stomach before flattening his body over yours. His palms bracket your jaw as he drops his lips to yours, his voice deep. “Come here.”
Your nails clamp over his shoulders, dragging his shirt down, and Artem lets out a faint whimper before tugging you up and lifting you off the couch. Your legs wrap around his waist as he navigates through the moonlit room, as he sloppily kisses you, pressing you against wall after wall. There’s not enough time to settle, not when you’re frantically gasping into his mouth as he shimmies off his sleeves, the two of you desperate to find your way to a bed. Somewhere between a particularly sloppy kiss and the clink of his belt, your feet hit the floor, waltzing with his over wooden planks until you feel gravity at your back once again. You land on familiar sheets, looking wide-eyed and breathless as Artem shuffles off his pants. He’s atop you in a moment, devouring your skin and leaving behind trails of saliva and ovoid bruises. His bulge is hot and hard against your thigh, and you moan in anticipation, “I need you to fuck me right now.”
“Then I will,” — he tugs down his boxers enough to let his cock, rosy and leaking, slap your skin —, “Right now.”
You keep your mouth open, letting him spit on your tongue and close his lips over yours once more, exchanging hot kisses as he rubs the tip of his cock against your folds. His pre-cum smears the remains of your first orgasm, all melding into a clear, sweet slick. Each pass of his puffy, round head over your clit makes your legs open wider, your heart beat faster, your words sound slower. Hazy. Murky.
Artem’s eyes darken as he takes in your dazed expression. Each clench of your pussy shows how desperate you are for more pleasure, something he can deliver. Something he can control. He slides his tongue along your cheek to your ear and sucks on the shell of it. “You’re so beautiful. So breathtaking when you’re responding to me like this.”
“Like ‘this’?” you question, too focused on his nipping to think clearly.
“Mhm. Underneath me, ready to take me. I’d keep you like this all the time if you’d let me.”
“Artem,” you sigh, threading your hands through his locks. The soft, coffee-colored strands slip through your fingers as he lifts your legs onto his waist. Then, he positions his cock at your entrance before watching your face contort as he pushes in. There’s no resistance; there’s no way there’d be resistance with how slick you are, how slick he is. He stretches you out with every inch, both of you holding your breaths, waiting.
A moment passes. Then another. A trickle of sweat runs down the taut muscle of his neck, slipping through the divots of muscle on his torso.
When he bottoms out, both of you groan in sync. His exhales are labored as he keeps his aquatic stare on you, absorbing each twitch of your brow, each tremor of your lip. Each swipe of your tongue along your lip. The sheen of your skin matches him, shimmering with the stars outside. The air in the room slows at this moment, and for this brief pause in time, it is just the two of you that exist on this plane. His hands tangled between your fingers. His forehead pressed against yours. His cock, curved and veined and thick, enduring each needy pulse of your walls.
“Oh,” he grunts, “You’re mine, you’re all, all mine.” He drags his hips out before thrusting back in, and you bite your lip tight as he repeats it once, twice, and then endlessly. He sets a rhythm that soon is more than you can bear comfortably, but the growing soreness in your thighs is overshadowed by the zips of pleasure from each slide of his cock in you, dragging and breaking through your tight pussy. Sounds of sex — wet squelching, the slap of skin on skin — echo between sharp inhales. And Artem never stops confirming his thoughts: a steady stream of ‘you’re mine’ and ‘I need you’ and ‘don’t ever leave me’. The last one feels more vulnerable than the others and as he croaks it out between his movements, you scrape red lines into his shoulders. An anchor. He is yours as you are his.
“Ah, hah, I . . . you’re a fantasy come to life,” Artem praises. His hips figure-eight roughly, ramming heavy and quick. Dirty. The noises flowing from your throat are obscene, a constant croak of affirmation and pleas to fuck you harder, fuck you deeper, fuck you more, more, more! His brows furrow as one of his hands pushes your jaw back, exposing your neck to his bruising teeth. The other skims over your mottled skin, groping and squeezing and lifting your hips as he thrusts fast. “You’re close. Come on, let go. Do it for me.”
“Ngh, c-can yo- oh, fuck, right there!” Artem’s thumb slides down to your clit and rubs it firmly, matching the pace of his hips. It’s the final piece of the building pressure in your gut, the match that sets off the fire. Heat races through your body, flushing your cheeks and pushing under your skin, electric and sharp. As your back arches off the bed, rising with your peak, Artem suddenly pushes deep and stills, groaning out your name. Hot ropes of cum coat your walls as he sinks into you, his skin and sweat melding with yours. “Good girl, take it just like that . . . mhm . . . “
He gently grinds against you as you writhe and shake, kissing your neck and collarbone while waiting for your high to subside. You gasp as your vision blurs and refocuses, and soon enough, you're clinging to Artem's broad shoulders, pressing yourself against him as he embraces you. He presses his face into your shoulder, professing, “I love you. I love you so much, I don’t know how I existed before you.”
This man . . .
“I love you, too. I always have and always will.” Your reassurances don’t stop the fraught way he grapples you, his palms sliding over your ribs and thighs as he presses inextricably closer. As if confirming you’re real, you’re his. His throat quivers as he tracks your soft lips, all bright and swollen, and he groans in frustration, “One more round. Let’s go once more.”
“You haven’t even pulled ou- oh!”