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I lean my head back against the cold of the cinder block walls. The back room behind what this excuse for an establishment seems to have called an auditorium has failed whatever is generally required of a somewhat decent university. I suppose I can’t expect much in a place that uses blinking fluorescents for lighting and reeks of cheap cleaning products they probably splashed across the cracked tiles and dirty grout. I’m honestly regretting the fact I signed up for this.
It seemed so simple an idea when I wrote my name down on that list. Argue with people. That’s all I had to do, right? The whole purpose of a debate team was arguing that I was right. Put some poor chump in front of me and see how long he lasts. I chuckle to myself and it echoes off the walls. I savour the idea of their perspiration when faced with me, sitting patiently and waiting to strike. They would know what they were in for just by looking into my eyes.
I’ve spent my life weaseling out of things, arguing against anyone and everyone to get what I want, but this was the first time I felt restricted. I could just imagine what Eren would say if he saw me slumped like this on the laminated desks back here in my white pantsuit, heels perched on the edge like I was preparing for some ridiculously obscure editorial. A shudder passes through me at that thought. Heaven forbid I ever let some asshole take my photo.
My fingers reach through my hair. It's frizzy once again, but I really couldn’t care what it looks like. No one who is worth my time really cares, so why should I? Eren seems to, though. It throws off his attempts to look ‘professional’. The guy seems to care way too much about what others think of him and that collective worry about all this hoohah to improve his chances has become an increasing pressure on my preferred way of life. That is, one where I generally don’t need to bow to anyone else’s expectations. And yet, even I need to get a grip on the repercussions of my own actions. I got myself into this mess.
Eren’s personal vendetta doesn’t seem to fit my own expectations of what a debate team is meant to do. He’s made that abundantly clear on more than one occasion. If it wasn’t me using the wrong words, it was the justification behind my arguments. There was always something the bastard found wrong with what I said.
I close my eyes just thinking about him. I never thought I would exhale as much air as I have because of a tryhard like him. Go wait for me, he said. We have things to discuss, he said. Fucking vague asshole thought it best to let me sit here and stew in the sweat pooling in the small of my back. The AC doesn’t seem to reach this shithole he has me waiting in. I swear, if he says one more thing I did wrong I will bury him in his own clothes.
The door swings open with a harsh creak, and his large green eyes catch mine almost immediately. I look away, too infuriated by the way he dismissed me to hold his gaze.
“Oh, good. You’re still here,” he says casually. I blink slowly, feeling the frustration work its way into my lips. I hope I look as unhappy as I feel, and that it hits him somewhere soft.
Words escape my lips with a long sigh. “Funny that.” I rest my elbows on my knees. My legs spread wide, the heels of my stilettos still perched on the edge of the desk. Every fiber of my being wants to express my absolute distaste for having to wait this long for what will likely only turn out to be another lecture. I sigh again as I prepare myself. “Well, golden boy, you want to tell me what I did this time.”
He steps closer to me, keeping at least a metre between us. I struggle not to snicker at his caution, but managed to, as I wonder whether it’s from respect or fear. I hope for the latter.
From the corner of my eye I can see his hands delve deep into his pockets. It’s his defensive stance, the one he always takes when he presents the opening argument at the beginning of a debate. “If you actually looked at me, that might be conducive to…”
I cut in as bluntly as I could manage, “I might be blinded by that halo you insist on wearing.” I squint over at him and adjust myself, drawing my legs together and lowering my feet over the edge of the desk. They dangle there, twisting as my legs stretch out in front of me slowly.
“Hitch.” His voice says my name with such exasperation there is a small thrill that runs through me. I can see the way he gulps at the curl of my lip when I smile just so.
Perhaps the poor boy is intimidated by me, or at least hesitant about confrontation. This would be a first. I lean forward and tilt my head, uttering a soft, low, “Yes?”
His fingers fiddle in his pockets like a child. His eyes drop to the floor. Nervous indeed. “We’re a team, and you’re supposed to be working with me out there.”
He’s on about teamwork again. Someone shoot me. We each had our arguments, and while we might have won, his persistence simply isn’t enough one hundred percent of the time. I made my move and cut them off before they could root out the giant fucking loophole in his argument. If I had brought it up with him he would have shot me down, dismissed it like every other idea I’ve had. Somehow I was meant to just trust his near-sighted judgements rather than the games I set up and win.
I play with my lip first, considering him from head to toe. Dressed in a black suit, he appeared ready for his uncle’s funeral. That is, if he had an uncle. It was a clean-cut, no-nonsense kind of suit meant for business meetings or mourning. It had no flair or sense of style like mine did. His was all about purpose. Even my personal clothing choices bothered him. Perhaps he’d like me more if I turned up naked. Surely that would be conducive to helping us secure a win. I bite my lip and snigger to myself. I can imagine how he would falter at me suddenly removing my clothes. I wonder what argument he would come up with for that.
“You realise that a team works together.” I fiddle with my hair, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. “You hardly work with me.” I didn’t sign up to be there as some kind of useless sidekick meant to peddle his ideas and his arguments. I am perfectly capable of my own, and if he would just accept them, maybe I wouldn’t be so hell bent on defying him. I’ll admit he’s a sweet kid, but he’s so wrapped up in his goals of getting to the debate finals and winning over the reigning Titans team that he can’t see what good he has in me as his partner. Maybe if he looked past his ego I might actually be somewhat useful.
“Well, it’s a little hard when you don’t let me in on things.” Eren crosses his arms, edging closer to me in a self conscious shuffle.
I sigh and slowly lower myself down from my perch. My heels click as they reach the ground and I adjust to standing. My legs ache from the uncomfortable positions I was sitting in for so long but I won’t let him know it. I edge closer to him with exaggerated steps of my heels, lingering on the edge of the high heel of the stiletto before letting it hit the ground with a decisive percussion. I respond to him flatly. “Because you shoot me down.”
“Because they come up suddenly,” he rebuts. He has a point, but he isn’t right.
I shrug, admitting to myself that I may surprise him on occasion. Well, honestly, more than that. But he didn’t create an environment in which I could share, so I still have to correct him on his generalisation. “Not always.”
“Just about.” He huffs and steps forward to match me. He has me there. My mind grasps for something to have the last word, to be the one in the right.
“Even still, you don’t trust me.” My voice sounds more hurt than I intend. It seems to whine in its tone, almost as if I’m unsure of what I’m saying, and I grit my teeth immediately in regret. He doesn’t trust me, but he doesn’t need to know how that upsets me. I step forward confidently, trying to mask my uncertainty.
Eren doesn’t seem to see it in me. His eyes widen with a hint of surprise and confusion. He’s almost too sweet to be real. “Trust you?” His voice is soft and questioning.
I cross my arms across my chest. “You should be able to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
“It would be nice if I knew what you were doing.” Eren shrugs his shoulders up. His mouth forms into a forced smile like he is uncertain about his concerns and politely dismissing mine. “It makes me look ridiculous in front of the other team when I’m surprised by your argument.”
“And yet it works for us,” I defend myself. I contribute actively to this team we’ve ended up in. I’m not going to stand here and let him tell me otherwise. I can feel myself starting to growl at him, and it taints my words. “You’d never let me say what I say if I asked for permission.”
“So it’s somehow easier to beg for forgiveness.” He gestures into the air. His hands are close enough now that he could hit me, and it’s then I realise my heels make me taller than him. My eyebrows rise up of their own accord and my amusement is clearly plastered across my face. I can see as much in the way his eyes open, peering up at me towering over him. This is too perfect.
“When have I ever begged?” I ask, reaching up to stroke my chin. We’re close enough now to touch, but he holds his distance, slowly edging back away from me when I lean forward. Ever a gentleman, it seems. I try to test him, pressing forward little by little, seeing the realisation that I’m taller than him for once dawn over his face. Oh, how precious. He doesn’t want me to touch him.
Eren stumbles back, careful to not be offensive to me in some way, no doubt. “It’s just a phrase. I mean, you wouldn’t beg, I know.”
I put pressure onto the edge of his shoe with my foot, feeling around for where his toes end so I can press down and pin him in place. He tugs at his foot at first, and as the realisation that I have him pinned washes over him, he continues to wiggle it in vain, shrugging his shoulders up defensively. It is then I decide to ask him, “Are you backtracking?”
“No.” His chest puffs out just a little, his foot stopping its struggle. It seems he takes offense at that, and wastes no time in correcting me firmly. I’ll admit I find it more interesting than anything else. “I take issue with you being so haphazard and careless in something we’re supposed to do together. You can talk to me about it.”
I hum at his words. I’ll admit I consider them. After all, I’m not completely heartless. But he fails to see how often he views my opinions as so easy to dismiss. I have never known Eren to go down without a fight. I wonder how far he would go if I pushed him. He almost looks concerned as I smirk down at my heels. Little does he know how much I wish to devour that boy scout goodwill of his and corrupt him.
My fingers find his chest and walk up it slowly. He flinches at the touch and it only encourages me further. “Talk?” I mock him with my laughter. “Here’s a topic of debate. You are so hell-bent on winning that you can’t even work with your teammate. How about that?”
His muscles tighten beneath my wandering fingers, but he still has a firm grasp on his resolve. “There are methods for winning that work and others that don’t.”
I pull my fingers away and they hover in the air. “Such as? You dare to bring up such a point with no supporting evidence?”
“Evidence is in the results.” His eyes narrow as he looks off to his left briefly, recalling one detail or another. He pulled the same face whenever he listened to the opposing team before writing notes to use for his rebuttal. “Methods are only deemed reasonable and effective based on measurable results, such as several successful debates in a row.”
“Yet your measurement seems to discount my input, which has been part of this team…” I point at his chest and poke him between my words. “Every. Single. Time.” I tilt my head and watch the gears in his mind work, grinding to find some excuse or explanation. I couldn’t help but smile at him struggling. “You don’t know how you would have done without me. You have no control condition to compare against those where my influence was present.”
“You’ve been an important part of this team, yes, but it would be more efficient if…” His words waver when I distract him with wandering fingers, tugging at the pockets of his pants. Tired of his talking, I pull him towards me just a little. “Hitch?”
“You just talk and talk.” My hands wander up his chest and adjust his tie, loosening and fastening it again until I’m happy with it. I stroke over his lapels, flattening them against his chest though they’re perfectly fine just as they are. He seems uncomfortable under my touch. “I just joined this team to put something on my resume. Somehow I ended up stuck with you when the rest of those nerds quit.”
“You didn’t need to stay.” His eyes don’t leave my hands, suspicious of every moment they make. I lift his tie in my hand, fingers delicately holding it up before his chest, and tug it taut. His words leave him, a sight I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before, but of all of the expressions on his face I’ve seen, making him speechless is now my favourite. “You…” His voice falters when I pull at his tie and edge myself close to him, head tilting to try and catch his avoidant gaze.
“Me?” I slip a heel between his feet and shift one foot to the side. He obliges with the slightest look of confusion on his face. It’s precious. I lick my lips, impatient at how much I want to taste him now, make my mark on his neck and watch him quiver and melt from my touch. “I was supposed to stay here, wasn’t I? You’ve had me waiting.”
“I…” Eren’s eyes trace down my neck and I oblige him with a small tilt of my chin, revealing more of my neck as some false demonstration of fragility. His eyes widen with a surge of interest and my lips part. “I suppose I did say…” The poor boy can scarcely word his sentence right, my hand now reaching out for his waist and tugging him closer to mine.
My hand slips down to his fly and he jerks back just enough to not completely remove himself from the touch of my hand. Yet I am not surprised that he doesn’t want to remove himself. He’s so strung up day to day that the move has likely caught him off guard and he doesn’t know what to do about it. I smirk, catching his eye, and wink at him. “Seems you like to stand your ground across the board.” I palm slowly across the front of his suit pants. Eren draws in a sharp breath and loses his words with it.
I rub my leg against his, letting it linger in a slow caress. I’m enjoying this, I realise. A warmth that emanates through him makes me wonder if he has always been this warm, or if I've always been this cold. His eyes are starting to linger on me, moving slowly over me like something new that has entered his vision, a keen curiosity giving light to the already bright colour in his eyes. His words are careful and if it weren’t for the way his mouth hung open, I would almost think they were calculated. “What are you…”
I continue my wave across his crotch, pressing in further, considerably more curious of my own accord now. I have always liked to tease, but this... this is something different and I can feel the way my breathing has slowed and deepened just to take more of it in. I press my chest against him while my leg bumps against his and I tilt my head to speak lowly in his ear. “You’re observant. What do you think I’m doing?”
“Distracting me,” he says with the tone of a man trying to resist temptation while I plan every painstaking tease I can put him through to break him. He tries his best to get his mind back on track. “I came in here to…”
He hasn't moved away. How curious. I curl my fingers to cup him, expecting a jolt or another accusation, but to my surprise he stays firm even as I have him quite literally in the palm of my hand. It is at this moment that it occurs to me that I've perhaps gone further than I intended, and I like it.
I bite my lip, thighs clenching together as I feel him press against my hand. I stand as straight as I can. Not for the life of me would I ever let this asshole see me not calm. I turn up my chin to look down at him. “What was that?”
I'm not sure if he's angry or simply determined now as he gazes back up at me. I've never been able to tell. His emotions seem to mix together on his face all at once and I don't care enough to learn the subtleties. Yet he appears to be on the verge of desperation. “If you’re going to just tease me… p-please --”
I smirk at the way he stutters at those words and bucks his hips only a little. The jerk’s trying to get away with his micro-humping against my hand. “You’re already hard,” I challenge him and meet his movement.
“You’ve been touching me. Of course I’d be hard,” he growls at me in frustration, and it sounds more like the puppy he is, all play and no aggression. I wonder if he even realises yet. The thought of him whining because of me sends a shiver down my spine, forming goosebumps across my arms.
I let my eyelids lower, staring down my nose at the way his jaw clenches. “Now, that’s not a rebuttal.” I squeeze and tighten my grip, halting the rubbing against him and ensuring my firm hold of his attention. The way he looks at me, part excited, part concerned, makes me part my lips for a deep breath and a pleasant sigh.
When my motions (or lack thereof) and the meaning of my words click together in his brain, his concern turns into disappointment and a frown. “You expect me to present an argument for my erection?” He seems so indignant. Did he think I was just going to keep up this game that benefited only him? Surely he at least knew my nature by now.
I hum right against his neck, low and deep, like he had already touched me and I swear I felt him twitch. “I hadn’t considered that, but now that you mention it…” Dragging my lips across the lobe of his ear, I nibble lightly, trying to focus more on how he reacts so very well to me than how much I want to sink into this hole I’m digging. If I make it more of a game, then it can’t be all that bad if I end up playing. I take a breath and into his ear I sigh, “Provide me with a successful argument.”
He breathes back against me in a surprised huff. “What?!” The disbelief rolls off his tongue like it’s the first thing he couldn’t quite believe, even with my hand on his crotch and lips on his neck. I continue for a moment, ignoring him and the straight way he holds himself now. I’ve got to establish that he has to wait for me, and wait he does.
I move myself back, staring down into his eyes that await my stare and question me silently. Shrugging my shoulders, I gesture around in the air like I’m trying to paint the picture for him with my hand, though I decide to be blunter in my choice of words. “Topic of debate: We could fuck in this room.”
Eren clears his throat like that would help hide the way he’d gulped when the words registered in that delicate brain of his. “But people could find us?” he thinks aloud for neither of our benefits. With a whiff of courage and curiosity his hands find their way to my hips and they rest there, hovering almost, like he doesn’t wish to disturb me despite how much his fingers seem to itch to touch me more.
My own hand finds its way to the button of his pants, thumbing over the zip. By this point I am still taking every tic in his muscles and change in his expression as indications of whether I should continue. I muse to myself quietly, shifting my weight and tapping my heels, and decide to let the poor boy have a word in. “Are you for the affirmative or the negative?”
He grips into my hips without thinking, holding me in place like he suddenly has some iron in his spine. There’s something in his voice as it grows louder, snapping at me, and I like it. “This is ridiculous!” His voices shakes a little, warbling on only some of the sounds, but I can see in his eyes that he knows he can’t hide that from me. He stares at me straight on, defiant in his own precious way. “You want to debate me over…” Finally he realises where his hands are and unsure with what to do with them, he nervously caresses over me with a neediness that seems to be growing in him.
This could be good. I always approve of this kind of change in people like him. His determination is still there, virulent as ever, but his spirit and his composure are weakening. I would try my best to break him down piece by piece, but as my own body betrays me, edging closer to the warmth from him, I decide to do away with subtlety. “I could fuck you, Eren.”
His lips dropping open, Eren stands and stares at my chest, his own heaving. Despite his bewilderment, he’s enjoying this as much as I am, but I can only wonder how much he sees of that in me. “And you want me to argue?”
We’re close enough to feel each other but our hands both hesitate like nervous teenagers. This certainly isn’t my first time flirting and I suspect, and hope, it isn’t Eren’s first time either, but here we are. I try not to let my own hesitation catch onto my tongue and lick over the back of my teeth before I roll out more words to hide my anticipatory shaking.
“You wouldn’t want me to get bored, would you?” I ask and start unbuttoning his pants, letting my eyes linger across his suit and imagine what he’s like under it. He probably spends his spare time working up a sweat on his own, part of that complex of his to be better in the face of all the failings he finds within himself. I imagine his sweat tastes sweet.
Eren takes my lead and slips a hand onto my ass with barely a raise of his eyebrow or a look in my eye. His other copies my own movements, unbuttoning my pants and pulling down the zip. He lazily brushes his fingers under the band of my underwear. I wonder if perhaps there’s still fire in him yet and he answers me with a grunt and suddenly shoves both hands under my ass, lifting me up and placing me back on the edge of the table. My legs are once again hanging over the edge. “No,” he manages and releases me to tug down his pants so they slide unhindered to his knees.
Obedient and docile, Eren then lets his hands rest against my thighs and waits for me. He’s eager now, so I can see in his eyes, but he’s patient despite the way he is bulging in his underwear. I shudder to think what I’ve gotten myself into, but as I lean in to nibble at his lip, growling, I admit to myself that I like the way he tastes.
His tongue licking over his lips, Eren considers me, and I him. Both our chests rise with apprehension and expectation, but he leaves it up to me to make the first move, as he should. I oblige by freeing him from his underwear, deliberately brushing past his cock with a smirk on my face and grabbing his ass firmly to tug him between my legs. Pink and ready, his cock twitches, appearing neglected by both of us, but I make no move to touch him. That would be too easy.
I clear my throat and slap the top of my thighs, making a directed stare down at my crotch, expecting Eren to take the hint. He does, thank god, and while my hands rub over my thighs, he starts touching up me gently, way too gently. He fails to find my clit but he rubs down my crotch and over my underwear. I can’t help but sigh at him, angling my hips up to give him yet another hint. He doesn’t take it, and I roll my eyes as he fumbles with his hands, growling under his breath, his erection still just as hard.
"Your method is flawed," I grumble as I snatch his hand and place it on my clit. I couldn't trust him being able to find it on his own, not after... whatever that was meant to be. I was not about waiting. I've never been about waiting.
Clearing my throat, I continue to spout my judgement. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” I draw attention to my underwear, snapping the band, but he ignores me. My breath halts and my shoulders tense at his insolence, but they melt as his fingers edge my underwear aside to touch my bare skin. I jolt, biting my lip hard not to scream, and grumble through my teeth when the desire passes, “Oh look, seems you’ve found it.” I'd never admit to him that the surprise move turned me on.
I can feel my expression softening, and my hands grip the table to stop myself from falling back completely. Hell if I’m going to let myself completely weaken at his touch. I can’t deny that he’s not terrible when he starts to rub his thumb softly in circles over my clit. He has calluses on his thumbs. Of course he does. He probably has some stupid hobby that’s left him with hands that are dry and warm and scratching against me in this naggingly pleasant way. He’s awkward in his movements, even painfully slow, but it takes all of the strength in my body to not moan.
Determined, I spread my thighs apart more deliberately, demanding more attention. I find my eyes staring at his other hand, hovering in the air, uncertain. The poor boy probably needs directions and instructions to know what to do. Like a hapless puppy, he’s just standing there with his dick out, and my patience is wearing thin.
His voice rasps when he retorts at me, "I have a reason for my method." Surprise: there is a sliver of a spine in there. He presses in and down with emphasis on his words. With a sense of concentration, he seems to focus on his task at hand, like all those times he shuffled his notes before a debate. He was mentally preparing himself. It was almost cute. Almost.
"Was that a rebuttal?" I laugh, wriggling forward into his hand deliberately. I figured I might as well help him out if he had to think about something like this so fucking hard. The taste of my teeth as I rub them with my tongue is a crisp caramel. Apparently that candy I was popping down in boredom earlier left bits on my teeth. Not that I particularly cared. Just something else to do to pass the time.
His eyebrows furrow. I’ve confused him. Oh, how sweet. He leans to run a hand up my thigh, darting past mine with all of the confidence of a schoolboy. I have to wonder if it’s his level of experience or me. I have to admit I hope it’s me getting him so painfully awkward. He speaks his words quickly, a mixture of confusion and amusement, and maybe a little bit biting back at me. "I thought you wanted an argument." He has me there. Somewhere deep in my chest, though I couldn’t say where, I might be a little proud of him.
My fingers claw at his thighs, grabbing onto him to watch how his cock twitches and moves with the tensing of his muscles. I take my sweet-ass time staring at it until Eren shuffles and gulps loud enough for me to hear. Awkwardly his fingers stroke across my entrance, his movements restricted by the thin cotton barrier he had pulled aside. I speak to hide my reaction, but my eyelids still lower and my voice is breathy. “I still haven’t heard a successful argument.”
He circles around it then, shuffling closer and brushing his spare hand across his cock -- long, slow, almost hypnotic movements that catch my eye and send heat up through my neck. Abruptly he grabs himself around the base and barks, “You’re the one who suggested fucking.” He makes a point then of slipping a finger into me, testing my reaction, without the hesitation that had been holding him back. Apparently he likes this -- the tease and the waiting -- and the hornier he gets, the cheekier he gets.
“Fancy that, I did.” I hum, letting myself sigh, bucking against his hand and pushing him deeper within me. He joins his first finger with another and slides them in and out of me with a focused look of determination. I might as well have been some kind of circuitry he was putting together. If it weren’t for the tender way he was managing to do it, I would have rolled my eyes. Part of me doesn’t seem to mind that I’m finding it hard not to moan instead.
I casually stroke the underside of his cock as the best reward I can give, making sure to be as painfully slow in my touch as I can. He’s a lot warmer than I’d thought he would be. Perhaps I’ve made him even more so as I let him wait with his cock out and made him touch me. For such an argumentative fool in the debates, he’s nearly docile like this. A flashing thought occurs to me that I could do this more often to tame him.
He edges closer, pulling my underwear to the side like it’s that simple. I groan at his idiocy and push him back with my knee. I'll be damned if I'm going to let him touch me with his bare cock, let alone in this uncomfortable position. With a groan I slip my underwear down to my knees, then wriggle until they fall down with my pants to my ankles. This’ll have to do.
My hand slips into my jacket pocket, digging around while under the gaze of Eren’s half-lidded eyes. He’s watching the way I keep moving my hips and encourage his fingers to pulse inside me. "Do you --" he asks -- curious to know how well he’s doing, probably -- and I cut him off before he can continue.
"Don't ruin this." It sounds harsher than I intended, but the tense muscles in Eren’s shoulders under that suit of his keep him from visibly reacting, I suspect. Surely a guy so headstrong has butted heads with more than one person in his lifetime and -- to be fucking honest -- I’m not exactly melting on the desk yet, so if he wants praise he’s going to have to work a lot harder for it.
His fingers start curling upwards, stroking with every huff from his chest, and when I finally pull the condom I had stashed inside my jacket pocket just in case, he stops, letting his hips tilt in anticipation. I’m not even sure if he knows he’s doing it. I can’t help but sneer at the way he must be expecting me to place it on him, but I guess his hands are busy. One continues to finger me, regular thrusts getting faster with the rising of his heart rate and impatience, and the other squeezes at my waist, slowly edging up like he’s afraid to touch my chest. I tilt my head, opening the wrapper, and throw him a bone. “Undo my shirt and touch me.”
His eyes widen and the thin line of concentration on his lips softens. Once again his cock twitches and he moves his hips a little like the movement feels good. “I can…?” In his surprise he jolts me hard with his fingers and even the best of my resolve can’t stop me from the small whine that escapes from me. We catch each other's eyes and it hits me that I need this.
"Don't talk." I slam the condom in its own wrapper beside me and rush my hands up to my shirt, unbuttoning it as swiftly as it will allow. Excited and silent, he increases the speed of his fingers, making my task all the harder as I actually begin to enjoy the way he touches me. Sometimes it’s just rough enough to send a shiver up my spine, and he’s starting to get it, taking less care, suddenly aware that I’m not some fragile petal he has to worry about not breaking.
I pull my shirt apart, darting my hands behind to undo the clasps of my strapless bra. I need it off, and as much as I would love to chuckle at him struggling with it, I’d rather it be sooner than later. My hand grabs his, and with no resistance at all I place his hand firmly on my breast. He stares at me, somewhat dumbfounded, lost in a situation where he finds himself agreeing with me and no words to form an argument, and begins to rub his hand over my chest without a word. I find myself liking the silence and sense of cooperation he had been denying us in any of our debates. For once I was taking the lead.
As he continues to thrust his fingers inside me, curling and even scissoring, warm and hard and quick, I close my eyes and enjoy his work. It becomes harder to keep my mouth shut, to stop the sounds that I’m making and I haven’t decided yet, in the haze of the pleasure running through me like waves, whether I care anymore.
With a deep breath I clutch after the condom beside me and reach out for him. He shudders with a low shaky sigh when I grasp him at the base of his cock. He slows both of his hands down to watch me and makes it all the harder for me to concentrate. My other hand places it over him, pinches the air out of the tip, and rolls it down his length. To check the fit and tease him a little, I give a few pumps up and down his shaft. I hold him, encouraging him closer to my entrance, and we both watch as his fingers remove themselves from me slowly. The sense of anticipation between us is heavy breathing and tense muscles and open mouths. I slowly kick off the pants and underwear acting as restraints around my ankles and spread my legs wide.
He waits. Our eyes catch and we stare, pausing as we both realise -- I suspect -- exactly how far we’ve come and how little we can stop ourselves. After a deep breath, I give him the command. “Just fuck me already.” His hands grab my hips, pulling me closer to the edge of the desk, and he presses the head of his cock against my entrance. I gulp and fight the urge to hurry him, but he beats me to it as he slides on in, slick with how wet he has made me.
“Fuck,” I cry out, grabbing up at his neck, trying to gain leverage to buck my hips hard against him. His own hands reach under my ass and grab me tightly. He tests once, twice, and once more, and when he hears no complaint from me, he begins to thrust faster, much faster.
A haze washes over me and words slip away from my mind. I can barely bring myself to look at Eren’s eyes, staring over my bare chest, over me as he makes me breathless and weak like this. I try to tense myself and challenge him with my own thrusting back into his growing speed, clawing into his neck.
Taking all of my weakness as encouragement, he slides his hands up my back and lifts me up with a grunt and thrusts into me hard. There he holds me with my legs wrapped around his waist, ankles now crossing over each other to give me leverage. “Harder,” I encourage and immediately smile at how he claws into my back, how he holds me tighter, and how roughly he takes me like he’s been desperate for it all this time. The fucker probably always wanted to put his thick dick into me but never had the guts to do it. Though if I were to call him on it, I would have no leg to stand on if he accused me of wanting him inside me. For a second, and only a second, I wonder why I had never considered it before.
His lips are warm on my neck when he kisses across it. They trace their way hungrily up and down my neck like his lips need something to do too, while he fucks me and busies his hands all over my back, massaging and clawing and holding me all at once.
He gasps in my ear and I clench myself around him, prompting a lower moan from his throat. My shoulders hunch in surprise at the shiver the sound sends through me. His teeth begin to nibble over my shoulders and neck and even my ear, like he’s trying to gnaw at my resolve and make me louder. Usually I would reject it and detest it from him, but with the way he’s so persistently slamming himself into me, it’s almost sweet. This weakness of his feels hot next to mine.
I huff and angle myself to grab onto his shoulders. Each thrust into me builds the heat and the tension within me. My arms pull myself close enough to smell his hair, to bite his lips, and claw at his neck, and I do all of these things while his fingers press into my back again. Every sensation swims together in my head, surging and washing over whatever conscious part of me remained. All I want is the intense release the tension in me promises and I am keen to do whatever it takes to guarantee that, like in everything else that I do.
His hair is soft when I work my fingers through it and grasp a tight hold, pulling at it to the rewarding sounds of his grunting. He hardly fights against me when I bring his lips to meet mine harshly, wet kisses making a bridge between us, our bodies pressed together at every junction. Somehow I lose myself in his warmth, in the strength of his arms, and find myself tensing and melting all at once. I’m too far gone and can’t give a fuck anymore about the fact this is Eren. All I want was for him to keep going until I’m too tired to care or regret.
Eren takes to tasting his way up my neck and with an increased sense of I don’t fucking know what, he whispers brazenly in my ear, “Nice to see you working with me.” My jaw clenches shut automatically, my eyes rolling back into my head, part frustration and part pleasure. I grab on to him tighter as I seeth. Fucking brat is trying to be clever, and I can’t deny that I like it.
I grip him harder, using his hair for leverage and his shoulder as a handle. My teeth graze his neck and I suck at him out of spite. Let me see him try to explain his way out of these marks. There’s a certain sense of accomplishment in every one. As I watch his skin redden under me, shaken by his thrusts, breath caught up in my lungs, I feel a sense of pride and respond with a scoff, “You think this is for you?”
He pushes up against the table, letting his hands slide down my back. I find myself falling away from him, but I’m strong enough to hold onto him. From here I can see the way he pants, and let my eyes trace down his suit. I can only think how sweaty he must be under there. Even the pants would be creased. Now if I could only just -- “Ahhh!”
I lose my thoughts and moan, loud. I couldn’t give a fuck if anyone found us right now. Hell, I might even like it. I wouldn't have thought that I’d like the idea of getting caught, with all that drama, but here I am, tightening around his cock as he moves and imagining the way another set of eyes would grow wider if they saw me spreading my legs for him.
I smirk, and perhaps thinking it was meant for him, Eren returns one to me. He speaks between huffs. “I think a little of this is for me, yes.” There’s a hint of satisfaction in his voice. The usual annoyance at me seems to be gone. Whether this is temporary or not I’ve yet to know, but for now I like it.
My groan leaves my mouth before I can stop it and he laughs through his own soft grunting and deep breaths. I find myself struggling for words as suddenly the heat building in me rises higher, something in that laugh setting me off. My eyes roll back behind my eyelids and all I can feel is him. His scent seems to surround me now as we both writhe and move as some kind of coordinated mess. Wet sounds become louder as he quickens his pace, and I realise that the noises I’m hearing are because of me. It only makes everything worse, or better. I’m too lost to know the difference anymore.
He pulls me closer to him, grabbing my hair, our chests now rubbing together and my face in the crook of his neck. My lips taste the sweat on his skin and find it as sweet as I suspected. I grip onto him as he thrusts harder, putting that persistence of his to work and for once doing me in with it. His hands hold me firmly, but not harshly, in the growing tense bliss at his touch. Feeling it in me, he grunts harshly in my ear, “Close,” before he takes to kissing at my ear as if to soften the sound.
I gasp as I begin to reach my peak, so very close to coming that my eyes close and the world goes white. Each breath now carries a sound I can’t control, my hips moving eagerly in time to quicken my end. In a last ditch effort, I bluntly demand, “Who wins the argument?”
Eren’s breaths are just as ragged as mine, but he responds with choked laughter. “I think… that’s a topic... for another time.” I find myself whining between pressed lips as he finally comes and his body jerks into mine. My teeth find my lip and dig in at the sound, the feel, the scent of him, and, overwhelmed, I follow suit. Somehow we’re now a better team than we’d ever been.
We pause as the high lets us down, frozen in place and staring over each other’s shoulders. I shudder as he removes himself from me and resist the urge to ask him to do it again. Neither of us manage to look at each other. He fumbles a tissue from his jacket to clean himself up and I stumble off the table, somewhat worse for wear, and find how hard it is to put my pants back on in heels.
Yet, after we fix ourselves up and make whatever attempts we can to fix our obvious dishevelment, I find him watching me in his defensive stance, silently, with his hands delving into his pockets. There’s no fight between us now, but I tense as I await the beginning of the debate.
“So, uh…” He nods and clicks his tongue in place of words. The realisation that we’ve seen more of each other than we ever expected to dawns over me and I suspect it hits him too. He draws a deep breath. “Think we could work together more often?”
I’m not sure if it’s the after-fuck high or the sheer exhaustion but I nod, eyes staring at the dirt on his suit pants from them having been on the ground. “Letting you… do your thing has its… benefits.” I try my best to smirk and play it off as laughter, but there’s not enough breath left in me to bite at him.
“And you have a way with words,” Eren compliments me with no hint of embarrassment in his voice. Even now he’s still genuine, and my face flushes, both embarrassed and frustrated by him. “Letting you take the lead wasn’t half bad.”
“Half bad?!” I glare at him, infuriated that he would only judge me as barely adequate, even after that. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
He chuckles and shrugs again, swallowing, “Okay, pretty good. Can’t hurt to let you have your way more often.” For a moment, I think I see a flush of pink in his face but it’s gone before I can be sure. At least he has the balls to accurately admit it now. I know what I’m doing and I do it well, even if I think so. “But only if you tell me what you’re going to do before you do it. Can you at least agree to that?”
I clear my throat, drawing in a deep breath for show, still too frazzled and fucked out of my mind to form a coherent thought, but I push to not let him see it. “Affirmative,” I mutter, and grit my teeth at the thought of how easily he could win the argument if he tried.
Instead, he bows out, leaving with only a brief “We’ll see.” and leaves me wondering what the fuck I have done.