"This isn't exactly what I had in mind when you suggested overtime." A pause, a gasp, a breathy moan that floats through the air. High-pitched. Tinny. Shuddering as a lip is bitten. "Or what I expected in a raise."
Tartaglia's hair is thick and coarse against her fingers. She tugs at it, hand curling into luscious ginger locks, nails scraping across his scalp. He whines against her cunt, digging crescents into her thighs as he grips them tightly. "Katya," he murmurs against her, kissing her wet folds, tongue slipping through them to lap at her juices.
"Desperate thing," she says, petting his head. He must be. She sees the way that his cock aches in his trousers, the hard line of his erection on display. It's late. They were both doing paperwork until Tartaglia whirled into her office and dragged her into a storage closet at the back of the bank.
The door was barely closed before he was on his knees, spreading her legs, begging to be suffocated until he couldn't breathe. Ekaterina is a tease and Tartaglia responds so well, eager to please like a puppy.
"Yes," he says. Licks a strip across her slit, the tip of his tongue barely dipping in. Then around it, exploring every crevice he can find.
"Mhm." And maybe she needs this too. It's not as though she put up a fight. The moment overtime is mentioned, paired with the glint of his eye, she's as gone and desperate as he is. There's something to be said about having a Harbinger between her thighs, suckling at her like she's a treat, moaning against her like a whore.
She's called him that before and he'd moaned, doubling his efforts, swallowing everything down that she offered. Ekaterina considers it this time, brushing back his bangs. She takes in the pink tinge to his face, the way that his nostrils flare as he watches back, eyes glassy with arousal as he eats her out.
No, no, not this time. Something else, something a little rarer. "Oh, you poor thing," she murmurs, voice turning soft. Almost affectionate. Ekaterina might not love the damn boy, but she cares for him at least. Dealt with his impetuousness over the years, pulling and plucking at strings to keep him out of trouble.
Fucking her is the least he can do in return.
Tartaglia is good at it, too; clever with his tongue and fingers, enthusiastic in his touches and the way that he presses against her. That damned tongue, circling around her clit, sucking at it until it's hard and peeking out from its hood. She gushes, his face and cheeks wet with her slick.
"How do I taste?" she asks him sweetly.
Tartaglia groans into her cunt, nibbling at her clit, teeth blunt against her swollen flesh as he works her closer to orgasm. She pulls his hair, yanking back his head to stave it off. Her sex aches, throbbing—but she can bare it if it means lasting.
"Delicious," he says, lips glistening. His tongue slips out, making a show of licking them. What a sight. Ekaterina's seen him fight, dripping in Abyss, inhuman and hulking. And yet, here, he's youthful and wily. Smirking back as he kneels between her, bones smarting against the tiled floor.
She loosens her grip, stroking through his hair instead. Tartaglia leans to the side, nuzzling the inside of her thigh with his cheek. He licks the stream of slick that streams there, leaking from her cunt. "Yeah," he says, kissing the skin there, teeth dragging over it, raising gooseflesh. "Absolutely scrumptious. Zhongli would say something about tea, but I'd drink you up any day over it."
Ekaterina isn't the one that gets off on praise, she gets off on Tartaglia asking for it. His words are carefully picked, geared towards easing her into comforting him. "Oh, you're a good boy, aren't you?" He whimpers at that, just the reaction she wants to hear. A breath slips from his mouth, eyes slipping closed as she says it again, petting his hair as though he were a loyal dog. "Yes, such a good thing for me."
"Katya," he says, his voice hoarse. Dry. Raspy. Another whine, softer this time, keening. "Please."
She leans against the wall of the storage closet, raising her hips, offering a better angle. She guides Tartagalia's face right back between her thighs and he moans, immediately getting back to work. His tongue, hot and wet, sliding through her dripping folds. His breath against her, stuttering, muffled by the way she drops her hips against him.
"Good boy," she says again, rolling herself against his mouth. Tartaglia responds so readily, eager to swallow her up, lips doing the overtime. Pleasure curls again, heat spreading through her. Ekaterina's face is hot behind her mask. "Gods." A hiss as she bites her lip.
Tartaglia's slipped two fingers inside, fucking her cunt in time with his mouth. "Katya," he breathes against her, "Katya."
He doesn't talk to anyone else this way. Hot whispers of Katya are for her alone, in moments like this where she rides his face until completion. His fingers are long. He hooks them, hitting the right spot, gently nudging at that spongy spot while he sucks at her clit.
"Just like that," she says, "Yes, yes, just like that."
"Please," he says.
She knows what he's asking. Ekaterina smiles slyly as they meet gazes again. "Beg for it."
Tartaglia pauses in his attention, throat bobbing, a little embarrassed. But— "Your foot," he starts. Then stops.
"Come on, you can say it," she says, cupping his cheek, smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone.
"My dick. I'm—" He presses his palm against his cock, grinding it down.
"You've asked for worse things." Like fucking him with a Geo construct, face-down until he was crying, snot-nosed in the sheets. That's a sight she isn't likely to forget—not that she wants to.
"Step on it. Katya, please."
Ekaterina sighs softly, pleased. His begging is delicious and settles deep in her gutting, stoking the burning pleasure. She nudges his hand away from his crotch and clicks her tongue at the sight of his hardened erection that tents his trousers.
"You asked so nicely," she soothes, pressing her boot down against his cock. Not hard, just enough pressure to make him moan. She drags the sole down his length and he bucks against her, seeking out friction. "I'll take care of you," she promises, "but don't forget you were in the middle of something. Don't you owe me overtime?"
"Yes, yes—" He's eager again, ardent in the way he shoves his face back into her cunt. He licks at her, sucks and moans, bobs his face against her sex as he dives in.
She moans, rutting against his face, pulling at his hair hard enough that she knows it must sting. Tartaglia groans but doesn't stop. Tears well in the corner of his eyes but he keeps at her, tongue sliding against her folds, fucking her with his fingers, doing his best to drag her to a happy end.
Ekaterina is close—he's a wonder with his mouth and the way that he curls his fingers inside her. His cock twitches under her boot as she presses harder. "Go on, you can fuck yourself against it."
The sound he makes is lost between her thighs, choked off with a gurgling sound as he drowns in her slick. He grinds against her, rutting against her foot. "Fuck," he whispers, kissing her, soft little butterfly touches. "Oh, Archons—fuck."
"Still so good for me, doing as I ask." She brushes his hand back, fingers digging into his scalp. Tartaglia latches onto her clit again, sucking at it, tongue swirling around the nub. He rocks against the sole of her boot, using his spare hand to hold it down against him for better leverage.
"Katya." He moans, his thrusting losing its cadence as he fucks himself against her boot.
"I like you like this, stripped down and bare. No one else gets to see you like this."
"No, of course not. Of course not—" He hisses, grunting as he comes, pressing hard against her boot as he sinks into the sensation.
Ekaterina won't be much longer. He still laps at her cunt, tongue lolling and lazy as his orgasm crashes into him. She sneaks a hand down to touch herself, fingering over her clit as he still fucks her cunt. Knows just wear to touch, fingers smoothing over the spot inside that leaves her legs trembling as she braces herself with a hand on his shoulder.
"Such a pretty thing," she says, gasping softly, feeling the way that her arousal is thick in her throat. And Tartaglia is, eyes wet, face red and ruddy, mouth swollen and slick from his voracious appetite. His eyes flutter, half-lidded, long eyelashes wet and clinging with tears.
She tips over the edge easily, watching him flounder about, overstimulated as she keeps grinding her boot down against his cock. He moans softly, pathetically almost, worn out. He says her name again, nuzzling her sodden sex, licking at her gently as she just comes and comes.
Heavy breathing in the tight and tiny room. Tartaglia cleans her up with his tongue as he always does. Wipes at his mouth as he stands on shaky legs, nearly falling over as if he's been at sea for a month and just found land.
"Sir," she says, reaching out to steady.
"Yeah, I'm—Gods, I needed that." A pause. "You too, no doubt. I know I stress you out. Gotta give you something to keep the grays away."
"Sir."
"Okay, okay, I'm going." Tartaglia pauses at the door, waiting until she's dressed and decently presentable. His voice dips quietly as he says, "Um, thanks."
Ekaterina punches his shoulder lightly. On his feet, he's so much taller but she's still the one with power. She holds this Harbinger in the palm of her hand. She reaches up and grabs his chin, sliding her thumb over his bottom lip. "You're a mess." A pause. "Pretty."
They don't kiss—they never will—but he pecks the pad of her finger sweetly before tugging her hand away. "I have paperwork to finish."
The rest of the night goes smoothly, said paperwork in standard order. Ekaterina tries not to snicker when Tartaglia tries to hide the soiled wet spot on the front of his trousers anytime Vlad walks by.