TW: Consensual violence (biting, intentionally breaking skin)
You can do this.
After all, it's pretty much the same as all the other times. Same you, same Victor, same parts and fluids and general physical needs. There's really no reason for you to be this nervous… but you are.
Sleeping together now feels serious and significant and real. Even something as basic as feeling cute and desirable seems impossible because you're so nervous, and you do dumb, unsexy stuff when you're nervous. You've only ever actually fucked him once, and now all of a sudden you're expected to express your love, but not so much that you seem needy, and you'll need to make it the best sex of his life but also cum yourself, because he'll want you to, even though all you really want to do is kiss him and give him a blowjob.
God, that would hit so good right now. Make out, blowjob, cuddle, all predictable and well inside your comfort zone. But you try not to think about it too much because it will just set you up for disappointment. You'll have to fuck somewhere in there, it's the law. You exchange I Love Yous, and you fuck. It's the same in every book, every movie, every expectation that people collectively have.
You stand there with your forehead pressed to the cool wood of your door, trying to figure out what it is you're afraid of. There must be some outcome you're trying to avoid by maintaining control. You don't think it's rejection, oddly enough. Embarrassment? Difficulty cumming? Regret?
No, you're afraid of disappointing him. Full stop, you think you'll do or say something wrong, and it will make him realize how flawed you actually are, because this is what happened the last time. Your ex told you he loved you, and you moved in with him, and then he started to see the defects.
But the rational part of you knows that Victor is not like your ex, in any way whatsoever, and he's never worshiped perfection in you. So you just need to find a way to get over the insecurity because all it's doing right now is being an enormous cockblock, and you refuse to let your ex keep you from getting laid ever again. Stubbornly latching onto that conclusion, you yank your door open, and then Victor's, and before you know it you're slipping into his bedroom and locking the door behind you.
Your eyes strain to adjust to the sudden darkness. There's strangely not a single light on, so you have to carefully walk towards the black lump that must be the bed, and it's an unexpected relief. Intellectually you grasp that Victor can probably see you quite clearly with his apparently superhuman vision, but when it's all dark like this and you can't see his face, it's so easy to pretend that he can't. It gives you one less thing to worry about.
But he hasn't said anything, and when you're climbing onto the bed and your hand makes contact with a hard leg, you suddenly have this irrational fear that it's someone else lying there.
"Victor?"
"Yeah, baby."
You let out a relieved breath just as he reaches for you, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you up on top of him. There's no doubt who's holding you now. You're lying on a large, Victor-smelling body, with your cheek resting against that familiar bare chest. Victor isn't moving aside from the slow motion of his breaths, and his arm is a comforting weight across your back, so you just lay there gratefully for a minute, breathing with him and acclimating to the contact.
"Hey," you finally whisper, angling your face up towards his.
"Hey, pretty girl." A thumb strokes over your cheek, not having to fumble around at all to find the exact spot he wants to touch.
You run your hand idly over the front of his shoulder, trying to seem relaxed when inside you're still trying to figure out what to do next. He's probably waiting for some sign that you're settled, and you can't let too much time pass or it will start to get weird. But you're still not settled, not internally, and how much time is too much?
Victor shifts his face to nuzzle into the top of your head, breathing in the smell of your freshly washed hair, and runs his hand down your spine in an unhurried motion.
"I'm nervous," you admit, so quietly that you're not sure if he hears it.
"I can tell."
Fuck. Of course he can. He's trying to figure out how to get you to stop being so awkward. Heart sinking, you push yourself up to sit on his stomach, trying to decide if you should just cut your losses and escape now.
"It's okay, baby," he tells you, tucking his fingers into the back of your knee. "Let me just kiss you. Come get under the blanket with me."
A warm, weighted dip happens in your belly at the idea of saying yes to that. It would work, you know it would. You'd be putty in his arms in no time flat, getting his lips on yours in that cozy pocket of warmth, and just letting him take control until you don't have to think about anything. But you know what would happen next. He would take your clothes off, and lick you, and make you cum a few times with various parts of his body, and it would be amazing… for you.
But that's not what you want.
"Um, actually, will you let me," you stammer out, fidgeting above him, "j-just, like—"
"Yes," he answers immediately.
You blink quickly in surprise. "You didn't hear what I was going to say. Could be something you don't want to do."
He sucks in a slow, unbothered breath, and takes hold of one of your hands. Bringing your fingertips to his lips, he kisses them and asks, "Would you be offended if I said I'm not scared?"
That makes you smile incredulously. "Did you forget that one, particular night?"
"I didn't forget."
He's still got your hand held loosely in his, and he brings it over to his cheek, running your palm up and down the lovely texture of his beard as if he likes your hands in it as much as you do. For some reason he's letting you argue with him instead of overthinking everything, and it's working.
"I can't tell if you think I'm not scary," you say, "or if you're just being brave."
"Guess we'll find out."
You can feel his cheek lifting in a smile under your hand. He certainly doesn't seem annoyed at you for making everything difficult, so you might as well go ahead and be even more of a pain.
Gaining control of your hand, you quickly slide it down and wrap your fingers around his neck, giving the barest amount of pressure onto his throat. He's not expecting that, you can tell by the way his hand brushes across your wrist like he's about to grab it but changes his mind. It makes you smile down at him, though it's hardly a threat because you're being gentle and careful to keep your weight off his neck.
"Ready for anal with choking?" you ask, striving to keep the giggle out of your voice.
Victor begins to shake under you with poorly suppressed laughter. You grin back, removing your hand to plant it on the mattress next to his head, and you lean down and kiss him.
His mouth is still curved into a smile when your lips make contact. It makes all the nerves melt away, because just knowing he's happy means everything to you.
"I want to kiss you," you pull back just enough to whisper, "on top like this, because I want you to be able to relax for once. Is that okay?"
His fingers slide into your hair and he brings you back down to him, making an affirming noise against your lips. You kiss him just the way you imagined, tenderly exploring his lips, with your hand wrapped around the side of his head and your thumb stroking through all that glorious stubble. He's touching you gently, your arm, your cheek, your waist, settling into that slow, lazy pace exactly how you want him to.
And then, as if you both telepathically communicated the decision, you open your lips at the same time that Victor does. He makes a soft sound into your mouth at that first slide of your tongue, and the idea that you are the one forcing sounds out of Victor Creed instantly pushes electricity through your blood.
"I love it when you make noises," you breathe against his lips.
He chases your mouth with another rumbly sound, and you melt yourself into him. You know what's going to happen next, and he doesn't, and the anticipation of it has your pussy getting so hot on top of his stomach that you're glad there's a blanket there so he can't tell. It's so intense that it reminds you to slow down and savor the kiss for a little while longer, until you're high with the feeling of his mouth and the burn of his fingers teasing up under the hem of your shirt.
Finally you drag your lips down to his neck and plant wet kisses there while you try to catch your breath. He's breathing just as hard, the movements of his fingers on your skin more tense and jerky, like he's having to remind himself not to touch you how he wants to.
Raising your head a fraction, you gather up every ounce of courage to say, "I'm going to put my mouth on you, Victor. It's gonna make me really wet, and it's gonna feel amazing for me, and I want you to just lay here, and relax, and let yourself enjoy it."
His body shudders under you, actually shudders, and you feel him nod his head, like he can't manage to actually reply to what you just said.
The room felt a little cold when you first entered but now your body is blazing with excitement. You lower yourself down the length of his torso, dragging the blanket with you, and it's a welcome surprise to find that he's already naked. Your palm slides slowly up his hip, and then you wrap your hand reverently around him, letting that rush of power trickle into every part of your body. He's so hard that you know you could grip him rough and he'd like it, but you don't. You keep him there gently in your hand, and lower your mouth and finally, finally let yourself lick him.
Dear god, he tastes good. All cock is not created equal, and his is simply heaven. Velvety and perfect, with a wonderful little drip of precum from making out with you for so long. A needy, whimpery sound leaves your throat when you take him into your mouth, because you don't want to hold back. You don't want a single speck of doubt in his mind about how much you really enjoy doing this with him. You're wet, and hot, and the knowledge that he's probably watching you do this has you hastily removing your shirt before you go right back to hugging him with your lips.
It's an effort to go slow. A part of you is dying to know how fast you could make him cum if you just grasp him hard with one hand and relentlessly work him with your mouth, but you want to feel his reaction to every speed and grip and lick that you can invent. So you take your time with him, maximizing your enjoyment for every second, until you're in that glorious, cock drunk headspace where not a single thought crosses your mind besides how good and right it feels to play with him. You have no concept of time, only a catalog of his audible breaths and groans, and the particular movements that make his cock flex and throb in your hand.
It's like waking up from a dream when his large hand eventually wraps up under your jaw and eases you off of him. You're feeling so relaxed and submissive that he's able to effortlessly position you down onto your back and settle himself on top of you, pressing the side of his face against yours and staying there for a minute to catch his breath.
"Thank you," you say up to the ceiling, brain still fuzzy and warm. "I liked that a lot."
"Fuck, I know. You smell… very turned on."
It should bother you that he can apparently tell when you're aroused, but right now it seems like the tiniest of insignificant details. You release a slow, happy breath, shuffling your legs together. "I love being this wet."
"Baby," he sighs into the crook of your neck. "You're killing me."
"So die," you tease.
"Mmm, not yet. I have something I want to do first."
He's kissing your neck and dragging your shorts and underwear down one handed so he can keep contact with you.
"Your cock is so nice," you sigh drunkenly.
"Shhh, you're gonna make me forget myself."
He reaches out to drag a pillow over, and then another, until your head and shoulders are propped up on a soft cloud, and you're so limp that there's not a single thought of resistance when he eases your legs open.
The outline of him is barely visible, leaned back on his knees between your legs, and for some reason you expect him to put his mouth right on you. But instead he glides fingers up through your wetness and back down, the sensation proving to you that you are, in fact, absolutely soaked.
"Victor?" you whisper, letting yourself drop your hands to your sides and relax into his touch.
"Yeah, baby." God, his voice is so deep and sexy, it's incredibly distracting.
"You're the only—" you start, and swallow, making sure it's actually something you're willing to say. "Um, the only person who's ever made me cum. Not without… help. I've always had to do it."
His thumb stills its up and down motion on your clit, and you clench internally at the loss.
"I know that probably doesn't mean much to you," you say quietly towards that dark outline when he starts moving again, "but it means a lot to me."
Victor is silent for a long moment, so long that you think he's not going to respond to what you said.
"Do you know how pretty you are?" he finally rumbles out, so tender that it has your heart rising up to your throat. "How fucking perfect your little pussy is? How soft and cute it gets when you're all excited like this?"
The way he's touching you now - gently gliding fingers through your folds like he's demonstrating it more for his enjoyment than yours - is, fuck, convincing. You stare up at him and feel heat rising to your cheeks because even though he's told you this before, for the first time you actually kind of believe him.
"I could stay here and play with you until you're sick of it." He promises, laying his wet hand on the crease of your thigh to frame your vulva, and slowly sliding his thumb up in a long, encompassing stroke. He lets out a shaky breath and murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it, "I wish I could… Fuck… You drove me out of my mind that first night telling me I can't put my mouth on this perfect little baby."
Okay, so that's doing things to you. You were aroused before, but comfortably so. Now you're hurting with how bad you need him to lick you or at least touch your clit some more. You thank the heavens when he finally does, with a skilled and purposeful finger.
"Always so cute," he says, softly massaging your clit and purring out each word so they really settle into you, "and sweet, and no one figures out how smart you are until it's too late for them."
The pride in his voice actually has your mouth popping open in surprise, because never in your life has anyone called you smart.
"Sweet little baby," he says, squeezing his other hand across the inside of your thigh while he works you. "Always figuring me out. It's been too late for me for a long time."
You want to say something back, or kiss him, or cry, but there's no opportunity before he lowers his face down between your legs. He settles that warm tongue over your clit and you moan out a long, anguished breath at how good it feels. Your fingers tentatively slide into his hair, desperate for some semblance of control but unwilling to actually grip into it. You end up just resting your fingers there on his head while he does… whatever it is he does, all wet and magical and licking fire up your legs.
It's an effort to be good and keep your legs open, because your body is fidgeting and resisting how quickly you're being pulled towards an orgasm. Victor does one particular, sucking thing with his mouth, and your thighs immediately try to press together in an unconscious effort to ground you through the suddenly scorching sensation. But Victor doesn't let you, he just wraps his hand around one hip and wedges an arm over the other, keeping you in place and captive to that rising pressure.
You're finally clenching your fingers into his hair and letting that be your anchor to reality while you flex back on those pillows, stomach tight and quivering, and know you're going to cum. Any second now his continuous, inescapable rhythm is going to flick you right over the edge, and you can't tell any more if your body is fighting against it or lunging for it.
But then he drags his mouth away, which is a testament to his strength because you're suddenly panicking, crying out at the loss and doing everything in your power to physically keep him there.
"Fuck," he mutters, resting his forehead on your thigh.
"Please," you beg, abandoning your dignity, "I'll cum, just give me a little bit more."
"I know, baby. I'm just– I just got the urge… Just give me a second."
You can feel his beard roughing up the sensitive inside of your thigh, and then his tongue, and then a sharp drag of his teeth that's not nearly as gentle as you've grown to expect. Your body jolts in surprise more than anything, but he tightens his grip to hold you in place and does it again, mouthing into your skin and pricking the surface a little, not quite enough to draw blood.
"I'm sorry," he finally says, relaxing his grip to smooth his fingers over the skin. And that's all the explanation you get before his mouth is back on your pussy, more gently this time. He's working you slowly, coaxing your orgasm out instead of forcing it, and you're aroused enough that it won't take long. Your body is finally letting you relax, and you just concentrate on breathing and letting the sensation of his tongue envelop you entirely.
You can feel yourself cumming, first in your thighs, the hot ripple holding there for a few agonizing seconds with how softly he's licking you, before it finally washes over your whole body. Victor is in complete control again, keeping your hip steady under a firm hand while he guides you through every bubbling wave. They get smaller and eventually stop altogether, and you're able to relax every muscle in your body while the last few throbs work themselves out.
Victor lays himself down beside you, tucking you into his side, and eventually you have enough awareness to realize that obviously his mouth is gone, and it's actually a hand cupping you between the legs that's giving you that comforting pressure. You naturally drape your knee up over his hip to give him more room, or maybe it's in the hope that he'll fuck you, because when his hand is replaced by the careful push of his cock, you welcome it with a happy moan. He's going slow, giving you time to adjust after so many months with nothing but your fingers. Long, torturous months of needing this.
Once you're comfortably stretched around him you move your hips a little in invitation. God, the slide is so easy with how wet you are. He's holding the back of your knee in place and starting to fuck you so good, generous and deep, and making you shiver by running his teeth over the shell of your ear. It's just like that first night with how you're fully present, focused on the feeling of being completely surrounded by him and the sense of belonging there.
"Victor?"
"Mmmm," he breathes heavily into your hair. "Yeah, baby."
It should be difficult to talk through that wet drag of his cock pushing sparks between your legs, but instead you find yourself spilling your secrets like they don't belong to you. "That first night, when we talked for the first time, I… I was fantasizing about you killing me."
He pulls back to look at your face, and you quickly explain, "Not in like, a suicidal way. I just… I thought it was the only kind of attention you would ever give me."
"A fuckin' bullet in the brain?" he asks, but the lazy way he says it makes you think he's not that surprised.
"I, um, imagined you choking me with a piece of wire, and telling me how inconvenient I was."
"Fuck," he breathes, grinding into you, "that's hot."
You're beginning to lose your breath at how pleased he sounds while he continues to fuck you, but you plow ahead before you can lose your train of thought. "I went home– hhuh– right after that… and touched myself… Made myself cum th-thinking about you."
He loses his rhythm then, and for a few heartbeats you think he actually finished, because he's just barely moving inside you. And then, like he's decided something, he shifts, letting go of your leg and wedging his hand down between your bodies to find your clit. "You're gonna make me fuckin' blow my load if you keep talking like that."
"Oh." A devious part of you wants to press it, just to see what would happen, but you're getting fucked and rubbed at the same time, and it's too overwhelming to find the will to do anything but lay there and enjoy it.
He leans forward to take your mouth, rough and careless, and for the first time you can feel the sharpness of his teeth on your tongue. It's exhilarating. You kiss him back just as heedlessly, almost trying to cut yourself in your desire to fully experience him.
"Fuck, stop," he groans, wrenching his mouth away and rolling himself on top of you. "You're killing me. Always killing me."
He begins to move inside you again, elbow planted by your shoulder and fingers suddenly finding a motion that's blindingly intense.
"There we go," he murmurs when you gasp and close your eyes. "Is that the spot right there?"
It is, he knows it is. You don't have to reply or do anything but grab hold of that sensation and wrap yourself tightly inside it.
"It's okay, baby. Don't try to cum, just feel good for me."
Oh. He must have noticed how you've got your legs flexed tight and hips locked into the best possible angle. You sigh and let go, melting into the bed and waving goodbye to the fierce orgasm that was right at your feet.
But another one slides in to take its place, a little slower to take hold but just as consuming. Soon you have to close your eyes again and focus on submitting to the sensations he's dragging you through. Don't try to cum, don't try— don't— don't cum—
You cum, you can't help it. You cum hard and sweet, eyes springing open and gasping up into the dark nothingness above. You slowly come back to awareness with the sensation of his thumb, wet and slippery from your body, sliding up across your cheek and his hand wrapping around the back of your head. He's got the side of his scruffy face pressed against yours, nipping carefully at the bottom of your ear with his teeth and still grinding slowly into you.
"Oh baby, you needed that one," he rumbles right into your ear. "That was a fucking good one."
There's this barely discernible sound continually reverberating through his chest, like the beginnings of a growl that he can no longer hold back, and his hot, rapid pants are tickling across your ear.
"How do you want me?" you ask weakly, still catching your breath. "Where do you want to cum?"
"Fuck, let me— can I—"
"Yes," you agree impulsively, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck.
"Baby—"
"Do it," you demand. "Whatever it is, do it."
You feel the twitch of hesitancy in his arms, but then he's fisting your hair tight at the scalp and forcing your head to the side. A thrill of fear-laced excitement ripples through you when you finally feel those teeth on your neck, really feel them pressing down deep for the first time, nearly breaking skin. He's giving you a few seconds to come to terms with the injury before it happens, so you suck in some breaths, as deeply as his weight will let you, and attempt to relax your muscles.
He's still holding his mouth there, unmoving, hips slowing like he's having to invest all of his attention on the act of biting you, and still nothing happens.
"Fuck," he finally groans, easing up the sharp pressure, "Can't do it."
"It's okay. Just do it, baby. I want you to."
He nuzzles back into your neck again, but his fangs aren't pushed down so hard this time, and you can feel the aversion warring inside him with the way his breathing isn't even. He wants this so bad, he wouldn't have asked if he didn't. He wants to cum while he's got his cock deep inside you and his teeth sunk into your skin, he just doesn't feel safe enough to do it. Second by second the want is slipping away, being replaced by some kind of insecurity, and you can only guess at the source.
He's overthinking when you want him absolutely brain dead with instinct. He needs to not even care if you're hurt.
Without warning you tear your fingernails as hard as you can into the skin of his upper back. Deep, bloody and painful, not holding back.
There's a ragged gasp at your neck and a spasm in the hand clenched into your hair, and for a fraction of a second you're terrified that he's going to rip it out of your scalp or slice off a clump or something. But then he bites you, hard, just like you wanted, and it's so sudden that you aren't braced for it. You can't squash down the cry of pain or the way your body jerks away from him, though you have nowhere to go.
He keeps his teeth in your flesh, going no deeper, and slowly his tongue begins to lap through the blood, but he's not fucking you. He's still right there, hard as can be in your wet cunt, but he's so focused on how you're receiving his bite that he's forgotten the purpose. Your fingernails are still in his skin, so you ignore your pain and dig them hard, working all those little wounds as deep and painful as you can.
That earns you an angry snarl and another bite, right alongside the first one, but through the blinding pain you feel his hips begin to move. He's finally fucking you like he wants to, rough and deep, with the white hot brand of his teeth as your only companion to the way he's wrecking you below. It should be full agony, and maybe that says something about how fucked up you are, because instead all you feel is cold blooded pride at your success. Your body is whimpering involuntarily in pain, but your mind is absolutely purring with that delicious self satisfaction.
He cums so hard that you're afraid he's going to accidentally chew through something important. A few of your hairs abandon your head while he spills himself out, flexing and shuddering against you with how good it is. You can feel the motion of his throat swallowing your blood, and somehow it's not even weird that he's doing that, like he's just conveniently cleaning up the mess.
You finally extract your fingernails from his skin and you can feel the shudder when your hands gently slide down his back.
"Fuckin' wildcat," he complains between heavy breaths.
The hypocrisy has a giggle bursting out of you, and it takes you a little while to cut it off. You can feel his cheek rising in a smile against your face, and that's when you get that little heart flutter of pure sunshine.
When you've finally got a grip on yourself he takes hold of your chin to turn your head to the side and inspect the damage.
"Am I gonna make it, doctor?" you ask impishly.
He grumbles something too quiet for you to hear and then releases your chin. "You're getting it soft next time."
"How long are we waiting?" You breathe, feeling him flex his hips against yours, still inside.
"You know me, about a month."
"Don't even joke like that, god."
He finally pulls out and… yeah, there's a lot. It's probably getting all over the blanket.
"You can sleep in my bed if you want," you offer.
"Mmm, okay."
"Or we could go home."
He's halfway to sitting up before he stops and lays back down. "Tonight? Right now?"
"Yeah," you say with a smile in his direction. "Let's just leave. Take turns driving home, and then sleep all morning."
You can hear him sucking in a breath through his teeth. "God, I like you."