Alejandro Isnt Really The Ass Slapper Kinda Guy But An Ass Grabber.. So Hard That It Bruises From Just

alejandro isnt really the ass slapper kinda guy but an ass grabber.. so hard that it bruises from just how much he loves to squeeze the shit out of the flesh. you could be cooking and here comes señor ass grabber saying good morning with a cheek kiss and his huge hand on your ass just squeezing, eliciting a broken gasp from you. can u tell how much i need him

Alejandro absolutely adores his partner, no questions asked.

You doubt yourself for any reason? Aht aht aht. He'll kiss and love and fuck the self-doubt out of you.

Alejandro's the one who, when you're busy preparing breakfast, he saunters in, bed hair on 1000 and night pants hanging dangerously low on his hips, and he'll just bear hug you from behind. Buries his face in the crook of your neck and just... takes everything about you in.

Oh, it tickles, mi vida? Not to worry, he'll tighten his hold a little more and make you laugh louder.

Christ is he down bad for you.

🔫 Oh, Captain, My Captain 🔫

Pairing: Unit Chief!Spencer Reid x Fem BAU!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: Unit Cheif!Spencer who uses gun training as an excuse to rub up on the new member🤭

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI Gun kink, dubcon, dry humping, pictures/photos, age gap, Pervert! Spencer, unprotected sex, implied cream pie, semi-public sex, boss x employee dynamic, spanking, masturbation, slight cum play, degradation (slut, whore etc), praise kink if you squint (good girl).

A/N: This is my first entry for the CM Kink Bingo challenge 2024~! I chose a lot of the prompts based on some of the smut requests in my inbox and let my TELL you I was SO EXCITED to write Unit Chief + gun kink!!! I'm so excited for this entire challenge tbh, it reminds me of the good old days on past years' Kinktober 😂🥰

Masterlist || Bingo Board

When Spencer Reid was made the interim Unit Chief for the BAU, he agreed with the reasoning. At the time, he really couldn't argue that he was aptly experienced, responsible enough to make big decisions, and reliable. And whilst he had been through a lot in the last two decades with the FBI, he still did value his own sense of morality. 

He accepted the job and then was assigned you as an intern, and suddenly, he didn't agree with any previous assessment of him. 

Experienced, yes, but he was still stammering and rambling when discussing simple things like the weather. He certainly wasn't responsible enough to keep his eyes off you, and he probably couldn't be relied on in the field to focus instead of thinking about your pretty, plump lips and how they would feel wrapped around his cock. 

All morality had gone out of the window after a week of working with you when he closed his office blinds, popped his pants open and took his cock in hand, relieving himself while staring at your newly printed ID card. 

He had a lot of power, during the few months Emily was away, and he was trying desperately not to use it. 

Unfortunately, with great power comes a great amount of orders to give, and since you reported directly to Unit Chief Reid, you'd become his de facto shadow for the first few weeks. You bought him coffees when you got your own, asked him for quick run downs of past cases so you could take notes and remember relevant details for later, asked him for help writing reports. 

Which caused the blinds to be drawn at least once a day as he desperately tried to keep his hands off you. 

Emily had joked when leaving him behind that she'd usually give the new boss the “don't shit where you eat” speech, especially with people in your chain of command, but it really wasn't necessary with him. Of all people. 

It didn't help that you were so damn clumsy in the office. You were usually pretty calm and collected, but since starting at the BAU, the pressure was getting to you a bit. 

You made small mistakes, you double, and triple checked your work, and you were constantly in Spencer's office asking him for opinions on topics, for background information, and for, well, reassurance. 

And you dropped stuff. A lot of stuff. 

Your analytical Monday have been perfectly suited to the BAU, but somewhere between your head and your hands, all your body parts refused to function adeptly. You'd dropped things constantly, tripped on your own feet, and constantly bumped into people even while they stood still. 

Not to mention the time your dropped your (thankfully, iced) coffee all over Spencer's lap when you'd brought him his own. 

“Oh my- Oh my god, Doctor Reid, I am so so sorry,” you scrambled, immediately grabbing tissues as he jumped up from the desk. 

“Please let me help you, god, I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry-” you said, patting away as his lap as he stood frozen in front of you. You dropped to your knees to mop up the traces of coffee still running down his thighs, as he stammered. 

“Y/N, please, you don't need to, I have a spare pair I can-” 

“I'll have them dry cleaned, I promise,” you begged, just as a knock sounded and the door to his office swung back open for JJ to enter through. 

“Spencer, the files for the- woah! Okay, I'm not jumping to conclusions, but I'm still backing out of this room right now.” 

She laughed her way out of the room, which was when your brain finally caught up to your hands and realized the stupid position you'd put yourself in. 

You'd practically pushed your boss up against the wall, kneeled before him, and begged to touch him. 

You'd squeaked out an apology and quickly left the office, much to Spencer's relief, because even after an ice bath and semi-public humiliation, he was hard and horny and his IQ had been knocked to roughly 7. 

How he'd wanted to keep you pinned in place, to stroke your cheek as he made sure you took each inch of him down your throat slowly, filling you up so you couldn't escape. 

How he'd wanted to keep his job as well, something he'd probably not get to do if JJ had decided to walk back in, or - god forbid - bring other witnesses to his debauchery. 

You were clumsy, and he was desperately horny, and you were both complete and total messes.

“I don't see how I can help you, Y/N,” Tara held up her hands in defeat as you begged for her help. 

“I'm competent with a gun, but it's not something I can teach you. I wouldn't know where to start.” 

“I just need someone to show me how to hold it properly. There's a trick to it, right? There has to be a trick to it?” 

“Ah yes, the old aim and shoot trick, I forgot about that one,” Rossi laughed, shaking his head at your office antics. 

You'd been interning for a few weeks, and the latest in a line of ability tests was shooting. You'd pretty much aced the physical fitness test, but you'd never even held a gun before joining the FBI, and you were struggling. 

“I've put in 10 hours at the shooting range in the last week, and the closest I've got to an accurate shot was hitting the next lane's paper. Don't ask.”

Your coworkers shared a sympathetic look as you sat down at the round table, ready to hear the next case details. 

“I'm relegated to office work until I pass this certificate, and I was not made for sitting at a desk for 7 hours.” 

“Well, why don't you ask Reid for help?” JJ said helpfully, bringing her coffee to her lips to hide the meddling smile plastered there. 

“Reid?” 

“He had some issues shooting when he was a rookie as well, but he put in some hours at the range, and now he's the best shot on the team.” 

“Easy there, blondie, I'm nothing to sniff at with a gun myself,” Rossi smiled, patting himself on the back. 

“I'm sure he'd enjoy helping you,” JJ continued. 

“Who would enjoy what?” Spencer said, finally joining the team in the meeting room and pulling out the case files as everyone opened up their tablets. 

“Y/N was just saying she's having some trouble shooting, and I suggested she ask for your help?” 

He froze momentarily and stared down at you as you looked up at him, hopefully, a shy smile on your face. 

He tried to keep his eyes on yours, but from this height, he had the perfect view down your shirt, your perfect-sized breasts pressing together as you leaned towards him, giving him a generous eyeful. 

He looked away quickly and nodded his agreement, sitting himself down and attaching his eyes to the files instead so he could get his mind off of  your body, and your lips, and the begging that surely would've come out of your mouth had he not accepted earlier. His brain was tormenting him with images of you underneath him, under his desk even, his cock in your mouth as you paid for his precious time training you. He blinked away the thoughts and, for once in his life, actually had to put effort into reading and understanding each word on a page as he ignored the raging fire of his lust. 

A few hours later, the two of you were at the shooting range. 

“My main problem is shooting. The instructors said my form isn't great either and that I looked like a child playing with toys whenever I hold a gun, so if you could help with that…?” You said, putting on the goggles and turning back to look at your boss. 

“Doctor Reid?” You asked. 

“Oh, yeah. Yes, they said something similar when I was training. First, let's see what you can do.” 

You smiled at him as he watched you bounce up to the lane and pick up the gun. You calmed your breathing and got ready to take the safety off when you felt a hard hand clamp over your own and pull the gun from your hand. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, staring down at you with wide eyes. 

“You said to show you-”

“You're not wearing a vest.” 

You cursed quickly as he pulled you back over to the side of the room. The place was practically deserted, as it was past the official closing hours of the range, but Spencer had been forced to pull some strings with his new title and had managed to keep it open (and somehow unmanned) until now. 

He quickly grabbed the first vest he saw and pulled it over your head, taking the side straps and tightening them until the vest was comfortably protecting all your major organs. His hands lingered for a second, and you stared shocked up at him, somehow enjoying the way he pushed you around. 

You were a grown woman, and you could do this all by yourself, but there was something about a man roughly a decade and a half older than you controlling your movements that were entirely too dangerous. You quickly stepped away and back to the podium, whispering a quick thanks under your breath as you tried to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. 

You stretched out your neck a little as you felt him walk back behind you again, keeping his distance as he watched you shoot your first clip at the targets. 

Out of six bullets, you'd missed the target five times and had grazed just below the targets arm once, a brilliant display of your natural lack of talent. 

“Your form is wrong. You're holding yourself too rigid, which means the recoil has a higher chance to hurt you. Loosen your arms slightly.”

His advice was actually good  and you followed his instructions closely, listening clearly as he walked you through each tip. 

“Like this?” 

“A little more… here, let me.” 

You had no chance to react before his body was pressed behind yours and his hands were wrapped around your own, moving g each finger by a fraction to improve your grip, trailing up your arms slowly, leaving a field of goosebumps wherever his fingers grazed. He repositioned your elbows before moving forward his hands down to your hips, turning them slightly as he widened your stance. 

“Try now.” 

Breathless, you could only nod as he stepped back, unaware if he'd even said anything since his hands had landed on you. 

You forced yourself to breathe again and took one shot.

"Oh my god, it hit. Spencer, it hit!” 

“Do it again and we can celebrate.” 

Another five shots later, and you'd managed a small cluster of hits around the arms and one shot. 

“You're definitely veering left, so let's try and over correct by aiming to the right.”

He pushed up against you again and held the gun, moving it to the right a fraction, taking complete control of your body. 

If your breath was scarce before, it was totally gone now as you felt his crotch press up against your ass. Considering the bulletproof vests put an extra inch around your chests, he was absolutely doing it on purpose, and you were shocked to realize you were too. 

You'd pushed your ass back into him, grinding slowly on his hardening cock as he hooked his head over your shoulder, looked down the sight with you, and fired the gun. 

Straight into the center of the target. 

“Good girl,” he whispered before pulling away.  

He moved two meters away from you, and maintained the distance for the rest of the night, and even though you were both aware of his hard cock tightening his pants, neither of you said a word. 

“Same time tomorrow,” he said and grabbed his jacket to leave. It was the first thing he'd said as your Unit Chief that even vaguely sounded like a command and not an enthusiastic suggestion, and you were suddenly very excited for the rest of the week. 

“Before we start,” he said the next day, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows neatly. “Show me your posture again.” 

He gestured towards one of the dummy guns at the side of the range, the style you recognised from mission training that held small layers instead of bullets - same weight, same mechanism, no lethality. 

You'd spent the day and night worked up from the last time you'd been here with him, and a small part of you felt disappointed you were starting with the kiddy gun. Not one to miss an opportunity, though. You bent over to pick it up, making sure to bend at the waist right in front of him to show off your ass. 

Maybe you'd gone crazy, but the memory of his touch was burning you from the inside out and you needed to feel it again to make sure you weren't crazy. 

He maintained his distance, though. It was hard for him to keep his hands off you in all honesty, arms crossed to keep himself from crossing any more lines. That and he was sure that you'd be able to tell he'd spurted cum all over them in his office the night before despite him scrubbing them thoroughly multiple times, the weight of his guilt eating into him like a parasite.

“Arms up, point straight. Good.” You tried to keep still as he assessed your form, but his eyes prowled over you thoroughly, and you had to suppress a shudder. 

“You need to control your breathing, Y/N, you can't be afraid of pulling the trigger if you need to.” 

“I'm not-” 

“Shoulders back,” he said, moving to your side as he again began slightly correcting your form. 

Unlike the day before, though, this time, there were no bullets. And no bullets meant no bulletproof vest. 

That's why when his exploring hands came to your chest, he could feel your hardening nipples through the flimsy material of your dress. He could feel you pressing forward into his touch as his hands cupped your breast.

“Calm your heartbeat, Y/N. You need to stay calm so you can shoot straight, right?” 

The words sounded alien, even to him. His gaze was locked on the top of your shirt, looking down it to the slope of your chest, disappearing into your dress. He so wanted to let his hands disappear right along with them, to pull you back into his aching cock and play with your nipples until you cried out for mercy. 

He let his touch fall and played off his molestation as correction, even as your underwear grew slick with desire. 

“Grab your vest. Let's try again.” 

A week of late night training later, and you weren't sure if you were improving at all. The guns were the last thing on your mind when Spencer's hands were on you, his voice in your ear telling you how good you were for him, such a good subordinate. 

Both of you had yet to acknowledge that you were spending the majority of the session just rubbing up on each other, like teens at prom, desperate for whatever friction you could get without having to name the game you were playing. 

“Doctor Reid, if I hit the target this time, can you do something for me?” You chanced on the Friday, needing something else to tide you over for the weekend. 

“What do you need?” 

“No, no, nothing specific, just like a…a reward?"

He'd done his best to keep his hands off of you, which meant that he'd failed miserably, and he knew exactly what he'd like to treat you to as a reward. Keeping his hands of you in daytime hours had become harder and harder as the week flew by, and he felt like a randy school boy the amount of times he'd needed to excuse himself to either kill his bones or abuse his cock with his hand.

“Oh,” he said, growing quiet. You took his hesitation for rejection, and immediately began to back pedal. 

“Y-You don't have to, sir. It was really quite conceited on my part to demand a reward from y-” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“If you shoot six bullets that hit either the chest or the head, you'll get a reward.”

You smiled brightly at him, suddenly feeling very hopeful. 

“But if you miss, you'll get the opposite.” 

The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about what they meant. Just hearing the words made him want to visibly cringe and write himself up for office misconduct. But your smile didn't fade one bit. 

“Yes, sir. I won't let you down.” 

Turning away from him, you loaded your weapon again, and he watched you put yourself into the correct position. Despite his middling efforts to actually teach you, you had seemed to have improved over the last few days. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted that outcome. 

Just as you stepped up to take your first shot, he stepped closer to you, wrapped his hands around your waist, and pushed up against you. 

Your first shot veered left, completely missing the target as you gasped. Spencer had popped open the front button of your pants and was unzipping them, letting his hand wonder down to your panties. 

“Look straight. There will be distractions out in the field, you can do this, right?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

You tried to steady your breathing g and your hands again as he began rubbing slow circles into your underwear, your body alight with lust as you let him. 

Your second shot hit the paper. Your third didn't. 

“You can do better than that, Y/N.” 

You took another deep breath and picked up your gun again, shooting just as he shoved your underwear to one side and dipped his fingers into you. 

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as you quickly shot your last three bullets, not caring where they went so much as where his fingers went. 

“Y/N, I expected better,” you could hear the smile in his voice as he took the gun from your hands with his spare. “You can't even handle a weapon like this.” 

He kept his fingers pumping shallowly inside you, as he inspected the gun again. 

“Maybe you'd learn better under duress. I did, too. It's easy to learn when there's a gun pointed yo your head, right?” 

He quickly turned the gun on you  pushing it to your temple as his other hand shoved your pants down. He angled you forward with a press of his hips as his fingers returned to your cunt and slipped deeper inside. 

“S-Spencer, fuck-” 

“You missed all six bullets, so punishment it is.” His fingers gained speed as you stood, flushed and spreading your legs for him. You wanted to bury your head in your arms and scream out your moans, but the gun to your head kept you quiet and in place. 

“You may not be able to shoot a gun, Y/N, but that doesn't mean you're not enjoying them. You're so wet for me.” 

Tears sprung to your eyes as you felt your climax build and build, chasing the high you'd been searching for with every unprotected touch. 

You were letting your boss touch you, letting a man almost old enough to be your father hold a gun to your head, and you were going to squirt all over his fingers very soon. 

“Spencer, Spencer, please- please….”

“Shhh, it’s okay. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You just needed some more help learning. You can cum now, princess. It's okay, let go.” 

You tried your best to hold back, but your body had a mind of its own as your orgasm hit you, the cold metal of the gun finally moving away from your head. 

With one hand around your waist, pinning you to the side so you stayed upright, Spencer carefully placed the gun back down before dragging your pants back up your legs. 

Taking your elbow in his hand, he walked you to the door as you blinked out the daze in your eyes. 

“We're going to my office now. To talk about your recent performance.” 

You couldn't have cared less what he'd said as long as his hands were on you, stretching your head back so it rested on his chest and pushing up until your lips could connect with the bare skin at his neck. 

“Hands off. We're going to walk all the way back to my office, and you're not going to let anyone know what just happened, okay? Not with your words, or your expressions or body language, okay?” 

You nodded, but he kept a hand on your elbow, gesturing yourself forward. 

You weren't sure how you were even able to walk after what had to have been the most intense orgasm of your life, but the promise of more likely carried you all the way up the stairs until you were comfortably enclosed in Spencer's  office. 

Like he'd found himself doing multiple times a day this month, Spencer closed the blinds, pulling you down to the sofa with him as he sat. 

“When I was your age,” he started, making sure your ass was facing up as he pushed your head into the cushions gently. 

“When I was your age, I couldn't shoot well. My Unit Chief had to kick some sense into me. I think you need that as well, right, Y/N? You need someone to beat some sense into you?” 

You nodded as he stroked your hair, and he thanked you for being so open to him. 

He made quick work of your pants and underwear, and in a quick hot burst, his hand came down on your ass. 

“Fuck, more. Please more!” 

He did it again and again as you squirmed in his lap and moaned, begging him to keep brutalizing you. 

“That's it, show me how pathetic you are, show me how much you're craving my attention.” 

He pushed your legs off of his lap until you were kneeling on the floor underneath him. He pulled up your arms and pulled your shirt over your head, similarly discarding your tank top and bra until you were totally bare on the floor in front of him. 

Instead of stripping himself yet, he pulled out his phone, palming himself through his pants. 

“Show yourself off,” he said, pointing the camera at you. 

You followed his directions quickly, hands flying to your tits to fondle them while he took pictures of your fucked our face. 

With his foot he gently nudged you down onto all yours, letting you know to turn around so he could flash a picture or two of your sloppy cunt as well. 

Your hips rocked back and forth in the air, unconsciously searching for something to rub against, some relief from your frustrations. 

He kept snapping pictures. 

Deciding that you needed his attention and stat, you let your chest fall to the floor, face flat too as your hips lifted higher in the air. Your hands found your ass cheeks, and you spread them slightly, giving Spencer an even better view of how much you needed him. 

He took one last photo, and then he knelt behind you faster than you could expect. 

In a heartbeat, his pants were down, in two his cock was buried deep inside of you. 

“So…tight, shit. You're such a precious little slut, you kept this little pussy nice and fresh just for me, right?” 

It was all you could do not to cum right there, and when he started moving you were a goner. It had always been easier for you to cum a second time than it was for you to cum a first time, and considering how quick he'd made it happen earlier, you really should've been expecting it. 

Your body convulsed around his cock as you screamed into the floor, hands still spreading yourself wide for him as he rutted into you. 

“That's it, milk my cock, Y/N. Milk your bosses cock, let me blow my load inside you.” 

Your nipples rubbed painfully against the carpet, only adding to the storm of stimulation you were experiencing. 

His hips faltered as he collapsed over your body, holding tight as his muscles locked him into place with his orgasm. He came inside you with a grunt, and he felt your cunt still clenching around him, making sure to take every last drop. 

“That- was much - preferable,” you said, gasping for breath. “To shooting - any gun.” 

He rolled off of you as you laughed, body satiated now for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“You still need to work on your gun skills,” he said after you'd detangled yourself, but before either if you had worked up the courage to leave the floor and get dressed. 

“Why?” You said, turning your head to look at him  lying on the floor next to you. 

“It seems I can fire pretty accurately already,” you said, as your hand snaked down to his cock one more time. 

Bimbo!Reader that is so convinced Pushover!König has no sexual interest in her, she doesn't mind when he walks in on her masturbating

Konig knew his love life with you ended before it even started when he just walked in on you jerking off, and you just asked if the porn you were playing was too loud. You asked if he wanted to parallel-play masturbate with you later, and he fucking agreed because why not. It's not like he didn't want to whip his cock out and shower you in his cum a while ago, and it's not like he didn't want all of this and something even more. It's just that he can't believe you would seriously not see a problem in his seeing you naked. That you can simply change in front of him and ask for a comment on your bra size without it being flirting. That you're not just taunting him - you're genuinely this naive. Konig offers to help you masturbate, and you use his rough, calloused hands as a soft surface to grind on, your pussy leaking juices all over his knuckles. He doesn't know how he managed to hold his cock from cumming the second he felt the heat of your pussy lips pressing against his skin, but it must have been years of training to resist torture...and still, he would take a hot metal rod showed up his ass than seeing your bright eyes with no thoughts behind them, looking at him like he was your pet dog. Konig doesn't understand how you can touch his dick and make him cum with just your fingertips, and still believe that he is not interested in you. He never thought he could be this whipped for a woman who doesn't even realize that he is a man for half of the time, but he holds your picture in his chest plate pocket when he is at deployment and suffers through dumb jokes of his recruits about "his wife" looking like a bimbo. Little do they know that he will make you his wife eventually - whether you like it or not.

anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 1)

If Anselm and Birdie have a canon, then Nathan isn’t really in it like this. But it's too fun not to think about.

Contents: 18+ nsfw, past mm relationship, objectification/degradation, mfm threesome (vaginal, anal, oral) ~10k

-----

A sunny afternoon. Anselm and his crew are sitting in his office enjoying an afternoon snack. Hot fudge sundaes that they eat with great relish, nodding to each other about how delicious they are.

Anselm scoops a huge bite of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce onto his spoon.

“Stop lurking in the doorway like the creature you were named after, Godzilla. Speak,” he yells toward the other end of the room and takes his perfect bite of sundae.

Godzilla clears his throat and steps forward into the room, the space full of the sounds of metal spoons against glass dishes.

“Sir, Mrs. Vogelweide would like to see you in her office upstairs,” he says with a slight bow.

Anselm looks at him from under his dark brows. “Mrs. Vogelweide is it?” He licks his lips. “My God, this might be the best ice cream sundae I’ve ever eaten. Take one up to Birdie after you clean up, will you, Andre?”

He sets his empty bowl on Andre’s tray and the robot motors around the room, collecting everyone else’s dishes.

“She’d like to see you in an official capacity, sir,” Godzilla says.

Anselm sits up straight and buttons his suit jacket. “Well, why the fuck didn’t you say so in the first place?”

His bodyguards stand up stiffly and Anselm waves them back down.

He leans forward, a menacing look on his face. “Where do you think you’re going? Do you think I need protection from my own wife, in our own home? Hmm? What are you imbeciles going to do? What was your big plan?”

They look at each other, clearly having no plans and no actual thoughts beyond trying to get a second round of ice cream sundaes.

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to calm himself. He limps over to the mirror and smooths his hair, makes sure his tie is straight and his beard is neat.

He takes the elevator to the second floor and lets Godzilla announce him, only entering when you’ve given the okay.

You smile, sphinx-like, from behind your desk. “Anselm,” you say.

He walks forward through the long room, noticing that his brace is very loud in the absence of the music you usually play.

“You wore that low-cut blouse just to tease me. I approve,” he says, as charming as the day you’d met him.

You don’t stand. You only hold out your hand and he kisses the back with more relish than he’d given the sundae a few minutes ago.

“Anselm, Anselm, Anselm,” you say slowly, looking him up and down.

He looks at his suit, making sure nothing’s amiss. “Shall I sit?”

“No, I just want to look at you. Really take this moment in.” Your smile doesn't change.

He puts his hands in his pockets, a little confused. He stands so you can look as much as you want.

After a long moment, you tap the closed ledger on your desk.

“You’re a really talented gambler, Anselm. You know that? You could have made your fortune placing bets alone,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Would you like me to place one for you, my love?”

You shake your head. “I called you here to talk about an old bet. Through one of the family bookies. A regional high-school Croatian water polo match a few months ago. The semi-finals I think.”

Anselm scratches his beard. “Yes, I remember it.”

You drum your fingers on the desk. “You lost.”

Anselm frowns deeply. “I beg your pardon, my dear, but I did not.”

You make a humming sound in your throat. “You might not be familiar with the cut throat nature of Croatian junior water polo, but the results of the match were contested almost immediately.”

“Yes, but it came out in my favor,” Anselm says with a grin.

“That one did, yes. But not the second arbitration.”

The grin slides off of his face. “Second arbitration?”

“Filed and decided last week. The victory was given to the opposing side.” You fold your hands on the desk. Your smile is so wide it almost hurts your face. “Which means you, Anselm Vogelweide, owe me money.”

His lips part in surprise, a very confused look on his handsome face. He’s literally at a loss for words. To your great delight.

The doors to your office open and in rolls Andre with a silver tray and a perfect hot fudge sundae on top.

Anselm watches it be delivered to you. Watches you take the sundae with a pat on the robot’s head. Watches you slip off your shoes and put your feet up on your desk and dig into your ice cream.

“So, Anselm,” you say around a mouthful of whipped cream, “what would you do in my position?”

He heaves out a breath. “My God, Birdie, I’d shoot me.”

You cough loudly, sundae stuck in your throat. Anselm rushes forward to hand you a glass of water from the side of your desk. “Not shooting you,” you say.

Anselm walks around the desk to pat your back as you get your breath back. You set the rest of the ice cream back on Andre’s tray and you sit upright in your chair.

“I thought you’d acquired a taste for settling disputes my way,” Anselm says with a grin.

“Not with you,” you say. “Then again, my mentor in all of this crime stuff taught me to take debts very, very seriously.”

You look pointedly at him.

Once, Anselm had received a debt payment of a million dollars in cash. He’d had the man bring it to the estate from all the way from across the country.

When the guy arrived, Anselm had asked about the ten dollars of interest. The guy hadn’t had it. Didn’t have any more cash on him.

“Come on boss, you wouldn’t shoot someone over a lousy tenner, would you?” The guy had asked nervously.

“No, of course not.”

And Anselm had allowed the man to borrow a ten dollar bill from one of the bodyguards. He’d given it to Anselm and gone on his merry way.

Oh wait, no. That’s not how that story ends. Anselm had let the guy borrow a stick of gum from one of the bodyguards and then shot him dead before he’d even gotten the wrapper off.

A debt is a debt. The number is irrelevant. At least, that’s what he’d taught you.

Anselm half-sits on the top of the desk, close to you. “Quite a conundrum, my dear. And one for me as well. I’ve never owed a debt in my life.”

“That’s just bragging,” you say.

“Well, shall I have the money that I owe you wired or would you prefer cash?” He asks, business-like. “It would have to be next week. There are two bank holidays that would interfere with the transfer.”

You take a breath, a moment to think it over. You run your foot up and down the calf of his unbraced leg.

“It’s almost two million dollars,” you say, glancing up at him. “You wouldn’t let someone walk out of your office without repaying that kind of dough, right? And if you can’t repay me today, then I’m afraid we might have to make alternative arrangements.”

You see Anselm’s gaze sharpen, his pupils widen ever so slightly.

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing over the collar of his shirt. “Such a thing would put me completely at your mercy,” Anselm says quietly, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“But if it’s the only way to pay off your debt, you don’t really have much of a choice. Right?” You lick your lips slowly.

“I accept your proposition.” Anselm unbuttons his suit jacket so you can see from the bulging length in his pants just how accepting he is.

“Andre,” you say to the robot, taking the rest of your sundae back off his tray, “you can leave. Tell guards outside we’re not to be disturbed.”

“Yes, Birdie, man.” His pixel-smile blinks at you as he backs out of the room.

You hand Anselm the sundae.

“Did the robot just call you a man?” He asks.

“I think it’s supposed to be ma’am, but at this point, I don’t ask questions. Where did you even get Andre?”

Anselm scoops some of the ice cream out, fashioning an acceptable bite, and holds it up to your lips for you to eat.

“I invest heavily in emerging technologies,” he says, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray drop of hot fudge from your chin. He licks it off. “Andre was a gift from one of the owners. He’s offered many times to replace it with a newer model, but they’re all too human for my taste. A robot should look like a robot, I think. Or we’ll all become very confused, very quickly.”

Anselm sits against your desk, feeding you perfect bites of sundae as you work on your laptop for awhile.

He walks around the room, making sure things are tidy, closing the blinds so the sun doesn’t hit the artwork. He glances at you, opens the cabinet he’d had installed.

You don’t object.

He holds up a black, leather riding crop. You shake your head.

A dildo shaped like a unicorn horn, with sparkles in the silicone to make it shiny. You pass.

A ball gag that’s attached with straps to wrist cuffs and ankle restraints. Another no.

“Are you bored?” Anselm asks, his eyes zeroing in on yours. His voice echoes down the room. “Are you so bored with all of this that nothing makes you tingle in anticipation of me?”

“No,” you say, startled that he would even think that, “are you bored by me?”

Anselm grumbles to himself.

“What?” You say. “You’re too far away. I can’t hear you.”

“I said you’ve hurt my feelings, even suggesting such a thing.” He fusses, putting things back in the cabinet, before closing it.

“You’re so dramatic,” you say quietly.

“I heard that,” Anselm says loudly.

You get up from your desk, noticing that Anselm stubbornly stays where he is, brushing his fingers along a shelf like he’s checking for dust.

You walk over to him, curling your fingers inside the pockets of his suit pants. “I’ve thought of how you can repay me,” you say with a smile.

Anselm turns his gaze to you, pretending not to be particularly interested.

“Come on,” you tease him, “don’t be a stick in the mud.”

“Fine. What is it it?” Anselm says, his arms coming up around your waist.

“I want to have the threesome you keep putting off,” you say.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, my dear,” he says, but you can tell he’s faking. He knows exactly the one you mean. “But if you’d like someone to join us, I’ll have someone come to the house immediately.”

“Not someone,” you say pointedly.

“Not him,” Anselm returns. “I may invest in his endeavors, but we haven’t socialized in many years. I’m not sure he’s capable of it anymore.”

“Social awkwardness never stopped you from hanging out with someone before,” you say, pulling him closer. “If you don’t want to, just say so and I’ll never bring it up again.”

Anselm sighs. “It isn’t that. But you don’t know him like I do. He’ll be very degrading to you.”

“We do that sometimes,” you say.

“He’s very different from me, and for us to both be with you, I’d have to be quite different too. Different than the devoted husband you're used to.”

Your eyes narrow. “Anselm, last night we role played that you were a professor who was blackmailing me for sex. I don’t buy that excuse either. Whatever you’re trying to skirt around, just fucking say it.”

A worried look passes over Anselm’s face. His eyes study you from behind his yellow lenses. “He’s going to be enamored with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Anselm’s hands tighten around your waist. “Once he gets a taste of your beautiful body and spirit, well… he’s going to try to keep you, my dear.”

A laugh bubbles out of you. “Who cares? It’s not like he can.”

You look at Anselm’s face. He still looks serious.

“Can he?” You ask, confused.

Anselm’s face quirks into a half-smile, half-grimace. “The only way he’ll be with us is if we go to him. He’s a recluse, and never leaves his work for more than a day. His compound is inescapable. His control over it, total. I have no doubt if he wanted both of us to disappear, he could cover every track we’d ever made. Until the entire world wondered if we’d ever existed at all. He’s a genius, my love.”

“Okay,” you say, thinking over Anselm’s words, “then why would you ever have told me he’d offered? If it’s so dangerous.”

Anselm’s eyes sparkle at you, the dark brown turning warm and anticipatory. “Because it would be spectacular, my dear.”

“Then it’s settled, isn’t it? Neither of us have gotten where we are in life, or with each other, by doing things safe and easy.” You kiss Anselm quickly on the lips. “We’re going to have sex with Nathan Bateman.”

*****

Friday Afternoon.

Nathan’s helicopter drops you and Anselm off in the middle of a field. A vaguely-human robot is behind the wheel of a waiting truck. It puts your bags in the back and helps you into the cab.

You stare at it.

“What the fuck?” You ask it. It doesn’t answer. You turn to Anselm, who’s sitting in the back. “Are there a lot of these things around? They’re creepy.”

“I was only here once, when it was under construction,” Anselm says. “I helped Nathan take care of the contractors who’d built it. So that the project stayed a secret.”

The house and the river running under it are gorgeous. Everything a little too still, though, eerie almost. The house is too quiet.

You let yourselves in and the robot takes care of your bags. You see that it has a ‘Hello, I'm Twelve’ sticky note on the front of its body.

“Twelve?” You say experimentally.

The robot drops the bags it had been holding and pauses, looking at you with its smooth, featureless face.

“Carry on,” you say, watching suspiciously as it resumes its duties. You look at Anselm, who's poking around the living room.

“I think I hear Nathan at the back of the house,” he says.

He takes your hand and leads you out to a deck with weathered boards that overlooks the rushing river water. 

Nathan Bateman looks like his photos, even though most of them are from years ago. He has a black, dense beard and a close-shaved head. His hands are wrapped in white tape and he’s beating on a gym bag like it owes him a trillion dollars.

You clear your throat loudly. “You’re not fooling anyone. If you’d wanted us to be impressed, you should’ve greeted us with martinis and a robot butler in a tux.”

Nathan, out of breath, turns to look at you. Your gaze runs from the deep, dark V of sweat down his workout shirt and back up to his face. And you see it in his sharp, dark gaze.

You know two things immediately: one, Nathan Bateman is exactly the kind of trouble that’s perfect for this weekend. Two, he and Anselm have definitely done all kinds of sex to each other.

You have that feeling in your gut as his eyes acknowledge Anselm.

As they sweep over you, though, you have a different feeling entirely.

He has an aura of control that’s different from Anselm’s.

Anselm is like the back room of a gentleman’s club, the one where the business-side is conducted. Hazy smoke and velvet. You’re a half a glass of brandy in, some mostly naked woman face-first between your legs, before you realize he has a gun pointed at you.

Nathan, is a pair of handcuffs and a concrete interrogation room.

His eyes tell you, before he’s even said hello. Submit.

Nathan unwraps his hands with a smile that’s meant to be disarming. He looks like a shark.

“Good to see you,” he says to Anselm. “Thanks for taking me up on the weekend out here. About time.”

Anselm links his fingers through yours. “Not all titans of industry can afford to disappear like you did, Nathan.”

“We’re not like those old assholes. Sitting around doing jack shit. We like to take our fate in our own hands, don’t we,” Nathan says. He holds out his hand and Anselm shakes it.

Nathan shakes your hand too. “Very, very good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say with a smile.

Nathan picks up a towel to wipe of his face, before putting his glasses back on.

“Never in a million fucking years did I think Anselm would ever get married. You must be quite a woman, honey.”

Anselm lays his hand on your lower back. “You have no idea, Nathan,” he practically growls. “She’s exquisite.”

No one would notice anything off, but to you, it’s like a gigantic megaphone announcement.

Anselm NEVER speaks about you in the third person when you’re present. Never talks about you like you aren’t there, or like you’re an object, or decoration. It’s a point of pride with him. And he shoots anyone who doesn’t do the same.

But as Anselm and Nathan share a look, you know that Anselm’s tone and word choice have spoken volumes to Nathan, too.

The weekend, it seems, has begun.

*****

“Nathan has cameras everywhere,” Anselm says as he sits back on the bed, his back against the headboard. He unfastens his brace while you unpack.

“Even in here? Pervert,” you say, shooting Anselm a smile.

Anselm chuckles under his breath. He looks odd in the stark, undecorated room.

He rubs his leg and you put down the stack of shirts into the drawer and close it.

“The walk from the truck to the house?” You ask, joining him on the bed.

“It was uneven ground, but I’m fine,” he says.

Anselm never complains. His leg doesn’t usually bother him. You’ve even seen him practically run with his brace, but every once in awhile, he has a bad day. 

You gently move his hands out of the way and massage his leg, starting at the ankle and working up to his calf. 

“Take off your pants, it’ll make it easier for me,” you say.

Anselm grins, and methodically takes them off. You watch him get hard for you, just from your gaze on his body. He reaches out his hand and cups your cheek.

“Will you give my old friend something to salivate over? Something so delicious, he’ll have no choice but to sit at his desk, jerking off like an over-excited teenager?” Anselm leans forward so his face is closer to yours. “Something that will make him want to completely destroy you, when the time comes?”

So, you undress slowly and sensuously. You let your fingers linger on your skin, over your nipples and breasts.

You sit up on your knees, so your thighs are on on either side of Anselm’s. His hands rub up and down your skin, and you touch yourself for him. Playing with your clit, your own fingers sliding along your wet walls, teasing your own pleasure centers. Your other hand reaches for Anselm’s. You bring it alongside yours.

Anselm adds two fingers into your cunt, pressing against yours, forcing more pleasure through you. You brace yourself one-handed on the wall behind the bed, letting Anselm finger you, dragging your fingers with his until you come in a gush of liquid and a high-pitched moan. It drips down both of your hands and makes a dark stain on the bed. Anselm keeps fingering you, your hips grinding down on him. You come again, biting your lip so hard it hurts.

His fingers pull out you, pushing into your mouth. You suck on them gently, sitting down on the bed and then leaning forward so he can cradle you against his chest.

You hope Nathan was watching.

*****

Dinner is sushi and little cups of sake that Nathan constantly refills for you.

He and Anselm talk easily. Memories of when they were last here. Projects Nathan’s working on that Anselm’s invested in. Everything.

Nathan glances at you. “You’re watching this like it’s a fucking tennis match. Don’t you speak?”

It catches you off guard. He’s right. You’ve taken on the role of quiet submissive easily, but Nathan clearly likes to rile you, gauge your reactions.

You shrug, unbothered. “I like listening. I’ve never heard Anselm talk to someone like this. Like they’re his equal.”

Nathan raises his eyebrows. “If you knew me, you’d say the same thing about me. Your husband and I seem different on the surface, but we’re actually a lot alike."

Nathan pops a salmon nigiri into his mouth.

You look at Anselm. He nods in agreement.

“So,” Nathan says, his eyes almost black as they pin you down, “nothing I ask for should surprise you. Right?”

“Right,” you say automatically.

Something about him unbalances you. Even though you know it’s what he wants, you can’t help it. Normally, Anselm would lay his hand on your back, or say something reassuring. He would back you up in some way.

But this weekend, he’s doing none of that. He’s letting you flounder, and find your own way. If you drown, then this whole thing was your decision, and you wonder, briefly, if Anselm would watch you be taken under by Nathan’s current, swept away in his rip tide.

Nathan’s gaze wanders over you. 

“Your body,” he says like he’s talking about a piece of code or the weather, “it’s good.”

Anselm brushes his hand over your shoulder, sweeping your hair back. “You should see her at her best,” he says quietly.

Nathan drains another shot glass of sake. “I’d like that. Why don’t you get undressed, sweetheart? Give us something to look at while we finish talking.”

You turn your head slightly, looking for Anselm’s eyes, but he’s looking further down. Over you, but not at you.

“Please,” Anselm says slowly, “as a thank you for our host’s hospitality. We don’t want to be rude.”

The thrill of Anselm’s fingertips tracing on the back of your neck. The way Nathan keeps eating, even while his eyes are steady and dark on your face.

You slide the thin sweater you’d been wearing up and over your head.

“Very nice,” Nathan says quietly.

“Keep going,” Anselm says, with a depth of authority he usually reserves for when he’s reminded you of your safe word, when he’s made it known that you’re the one who’s actually in control. But again, he’s done none of that now.

You reach back and undo the clasp of your bra. You remove it self-consciously, even though you’re not in any way ashamed of your body. Haven’t been, since the first time you’d been with Anselm. But their gazes are assessing, almost detached.

Nathan points at you with his chopsticks. “Bottoms too.”

You take a deep breath and stand up, undoing your pants and pushing them down over your hips and down your legs. You fold everything neatly and set your clothes next to you. Your nipples are hard and your skin, chilled.

You’re so wet, you’re going to leave a puddle on the dining room chair.

“So, how’s Andre working out?” Nathan asks.

Anselm smiles. “Defective. But I enjoy him that way.”

Nathan chuckles, and signals for one of his more human-looking robots to start clearing the dishes. “That’s fucking weird, man.”

Your rub your hands up and down your arms to warm up.

“You’re too obsessed with perfection,” Anselm says, sitting back in his chair. He unbuttons his suit jacket. “Perfection makes everything dull. I have one perfect thing in my life, and I find that’s quite enough.” Anselm rubs a hand over your bare shoulders.

Nathan nods, looking at you. “You think she’s perfect?”

He sounds casual, but there’s a push in his tone. Like he’s poking at Anselm’s statement, doubting it. And Anselm, though he’s enjoying the weekend’s play acting, can only be pushed so far.

Anselm’s voice is clipped. His eyes are dark steel behind the lenses of his glasses. “Do not forget yourself, Nathan. This is my wife we’re discussing.”

Nathan licks his bottom lip. “Alright, relax. I’m just saying, I’ve never known you to be so hung up on one person. You used to be more open.”

Anselm exhales loudly through his nose. “And you’ve let your isolation narrow your view of the world. You don’t understand people because you don’t consider yourself to be one anymore.”

Nathan makes a face. “I’m human.” He lays a hand on your wrist. “Very human.”

You swallow as he runs his hand up and down your forearm. He picks up your hand and looks at it, brings it up to his face and lays it on his cheek, right where the line of his beard cuts a line across his skin.

“Caught your little show earlier,” Nathan says. “You gonna squirt for me too, honey?”

Anselm chuckles. “If you can find her on-switch, she will.”

“I’m pretty good with hardware,” Nathan says. 

You feel his beard with your fingers. It’s not as soft as Anselm’s. Nathan probably doesn’t condition it, doesn’t worry about it rubbing someone’s skin red and raw.

Nathan seems to like the way you feel his face and hair. There’s even a hint of warmth in his eyes. He looks at Anselm.

“She take your cock as well as I used to?” He asks.

Your heart beats faster against your chest.

“Better, and faster. My God, it took me weeks to prepare you,” Anselm says.

Nathan looks offended. “You’re walking around with a fucking tree trunk between your legs. You’re lucky anyone lets you fuck them at all. I should’ve sued.”

Anselm makes an impatient sound in his throat. “Darling, Nathan’s ego is clearly in need of a boost. Be a dear and sit in his lap.”

It’s not unusual for you and Anselm to have a third. This, however, is different. You’ve never been with someone from Anselm’s past, and in the short time you’ve known Nathan, you realize why Anselm’s never told you anything about his former lover and current business partner. There was no way to prepare you for him.

Much like Anselm, Nathan has to be seen to be believed.

Nathan pushes his chair back, giving you room to settle across his lap. He holds you loosely with one arm, while his other feels your skin.

You were already a little cold, but his touch gives you goosebumps.

“Sensitive thing, aren’t you?” He grins. “I like that.”

He looks at you from under his heavy eyelids.

“Can I touch you?” Nathan asks.

“Are you really asking?” You counter.

Nathan smirks. “I’m an egomaniac. I want you to want me.” He runs his fingers over your shoulder, back and forth.

“I’m the one who suggested that Anselm and I take you up on your offer,” you say, pleased that it seems you’ve surprised him.

Nathan’s gaze flicks to Anselm, who’s leaning his elbow on the table, his fingers practically twirling his mustache in glee.

“I told you, she’s like no one you’ve ever known,” Anselm says.

The wine and dessert are forgotten. Anselm holds your hand, pulling you to the sitting area next to the dining room.

Nathan has you on your hands and knees on a cream-colored ottoman. Anselm’s cock is out of his pants in a flash and when your tongue touches his soft, musky head, you feel Nathan’s tongue on you. His hands pull apart your legs so he can eat you out from behind.

The surprise of it makes you gasp, which only gives Anselm the opportunity to insert himself smoothly down your throat, which makes you jerk back, onto Nathan’s waiting tongue.

Nathan’s hands steady your hips. He dives into your cunt with his mouth and you moan around Anselm’s cock, gagging every once in awhile when you take him down your throat.

Anselm’s hands thread through your hair, holding tightly. His breath picks up and his hips move harder, his cock making loud, wet sounds as it enters and exits your mouth. Spit rolls in strands down your chin. Anselm shifts your head a fraction, so you can look up at him.

Whether it’s so he can take in the view, or so he can check you’re okay, you have no idea. Both, probably.

You can’t answer him though because Nathan is licking you from your clit to your asshole, burying his tongue in every place he can and making your body tense and shudder.

He sucks hard on your clit and you come with absolutely no warning, your moaning driving Anselm’s climax and he jams his cock down your throat again, throbbing and coming in hot spurts.

You whine, pulling your hips forward, but Nathan is relentless. Eating you out until your arms collapse and Anselm pulls out of your mouth. You’re face is buried in the fabric of the ottoman, tears staining the fabric, as Nathan’s strong arms hold you up, his tongue and mouth working between your legs quickly, licking another loud orgasm out of you.

And then he’s gone. Your hips drop hard and you lay there, panting.

You see Anselm walk back over to the table and take a sip of water. He hands Nathan a napkin to wipe his face with.

They’re talking about something, but you can’t bring yourself to give a shit. They walk away, Anselm gesticulating and Nathan nodding as they leave down the hallway.

As if you don't exist at all, now that they've gotten what they wanted.

It was probably all of three minutes.

Twelve cleans the kitchen.

How are you going to survive 48 hours of this?

*****

On shaky legs, you dry off as you leave the bathroom. You sit back down on the bed in your room. Anselm’s still not there.

He’d warned you not to wander around the place. Said he was worried about your safety.

There’s a glass of iced tea and note on the dresser.

Three doors on your left. -A

You drink the tea, the cool liquid and sweetness soothing your throat from earlier.

The top drawer of your side of the dresser is empty when you open it. You look in the next one. The next one.

Empty.

It must have happened during dinner.

Anselm’s things are still folded neatly in his drawers. His suits are hung up in the closet. For you, there’s only a white, silk robe. It’s short and trimmed with lace. You put it on, admiring the stitching and the fabric. You tie it shut with a double-knot and leave the room to see what Anselm and Nathan are up to now.

The third door on your left slides open as you approach.

It’s a big, dark room. The only light is from a bank of computer monitors facing the bed.

They’re talking about preserving native plants and animals on their lands. Something about progress versus nature.

Nathan’s sitting on the mattress in his boxers, leaning against the headboard, hands behind his head.

Anselm’s leaning against Nathan’s desk. You can tell he’s tense.

He’s taken off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt. He holds his glass out to you as you enter.

You think he’s offering you a drink, but then you see it’s empty. Anselm nods to the side table for you to get him a refill.

Your lips twitch. You can’t help it.

Subtle power moves that Anselm is so good at, but he’s never used on you. His eyes laugh slightly, crinkling at the corners. A flash of your Anselm, before his gaze goes serious again.

He shakes his glass lightly, the leftover ice tink-tink-tink-ing as he does.

You take the glass over to the table, turning your back to refill it.

A hand brushes up the back of your thigh and under your robe. You smell Nathan. His teeth graze along the back of your neck and his hand slides around the front of your hip. He presses his hard cock against you.

“Don’t bother with the drink,” Nathan says, his fingertips toying with your clit. “You taste better anyway.”

His fingers crawl down between your lips, where you feel yourself starting to get wet. He licks your neck, slow circles on your clean skin.

“Anselm says you can take two cocks like a champ,” Nathan says.

You shudder. You’ve done it before, but usually you have time to prepare. Anselm alone can stretch you to your limits.

Nathan pulls away from you, tugging your arm.

“Get on the bed,” he says.

Anselm’s taking off his clothes, unhurried. He reaches over to the nightstand and drops a silicone dildo next to you on the mattress.

“If I have you two, what’s this for?” You ask him.

Anselm remains expressionless, neatly laying his shirt over the back of Nathan’s desk chair.

“Giving you this is a kindness. I could make you use your own hand,” he says.

He sounds impatient.

“Now,” he says loudly, confirming your suspicions.

As you part your legs, resting the head of the cold material against yourself, you remember what Anselm had said. That he’d be different here. He certainly is.

Nathan sits on the bed, he gently takes the dildo away from you. “I don’t think you’re wet enough, sweetheart.” He looks up at Anselm, who’s taking off his pants.

“She should get wet or this is going to be very unpleasant for her,” Anselm says dismissively.

Nathan’s eyes narrow a tiny fraction. “Don’t try to be an asshole, just to make me go easier on your wife.”

“And I thought you didn’t want me to think of her as my wife,” Anselm snaps back, anger coating his words.

“Anselm-“ you start to say, but he cuts you off with a look.

He never has sex when he’s angry. Or at least, never with you. It’s not that he’s opposed to it, but honestly, Anselm turns into a puddle of love when he gets his hands on you. It melts away his anger.

So, whatever Nathan said before you got here, it must have been bad.

Nathan takes off his glasses, tosses them aside. He rubs a hand up and down your thigh. “Anselm and I had a little disagreement.”

Anselm turns away, his hand smoothing over his beard.

Nathan clears his throat. “I thought this was a no boundaries weekend, but you can probably tell already, I’m all about finding the limits. I had to find his.”

“Are you okay?” You ask Anselm.

Anselm’s back relaxes. He takes a deep breath and continues undressing, pushing his pants down over the swell of his ass and his thick thighs.

“I’m fine, my dear,” he says. “Nathan does have a way of being the most irritating person on the planet, though.”

Nathan grins. “I asked Anselm if he’d let me have you tonight. Alone. Just you and me while he slept down the hall.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to that. My rule, not his,” you say.

“I asked him, not you. Trying to figure out who’s really in charge here,” Nathan says.

Your gut clenches as his eyes freeze you in place. Nathan’s face warms back up into the fake easy-going attitude you’re used to now. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just had to see where we were all at.”

Anselm shakes his head. “Don’t scare her.”

“Okay,” Nathan says. He looks at you. “I’m sorry. The truth is, I didn’t really buy this whole thing you have with Anselm until I saw it for myself.”

Anselm sits next to you, near the pillows. He wraps his arm around your waist and lays his forehead against yours. “Love and devotion aren’t in Nathan’s vocabulary.”

Nathan hums in agreement. “True. The way you described how you felt for her sounded like a psychotic break to me. This woman comes out of nowhere. Gets you to completely change your attitude toward relationships, and then takes over your entire family? I had to be suspicious.”

Your eyes track from Anselm’s to Nathan’s. “You were protecting him.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Nathan says, his shoulders shifting uncomfortably.

You lay your hands on either side of Anselm’s face so you can look at him dead on. “Of all the weird people you know, this guy is definitely the weirdest.”

Anselm laughs, a deep chuckle from deep in his chest. He puts his hands over your shoulders, warming the chill off your skin.

He takes off his glasses and sets them next to Nathan’s on the nightstand. He takes your hands off of his face, holding them as he kisses you.

Really kisses you.

The kind where his lips are slotted deeply into yours, devouring you, tilting his head to drive his tongue into your mouth, mapping out everything he can touch and taste. Your breath catches and Anselm inhales it, sucking on your bottom lip, pulling it into the hot, soft cavern of his mouth. Your mouth chases his, eager for more.

“Jesus, okay,” Nathan says loudly, breaking the moment. “I get it. You really love her. Fucking hell, dude. Leave some for the rest of us.”

Anselm stops kissing you, with one last peck on your cheek. He gives you a teasing, wicked look. His hand cups your chin.

“Whenever you’re ready, my dear,” he says quietly.

Nathan looks amused. Intrigued. His confidence is back in place.

“She’s ready,” Nathan says. “Come here.”

You lean forward, meeting Nathan as he slides his hand up behind your head, bringing you in to kiss you himself.

You were right. Nathan’s beard is scratchy. His mouth is hot and wet, dominating on yours. Your hand bumps against his knee and you take the opportunity to follow the muscle of his thigh up and under the leg of his boxers.

He pulls back, grips your chin hard in his fingers. “Did I say you could do that?”

You shake your head.

“Words, slut,” he says, his voice low and hard.

“No, you didn’t,” you say.

Anselm’s hand runs over the crease of your hip and down between your legs. You hadn’t realized you’d been pressing them together until Anselm works his fingers down between them.

“You’re wet now,” Anselm almost purrs. “Soaking. Delightful.”

You turn, trying to get him to kiss you, but Anselm pulls back. He unties your robe deftly, almost ripping it off of you.

“Nathan’s going to lay down, and you’re going to ride him like a whore until I tell you to stop,” Anselm says. His eyes are bright. He’s back in his role now. Fully in control.

Your breath shakes as Nathan takes off his boxers and lays down. Anselm gives you a gentle push and you turn to Nathan. You straddle him, sitting on his cock, but not taking it inside of you just yet. You drag his length along the wet seam of your cunt. He’s so hard you could probably get off just like this.

Anselm rubs circles on your back. “What do you think of her?”

Nathan’s lips are parted. He raises his hands to play with your nipples. “Gorgeous. Fucking unreal.”

You slide forward enough to catch the soft head of him, readjusting to fill yourself with his cock. Nathan smiles, exhaling hard as you take him in one, smooth sitting motion.

“Oh fuck, honey, you’re a fucking professional aren’t you?” He grins.

You smile, slowly rising and lowering yourself as Nathan pulls your nipples a little too hard. You shudder on him.

“Make yourself come. I want to feel it,” he says.

You seat yourself on Nathan, resting your hands on the hard muscles of his chest. You tilt your hips forward and back, adjusting yourself to him, riding him slowly at first. Nathan bites his lower lip, his cheeks a little flushed already.

He’s thick. Not as big as Anselm, but he’s so hard it’s easy for you to rock against him, hitting all the places inside and out that you need to moan and squirm. Anselm’s hand reaches down to touch where you and Nathan meet. You come with a hot gush of liquid, squeezing Nathan’s pecs, and clenching down on him so hard, it almost hurts.

You haven’t come down all the way before Anselm’s hands push you down. Nathan captures your mouth as your chest presses onto his, coaxing your tongue out and sucking on it gently as you feel Anselm position himself behind you.

His fingers are already well-lubricated as he slips two into you, working you open with a groan.

“Stay still,” Nathan orders when your hips start to move.

It’s like torture. There’s nowhere for your pleasure to go, so you sit, clenching around Nathan while Anselm works your other hole open enough to finally give you just the tip of his enormous cock.

You moan, and you think they do too, as Anselm rubs a hand over one of your shoulders.

“You have to relax for us,” Anselm says.

You take a shaky breath and open your eyes. Nathan’s dark gaze is already on your face.

Anselm slides in a fraction more and you whine. Not from pain, but from the already too-full feeling of them inside of you.

Nathan almost smiles. You know he can feel Anselm at this point, the thin barrier of your body separating them.

“Take it,” Nathan says in a whisper. “Fucking take it all, sweetheart. Come on.”

Anselm’s body bends over yours as he slowly stretches his way inside of you. You’re panting.

Nathan’s hand grips your hair. “I bet your sweet little pussy’s never been tighter.”

You moan, your body relaxing, needing to feel as full as possible, needing the last few inches of Anselm’s cock deep inside of you.

“You’re a good girl,” Anselm growls in your ear, his tongue catching your earlobe. “We’re going to use you now. And you’re going to let us.”

He pulls halfway out and pushes back inside, stealing your breath and popping your eyes wide. Nathan pulls out a fraction, punching his hips up into yours.

“This what she wanted?” Nathan asks Anselm.

They’re fucking you hard already, in and out in tandem. You’d thought- oh fuck, who even knows- you’d thought it would start slow. But you already have tears in your eyes, their cocks dragging in and out of you. Your skin stretches and burns from the delicious way your body holds onto both of them.

Anselm grunts. “This is what she wanted, yes. It’s what she’s good for. Aren’t you?”

He slaps your ass hard, not even a stutter in his thrusts.

“Y-yes,” you choke on the word.

“Oh look at that,” Nathan groans, “fucked out already. Brainless little slut.”

You moan, your body moving forward against the relentless pounding, but Anselm pulls your shoulders, bringing you all the way down on both cocks again.

Anselm slows the pace, long strokes in and out of you. It should be a rest, but Anselm knows you better than that. Knows you can’t hold back when you can feel every ridge and vein in his cock.

Nathan takes his cue and pulls in and out as much as he can from below you. Letting you feel way he stretches you out.

“You’re cute like this,” Nathan says. “Look at me.”

Your eyes can’t even focus, but you open them. It feels so good you can’t even think. Like nothing exists but the pure ecstasy of being filled by these two men.

“Good girl,” Nathan says slowly. “You gonna come for us? Get off on being fucked like a dirty slut?”

His hand in your hair, he nods for you.

You’re moaning, unable to hold back as they fuck you back and forth between them.

“Nathan, pull out of her,” Anselm says.

You collapse onto Nathan when he pulls his cock out of you, but Anselm pulls your hair back so your head snaps up. He fucks his entire cock into your cunt and you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to process it. He pulls out. Nathan pushes in.

In and out, sharing your dripping wet cunt.

“She’s close,” Anselm says, his voice is strained.

He resumes his previous position, gently feeding his cock back into your asshole as Nathan fucks back up into your pussy.

Nathan pants in your ear. “You like this, don’t you? One load’s not enough for you. You need the two of us ruining your little holes.”

You scream when you come, your throat burns, your whole body burns, every single nerve sings as you go completely stiff. Coming so hard your eyes roll back in your head and they have to hold you up to keep fucking you. It’s never ending. You can’t stop your muscles from pulsing around them, which only makes them fuck you even harder.

You feel like you’re going to go insane from how it all makes you feel. Nathan starts coming deep inside of you, lodging his cock as far as it can go. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and he fills the air with filthy sounds and words. Anselm finally lets go, filling your ass with hot ropes of cum.

Your body shakes and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until Nathan’s arms are tight around you, his hand on the back of your head. 

“Shhh,” he says, still out of breath, “’s okay, honey. You’re alright.”

Anselm pulls out of you and you feel his arms around you too.

“She’ll be okay,” he says. Nathan must have given him a questioning look.

You sniffle, wiping Nathan’s shoulder where you’d cried a puddle of drool and tears.

Anselm turns your head and kisses you softly. “There, there,” he says. “You did beautifully. It was a lot for you, wasn’t it?”

You nod, not quite ready to speak.

Anselm’s face is worried. “Too much, perhaps.”

You shake your head.

He smiles, kisses your forehead. “Alright. I’m going to draw you a bath. Nathan will be right here with you.”

You sniffle. “I know. He’s still inside me.”

Nathan kisses your cheek. “Holy shit, you’re a dream. Making a fucking joke at a time like this.”

Anselm disappears into the bathroom and Nathan gingerly pulls out of you, going extra slow, knowing how sensitive you are.

He holds you close to him, rubbing your back.

“For real,” he says quietly, “you’ll be okay?”

You look at him, touched. “It was perfect. All of it. It was just intense.”

You reach up and scratch your fingers through his beard. Something Anselm likes. And apparently, so does Nathan. He looks almost relaxed.

Nathan looks down his nose at you, but for once, it’s not condescending. “You love Anselm as much as he loves you?”

“I do,” you say, smiling.

His eyes are dark pools that pull you in. “Good. But if-“

“Your bath is ready,” Anselm says from the doorway.

“I don’t think I can walk,” You flop back, out of Nathan’s arms.

“I got this, Vogelweide,” Nathan says. He kneels on the bed, pulling you to the edge so he can pick you up and carry you bridal-style to the bathroom.

Anselm’s already in the tub, which Nathan quirks a brow at, but he helps you in anyway. You sit between Anselm’s legs, reclining limply against him. He wraps his arms around you.

“I’m gonna use the shower in the other room. Give you two a minute,” Nathan says. He shuts the door as he leaves.

Anselm takes a big breath, holding you tightly. He kisses the side of your head. You sigh and sink down slightly, letting the water come up to the top of your chest.

“I think we should leave tomorrow, and not Monday,” Anselm says quietly.

You turn, your sore muscles protesting and water sloshing. “What? We just got here.”

Anselm scratches his neck, but you know his scars aren’t bothering him. It’s Nathan. He’s gotten under Anselm’s skin.

“You were completely in control out there,” you say, dipping your head down to wet your hair. “And I loved it. Every second.”

The corner of Anselm’s mouth stretches up. “Did you now?”

You turn back around to nestle in Anselm’s lap again. “I did.”

“Usually something that intense is just the two of us,” Anselm says.

“Jealousy isn't your style,” you remind him.

“Not normally. Jealously is useless and does nothing for me. Nathan is not normal.”

“He’s also not my husband and not the love of my life.” You reach up and cup your hand around the back of Anselm’s neck, rubbing it soothingly. “He’s completely full of himself, and totally insecure. He can show a girl a good time, but…”

Anselm grabs a bottle of shampoo and squirts some into one of his hands. He massages his fingers through your hair.

“You could fix him,” he says.

“Not my dog. Not my fight.”

“You like him, though.”

You sigh, leaning into Anselm’s scalp massage. “Surprisingly, yes, I do.”

“But you can’t live without me, can you, Birdie?”

Anselm’s tone is teasing, but something in it makes you twist around again, so you can look him in the eyes.

“No, Anselm. No one could ever come between us.”

Later, as you’re snuggled between Anselm and Nathan in Nathan’s bed, one last thought creeps into your brain.

Nathan has cameras everywhere. Anselm knew Nathan was listening while you were in the bath together.

Anselm didn’t need reassurances. He’d needed Nathan to know that some boundaries weren’t movable. Some things, Anselm would never negotiate for.

*****

Saturday Morning.

“You brought a gun,” you say, looking at Anselm’s underwear drawer.

You’d both gone back to your room to get ready for the day. Nathan had already been up for hours working. He never slept more than a few hours a night.

Anselm is putting his hair in place and you’re grabbing clothes for him. At the bottom of a pile of Anselm’s silk underwear is a matte, black pistol.

“You sound surprised,” Anselm says from his place in front of the bathroom mirror.

You look at the gun, then cover it again. Out of sight out of mind.

You’d thought the only thing dangerous here was Nathan. And Anselm would never shoot him. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

He puts his suit on. You put the white silk robe from last night back on and you head out to breakfast on the back deck.

You’re sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, your feet up in Anselm’s lap when Nathan strides out. He pushes up the sleeves of his white sweater and sits down in the chair next to you.

He rests his hand on the back of your chair, his fingers just brushing over the thin fabric of your robe.

“Rested?” He asks you.

“Why?” You ask, suspicious.

He pushes up his glasses and pours himself a mug of coffee. “Calm down. I don’t have time to fuck you this morning.”

“Wow, my review of this place just went from four stars to three.”

Nathan rubs a hand over his heart. “After everything we shared last night? I’m heartbroken, honey.”

“Two and a half because of your whining.”

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “Anselm and I’ll have to switch places tonight, see if I can’t get myself back up to four.”

Anselm makes a sound in his throat. “The double penetration hasn't ever worked the other way around for her. I’m too large. It makes her uncomfortable.”

“Learn something new every day I guess.” Nathan toasts Anselm with his mug. “Anything you two haven’t tried that I can help you with?”

You and Anselm blink at each other. You shrug.

“Holy shit,” Nathan says, “you two are fucking depraved.”

He stands up and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I gotta go back to work. See you for lunch.”

“He was in a good mood,” you say as you watch Nathan grab a green shake from the refrigerator and disappear into the elevator.

Anselm picks at his thumbnail. “Of course he was. Things look very different from inside of you. You have a way of changing a man. I should know.”

“I don’t think anyone could change Nathan.” You sip your coffee. “And I’m not sure I’d want to.”

Anselm pats your feet. “I have some business calls to make on the satellite telephone. Perhaps you should go visit the lab. You can build Andre a friend.”

Twelve comes to clear the breakfast dishes.

“Hold on. I’m not done with that.” You pick a croissant off the plate. “Can I have a glass of orange juice, please?”

Twelve’s wide steps take it back to the kitchen.

“I’m going to draw eyes and a smile on that thing,” you say, taking a bite of croissant.

“Give it a mustache,” Anselm says.

You hold out the croissant for Anselm to take a bite of his own. “I prefer men with more facial hair than that.”

*****

You ask Twelve to take you to Nathan and it leads you down a level. You have no idea how far down you are. A long way, judging from the elevator ride.

You follow it down an unnervingly nondescript hallway and it opens a door.

The room is big, with bright, cold lights and electronic parts everywhere. A table at the center of the room has a partially-finished mechanical body in it. Nathan’s bent over, working on something in the chest cavity.

He glances up. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? Don’t try to bring orange juice in here. You’re gonna cost me ten million dollars when you spill it.”

You drain the glass and leave it with Twelve. “You can afford it,” you say, wandering inside.

“True. But it’s not about money. It’s about the time it would take me to rebuild.” Nathan pulls his hand back, flexing his fingers.

“What are you doing?” You stand next to him, peering down at the mess of wires and servos. 

“Giving the tin man a heart.”

“I thought you were the tin man.”

Nathan grins. “You would know. You’re married to the fucking Wizard of Oz.”

You laugh. Nathan slips his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to the table. “See that?” He points down at a bright red piece in the chest, covered in wires and soldering. “One of the most important pieces. It’s part of what separates this model from Twelve.”

“Is it the brain?”

Nathan’s hand brushes up and down your back. “No, although the brain was the hardest part of make. This is part of what’s going to allow this robot to be more than just a supercomputer. More like actual AI. It sends very specific sensory feedback to the brain.”

You look at him suspiciously.

Nathan turns to face you, so both his hands are around your waist. “It sits on the surface of the chest. When I stimulate it, and it’s going to send pleasure feedback for a more realistic sexual experience. The robot will have a good time, and I won't have to reach down all the way between its legs.”

You snort. “So, her clit is where her heart should be? Yeah, that sounds like the male view of female anatomy.”

Nathan’s head tips back and he laughs. It’s an actual laugh, deep, echoing in the lab. He wipes his eyes under his glasses.

He smiles as he speaks. “I can make a computer that will pass the Turing Test. For it to be human, though, it needs an anchor to the rest of the world. Needs to feel connected to humanity or it can do a lot of damage without realizing it."

You're not sure if he's still talking about the robot, or about himself.

"This robot," Nathan pushes up his glasses, "is going to test how much of the sexual experience makes a human tick. Your visit's good timing. Helped me rethink my approach."

“So, when I’m fucking you, it’s research? Like, we’re doing it for science?”

Nathan nods. “Sure, you can think of it that way. If I modeled it on Anselm, the entire world would be fucked or shot before the thing turned one year old.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh.

Nathan’s thumb rubs over your lower lip. He watches your mouth. “Love that sound.”

You pull back slowly. “I should go. Anselm’s working, and I should too, for a few hours at least.”

Nathan drops his hand. You can tell the wheels are still turning in his head. “Alright. See you later.”

He gives your waist a squeeze and sends you on your way. You feel his eyes on you as you leave.

*****

“But that wasn’t the end of it,” Anselm says as he tells stories over lunch, “the man had the audacity to try and borrow money from me a second time.”

Nathan shakes his head. “Idiot.”

“That’s what I said,” you say, pointing at him. “I told the guy ‘why would you come back here? Do you see the stain on the carpet? That’s blood. Idiot.’”

“Birdie, that stain by the lamp isn’t blood. It’s chocolate ice cream,” Anselm says.

“Seriously?” You look at him.

Anselm nods. “Louie dropped it during his birthday party four months ago.”

You shrug. “Well, potato tomato or whatever. You ended up killing the guy anyway.”

Anselm wipes his mouth with his napkin. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

He leans back in his chair, adjusting his tie.

“How’d he look?” Nathan says, taking a drink of juice.

“Disrespectfully, and I know that you catch my meaning,” Anselm says, looking at Nathan seriously from behind his yellowed lenses. “As someone who seems hell-bent on winning my wife’s affections, you should know that I never go anywhere unarmed.”

Nathan sets down his glass. He folds his hands in front of his beard. “And you should know that I’d never let you bring a fire-able weapon into this house.”

Silence settles over the table.

“How would you know if he did?” You ask.

“I assume he tried,” Nathan said, his dark eyes turning to you. “I have scanners at the entrances.”

“Metal detectors?” Anselm asks. He smiles, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

Nathan’s eyes narrow. “Twelve. Search his room.”

The robot, who’d been standing like a statue by the table, turns and strides away.

“I’m disappointed that you think you’d need a gun,” Nathan says.

“It’s not loaded,” Anselm says.

“Then why bring it at all?” Nathan pushes back from the table.

“For comfort. It’s like a teddy bear to me,” Anselm smiles enigmatically.

Nathan raises his eyebrows briefly. “You can keep it, as long as it’s not loaded. You won’t find any bullets here anyway.” His gaze sweeps over to you. “You bring a teddy bear, honey?”

You cock your head toward Anselm. “Yup.”

Nathan sighs impatiently, but there’s no annoyance. “You two are gross. Quit being so in love before I get jealous.”

“Jealousy isn’t your style,” Anselm says to Nathan.

You look at Anselm. You’d said the same thing to him last night.

From the cocky grin on Nathan’s face, he gets the reference. So he had been listening.

“You two are mind-fuck city,” you say. “How did you guys live out here for like, 3 months together?”

“We had early prototype robots that Nathan built. We found them suitable diversions. Along with each other.”

Nathan’s eyes spark. He rubs his knuckles over his bottom lip. “I still have that machine. The one you asked me to build, but we never got around to using.”

Anselm lets out a low groan. “I think I brought along the perfect test subject for that.”

-

-Part 2 here-

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please lmk if you'd like to be removed- i promise not to take it personally!

NOT gentle reminder that Abed Nadir’s father is canonically Palestinian, his grandfather lived in the Gaza strip, and his cousin Abra visits from Gaza in season one. You can not be a Community fan and a supporter of Israel.

Foaming at the mouth. Genuinely

hi ivy!!!!

congratulations on the anniversary, I think you’re doing amazing and I’m really impressed with the frequency at which you put out stories

Could you please write me some thing super soft with Santi? That’s my baby. Maybe something smut but loving and communication, ys know, LaL style

love you

When You Come Back Home

"But on really good days, you get a picture of him."

Awww hey bb, you are so sweet. ILY! The muse has been kind lately - you know it ebbs and flows, so it's always nice to catch up. (Until I went on vacation, that is)

Yes ofc Santi is your baby, I'm so honored you trust me to write something soft, especially mentioning the amazing LAL! Leather and Lace is sooo good and you're a genius at world building.

Word Count: 3.9k

Santiago x f!reader, fluff, married life, flirting, dirty talk, lingerie, oral, fingering, p in v, language, absolute smitten husband!Santiago

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Gazing listlessly out the window, you idly pass your off day, waiting for word from your husband. Despite the ease electronic communication provides you, Santiago writes you letters, and sends polaroids. It may be the thing you love about him most - he wants you to have something tangible when he's not there to hold you, kiss you and gaze into your eyes.

Your collection of polaroids covers the side of the fridge, top to bottom, the bulletin board behind your bedroom door, you have a few on the bathroom mirror and even a couple in your car. Most of them tell the story, through scenery, of each and every place he's visited or worked.

But on really good days, you get a picture of him.

Santiago practically vibrates with energy - always on the move, ready for a mission or an adventure. When he's home, he inevitably takes on a project, hosts an entertaining barbecue, whisks you away to a special trip, and his stamina is no less vigorous when he gets you alone, between the sheets.

The mail truck rumbles around the corner onto your street, nudging you out of idleness. You rise to your feet, ready to collect the mail the moment the truck pulls up to the next driveway. Your bare feet hit the sizzling Florida pavement, hurrying you toward your destination.

But there is no letter, not today.

Slightly deflated, you rush back inside, grateful as the air conditioning kisses your skin. That's the thing about snail mail: it's unpredictable, which makes receiving it such a delight. Oh well, at least you'll be able to see your husband's face later when he calls.

Shuffling to the kitchen, you pour yourself some fruit infused water, rolling your eyes at how quickly the Florida heat can parch your throat.

Then you hear the front door open. The voice of your husband almost makes you drop your glass.

"Oh my god, Santi!" You screech, rounding the corner and flying into his waiting arms.

"Heyyy, mi cielo," he breathes against your ear as he holds you close. He's not a tall man, but he's a solid wall of strength - his forearms flexing along the curve of your back as he molds your body to his.

"How...are you here?" You gasp, sinking your fingers into the thickness of his salt and pepper curls.

"Home early," he states the obvious. "Missed you too much." His mouth chases after yours, tasting your soft lips one at a time. The heat of his breath melts you in his embrace, and it occurs to you that this experience far surpasses a new Polaroid.

"Let me take you out tonight, bebécita," he hums against your mouth between kisses. "Got you something pretty to wear."

You assume he's brought you a dress, but it's something much more...shiny.

"Don't ask me where it came from. I don't think you want to know," he cryptically warns, earthy eyes sparkling with a playful glimmer.

"Please tell me there were no drug lords involved," you half joke as he fastens a gorgeous diamond bracelet around your wrist. "Florida is way too close to all that shit."

"No drug lords. I promise." He grins, kissing your mouth for good measure.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Music pulses, colorful lights flash - the tang of alcohol fills the air. Santiago's hips move expertly to a familiar tune, the Spanish lyrics energizing the delicious Bachata he leads. You gladly follow, feeling success as a dancer, simply by matching his movement and energy.

Spinning you a few extra times to show you off, Santi grins as you laugh delightedly. You tend to recharge with alone time, but your husband needs this - friends, fun and some sort of action. You gladly give it to him, knowing that when he gets you home, you will have him all to yourself for days on end, with no one to disrupt your bubble.

“Mi cielo," he cinches you tightly against him, the shift of his hips pulsing against yours, urging you to drag him by the collar to a dark corner. "Ready to go?"

You know he's not ready. But he checks in with you, just to be sure, to give you an out.

"Already tired after one dance, Garcia?" You tease, syncing the movement of his body with your own, the motion honestly a tad scandalous for the dance floor. "Thought you wanted to show me off tonight. Me and this mysterious bracelet."

He smiles brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight as he dips you and finishes the song with a flourish - trumpets wailing as the bongos boom out a fantastic finale.

"They're good," you huff out breathlessly, motioning toward the live band on the stage.

He nods, leading you by the hand toward the bar as the band eases into the next dance - a merengue.

The night goes on this way, with a generous amount of alcohol, a group of your best friends and a few sensational slow dances that have you desperate to get him alone.

During one particularly smooth Rumba, he kisses a trail down the side of your neck, the tequila lowering his inhibitions to a scandalous level. "Ready now, Señora Garcia?" He smoothly husks, working his lips over yours and stealing your breath as his hips once again swirl into yours.

"Si, mi amor," you gush back to him, noticing the sparkle of your bracelet as he leads you outside by the hand.

A ride share carries you safely home, but Santi's long, dextrous fingers have already temptingly edged under the hem of your shirt, anxious for the caress you both crave.

"Behave yourself," you teasingly admonish, swatting his hand away even as he nibbles on your neck, his breath ghosting your skin.

"Can't wait to get you out of this and underneath me," he rumbles on your ear, linking his fingers with yours, simply because there is nowhere else he can put them without earning another stare from the rearview mirror.

"Hey," you whisper, returning the favor by breathing hotly, making him shiver with want. "What makes you think I won't be on top?"

He growls, gripping your chin with his free hand and opening his mouth over yours - the heat of his tongue setting you on fire. You forget, for a few heavenly moments, that you're in the car with a complete stranger.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Stumbling through the front door like teenagers, your husband can't help but manhandle you, shutting the door dramatically before pushing you up against it - his strong hands gripping your hips as he touches his forehead to yours.

"How uncomfortable did we make that driver?" He jokes between lingering kisses to your lips.

"Don't worry, I gave him a good tip," You remind him, locking your wrists behind his neck and arching against him temptingly.

You carry on this way, endlessly kissing, caressing, bodies craving contact at every point. Santi hooks your thigh around his own, thrusting slowly up into the center of you as his free hand slips back underneath your top. “You really wanna do this here, bebécita?” He whispers between kisses.

Santiago is in amazing shape and you’re stupidly in love with him, but gone are the years of sneaking around for wild quickies against doors. Still…it’s tempting.

“Maybe not,” you smile against his lips. “Got something new for you too. Why don’t I go change?”

“Mmm, okay.” Although he agrees, he squeezes your hips, shifting up to rock against you with renewed vigor, lips trailing across your jaw to suck a mark into the flesh of your neck.

“God, baby…” you pant, meeting his thrusts eagerly, dizzy and euphoric from the alcohol and the dancing…and him.

“Missed you so much.” He clambers through the fog of his own lust and pulls you into a protective embrace, helping you stand up straight, so he can take you upstairs, as you requested.

But the world has spun off its axis tonight, and as he takes you by the hand once more, the way he loves to do, you find yourself stumbling down with him on the staircase, giggling like you did when you were younger - when he took your virginity and made you fall in love with him.

“Shit, sorry,” he half apologizes, his legs falling open as you drape your body over his, your thighs spreading wide across his lap.

“Told you I’d be on top,” you cheekily toy with him, shifting your aching core to rub over his obvious erection.

“Fuck…honey,” he growls, done with all the teasing and flirting. He pushes hungry hands under your shirt, feeling you up as his lips chase yours. As his tongue rolls over yours, he moans into your mouth when he feels the softness of your bra. You wore his favorite - the black lace with touches of emerald green satin. He bought it for you overseas - the biggest surprise of all being that he got the right size in a beautiful bra that’s actually comfortable and supportive.

But that’s how Santiago is: observant, beautiful, comfortable, supportive and sexy. Weird to have a bra remind you of your stunning husband but well…

He all but tears the shirt over your head, restraining himself only enough to keep from pulling or otherwise messing up your hair. Santiago is an expert at you. He knows when to push or pull or lead or follow - when to be rough or test your boundaries, and when to protect you and love you softly.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rumbles, hands reverently steadying you on top of him by your soft shoulders, before he drags them down to cup your lace covered tits. You arch into his expert touch, slowly rocking in his lap, putting on a little show for him.

You’ve changed over the years. Your body naturally isn’t what it was the first time he took you. But Santiago never ceases to make you feel prized and adored and so beautiful. He makes you believe it somehow, even when you silently criticize yourself in the mirror.

So you let him adore you - you’re safe with him as he touches you all over, worshipping your curves and soft, plush places.

“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he nudges at your stomach, attempting to get you to lift up so he can take off your pants.

“Love you too, baby. But I’ll love you more when you’re naked.”

You snort at his cheesy forwardness, realizing he’s a bit more horny while you’re swooning with romance. You are on the stairs, after all. But he’s determined, rolling you beside him and yanking at fabric until you’re bare from the waist down. So much for the matching cheeky panties.

You forget to care that he didn’t mention them when he spreads your legs wide and drags his knuckles through your wet heat. The overexposure you feel dwindles away as he leans over to brush open-mouthed kisses against your stomach. Steadying yourself, you push your fingers through his curls. “This isn’t fair, babe. You’re still completely dressed.”

Peering up at you through endlessly long lashes, he smirks. “I don’t need to be naked to eat you out.”

“Santi,” you gasp in mock surprise, as he quickly and tauntingly kisses a trail down to your core. “What has gotten into you?”

He grins. "That a trick question? Oh shit - "

You watch him wince in pain. "Knees?"

He groans, nodding. "Knees."

"Come here, Papacito," you tease, climbing to your feet and offering him your hand.

The sight of you standing above him on the stairs, naked except for your bra and a sparkling bracelet quickly convinces him to follow.

You rush ahead of him to your bedroom, feeling a dizzy, freeing rush after a night of dancing and foreplay, but so ready to get this man of yours on your familiar, comfortable bed. After ordering him to lie down, you slip into the silky little number you ordered specifically for his next homecoming.

Slithering on top of him, you yank at his belt buckle.

“Just tell me what to do, mi reina. Make it easy for me.” He grins in self-satisfaction.

"I just want you out of these clothes," you fire back, wordlessly working him free enough for you to take hold of.

He groans out something incoherent as you tease the hot, heavy length of him, gliding your hand up and down his shaft.

"Just like that," he pants, his hips involuntarily bucking as you lean over and swirl your tongue all over his tip. "Fuck, I missed that." Slipping his hand around the nape of your neck, he has to restrain himself from thrusting up into your hot, wet mouth.

Santiago knows there's not another woman like you, anywhere. He's traveled over half the world, a couple dozen times over, so he knows. It's not just that you're beautiful. You radiate beauty. The trust you place in him and the freedom you give him to be who he is, to pursue his career, is as much a siren call, luring him back to you every chance he can manage, as it is a steady anchor for him.

As you take him deeper, his breath quickens at the thought of coming down your throat, but somehow, he's distracted by a need to reclaim you. To take possession of your body the way he dreamed of doing on the dance floor. As your lithe body swayed, matching his rhythm, following his lead, he noticed the men devouring you with their eyes.

He would grip your hips tighter, grind against you possessively and trail his lips down the side of your neck, marking you as his own.

But before he can claw his way out of the haze you're literally sucking him into, you pull off his cock with a pop, lips wet and pouting.

"Take these off," you whine, yanking at the waistband of his pants, attempting to pull them down over his thick thighs. "Can't reach all of you."

He surprises you by climbing off the bed to undress completely. With only moonlight spilling in through the bedroom window, he wears the vigor of his last mission on his skin, darker from days in the sun. His toned muscles flex with every motion, fresh bruises and old scars telling the story of his adventurous life.

You're way past giving him a lecture every time he returns home with a new piece of the story etched onto his skin.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, you stretch out your fingers, tracing a healing bruise just under his ribs, situated beside a small, angry cut. Your eyes lock with his and he nods, letting you know that whoever inflicted this pain is taken care of. You press your lips there, learning the new marks of him, claiming this new part of him as your own.

"Show me where else," you plead, but he's shaking his head, easing down to hover you, his body flexing deliciously as he rolls you underneath him and covers your lips with his.

You moan into his mouth as his hands roam all over the shape of you, just like while you were out dancing, but wilder, more possessive. His tongue licks deeper as he grips your hips, positioning you underneath the hungry thrust of his hips against your thigh.

Your fingers slip around his neck, tenderly fingering the scar from his surgery before sliding into his hair, yanking hard enough to pull his mouth free of yours and earn you an appreciative moan. You yank again, harder, the leverage enabling you to pull your silk-covered breasts flush against the bare heat of his chest.

Slinging one leg around the back of his thigh, you meet his steady grinding eagerly, already panting as he smirks against your cheek.

"You've been wet all night, haven't you?" He teases, tugging your earlobe into his mouth. "All those men watching you dancing, but no one's touching my wife but me."

He sucks a mark into your neck, pushing one hand up your inner thigh, kneading the soft flesh, but stopping short of your aching, wet core.

"Wanted to touch you right here, make you come, soak those pretty panties," he taunts, tracing one finger over your puffy folds.

"Why didn't you?" A pout escapes your lips as you desperately attempt to shift your hips, to chase his fingers for any sort of friction. "Wanna come for you, Santi, show them I'm yours."

At that confession, he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them forward into your spongy softness, beckoning your hips forward.

"Want me to finger you next time we dance, baby?" He huffs against your lips, rubbing the heavy length of his cock against the slick on your thigh, already dripping from your sopping core. "Wear a pretty dress for me and let me feel you up? You would be louder than the music when you come. Dirty girl.”

Your back arches off the bed at the sound of his voice goading you - something he does often during long distance sex. Your mind briefly drifts to the half dozen times he’s nearly taken you over the edge with his voice alone, uttering filthy things, finally allowing you to touch yourself for some gratification, or at least relief.

Before you can beg him to keep talking, he swipes his thumb over your clit, working a third finger into your hole, expertly coaxing your first orgasm out of you. Your thighs shake, chest heaving as you tremble and shudder around his fingers. “Oh fuck, Santi…so good,” you pant. “Missed you so much.”

Chasing after his lips with your own, you press a tempting kiss to his mouth, licking it open even as he strokes you past overstimulation, smiling into your kiss as you squirm to get away from him.

“Too much?” he grins, nibbling your bottom lip, swirling his middle finger like a cyclone inside you, just because he can.

“No. Want your cock.” You bite his lip and he hisses as you wrap smooth fingers around his hard, leaking length, pushing your thumb roughly over his tip.

Shimmying your hips closer to what you really want, you beckon him forward, rubbing his tip between your folds. But he resists you.

“Say that again,” he murmurs, biting gently on your jaw, then your throat, his hot breath making you tremble with desire.

Twisting your wrist, you work your hand up and down the length of his aching dick. “Want your cock. Want you inside me so bad.” Your tongue swirls inside his ear and he stutters out a gasp, shifting his hips to push his fat tip into your dripping hole.

He moans out your name, thrusting all the way inside. Your warm, wet walls hug him perfectly and he settles in that spot he knows you love. The stimulation and warmth of feeling him flush against you has you desperately rutting against him.

His hand grips your luscious thigh, pushing it up, folding you and opening you wider for him. Shifting his hips, he pumps into you faster, this angle hitting you so deep your head drops to the pillow as you whimper, overcome with how delicious it is to feel your husband, home, in your arms, in your bed, deep inside you where he belongs.

Grunts of pleasure pass his lips as he makes you his again, after weeks of nothing but a blurry, in-and-out video or sometimes, a crackly voice over a satellite phone.

“Don’t know how I ever leave this pussy,” he huffs, his body rolling over yours, spearing you open, molding you to the shape of his cock after so long without it. “That’s it. I fucking quit. I’m gonna spend the next month inside you.”

You know he’s not serious. Not yet anyway, but you love to hear it when he reclaims you like this. How he’ll forget everything else just to spend all his time coming inside you. And oh, does he make up for being gone when he’s home.

"This feels good," he sighs, hands tracing the shape of you through the silky lingerie you're wearing for him. His fingers drag and push the soft fabric until he's taking it over your head, licking his lips at the way your tits bounce as he fucks into you. "You feel better, though."

"Come here," you plead, luring him down all the way on top of you, kissing him wildly as his chest settles against yours. A light sheen of sweat forms between you, slick and hot as you sling your legs all the way around his waist, pulling him harder and deeper, if it's possible.

The thrusting of his tongue inside your mouth almost seems to match his hips and you grip onto him for dear life, holding him so tightly, your bodies rutting faster and harder in one deliciously fluid movement, so in sync you move as one.

The friction against your clit has you on the edge. You're unable to meet his hungry kiss with anything more than a long, breathy moan.

"Come on, baby, I'm so fuckin' close," he rumbles, his rhythm faltering as your walls hug his shaft, fluttering and pulsing, soaking his cock before you shriek in pleasure. Gripping him tighter, so wet and so tight he comes with you, filling you with his warmth, dragging his lips across your shoulder to bury his strangled cry in your neck.

You cradle his head, kissing his cheek, his ear, carding your fingers through his damp curls and whispering how much you adore him as he comes back to himself, finally going still, safe in your arms.

You rest there together, mouths fusing for a languid kiss, bodies joined and sated, sharing one another's breath. Santi holds you so close and you know he needs this. Needs to stay inside you, connected to you, wrapped up together, the heat of your bodies, your sweat and the slick between your legs raw and real and grounding for a man who has seen too much and is gone too often.

This is when Santiago is his most vulnerable, and inevitably makes his way to the question voicing his deepest fear. "Don't let me go."

"Never," you swear, wrapping your arms and legs around him tighter and squeezing him fiercely. "I'll always be right here, you know that."

He feels the slight scrape of your new diamond bracelet against the nape of his neck, toying with the scar from his operation. He knows diamonds won't make up for the fact that he's not here, and he doesn't want to pretend that it means something deep - such as he's with you whenever you wear it.

You're both years past that bullshit now. It's a beautiful piece and it belongs on his beautiful wife - it's that simple.

He asks you every time he comes home, if it's too much. Makes you promise you'll tell him if doubt has crept into the back of your mind. He does it now, and you know what he means.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He kisses you again, his body finally relaxing completely.

"Besides," you tease, "You're going to be inside me for the next month, remember? So neither of us are going anywhere."

He was teasing about that. You know it and he knows it. But now that you say it out loud...

"Yes ma'am." The next mission can wait.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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