unpreemp

[unpreemp]

DIN.

Is it normal to think someone was made for kneeling in front of another? Din’s not sure. But he takes in the position of Harlan’s hands, the swell of his chest, and the way his legs are parted just so, and he thinks the man is perfect.

What attempts at testing his patience fall flat, given how excited Din feels himself. His fingers caress the swell of Harlan’s cheek, teasing at the prickling hair of his beard, and then slide to his chin to tip his head up.

Beau-ti-ful. The word is mouthed soundlessly, gently (he isn’t even sure if Harlan will know from the shape of his lips, but gods he hopes so), and Din’s fingers move up to press at Harlan’s bottom lip to part both petals open.

This’ll do, he signs, corners of his eyes crinkling in some sign of gentleness. It’d be sweet if not for the erection in his jeans, the heat in his eyes that won’t go away as he imagines Harlan’s pretty mouth wrapped around him. You can take my pants off. You can use your hands and lips to touch.

But you can’t remove my boxers until you show me you want it enough.

Din swallows. (He hopes it isn’t too restricting.)

Harlan has experienced all the different facets that come with sex,  the rough and humiliating as well as the tender lovemaking.   Figuring out which Din leans into,  depending on his mood,  is something he wants to find out for himself and he couldn’t be more grateful for the opportunity . . .   Much like how he’s grateful for his touch.   His eyes look up in time to catch that lovely mouth shape the word and he flushes,  unable to look away with the other man holding him in place.   He groans instead,  lips parted as he’s been instructed. For a moment,  the author almost whines.   Suffering through dinner and made to wait that much longer to truly see and feel him,  how cruel.   But delayed gratification just means it will be that much sweeter when it happens and there are no restrictions.   He glances down to look at what he’s doing before glancing up again,  undoing the other man’s jeans.   His lips press to the skin above the waistband,  sucking marks into it and licking right above the denim.   He doesn’t shove the jeans down though he’s impatient enough to do it,  instead guiding them down his legs until Din gets to the point he can stop out of them. And if he kisses the top of his feet after,  well,  hopefully the brunette doesn’t think it odd and views it as the reverence it is. Hands framing the other man’s hips,  he nuzzles the hard line of his cock with his nose before sucking on it through the fabric.   He wants the taste of him,  not the boxers,  and Harlan hopes that’s shown in how he licks them damp before closing his mouth of the tip of his cock.

[unpreemp]

[  .  .  .  ]  for  my  bones  have  found  a  place  to  lie  down  and  sleep.      where  all  my  layers  can  become  wreathes.      all  my  limbs  can  become  trees.      all  my  children  can  become  me.      what  a  mess  i  leave  to  follow. and  in  the  darkness  [  .  .  .  ]  .  .  .      and  they  will  all  agree  that  i’m  a  suffocator.

multimuse,  primarily for five main muses that are original and one main muse that is a canon.   affiliated ocs,  dark themes and nsfw content will be found here.   trigger warnings are formatted tw: trigger warning, tw trigger warning and trigger warning tw.   sex positive blog.

[unpreemp]

this is a test. this is a test.  this is a test.

this is a test.

this is a test.

[unpreemp]

𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀.

There isn’t any room for thought beyond how good the breeding bitch beneath him feels. Nothing but the instinct that drives Joel’s cock hard into him, hands finding the back of the omega’s head to shove his cheek into the floor. He’ll feel bad about this later, but that doesn’t matter right now– nothing matters but the gush of slick that guides the way home, or the slap of their skin or the perfect clench of pussy he hasn’t felt in ages.

He’d heard the way the omega keened, earlier. Heard the way his voice had risen the moment that nice, little button in him had been hit. The omega is clawing at the ground and it’s the prettiest thing in the world; Joel’s hips angle and angle until he finds that spot again, hands almost caressing the other man’s sides as he holds him in position.

“Fuck,” he groans, ragged and harsh as those soaked walls squeeze around his dick, “Jesus, baby, I’m gonna fill you, I promise.”

And Joel means it, too. Means it as he grasps the man’s waist, digging his nails into him like a claim. He smells so damn good– smells sweet and addicting and so damn fertile Joel might lose his mind. He’s not sure he’s scented another person like him, but his nails drag down, down until he finds the man’s thighs, down until he can spread them wider and slap his palms on the floor to hold himself up.

The front of his jeans are soaked through with the mess that oozes out the man’s hole, the fabric at his knees dark as the mess beneath him spreads wider and wider. Joel shivers, but he pounds that hole deep, again and again so the omega’s bouncing with it, wet and hot.

“Ah, c’mon… squeeze ‘round daddy’s cock for me, baby. Make me knot you.”

He’d been playing it safe.   Had been with betas,  omegas.   Never an alpha,  out of fear this very thing would happen.   Bigby is more motivated by instincts now than who he really is.   He likes this so much more than he thought,  than he should ( enough that the thought of just staying here,  keening until he’s knotted over and over,  crosses his mind before he roughly pushes it away ).   What would the other Fables think if they saw him like this: the Big Bad Wolf, slick hole noisily squelching as it’s fucked,  cheek pressed into concrete as he messily drools? Wailing, as that spot inside him is found and properly throttled. It feels like the air is punched out of him,  from both the stimulation and the alpha’s words.   He doesn’t want that,  to be filled up.   He respects the omegas that do,  happy with their swollen stomachs,  smell of their milk that much stronger to his enhanced senses.   So the moan that escapes him,  the way he reaches back to hold himself open so the alpha can reach deeper inside him,  simply doesn’t make sense.   He doesn’t want it and yet he snarls,  sound fading into a mewl as he spills onto the ground. The alpha calls himself Daddy,  calls Bigby baby,  doesn’t let him get his wits back around him as he just keeps fucking his hole. The orgasm made him clench but he puts concerted effort into tightening up more, fist loose hole making obscene noises as it’s forcefully stretched.   He isn’t even aware of how overstimulated he is until he realizes he’s crying,  gasping as he’s fucked like a wild animal.   Like he’s seen out in his woods,  like he never thought would happen to him.                 ❝ Daddy, ❞  he gurgles,  reaching back until his fingers touch where he’s stretched wide around the alpha’s cock.   He only manages to get the middle fingers of each hand in before wrenching himself that much more open,  internal muscles convulsing even as he forces his rim out.   ❝ Fucking knot me— ❞

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

It’ll be difficult to take the image of Harlan’s back arched, beautiful and tight and because he’d been caressed in the chest, of all things, out of his mind. But it’ll be even more difficult to forget the way he looks with his arm raised, his legs spread, his beautiful body offered out like a buffet.

And how Din wants to devour. He has to swallow, even, because he wants nothing more than to trail kisses down Harlan’s mouth, and his neck, and his chest and his nipples and his belly until he can fuck his hole with his tongue, but…

He hasn’t undressed him to spoil him. (Not yet, at least.)

Din has to wet his lips, to remind himself with a deep breath to stay calm and in control. His fingers twitch with the inaction, but he shakes his head once and signs: I want you to impress me first, baby.

And for a moment he wonders if “baby” is okay. But he pushes the uncertainty aside, straightening his posture instead, and showing Harlan the palm of his right hand. All his fingers save for his index and middle curl inward; the tips of them point to the cushions of the couch.

Kneel, legs spread, arms locked behind you, eyes down.

Cushions should be nicer on Harlan’s knees, Din thinks, and he doesn’t want to push too far. Not on the first day.

That look in his eyes tells him he has done something right,  even if Harlan had tried rushing his agenda.   His cock lays soft and heavy over his hip and he hopes the dominant doesn’t think that means he’s uninterested (  considering the hardened peaks of his nipples,  the way his ass tenses and he releases,  he hopes not  ).   He can at least say for sure the other man likes what he sees. Baby,  Din calls him and it makes him shiver in delight.   He think the man could call him anything and he would love it.   But baby certainly does it for him.   During scenes,  he’s been called a little of everything.   Even slut has been used as a fond endearment.   But between the age difference and the fact the pet name just makes him feel small in all the right ways,  he can’t help but softly smile and nod. And then he’s finally getting permission,  he thinks,  to do what he’s been thinking about since dinner.   What he may have done beneath the table,  had his dominant been so inclined. He appreciates the kindness of the cushions because his knees just aren’t what they used to be.   He thinks he could still kneel for hours but not without something beneath him,  some kind of comfort.   Harlan wonders if he looks a little too eager setting himself up just right for Din,  obeying the sign.   He wants to look up.   Submissiveness and an eagerness to please keeps him obedient.   And with his hands behind his back,  chest arched out,  the familiar pose makes his cock twitch in interest.

[unpreemp]

𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋.

Ohhh, fuck, if the way the omega’s slick drools out of his hole ain’t something. Joel doesn’t realise he’s growling, that the guttural sound is coming from his own throat, but the stranger’s legs are spread and his slick is pooling on the floor, and what the hell else is he supposed to do but take him?

He’s on his knees then, muttering a ‘yeah’. Yeah, he understands. Yeah, he gets it. Yeah, he knows the poor little bitch has been needy, he fucking smells it, wet and messy and legs spread for breeding.

So Joel slaps that round ass once, smears slick all over his palm, and then rubs it along the length of his own cock.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The omega’s cunt is loose enough that the head of Joel’s dick settles nicely against puffy flesh for the split-second of patience he possesses. But he doesn’t think much before his hands clamp around the stranger’s hips and pull him back at the same time his own hips push forward.

And, God, he feels complete.

“Shit,” he hisses, a shudder travelling along his shoulders as his head dips down with overwhelm. Joel’s pelvis collides with the omega’s ass in a harsh smack, the poor baby’s wetness smearing between them, but Joel doesn’t wait before he starts moving slow and deep, then faster, then harsh as the thick weight of his cock starts stretching that already loose hole all the more in his impatience.

“Oh, fuck…”

Slick spurts out around the omega’s rim, soaking his dick and the front of his pants, and Joel grits his teeth as he thrusts in and in and into him, nails pressing into skin.

Feels so fucking good. God.

Despite his desperate fisting, Bigby is reminded once more that he had been a virgin when the tip of the alpha’s cock settles against his fluttering rim.   It feels big,  like his fingers hadn’t,  enough.   The wolf inside him begrudging admits that the position is acceptable,  much better than being on his back,  belly up,  throat exposed.   And then all parts of him go silent as he’s suddenly filled up,  hips jerked back so his ass swallows the whole length. The Big Bad Wolf wails. He’s taken some abuse.   Cut open,  his meal of six goats replaced with rocks that cause him to drown.   Nearly beheaded.   Stomach ripped to shreds.   He always comes back.   But he’s not sure if he’ll come back from this,  not right.   With his partners,  he’s usually the dominant one.   It’s the wolf mixed with his personality,  the desire to have control in the things that he can.   Thoughts of doing that are absent as the alpha cock inside him makes space for itself deep.                ❝ Uhn! ❞ he cries out every time his ass is hit with hips,  skin quickly bruising and becoming hot to the touch.   ❝ Uhn!   Uhn!   Uhn! ❞   He never wanted this for himself (  but it feels so good  ).   Bigby is filled with so much shame he lowers down onto his forearms,  shaking hands covering his face.   The shift in position has the alpha grazing something that makes him shout,  overwhelming sensation causing him to try to squirm away.   Not that he wants to, not really. And why would he?   The squelch of his hole and smack of skin against skin,  being filled just right,  causes his cock bounce with the movements,  hard.   He’s almost afraid to touch it it’s so hard,  perpetually spilling pre - until it’s about as large a puddle as his cunt had produced.   Bigby scratches at the ground,  arching his back for the stranger (  stranger.   Someone he doesn’t know is fucking him right now and the thought makes him clench down hard  ).

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

If Din couldn’t take his eyes off Harlan before, it’s utterly impossible now. They’re so close, so fucking close, and Harlan has just called him sir. This and the way his shaking hands betray his excitement are enough for Din to want to rip Harlan’s clothes off himself, but this is the first time he’s going to look at him, and he wants to remember everything. He wants to remember the way his hands move, which sleeve he pulls off first, how he lifts his body to make sure his shirt can leave it…

And, gods, Din’s breath sucks a breath through his teeth when his shirt is off entirely, devouring each line and curve of him and so hard in his jeans it hurts.

Good, he signs one-handed, still settled behind Harlan’s legs. You look so much better real. Better than I imagined. Beautiful. Tongue wetting his lips, Din’s other hand caresses the man’s hip, sliding up to the underside of his belly and higher still to his chest. His thumb brushes through the dusting of hair there, moving so he can rub at a nipple with the very tip of it experimentally– is Harlan sensitive, he wonders– before he rises to his feet.

Now, stood in front of the couch, Din keeps his head dipped to look down where Harlan is seated. The line of his dick is clear through his pants, thick in his denim, but Din pays it no mind. Not now.

Instead, he signs, Your pants.

The real challenge will be resisting the urge to bite his thighs as soon as he sees them.

Better for him to concentrate on his task rather than the other man’s reaction.   Or at least,  that’s what Harlan would think if he was dealing with anyone else.   He has to pay attention in order to get his next instructions.   But Din already seems so pleased with him that the anxiety of getting dressed isn’t as . . .   Prevalent.   As overwhelming.   He doesn’t think it’s anxiety at all,  just anticipation.   The desire to please coupled with the hope he finds him pleasing to look at.   The way his eyes roam over his body,  however,  he thinks he has the answer to a question he may not need to ask. He can’t help but groan because Din keeps praising him,  over nothing.   Complimenting him,  like he’s being paid to do it.   Is this what he has to look forward to:  his self - deprecating thoughts being wiped away before they can truly root?   ❝ You’re the beautiful one, ❞  he somehow musters,  throat dry.   His eyes roll slightly as those rough hands touch him,  touch his skin,  make him arch and his hands grip the fabric so he can be good.   Do his best to be still. That very much goes out the window when fingers close on his nipple,  make his hips buck straight off the couch before he’s settling with a whine. What he wants,  more than to take off his pants,  is to suck Din off through his.   Get the denim wet with his tongue.   Open them just enough so he can make suck on the tip of his cock and make his boxers (  briefs?  ) translucent.   But Harlan has to earn that.   And so,  with the same showmanship (  and slowness  ) he had taken off his cardigan and shirt,  he does the same with his pants and underwear.   Or at least he tries.   It’s not as seamless,  with him having to lift his hips and push his shoulders into the back of the couch,  shimmy a little to get them over his hips and ass.   Eventually,  he’s sat before the other man completely naked. And he takes it a step further.   Reaches back to grip the couch,  spreads himself out in invitation.   All this is yours if you want it.

[unpreemp]

𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀.

It’s the smell that gets him, just as he rises from the tunnel and takes in a breath of fresh air. It’s sickly sweet, heavy in the air in a way that’s dangerous, and the most shocking thing is the fact he scents no rut completing it.

The fuck’s an omega doing out here alone?

Even as he thinks it, however, Joel drifts in their direction anyway.

He enters a dilapidated building a few feet away from the tunnel exit– an old apartment complex, seems like. In the back of his mind he knows he has to get to Tess, has to deliver the ration cards from their new shipment of pills, but Joel breathes in deep and climbs stairs and stops only when the scent of the heat becomes cloying.

He shuts his eyes (God, the smell of it). His mouth waters (he’s too fucking old for this). In his jeans he’s gone hard just scenting it, that long-forgotten sense of ache starting to rise in his belly, and as much as logic dictates he leave and get the job done, Joel’s boots take him not downstairs, but towards one of the shut doors.

Fuck. The scent of heat trickles through the gap between the door and the floor. Jesus Christ.

And then he opens it.

It’s quite the sight that greets him: a man he’s never seen before, flushed in the face and the chest and the shoulders, legs spread and body trembling. His cock is hard, curved towards the belly, and Joel’s eyes zero in on the slick gushing out of him– out from around his fist, what the fuck.

“Jesus.”

His own rut rises, spiced and hot as he grits his teeth. It’s sick, the wet sounds of this omega’s mess drooling around his hand, squishing out of his hole, and yet. And yet.

Joel’s mind flips off. His pack meets the floor. He comes forward, undoes his belt with clinking sounds that aren’t nearly as loud as the sound of this omega fucking himself– which can’t be right, not when there’s an alpha right here– and sinks to his knees on the floor with him.

“Take your fucking hand out.”

In the triangle formed by the opened fastenings of his jeans, Joel’s erection bulges in his underwear. One hand reaches out, gripping the omega’s hair to tilt his head back so he can glare at him.

“Alpha’s got you.”

Had he had his way,  Fabletown never would have been set up in New York City.   They all would have been up near The Farm,  taking advantage of having no neighbors for miles.   Bigby never thought this world would end too but it had and now he’s no one,  not the Big Bad Wolf or the Sheriff.   He can’t sniff out anyone else and almost doesn’t want to,  because it means leaving himself . . .   Vulnerable. Vulnerable like he is right now,  pants around his ankles as he shoves his entire fist into his leaking asshole. The Fireflies are convinced they can come up with a cure.   Sometimes that means sacrificng the immune.   Other times,  that means experimenting on Fables,  that never die because even now their stories live on (  most of them,  at least,  the popular ones.   Much like with The Adversary,  there have been casualties  ).   He doesn’t know what made them think an inducer was a good idea but he was able to get away before they could get their hands on him. Now he’s human and going out of his mind.   It’s been a long time since he’s suffered a heat.   As Sheriff he had the best ‘healthcare’ (  read: magic  ) that could be afforded to him.   His Huff and Puffs kept his senses dulled down and his scent from wafting towards anyone unsavory.   The last thing he had been thinking of when he crashed into the building was smoking. He’s been thinking of nothing but being knotted. Slick provides lubrication but it does nothing for the stretch.   Impatience had had him all too quickly shoving as many fingers into himself as possible,  whining and feet skidding on the ground even as his hole burned.   The skin of his rim is red with abuse and sometimes he can get the angle right,  knuckles hitting his prostate but it’s not enough.   He needs a knot,  needs an alpha,  like he never has before and— Oh.   He’s been found. There’s a small part of him,  the logical part,  that’s telling him to get his ass in gear in fight.   The omega,  however,  has him pulling his fingers out with a slick pop! and a tidal wave of his arousal spilling down the back of his thighs.   His gaping hole clenches around nothing,  too fucked open to close completely,  and he goes to look over his shoulder just in time for his hair to be grabbed and him to be made to.   He’s never smelled anyone so good.                ❝ Need it, ❞  he says,  some distant part of his acknowledging the other man is handsome but more importantly has what he needs.   ❝ Fuck me— ❞

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

The way Harlan says his name razes him from the inside out. Din shudders about this, kissing back each time their mouths meet, and even when Harlan needs time to speak all he does is press his lips to the man’s jaw to scrape his teeth over his beard, not wanting to separate even for a moment.

I want you too. Din’s nose nudges at Harlan’s chin so he can kiss the hollow of his throat and taste his skin with his tongue. I want you too, I want you too, I do.

His eyes flick to take a quick look at their surroundings, his legs starting to move, but the rub of Harlan’s body against him nearly undoes him entirely. Din realizes, far too late, that holding someone close means he can’t sign, but he kisses Harlan again, tongue pressing past his lips to shut him up.

Both arms wrapped around him, Din strides forward until he can set him down on the couch, of all things. With Harlan’s back against it, Din crowds up in his space and nuzzles at his temple, at his cheek, and at the tip of Harlan’s nose before he gives him one more kiss, one more lazy curl of the tongue.

And he sighs again, low and sweet with pleasure, before lifting himself up enough to look down at Harlan’s face.

His right hand lifts, index finger lifted up to indicate Harlan listen. Then he draws a sharp ‘Z’ in the air, made so Harlan can read it the right way from where he watches him.

Take off your clothes, it demands, and with Din’s arm folded over the back of the damn couch as he looks down at him, it’s clear he intends to watch.

Slowly, he signs. Show me everything, angel.

For someone who is nonverbal,  Din guides him better than some of the dominants he has been with.   When he wants his hands somewhere,  he simply places them.   It’s easy to understand that when his nose nudges upwards,  he wants Harlan to tilt his head back so he can get to the skin of his neck.   The way they communicate is already so seamless and it only makes the older man look forward to things more. He submits easily when Din kisses him,  groaning into his mouth and clinging to his biceps.   He could drop to his knees right here,  take him into his mouth if that’s what he wanted there at the front door.   He would be more than happy to lead him back to his bedroom,  wait for instructions.   But the couch . . .   That is certainly good too. Harlan can’t help the way he sways forward when the other man pulls away,  hands going to grip his shirt and bring him closer until he sees the raised finger.   His attention is immediately on him and what else he’ll indicate,  breath stuttering at the familiar signal.   He can do that.   He can be good,  give him a show,  even if the thought of so much attention on him makes his heart jump into his throat. ❝ Yes,  sir, ❞ he whispers, so eager to please. Shaking hands first push back the fabric of his cardigan,  letting it catch in his elbows.   His button - up is next,  soft skin revealed as he works from the top down.   The author isn’t as young as he used to be.   He spends more time tasting new cuisine than on his walks and it shows in the softness of his body,  the way his pants shift down and his belly folds over their waist slightly. He has a light spattering of salt and pepper hair,  soft tits as he’s been told.   Everything slightly jiggles as he pushes the fabric off and he wonders if it’s sexy,  like he’s trying to be,  or just embarrassing.   Wonders if Din likes it.

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

Yes, is all that Din has to sign. It is the only thing that matters that isn’t Harlan taking him home.

He’s never been to a loft before. The thought is fleeting, however, compared to the way his skin seems to tingle with anticipation once they make it through the threshold. It’s inconsequential. It’s silly. It’s not nearly as important as shutting the door behind him (he’s not sure if Harlan told him to; he doesn’t care), catching the side of Harlan’s face with one hand, and kissing him like he wanted.

“Hhaa…”

It’s not quite a sound, not as much as it is a shuddering little sigh, but Din nips at Harlan’s lip and strokes the side of his neck as his other hand reaches down.

And maybe it’s brash of him to remove the bag of takeaway from Harlan’s hand– it lands, pseudo-gentle on the floor– but he wants Harlan’s fingers free. Din catches his wrist, guides his arm up over his shoulder, and with another breath his hands catch Harlan’s hips just so he can lift him and make up for what minuscule difference in height they have.

He doesn’t even pin the man against the wall. Instead, fingers burying in grey hair and curling, he holds Harlan to him and relishes the simplicity of being able to lift his gods damned partner.

He’d been afraid that his desire and,  perhaps,  desperation would have made him clumsy.   But there’s no dropping his keys,  no mishaps.   Just the heat of Din’s body at his back as he unlocks his door and the tension,  anticipation.   He opens the door and doesn’t even know what the first step is but then the other man is closing it,  he’s reaching for him,  he’s . . . Kissing him.   Like he’s been waiting for all this time. The little exhale that Din makes is more than he’s heard from him all night and he whines into his mouth,  lips parting to give him access (  whatever he wants  ).   The leftovers land a bit harder than they probably should but what does it matter in the face of finally being kissed by Din.   There’s no worrying about where to put his hands because he’s lead so easily,  silently,  the other man knowing just what he wants.   It’s easy to obey and follow,  simple and endearing. Then he’s hefted up against his body and Harlan’s mind goes blank.                ❝ Din, ❞  he whimpers,  the arm not wrapped around his neck clinging to his back,  clutching his shirt.   ❝ Thought about kissing you . . . ❞   He’s momentarily distracted,  the need to breathe causing him to leave a series of pecks against his mouth.   ❝ The moment I slid around the booth.   Love the shape of your mouth and your hands and I want you,  I— ❞ He grinds against him,  cock soft but body needy all the same,  clenching around nothing and wanting everything.   ❝ Tell me how I can please you. ❞

[unpreemp]

Pull his panties to the side and fuck him

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

At the sound of Gaea’s voice in the intercom system of his room, the Mandalorian’s hand moves away from his vibroknife as he stops cleaning it. There’s something different in her voice, something he can only pinpoint as distress, and while he’d chalked up her absence from the landing bay as a she just doesn’t have time today, that all situation, the strain he hears now makes his worry dial up to 11.

So the Mandalorian puts the knife down entirely, and the rag stained with red is set aside on the same table as he makes his way to the console in the room to mess with it as well.

“Gaea.” Her transmission is coming from her room, it seems. “Are you okay?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t comment on having noticed her absence. All he really cares about is her well-being, in the end.

She can’t quite stifle her moan at the sound of her name on his mouth.   His voice is rich with the modulator and she’s had the pleasure of hearing it without.   She wants to ask for him to take his helmet off (  she wants to ask for a lot of things,  ranging from his voice to his knot  ) but that’s something to be offered,  not taken.   Especially considering he has no idea what’s going on with her.                ❝ I’m all right, ❞  she breathes.   She���s not even paying attention to the trajectory of one of her hands,  the way she’s sliding it down her body.   It lays on her mound.   ❝ I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you.   I wanted to. ❞ But that would have put her in danger.   Never mind the humiliation of rubbing herself on the Mandalorian.   She’s watched him take off his armor enough time to know how to get off enough to get to his crouch and all she would have to do is—                ❝ I might need your voice now, ❞  she says,  just the thought of it enough to slide her middle finger down to press against her clit.   She shudders,  eyes fluttering.   ❝ Please? ❞

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

Din’s brows raise in surprise when Harlan admits his home is close-by, but that surprise turns into a swift punch to the gut as he admits that he wants him in that home.

And that he wants to kiss him.

And gods, his jeans get the slightest bit uncomfortable as Harlan admits, honest as ever, that he wants his mouth on his cock.

Din doesn’t think about the pick-up truck he’s got parked. He’ll pay whatever tickets he gets when it’s relevant. Right now, all that matters is telling Harlan: Take me there and you can kiss me.

But now Din thinks about Harlan kissing him, about the eagerness the man already displays edging into desperation. He thinks of Harlan’s cheeks flushed pink and his lips kiss-swollen, and how he might thank him for that (I would be more than happy to be whatever you need me to be), or how he might even beg if Din went the route of delayed gratification.

It’s a good image. Harlan’s already flustered…

So the hand on his back slides up, finding the nape of Harlan’s neck like punctuation, and Din signs, You’ll have to earn my cock, though.

The idea makes his heart race, but once again a part of him wonders if that’s the right move. Harlan clearly wants him, and Din wants him too, and maybe they should just build on that… but he wants to watch Harlan, first. To know him. To see what waiting does to him.

Din’s fingers squeeze around the back of Harlan’s neck.

If you’re really good, I’ll even cum in you.

They’re in public.   They’re in public and yes,  Harlan had just admitted how much he wanted to put his mouth on the other man but . . .   In the face of being told to take him home and he could kiss him,  it doesn’t feel as inappropriate as that.   It’s just kissing,  someone else might say,  but they obviously haven’t looked at Din and his mouth. He whines,  melts as much as he can while standing.   It’s not just the hand touching the heated and sensitive skin of his neck but the man in general,  dominant and sure.   Even when he isn’t,  he’s wonderful.   It’s just been so long and he’s liked Din for a while and now,  here he is,  figuratively danging sex in front of him.                ❝ Anything you want, ❞  he says,  and not for the first time that night.   ❝ I’ll do anything to earn it.   I’ll . . .   I’ll tell you how much I’ve thought about you and how much I’ve thought of us together,  even without seeing your face.   I’ll tell you the things I like and the things I love and the things I’ve been too embarrassed to say,  just . . .   Please. ❞ Because being filled up by him is certainly at the top of his list.  At the moment,  he can’t think of anything he wants more.   He doesn’t even care which hole the other man uses,  whether he’ll gets to taste him on his tongue or leak down the back of his thighs.   He doesn’t even care if he comes,  something certainly achievable despite his older age.                 ❝ This way, ❞  he says,  pulling his hand from the back of his neck and entangling their fingers so he can lead them to his place.   The sooner,  the better.

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

Din’s knuckles have been white around the steering wheel practically the entire drive. He’s a step below trembling with jealousy, and he hates that he is like nothing else– his brain can’t parse through the alpha instinct, and truly, all he feels is sick.

Din knows that he has no claim, knows that these shelters exist for the whole point of safety, and he knows that this is a better course of action than Aldo going to some stranger, gods forbid. But Aldo has been with him over the past few months, has been travelling with him, has been by his side, and with the closed space of the truck cab, it’s him that Aldo smells like most. Aldo is pack, now. His pack. His scent is all over him and he hasn’t even touched him yet.

It doesn’t make sense (it makes perfect sense). Aldo shouldn’t want to find a shelter when he has him (shelters are indiscriminate and safe and good). In this, Din’s only barely able to keep himself together, his patience stretched thin like a rubber band. His throat is dry, his jaw stiff. His rage builds somewhere inside him. Aldo is on the onset of heat, and he’s about to leave his truck, and…

Despite the rational part of him demanding he just say goodbye and keep his promise like a friend should, the turn of his head in Aldo’s direction comes with a gaze sharp like the knife he keeps in his boot.

And Din’s hand signs no farewell, no platitude, no comfort, but a blunt: You should be going to me.

The animal in his head doesn’t even have the decency to be ashamed about it.

Aldo had been waiting for something but not this.   He had smelled the frustration rolling off of Din but thought it had been because of the unplanned stop,  not . . .   This.   He’s been in situations like this before.   He’s been fortunate with some betas but the alphas,  they seem to lose themselves.   Suddenly the money and food he contributes isn’t enough.   Suddenly the only thing they want is the ass part of gas,  ass or pass. It’s why he recognizes he’s lucked out with the other man.   It’s cultural,  the respect he has all the time,  but it’s just Din too,  he thinks.   Which is why he’s not going to do anything to fuck this up.   No matter how much he’s wanted him since before his heat.   No matter if that baser part of him wants to stay.                ❝ That’s just the pheromones talking. ❞   He knows the science behind it.   And they haven’t spoken about it but he’s been slick for the last twenty - fours.   He’s had to trade in his thongs for briefs and he’s plugged up,  trying to concentrate on anything but what’s inside him.   He wants to be bred,  by Din,  and it’s not fair that the only alpha he’s wanted doesn’t want him back. Is offering himself just because of instincts. Even still,  his body is tilted more towards the Mandalorian.   He’s given him an out but he doesn’t want him to take it.   His hand is still on the handle but he doesn’t want to go.   It’s foolish to stick around for the heartbreak he’s trying to avoid.   He’ll come to his senses once I’m out of the truck,  the logical part of him thinks.   He wants you and he can have you,  the omega claims. He shakes his head,  huffing as he opens the door.   ❝ I really don’t want you to end up having any regrets.   I’ll be okay and then we can pretend this didn’t happen— ❞

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

What nerves he might have had are eased with the sweet sound of Harlan’s laughter, and Din finds himself wholly infatuated– charmed, truly, and then burned clean through as his hand is guided under the table to rest on Harlan’s thigh. Shit.

It feels like permission. Feels like Harlan won’t object if Din’s hand slips in a little further, feeling the shape of his thigh as he takes in a breath.

He doesn’t turn to look down at it. He doesn’t want to be obvious, and he is waiting for someone to come back. But with the consent to touch granted, his palm smooths a path down towards Harlan’s knee before his wrist twists, scraping the blunt ends of his fingernails back up the way his hand had come before squeezing.

Din does kiss Harlan’s temple, then, nose brushing lightly against warm skin with a sigh before he pulls his head back.

Thank you, he signs with his other hand. The other seems resolute in staying on Harlan’s thigh for as long as they have to deal with paying the bill, and is reluctant enough to leave when it’s time to put the food away.

But once he can touch Harlan again– when they’re heading out of the restaurant with the takeaway– he doesn’t hesitate putting a hand on the small of the man’s back to lead him along.

What did you take here? he asks. Your own car? Something else?

It’s difficult to give the waiter the appropriate amount of attention when Din is touching him under the table.   It’s not even anything risque but it’s more than he’s gotten all this time,  more than enough.   A hint of what’s to come,  he thinks,  because . . .   He said he wants him. The stranger assigned to them has his back turned when nails get involved and Harlan shudders,  eyes falling closed as he goes to grip and palm Din’s own thigh for stability.   He’s pretty sure he says you’re welcome but it comes out so stuttered it may as well be gibberish. Handles of his own bag in hand,  paper crinkling,  he steps into Din’s own space,  hand on the other man’s hip.   ❝ I walked here, ❞  he said.   ❝ My loft actually isn’t that far. ❞   Loft,  office and home:  a space that has to be all three.   And he doesn’t mind sharing it with his companion,  not even a little.                ❝ I want you to come inside, ❞  he says,  blunt and earnest.   ❝ If that’s what you want.   I just . . .   I don’t know what you intend and I know we want each other but I’d at least like to kiss you,  a lot,  and suck your cock,  if you’d let me. ❞ Everything on the table.   He’s still flustered,  signs slightly stilted.   It’s been a long time since he has wanted and been wanted in return.   And Din is just . . .   Checking a lot of the boxes he’s had since he was so much younger.                ❝ We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. ❞

[unpreemp]

𝐃𝐈𝐍.

Harlan’s eager disposition is a sharp thrill in Din’s chest, making his heart jump and his stomach twist. He nods, though, and signs, Ask for our check and takeout containers.

A part of him wonders if he’s being presumptuous, or if he’s pushing too hard, or if it might be selfish of him when this is Harlan’s favourite restaurant, but he tells himself that he’s here to learn. That if he makes a mistake, it’s all right. That– as distressing as it might be to see Harlan’s dreamy expression shatter from his own stupidity– it’s better to make mistakes now when he’s new to it, instead of later on.

Din isn’t used to asking for things or demanding them. And yet.

We can reheat these later. I want you now.

He punctuates the last sentence with a sharp motion for his last sign, but as much as he wants to look steely and strong and unaffected, the slight drag of his teeth over his lip and the brief furrow in his brow gives him away.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but Din’s eyes are warm with the most silent please.

For a moment,  Harlan isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry.   Laugh,  because,  well,  it’s funny.   Here Din has the power to get to tell him to do something and it’s to ask for the check.   Cry,  because they haven’t finished and yet it seems he wants to leave and . . . And maybe he doesn’t feel the connection.   That it died just that quickly.   He doesn’t have the courage to ask what he did.   His hands lift,  flutter,  clench into fists before he purses his lips and just . . .   Wonders. And then,  not for the first time,  Din blindsides him again.   And he does laugh,  relieved and bewildered and . . .   Hot.   Being told pointblank that he’s wanted hasn’t happened in a long time.   Having a younger,  attractive man be impatient to get him alone,  never.   And to look at him like that,  with his eyes so . . . Harlan’s hand is lifting to gesture for their waiter,  mouth curling up into a soft smile before smoothing into something more distant as he looks at the server.   He hopes he still manages to sound as put together as he usually is,  even as he clings to Din’s hand under the table,  lays it on his thigh this time.   He wants him too.   He hopes he can feel that in how he holds his fingers.

[unpreemp]

Her room smells like nothing but her and sex and she’s at least past the point where she’s just whining about it.   She’s experiencing a moment of clarity that she knows will go away with the next wave.   With a blanket wrapped around her shoulders,  leaving the tops bare,  her hair an unruly nest and the toy stuffed inside her deep enough to give her some comfort,  Gaea suddenly remembers her guest. She never knows when the Mandalorian will come.   He takes advantage of her open door policy on his terms and as a bounty hunter,  she can’t fault him.   She’s never not greeted him at the docks and she wonders if anyone was there,  if they led him to the room that’s become his (  theirs,  when she’s with him  ). She’s not thinking about her state,  not completely in her right mind.  All she knows is that she wants to hear his voice.   Which is exactly why she sits in front of her console,  types in the code to his room and pings him.   Even if she can’t see him,  hearing him would be more than enough . . .                ❝ Mando? ❞

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