#Which means I have until Tuesday to finish that Shibari fic

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A New Arrangement [Part 9/9][NSFW]

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Cockwarming

<- Part 8 | Bonus Chapter ->

Summary: Post-coital cuddling with Frederick Chilton

For @thatesqcrush​’s kink bingo!

1,448 words

He collapsed on top of you, rolling you onto your back without removing the sweet, filling pressure of his still-hard erection from your warmth. He nuzzled his face against yours with blatant neediness until you kissed him, then he sighed happily, and let his whole body go limp on top of you.

“That was so good,” you said, out of breath, chaffed, mussed, and glowing with euphoria.

He let out a muffled hum of agreement into the mattress, which you more felt vibrating than heard.

Minutes passed in peaceful, comfortable silence. You half dozed with exhaustion, softly caressing the solid, reassuring body weighing down on you, sweat slowly saturating through his once-pristine dress shirt. His cock felt so nice, still nestled inside you as it gradually softened. You stroked his sweaty back, unsure if he had fallen asleep.

“Mmm. Doctor Chilton, this is nice,” you murmured dreamily.

“I believe, at this juncture, it would be appropriate to call me Frederick.”

The familiarity made your heart skip unexpectedly. “Frederick,” you said, trying it out. It tasted good rolling over your tongue, so you said it again. “Frederick. I like that. It’s a good name.”

He lifted his head to watch your perfect lips forming the shape of his name. “It is Germanic in origin...” he said, then paused, thinking better of it before launching into a boring onomastics lesson you surely had no interest in hearing. Why could he not think of anything more… romantic?

“It’s cute. It sounds regal… but also very cuddly,” you warmly opined. “Like a lord or a duke, or a teddy bear. Sir Teddy Bear. Frederick.”

He had nothing to say to that (although the temptation to describe the name’s royal history grew stronger), so he buried his face further into your neck.

An analog clock ticked atop a dresser. Frederick breathed in and out. Otherwise, his bedroom was soundproof enough that you were immersed in silence. You enjoyed the closeness of his body. You wished you had more bare skin to touch, but were content to settle for his neck and his head for now. And because you were completely naked, every caress of his fingers was skin on skin.

He enjoyed your naked body, not just because it aroused him sexually. He felt at ease. It seemed a fair trade off for the parts of him you had gotten to see—parts he was firmly dedicated to hiding until they could be corrected.

A thread of fear pulled at his chest, tugging insistently through the sleepy contentedness he was drowsing in until he could no longer ignore it. He lifted his head from your shoulder and craned it one way and then the other. He stretched as far he could reach without pulling out of you.

“Are you looking for something?”

The corners of his eyes tightened. A cheek flinched. “The mask fell somewhere, and I want it back,” he said calmly, but with an undercurrent of rising urgency.

He had spent the last several months hiding his face, and one satisfying fuck wasn’t enough to make him ready to be exposed for so long. It was impressive he’d lasted as long as he had without it, but an invisible time limit was fast approaching. You understood, any sympathized. You would miss him, though.

“I’ll help look. Can I kiss you one more time without it?”

“Hurry up,” he said, anxious to retreat into the familiar safety of being covered.

You turned your head and pressed your lips tenderly against his cheek, so soft and yielding, so without judgment toward the patchwork of grafts and scars he had been living in shame of, that he turned his head to kiss you on the mouth. For the frozen fraction of a second that he made contact, a bolt of terror that he was mistaken in putting faith in your reassurances and that you did not actually want him to kiss you and would pull away in disgust paralyzed him. With a low moan, your lips parted over his teeth, tongue sliding over the edges, licking and teasing until he melted and kissed you back.

He released a long, shuddering breath. “You do that so well.”

“Well, you feel so good,” you smiled.

There was no way to find the mask with his softened cock falling out of you, so you lay together until his impatience to be covered outweighed the soothing comfort of his cock still buried warm and safe inside you.

He crawled to the edge of the bed, and you sat up and checked the other side.

The mask had not fallen far. It lay face-down on the plush carpet under the bed, narrowly missing a landing on the bright hardwood that would have chipped or shattered it. Frederick snatched it, and sighed with relief as he slipped it back over his face. Shelter. He was… embarrassed to still need it, after everything, but he was not comfortable with you looking at him. He felt too exposed. Too vulnerable.

He rolled onto his back, spreading his limbs out across the bed.

“That… was quite good. Thank you,” he said awkwardly, as if you’d cooked dinner. It made you laugh softly, and shake your head.

“Thank you. For letting me share that with you.”

The mask was back on securely, so you couldn’t tell if he was blushing, or smiling. But you had a feeling he might have been.

***

You were finishing up the last two buttons of your blouse when Frederick returned from the bathroom in clean pants and a fresh shirt to replace the sweaty one, restored to the default appearance with which he always answered the door. You had half expected him to be wearing a Hugh Hefner robe or at least something more relaxed following his conquest, but no. This was a man who would wear formal attire in his own bedroom until you left. Possibly even when he was alone. At least he’d lost the tie.

“Must you leave?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” you said, gathering up your things, “I have three more appointments today and I’m running late.”

“Other appointments. I see,” he grumbled peevishly, chin in the air.

“Don’t be jealous, Frederick,” you grinned. “I don’t fuck any of my other clients.”

“You did not used to,” he corrected, shoulders circling, “but perhaps I have given you ideas. If I was able to seduce you…”

You crossed the room to him and tapped a finger on his chest, brows lowered. “You are a special case. You’re… intriguing...” As you let your pointer finger drift down the center of his chest you noticed he left the top buttons undone. You hungrily stared at the warm, exposed flesh. Snapping your eyes back up to his, you teased, “At the very least, I am more than satisfied for the rest of the day. I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

He gave a proud hum, vibrating the air behind the mask, and wrapped a possessive arm around your lower back. “Can we make another appointment for next week? Officially, I would put you on retainer as a financial consultant assisting me on an ongoing basis...”

Oh, right. You had almost forgotten about the silly paying-for-your-services thing.

“Just ask me on a date, dummy. I’ll say yes,” is what you should have said. But feelings were messy, and he was still so fragile. A relationship bound together by the chaotic whims of emotion probably terrified him, or else he would have just asked you out. Money was safer. Money let him be in control. 

Besides, there was nothing wrong with making some extra cash, was there? He had plenty of it. 

“I’ll mark it in my calendar,” you said, and kissed his cold porcelain lips, your fingers curling around the warm base of his neck. You had a rich, eccentric, hermit sugar daddy now, and you had to admit, that was exciting. 

There was no way being paid for sex could ever come back to bite you in the ass.

With an exhausted groan of effort, he grabbed the cane beside his bed and walked you to the door. On your way out to the car, he pulled open one of the dark curtains to watch you go (you were surprised he didn’t hiss at the sunlight and crumble into a heap of dust). He was eerie, a pale porcelain ghost floating in the window. Anyone else might have worried they were in the opening act of a slasher film, but a warm tingling flooded your chest—a contented drunkenness so strong you had to breathe in purposefully to recenter yourself before you waved to him and drove away.