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angstmongertina · 1 year

Text

loved in return

Hey, might as well post it here too in the hopes for more dopamine.

We can still post smut on tumblr, right? That’s still a thing? IDK I haven’t written any in ages.

Inspired by the end of Artem’s second bday event (not the card, I promise), though I have been working on it for over a year, whoops.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Do note that this is rated M. :)

She knows from previous experience that it takes about fifteen minutes to get to Artem’s building from hers. At this point, the route, each road and turn, each traffic light and stop sign, even the dance of the shadows from the streetlights across her face, are imprinted in her mind, in the way she subconsciously shifts to adjust to each lane change and turn. But even so, this time, the dark road stretches unending, an eternity in each second, each slow breath.

Each frantic, yearning heartbeat.

Her phone, clutched in her hand, its screen counting down the minutes, seconds, until she sees him again, seems to burn with the memory of his call, of the rasp of his gentle voice in her ear and the realization that the night is still young, that his birthday is not yet over. That she cannot leave him to spend the rest of it alone.

Not when she can be there.

Not when she can be with him.

The driver says nothing, but there is no need to; he must be able to sense her energy, to sense the tension that has her almost shaking, fidgeting with the soft wool of the keychain—still not enough, as she stares into the distance towards him. Towards where she should be.

Towards, perhaps, where she belongs.

When her ride comes to a stop, she is out the door before she is even fully aware of it herself, waving her thanks at the driver as he chuckles under his breath. She can thank him properly later, when she gets a chance to sit down and focus, but for now, she has someone far more important to see.

She lets herself in with the spare key that he gave her—for emergencies, he had said, with that familiar blush on his face, but she’s already used it once today and somehow she doesn’t think he’ll mind—and can only laugh at the tremble in her hand, missing the lock once, twice, before it finally, finally catches and twists under her fingers.

Even before she steps into the room, she can hear hurried footsteps down the stairs and a familiar gentle voice, and she freezes as he rushes into view, one hand still holding his phone to his ear while concern and confusion war openly on his face.

He skids to a stop, opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, she closes the distance between them and throws her arms around his neck, swallowing both his question and his soft noise of surprise. For a moment, he stiffens, and then she feels his arms curl around her waist, pulling her even closer as he returns her kiss with equal fervor.

Without thinking, she presses against him, feels the solidness of his chest, the tenderness of the hand that shifts to the back of her head, the warmth of his lips against hers, until she is lightheaded, almost swaying when she finally pulls away to fill her burning lungs with air.

Whether it’s from the lack of oxygen or just him, it’s hard to be sure.

“I…” The word is more rasp than anything and he shakes his head, clears his throat, though it does little to disguise the hoarseness of his voice, the heaviness of his breathing. “I’m not complaining, but why are you here? Did something happen? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” She reaches up, brushing the faint crease between his eyes with a light touch until he relaxes. “I… I just missed you.” She feels more than hears his chuckle, the low rumble against her chest as he leans down to press his forehead against hers.

“I missed you too.” A gentle finger caresses her cheek, traces a warm path against her skin, and she finds herself having to fight a shiver as it skims along her jawline, trailing down her neck to settle against her chin, tipping her head back for another soft kiss. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She huffs a laugh into his mouth, feels his lips curl into an answering smile, before leaning back, just enough to meet his gaze with a cheeky grin. “I never would have noticed.”

“Oh you…” He shakes his head, but the feigned exasperation is belied by that familiar affection in his eyes, tucked into the corners of his mouth and the gentleness of his voice, that fills her chest with the warmth of his devotion, and this time, this time, she can give into temptation and cut off his sigh with another kiss.

Finally.

It isn’t until she feels the question in his attention that she realizes she said it out loud, and she coughs, turning her head away. “It’s nothing. Just… the way you say that…”

His answering chuckle is low and knowing, enough to set off a spark in her belly, and she pouts, even as she fights off the urge to kiss that smugness—and any thought, really—out of his mind. “I suppose that is something I will have to keep in mind then.”

She snorts, though she can’t help but tighten her arms around his neck. “As if you expect me to believe that you didn’t already know.”

It’s a rare thing to see an expression that is somehow both bashful and smug, but he still manages it all the same, and she rolls her eyes, even as she gives into the temptation to kiss that stupidly self-satisfied look off of his face.

That, it turns out, works much better.

She is almost wondering whether she can forgo conversation entirely, this or other, in favor of more pleasurable activities, when he breaks away, leading her to sit on the couch before she has even had time to process his sudden absence, and turns to fuss with his collar.

“You must be tired. Why don’t you rest for a bit? Do you want something to drink?”

She frowns as he turns away, though it’s still not enough to hide the burning crimson lighting up his ears. “Artem…”

“Maybe tea? Why don’t I make some tea for us—”

“Artem!” Before he can run away, she grabs his arm and he freezes, a faint look of panic darting across his face, which she pointedly ignores. “I didn’t come here to make more work for you.”

He frowns, turning to cast a confused gaze over her. “I know, but—”

“But nothing.” She can feel the heat creeping up her face at her conviction, setting already flushed cheeks even more ablaze, but she ignores it, ignores everything but his small smile, but the shine of those bright blue eyes, familiar and gentle and so very dear. “Artem, I came here to be with you. I want to finish celebrating with you. To take care of you, like you do for me.”

His brows draw into a slight frown. “You already have. You already do, I—”

She reached up to press a finger against his mouth, feels the heat of his protest in his breath, the surprise and acquiescence in the way his warm lips still against her finger. “Not like that.”

“Oh,” he says, and then again, “Oh.” His eyes dart to her mouth and then away again, his face turning even more red than hers feels. “You don’t have to. I mean, I just…” He hesitates, giving a light, somewhat forced, cough. “Are you sure?”

She smiles, getting up to move, slowly, carefully, back into his space. “Do you trust me?”

“Without question.” The reply is instantaneous, heavy with the gravitas he puts into all of his confessions, and she can feel her heart twinge at the realization, at the responsibility, the power, she has been entrusted with.

In response, she steps closer still, into his ever-waiting hold. Looping her arms once more around his neck, she presses herself against him, feels more than hears his low groan muffled against her lips, the sharp inhale as she shifts, and she has to swallow down a soft noise of her own to speak. “I promise,” she murmurs into his mouth, “I want to.”

Her words seem to snap the last of his control; he pulls her even tighter against him, but with that same hesitancy, that same gentleness, that characterizes his every gesture. She moves forward again, pressing her advantage until he’s backed against the couch and it’s his turn to sit, watching her with wide eyes as she moves to straddle his lap.

“We…”

She grins, taking advantage of her new position to brush her lips over his jawline, the curve of his ear, and relishing in the shiver it draws. “Yes?”

He clears his throat, though it does little to hide the flush in his cheeks, the heat lingering in his eyes as he swallows. “We should move this upstairs.”

Smirking, she shifts, feels his shudder as she adjusts her weight against him. “Okay.”

For a moment, it looks as though he means to pick her up, but she pulls away before he can move, sliding back until they are linked only by their hands, his fingers wrapped tightly around hers, even as he stares at her with barely disguised need.

They’ve barely made it up the stairs before she’s back in his arms, kissing him hungrily, desperately. She’s not entirely sure who moved first, but it doesn’t matter, not with her fingers buried in his hair, curled in the stiff fabric of his shirt collar.

She advances into the room, backing him step by step to the bed, where she finds herself once again straddling him, a mess of cloth and bodies and limbs, but she doesn’t care.

How can she, when she manages to finally free him from the shirt and gets to run her fingers across the smooth skin and strong muscles of his chest, the evidence of his morning swims clear across the valleys contouring that pale expanse?

It is not the first time she has seen him bare before her, but even so, she can’t help but stare, drinking in the sight, and the knowledge that this beauty, that he, flushed and wanting and waiting, is for her eyes and her eyes alone.

What an honor.

What a privilege.

Gently, she pushes him onto his back and runs her fingers down his chest, watching it tense and tremble under her touch. His breathing is heavy, one hand clenched in the blankets while the other skims over her back, her arm, in distracting patterns that she has to make an effort to ignore.

Instead, she lets her mouth follow her hand, down from his lips to skim his jaw, and then lower still, against the soft skin of his neck. She kisses his pulse point, feels more than sees the bob of his Adam’s apple, the low moans she coaxes out with lips and fingers. Slowly, reverently, she traces along the planes of his chest, and then lower still to run along his slender waist, once, and then, at his sharp inhale, again with her lips.

When the hand hovering around her waist tightens its grip, fingers pressed firmly into her skin, she pulls back immediately, turns her attention back to his face in sudden panic, but it is not discomfort that meets her gaze. No, instead, she finds the parted lips, mussed hair and shallow breaths, and grins, even as she fights the growing heat in her own belly.

“Do you like this?” she murmurs into the soft curve of his ear, allowing her lips to brush against the heated skin with the same featherlight touch that she trails along his stomach. The question is more teasing than genuine, his body’s answer clear enough in the way he strains towards her touch, in the need and wonder in his eyes as she toys with his waistband. “May I?”

His only answer is a low moan of her name, half-hoarse groan, half-desperate plea, but his meaning is clear enough. Still, she waits, fingers light and teasing. “Are you sure?”

“Please…”

She kisses him in response, swallows his gasp as she lets her hands move, slowly, gently, in their task, sliding along the toned thighs, gliding across the slender calves. When he moves to help, she grabs his hands, pins them down long enough that he can understand her: he is not to do anything, not today.

Today is her turn to take care of him.

After a moment, she can feel him relent, his body relaxing, waiting. Instead, she sits back on her heels, admiring the view, reveling in the effect that she has on him with wonder and satisfaction. He lies before her, flushed and gasping, face full of warmth and need and love, and she can only bite her lip at the realization of the trust she has been granted, of the honor she has been granted.

It isn’t until he shifts, her name a hoarse plea from his lips, that she grins, shaking herself out of her stupor to brush her palm against him. He trembles beneath her touch, and she grows bolder, kissing him again as she curls her fingers around the length of him, gentle but firm.

She swallows his groan as her free hand traces light patterns on sensitive skin, drinking in his every noise and reaction, as sweet as nectar and twice as heady. He is not verbally profusive, but she knows him well enough to read meaning from each gasp and twitch, each moan and shudder. She has always been a quick learner and she’s never had a lesson so intuitive, a study so perfect.

It is intoxicating.

He is intoxicating.

She continues her ministrations, her careful, thorough exploration of him, until he alerts her with a muffled cry that he’s close, shifts a hand from its tight grasp on the sheets to curl gently around hers, encouraging without demanding. His every exhale is a plea, a prayer, against her lips and she slows her movements, feels more than hears him gasp and stiffen, and pulls back to take it all in, to take him in, naked, vulnerable, and hers. All hers.

When he falls apart with a gasp of her name, she is sure she has never seen anything so beautiful.

They get cleaned up in the comfortable silence of the lingering warm glow, punctuated only by his heavy breathing, slowly returning to normal. There is no need to speak, not when she knows, when they both know, that there’s nowhere else she would rather be, nowhere else that she would stay, than here. With him.

Always with him.

It’s not until she’s half-dozing in his arms that she remembers and thinks to break the quiet that has settled over them like a quilt, languidly rolling over to meet his own, sleepy gaze. “Oh, I forgot.”

“Hmm?” She hums softly as he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his arms shifting lazily to accommodate her new position. “Forgot what?”

“Who were you on the phone with earlier?”

He freezes, a look of horror wiping away the pleasant satisfaction on his face.

When he doesn’t answer her, instead continuing to stare into the darkness towards the stairs, she frowns. “Artem?”

As if on cue, her phone rings with a missed message, echoing throughout the room and she groans, slipping out from under the covers to where her phone had fallen onto the floor, forgotten in the heat of their earlier passion. Frowning, she swipes at it…

Only to find a voicemail waiting for her, from a very, very familiar number.

“Oh.”

Torn between embarrassment and amusement, she navigates to the missed calls, where she finds the notification and taps before she can think otherwise.

Professor An’s calm voice seems to fill the space between them, quiet but with a faint thread of amusement clearly audible. “I had guessed it was you who visited but this certainly confirms my suspicions. I just wanted to let you know that there’s no need to call me back.” Her chuckle held just a tinge of mischief. “I expect it’ll be too late for a phone call by the time you get this message anyway. Just tell my son to hang up the phone before he drops it next time. And if it’s still before midnight by the time you’re done, do wish him a happy birthday for me.”

Before she can even begin to organize her thoughts, he makes a muffled noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Raising an eyebrow, she turns to find him with a hand covering his face, though it does not fully disguise the flush staining his cheeks and brightening his ears, and finds herself fighting a strange urge to laugh.

“That answers that question, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles in reply, half-blocked by his hand, and she bites her lip to keep her mirth contained as she wiggles her phone at him.

“Did you want me to get yours as well?”

He shakes his head, though she can see a barest hint of a smile hidden behind his fingers. “No, we can get it in the morning. Come back, before you get cold.”

She looks down at her naked body, deliberately posing herself in the faint moonlight. “What’s wrong? Not enjoying the view?”

“Oh you…” He chuckles, even as he reaches an outstretched hand towards her. “You know that’s not true.”

Faced with his typical sincerity, she can only relent, taking his hand and letting him tug her back into his arms. “Of course I know.” Grinning, she snuggles closer, resting her head on his chest as she looks up to meet his gaze. “Even your mother knows, if that call was any indication.”

She is rewarded with him dramatically dropping his hand back on his face, though it doesn’t quite disguise his quiet huff of amusement. “She will never let me live that down.”

“Probably not. But it could be worse, you know.”

“How so?”

“She could have been worried and come over to check on you instead.”

This time he audibly groans and she gives in to the urge to laugh, tucking her face into his shoulder to hide an undignified snort and feeling him shake with his own quiet laughter.

When she finally manages to regain her control, it’s to find him reclined back, ears tinged red but with a faint smile still lingering on his lips. Catching her gaze, he raises an eyebrow. “Are you done now?”

“Yup!” She moves closer still, letting her head rest against the crook of his neck as she smiles against his skin. “At least for now. Though she is right about one thing.”

“Oh?” He shifts until she can meet his eyes, soft and sleepy and so full of gentle affection that she finds herself nearly speechless. “What’s that?”

She clears her throat, shifting up and pressing a light kiss to his lips. “It’s not yet midnight. Happy birthday.”

He smiles and she feels his arms tightening around her, keeping her gently in place. “So it is. And it has been,” he murmurs, before kissing her again. “Thank you, my love.”

#Artem Wing #ArtemRosa #Tears of Themis #Artem Wing/MC #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays ToT.#sweet awkward lawyer husband #otp: to have and to hold #Rated M for Tina can't write smut.#Despite wanting to write out the second anniv card content in full as well.#Dear lord someone save me.

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