#secretly subby!Andy consumes me at all waking moments lbr

[goldheartedsky]

Andy/Booker kiss for 33? I'm curious to see where THAT would go... 👀

33) ...forcefully

(I'm cheating a little bit and putting a snippet from a fic I'm working on but it TOTALLY fits this prompt too well to write anything new, so enjoy 😈)

Booker’s heart races the moment he hears a key in the lock and it’s a struggle to look as nonchalant as possible when the door opens and Andromache finally steps through.

“Already started drinking without me?” she teases, raising an eyebrow at the vodka on the table as she sets her pack down and shrugs off her coat. “And here I thought you’d be ready to get out of Prussia now that it’s getting cold, but—”

“Stop talking and get undressed,” Booker says, cutting her off so bluntly that Andromache’s mouth just hangs open in stunned silence. He stares up at her, reclining back in his cheer and lets his gaze linger lewdly on her breasts. “And do it quickly. I’ve already spent enough time sitting around, waiting for you to get home.”

Andromache blinks at him for another second before a breathless laugh catches in her throat. “Go to hell, Book. Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like tha—”

He pushes himself out of his chair, jaw set as he slowly walks toward Andromache. “I’ll speak to you however I damn well please,” Booker says, his confidence growing with each step he takes. 

Andromache seems frozen in her place, staring at him with wide, dark eyes, and her pupils have swallowed up any of her aquamarine irises that may have once existed. 

“Now take your fucking clothes off,” he repeats, less a request and more a command than it was the first time. “I’m not going to ask this politely again. Hell, I might not even ask at all.”

She audibly swallows, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as Andromache croaks, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sébastien, but you’re not—”

Her words cut off sharply as Booker grabs her jaw in one hand and slams her back against the wall in a single, swift motion. All of the air rushes out of Andromache’s chest from the force and her eyes go black as night when Booker cages her in.

“I warned you, Andromache,” he growls, voice low and dark as Booker tightens his grip on her face. “I gave you a chance to follow orders like a good girl but you can't back down from a fight, can you?”

Andromache’s eyes flutter and her breathing goes shallow, and it’s almost comical how weak her protest is when she spits, “Fuck—Fuck you, Booker…”

All the pent up frustration rears its ugly head and Booker almost surprises himself at how easily he says, “Fucking me could have saved us both a whole lot of trouble, but you decided to be a brat and kept walking out on me.”

He leans in and kisses her hard on the mouth—all teeth and tongue and no tenderness to be seen—and can't miss the undeniable moan that rattles up Andromache’s throat. When Booker pulls away, he can see the desperate flush staining her cheeks crimson and he starts to realize just how right Joe and Nicky were about her hidden desires.

“God, you want this so much, don’t you?” he whispers, his hand inching down past Andromache’s jaw to her neck. Her mouth falls open with a soft moan as Booker wraps his fingers around her throat—not squeezing but just holding her tight enough to kill any thoughts of struggle that may have sprung up in her mind. “You wanted this the whole goddamned time. Spent all those centuries running free but you still just want someone to claim ownership.”

A heated spark crackles through Andromache’s eyes as her breath hitches. “This doesn’t mean you own me,” she spits, barely a flickering ember of the fire she usually musters.

“Well, we’ll see if you still say that when I’m done with you,” Booker shoots back in a mocking tone. “Now are you going to get undressed or do I have to do everything myself?”

Andromache’s gaze never breaks and there’s an undeniable challenge silently blazing.

Make me.