#two for one

[pinklotushere]

Gotham’s Most Insane Love Triangle (That’s Not Even a Triangle)

Tim Drake has had enough.

Not of being Red Robin—no, he signed up for that nightmare. But of this absolute clown of a villain who has decided to make his civilian life hell. The dude isn’t even a real villain, just some rich, eccentric, probably-a-little-deranged Gotham socialite with too much free time and very questionable taste in romance.

He has been through a lot in his life.

He’s fought assassins, taken down crime lords, and survived the literal Lazarus Pit. But none of that prepared him for this.

Because, apparently, being a billionaire CEO means attracting a very specific brand of problem—namely, a very rich, very persistent, very theatrical stalker-suitor who has decided that Tim is their one true love.

And the worst part? They have no idea he’s Red Robin. They just think Tim Drake, boring businessman, is the ideal romantic partner.

Tim has tried to get rid of them. He’s shut down their advances, ignored their ridiculous gifts (including a whole building—seriously, what was that?), and even considered faking his own death. (Bruce did it like six times. It’s an option.)

Nothing worked.

the courtship? Is aggressive.

Think:

• Giant, embarrassing billboards with love poems that definitely sound like they were written by someone’s AI assistant.

• Dramatic, unsolicited “gifts” (one time, it was a tiger. A real one. In his office. He had to call Damian to get it out).

• Showing up at his press conferences to declare their love, completely derailing everything ("I AM WOOING YOU, TIMOTHY! SAY YES TO DESTINY!" "Sir, this is an earnings call—")

So, in a moment of desperation (and supreme bad decision-making), Tim panicked and told the press that he was already in a relationship.

With both Superboy and Wraith.

Because Tim Drake does not do things halfway.

(Kon does not hesitate. The second Tim says, “Hey, will you pretend to date me?” Kon’s already slinging an arm around his shoulders, grinning, and saying, “Obviously, babe.”

And, okay, maybe he’s having too much fun with it. Maybe Tim gives one kiss on the cheek in public, and suddenly Kon’s cranking the PDA up to 11.

Tim swears Kon is just doing this to annoy him. (Spoiler: He is. And also because he’s in love. But mostly to annoy him.)

Dani has no idea what’s going on. One day, she’s just vibing, and the next, Tim is begging her to be his fake girlfriend in his civilian life while also fake-dating Superboy in his hero life.

“So you’re publicly dating both of us?” she asks. “Yes,” Tim says, exhausted. “At the same time?” “Yes.” "Love that. Love the drama. I’m in.”)

And that’s how he ended up in a very public, very fake, and very annoying love triangle where he is “dating” two of his best friends.

Which prompted the start of plan : get rid of creepy guy

—

Step One: Make the Villain Regret Their Life Choices

If Tim thought this was going to be a subtle plan, Kon and Dani immediately proved him wrong.

Kon goes full Superboy mode. Dramatic rescues? Check. Carrying Tim around way too much? Check. Way too many kisses on the cheek? Check.

Dani (Wraith) is the wildcard. She literally picks Tim up in public like he’s a prize, occasionally phases through walls to randomly show up at his meetings, and once materialized into existence just to kiss Tim’s forehead in front of the press.

Tim cannot do anything about it. Because if he protests, the villain wins. And also because, unfortunately, he kinda likes it.

The villain loves this. It becomes a challenge. They start sending hate letters to Superboy, promising to “win” Tim’s heart from him.

Kon gets way too competitive about it. (“I dare you to try, buddy.” “KON, STOP ENCOURAGING THEM—”)

The media loses their minds. Suddenly, “Tim Drake’s Shocking Super Love Triangle” is trending.

Bart starts a betting pool on whether Tim actually survives this ordeal. Cassie is taking bets on when the fake relationship stops being fake. ("Wait, you all think this is fake?"—Cass, genuinely confused.)

—

Step Two: Turn the Public Against the Villain

The villain’s new strategies are straight out of a soap opera.

They show up at Tim’s press conferences, interrupting him mid-sentence.

( “Timothy! You don’t have to settle! You deserve true love!”

Tim: "I deserve peace.")

They try to out-romance Kon and Dani by sending ridiculous gifts.

• Kon: "Oh, you sent him roses? That’s cute. I carried him to France for pastries this morning."

• Dani: "I made him a custom necklace out of ectoplasm. It glows when he’s in danger. What did you do?"

Tim is so tired.

So, so tired.

For weeks, he's been playing damage control while Gotham's most deranged suitor escalates his antics. What started as embarrassing billboards and ridiculous gifts has somehow escalated into a full-blown public stunt designed to "prove" their love.

The disaster of the day?

A flash marriage proposal.

Tim barely has time to process what's happening before an entire choir descends on him in the middle of a press conference. They begin singing a dramatic, original ballad about love and destiny while the villain (dressed in a tuxedo and cape, because of course they are) strides forward. With an engagement ring, the size of Tim’s suffering.

"Timothy!" they declare, their voices booming through a hidden microphone, because this is obviously being broadcast. "I've waited long enough! Accept my love! Marry me and together we will dominate Gotham's social scene as the couple of the century!"

Tim's eyes twitch. He's two seconds away from making this a Red Robin problem.

fortunately for everyone involved, Kon and Dani have zero chill.

Kon lands from the sky, draping an arm around Tim with the most obnoxiously smug grin imaginable. “Oh, wow. A public proposal? That’s adorable. Almost as adorable as the six months I’ve already spent dating this guy.”

Then he just kisses Tim’s temple like it’s nothing.

Before Tim can recover (he absolutely did not freeze), Dani materializes next to him, grabs Tim like a princess, and kisses the other side of his face.

Timothy Jackson drake-Wayne did not squeak. What?

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she sighs.

And that is the moment the villain realizes they have lost.

Because Gotham? Gotham loves drama. And right now, the story isn’t “Determined Suitor Wins Over Tim Drake”—it’s “Homewrecker Tries to Steal Gotham’s Most Beloved Power Couples” (because, yes, the media still refuses to acknowledge this is a throuple).

The crowd turns on the villain.

• “You’re breaking them up? Boo.”

• “Have you seen the way Superboy looks at him?”

• “Sir, how do you respond to the allegations that you are a clown?”

#TimsuperWraith4Ever trends within minutes.

And the villain, realizing they are rapidly losing public favor, does the only thing they can do—

They flee

(“…Well,” they say, trying to regain some dignity. “I can tell when I’m in over my head.”

(They can’t.)

“I’m going to retreat—for now.”

(They're not coming back.)

And then, with a dramatic wave of their capes, they run away.)

Tim is still being held.

By both of them.

In front of every reporter in Gotham.

Kon, still smiling, pulls Tim even closer to him. "So, babe, how about we go celebrate our victory?"

Dani smiles. "Ooh, yeah. I'm thinking date night."

Tim, who physically can't escape, groans. "I hate you both."

Neither of them let go.

And, okay, maybe he doesn't really mind .

—

Step Three: Realize You’re the Only One Still Pretending

Later, after the chaos dies down and Tim finally gets a second to himself, he turns to Kon and Dani with a sigh.

“Well,” he says. “That was exhausting, but at least it’s over.”

Kon raises an eyebrow. “Over?”

Tim frowns. “Yeah. The villain’s gone, so… y’know. We can drop the act now.”

There’s a long silence.

Then Dani just… tilts her head. “Wait. You think this is fake?”

Tim stares. “What.”

Kon grins. “Oh, babe. You really thought we were faking?”

Tim.exe has stopped working.

Because, oh no, he did think this was fake. But now Kon is looking at him like he’s an idiot, and Dani is smirking like she knew all along, and—

Oh.

Oh, he’s so dumb.

Because this entire time, they weren’t playing a role. They were just—being them. Touchy, affectionate, protective—except now, they had an excuse to be obvious about it.

Tim buries his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

Dani pats his head. “You’ll get there, babe.”

Kon leans down, kissing the top of his head. “Take your time.”

Tim groans.

(But maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind so much.)

—

Bonus: Cassie & Bart, Watching From Afar :

Bart: “You think Tim actually figured it out?”

Cassie : "probably. It was fun watching him suffer"

[berensreverie]

Cygnus and Lucanis <3

[ede917]

Cherri Bomb on the phone with Angel: Angi help! Pentious brought me a plate of apple pie then said "careful, the plate is hot too," and I said "too?" and then he PUT HIS HAND ON MY SHOULDER AND MADE A SIZZLING NOISE!

Cherri: I'M FREAKING OUT WHAT DO I DO?!

Angel Dust: HIM!

Sir Pentious on the phone with Vaggie: Vagatha help! I have no idea how to follow up on that! What do I do?!

Vaggie: Uh . . . I don't actually know. Charlie usually jumps my bones by this point.

Sir Pentious: How could you not know?!

Vaggie: Just because I'm with Charlie doesn't mean I know how I did it.

[dallasgallant]

Darry going over Pony’s math homework

He’s trying. It’s not pony more than it is the weird wording and way they’re trying to teach him that has Darry worked up.

—

…Wanna make it angsty - I’ll make it angsty. Darry having a great deal of pride in how he got good grades and is intelligent and by math problems taught to freshmen being complicated when he’s barely/only a year out of highschool he feels like he’s fallen into the trap/expectation of his class/being a greaser and thus not good grades etc

[suzdin]

Two for One: Part Five

Neighbor!Dave York x Human!Max Phillips x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, familial drama and angst, ANGST!, mentions of drug use/abuse, alcoholism!, family death, invasions of privacy, breaking and entering, mentions of murder/violence, oral (f receiving), dom!Dave, soft!Max, threesome, anal, vaginal, breath play, alcohol and nicotine consumption, double penetration, anal creampie, dirty talk, I think that’s it

Words: 6,375 (sorry it’s short)

Notes: holy shit I don’t even know what to say other than I’m very grateful and touched by how many of you have reached out to me, and that I’m so so so sorry it took me this long to add a new chapter. Hopefully it’s worth the wait. I’m hoping to be more regular in the future! I did my best to remember who to tag, yell at me in the comments if I forgot you 🥴

—

You aren’t sure why, but with Dave gone, it feels wrong to see Max. At least, outside of your workplace...

Were it the other way around, you don’t think you would experience the same level of cloying guilt you feel with Dave, but then again, your relationship with Dave was far different than what you had with Max: while you kept Dave at arm’s length, with Max, you kept him even further than that, a begrudging admission of your lack of self control, something that you hate to admit runs in your family. You with your alcoholism and overactive sex drive; Garrett with his addiction to narcotics. Your mother’s former addictions to the same things as you and your brother, at one point or another, waxing and waning for decades as long as you can feasibly remember.

You can’t help but smirk to yourself as you imagine scientists studying your family like captive apes, which isn’t too far off. They would probably learn a thing or two about addiction. Not that your mother believes in science enough to volunteer for such things.

So, that is how things go for those few days that Dave is out of town. Max respects your need for space, surprisingly so, affording you little more than a few minutes in the bathroom each day you’re both in the coffee shop at the same time, ending in either a belly full of Max’s cum, his fingers buried deep in your pussy until you see stars, or both.

And he still insists on ending every interaction with those strangely intimate and delicate embraces, each encounter getting longer and softer with each passing day. Almost like Max wants to be close to you, but isn’t sure how else to go about it, only knowing that it’s something he needs—no, craves.

You won’t lie, you had started looking forward to those hugs too, needing them more than you’d realized. He never kisses you, though, no matter how long he holds you in his arms afterwards, something that leaves an oddly empty pit twisting inside of you that you can’t find yourself able to shake.

Your coworkers definitely know about your little bathroom receptions, thankfully looking the other way when Max comes strolling in like Don Juan in his pursuit of you. Even, much to your surprise, Audrey, whom you often found shooting dirty looks your way when she thinks you’re unawares, but has sense enough to keep her mouth shut. At least in front of you.

You played it cool around your boss, Maurizio, who seemed to be none the wiser, Max often chatting him up as a distraction when you had to straighten your clothes or smooth down your hair or make sure you didn’t have any remnants of jizz lingering on you. Sweet talking was definitely one of Max’s strong suits and Maury ate that shit right up.

Your nights after your shifts ended with you and Dave on the phone, talking — or doing other things — for hours on end, and you had to admit that his voice in your ear at the end of a long day was a welcome gift and distraction.

You asked about each other’s days; you lamenting about the stressors of your job, even divulging the part about the shipment of mocha syrup being two weeks late and how you’re down to only two bottles, and that you’re pretty sure Audrey and Vincent hate you, but leave out any bits about Max being the reason.

He tells you all about the day to day activities with his girls, everything from the inevitable meltdowns, to what they did and where they went, even letting you talk to his eldest — Molly — for a few moments when she insisted on knowing who her dad was talking to if it wasn’t Mommy, and although it felt awkward and forced it was still very sweet and amiable, leading you to wonder if this was all leading to something bigger between you and Dave… although you’d known each other only a very short time, it was suddenly feeling very real.

Did you want that?

You didn’t know, and not knowing scared you. That’s why, you realized, you hadn’t completely pushed Max away, in case things went awry. And they often did in your case, leaving behind a flaming trail of gnarled and smoldering wreckage in its wake.

And maybe you were starting to like Max, too. Just a little. As much as you tried to deny it.

At the very least, you could admit you looked forward to his daily visits more and more as the days slogged on, which was saying a lot.

As the upcoming week drew ever nearer, Dave’s communication dwindled and subsequently ran dry, which had you a bit worried. He had texted you about some vague work thing he had to do. You didn’t ask what it was, since it was none of your business.

Yet, you couldn’t keep yourself from worrying when the messages slowed and eventually stopped. Had you done or said something offputting?

You do your best not to linger in your own head for too long, keeping yourself busy with mundanities.

——

Dave was careful not to stay in touch with you unless absolutely necessary while he was actively on target. Whatever he could do to prevent you from being tied to the crime, even if only via digital footprint. Not to mention to keep himself from being tied to it, in whatever way possible.

He had left the crime scene with the intent to drive through the night without stopping until he reached Boston. His mind had not diverted from the original plan; however, with his dick painfully engorged and straining against his pants every step of the way, your face at the forefront of his mind, he found himself having to stop more than once to relieve the ache. You made him feel crazy. Crazier than he’s ever felt before. And he simultaneously loved and hated it.

With your videos playing on a loop, seat reclined back as far as it could go, he spills across his stomach again and again as he grunts your name through clenched teeth, hot spend collecting in the hollow of his navel.

Sunrise is approaching and he still has a couple of hours to go before he reaches you. He can’t wait to be with you. He can’t…

——

As you force yourself to drag ass into another long, miserable shift at work, barely conscious, your hair a rat’s nest, Dave is having to force himself not to be lead-footed all the way home. Being pulled over by a cop is the last thing he needs right now.

He texts you around 7AM, asking if you’re working and how you’re doing, although he already knows you’re not home, from the camera loop he periodically checks. He has to ask, though, to be as inconspicuous as possible.

You feel a wave of relief when you see Dave’s name pop up on your phone. But with a storm bearing down hard on the city (what your mother affectionately and irritatingly refers to as ‘tornado weather’), business unexpectedly picks up and you’re too slammed with soaked and pissy customers to respond in a timely manner.

You’re even too busy for Max when he comes in, passing him an apologetic glance right before your hands slip and you splash blistering hot coffee down the front of your shirt. Behind the dejected, puppy dog eyes he’s giving you, you almost think you see concern flash in those dark brown irises of his.

Not like that’s possible. Right?

—

It takes Dave longer than anticipated to make it back to Boston. Between the instances he had to pull off to relieve the strain in his pants, and subsequently take a power nap, he hits the city a little past 9, and by the time he makes it through the infuriating drag of traffic and rain, he pulls into his spot close to 10.

He draws in a deep breath as he stares up at your apartment window, dark now, pulling himself out of the driver’s seat, barely having enough energy to make it through the downpour and up the stairs to his apartment.

But as soon as he deposits his bag on the living room floor, he’s inexplicably hit with a second wind, adrenaline coursing through his veins when it occurs to him how close he is to you once again.

He hastily stuffs his lock picking kit down his pants, grabbing a rain slicker from the closet, despite already being drenched to the skin.

He knows you aren’t home. He’s confirmed and re-confirmed it. But needs to be in your space. Just long enough to smell you again, be with you without being with you until you can officially be in his arms again. He wants to lie on your bed, wrapped in your scent like a cloak as he dribbles down his fist, surprising you later by picking you up from work so you don’t have to walk home in the rain.

Which reminds him — he texts you again, asking when you get off, hoping that you’re just busy and not ignoring him.

He makes it inside your apartment in record time, the old wood of the interior crackling from the pressure disturbance, almost as if beckoning him inside.

He locks the door behind him and toes off his shoes, glancing around the small, dark space, which smells of stale cigarettes and… you.

He only needs a couple of hours. That’s all. Just long enough to hold him over until he can see you, smell you for real, touch you. Fuck you until your eyes roll back into your skull and you see stars.

He strips off his dripping clothes and drapes them over the back of your kitchen chairs to dry, at least somewhat, crawling into your bed and pulling the comforter up past his shoulders.

He presses his face to mattress, inhaling deeply, immediately growing hard from your lingering scent. Your coconut shampoo, your vanilla body spray. You.

As he slips his cock free from his boxers, he can almost feel your curves against his fingertips, the softness of your lips against his.

He begins to pump himself slowly, knowing he risked it all for you. Just so that sad fuck you call an ex can’t harass you anymore, his cock tightening further as he recalls the way Jonathan looked when the life drained from behind his eyes.

He did it for you, and he would do it a million times more if he could.

—

Your work day finally begins to slow after the lunch rush, the rain slacking off to a more tolerable, humid drizzle.

You let the others know that you’re retiring to the alley for a much needed cigarette break, and to not bother you for fifteen minutes unless it’s a life and death emergency. And even then, still don’t.

You already have a cigarette perched between your lips and a lighter clutched in your fist before you even hit the alleyway, thankful for the small awning even with the calmer precipitation.

You ignite the cig, pocketing your lighter as you take a seat on the milk crate you use as a stool, drawing in a long, much needed puff of smoke and toxins into your lungs. Fuck, it’s been a day.

You fish your phone out of your pocket so you can shoot Max a quick apology for not being able to see him earlier, immediately becoming distracted by the sheer volume of text messages you’ve missed since the start of your shift, Max momentarily forgotten.

Two of the messages are from Dave, which you’re relieved to see and respond to right away. One is from an employee letting you know they’re going to be half an hour late to their shift, which you ignore for the time being, not wanting to deal with it just yet. And the other eight are from your mom.

You sigh, taking another drag from your cigarette as you begrudgingly click on her name, anticipating the usual slew of bitching and moaning, reminding you what a terrible, awful daughter you are for abandoning your family; or, on the other end of the spectrum, kissing your ass and pleading for money.

As soon as your eyes scan over the messages, your world is swiftly rocked off its axis, your fingers losing their strength as your hands begin to tremor.

Your phone and cigarette crash to the ground, the former cracking as it hits the concrete, the latter snuffing itself out in the little bit of rain that’s left.

You wedge the heel of your palms against your eyelids and begin to weep, but you can still see the words behind your eyes, already haunting you, wishing you could scratch them out of your brain, wishing you could turn back time like it never happened.

Your grandmother, the only bit of glue that ever held you to your family, is gone.

—

Sarah comes in on her day off to cover the rest of your shift so you can leave early, thanking her profusely with promises to make it up to her as soon as you can.

You let Maury know you’re going to take a few days for bereavement, and he doesn’t give you any shit about it.

You walk home in a milky daze, finding your way by muscle memory alone, because you’re pretty sure you aren’t actually perceiving anything but a whirlwind of grief; grief so intense you can feel it in your bones, your bone marrow.

Your grandma—Granny Ruth—was the kindest, most selfless woman you’d ever had the privilege of knowing. You never could figure out how your mother turned out the way she did; how they were not only different, but polar fucking opposites.

You keep reading and re-reading your mother’s texts. How, in addition to your sorrow and angst, you’re also unfathomably angry.

Mom: your grandmother Ruth passed this morning

Mom: shame you weren’t here to say goodbye since you abandoned us

Mom: don’t bother coming home, she is being cremated no service

You need a stiff drink. Several, in fact. You need drugs. Every single one.

You need to get fucked until you’re completely desiccated. You need to strangle every last shred of emotion from your body because it’s too much to carry right now.

You wish you had a kill switch for your brain.

—

By the time you’ve reached the stoop that leads up to your building, you can’t keep it in any longer.

You managed to hold the fraying threads of your sanity together when you had to call Sarah in. And when you had to let Maury know. Even on the walk home, you were a zombie. Mindless. Numb.

But now, as you draw nearer to your home—or what you call home, but doesn’t really feel that way— your legs grow weak and your head swims, forcing you to collapse on the steps that lead up to the double doors, hunched forward, sobbing into your hands.

You aren’t sure how long you stay there, or if anyone sees you, and you really don’t care.

You stay until your head is throbbing, only snapping out of your daze when a familiar voice cuts through the sorrow, hushed, concerned, your name a murmur on their lips.

“Doll… are you okay?”

When you finally lift your head, your gaze settles on Max.

—

You tell Max about your grandmother. How she had been sick for years, how you should have never left her, the guilt and regret gnawing at you. You had been selfish, stupid.

He sits beside you on the steps, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, letting you cry, letting you lament about how much you hate your mother, only speaking when he needs to.

He’s being sweet, sympathetic, patient, and completely unlike his usual self. And you’re intuitive enough to know he isn’t bullshitting or just trying to get into your pants. He’s actually being sincere.

It’s so unlike him it almost unsettles you.

You aren’t complaining, though. It’s nice in how unexpected, how off-kilter it seems, and it does make you feel better, at least for a few fleeting moments.

As the conversation carries on and your mood lifts a peg or two, Max’s gentle, sympathetic touches gradually turn more reverent, more wanton, his movements slow and unsure at first to test the waters, wanting to ensure that you want it as much as he does.

When you reciprocate, your eyes re-affirming your needs to him, he grows more insistent, more brazen, cupping your breasts through your polo, coffee stains and all, canine teeth scraping along your pulse point.

He’s being more tender and sensual than you’re used to, and while you don’t mind it, you prefer Max’s usual persona and would much rather be railed so hard you forget your own name.

He pulls away long enough for you to punch in your password on the keypad, flinging the twin doors open and making a beeline for the elevator with Max trailing at your heels like an infatuated puppy.

His touches become more persistent and demanding the closer you get to your apartment, his true colors finally bleeding through. By the time you’re fumbling your keys to unlock the door, he’s practically dry humping you, hands on your hips, half hard already.

After a brief and minor struggle with your lock, your hands tremoring again, you eventually shoulder the door open, stumbling inside with Max immediately following suit.

The cool dark of your space welcomes you as you shut the door harder than intended, Max’s hands returning to your hips.

Suddenly, the air in the room shifts, and there’s movement from your bed.

—

You scream, your hands losing their strength for the second time today, keys and purse crashing to the floor as Max positions himself between you and the intruder.

Without thinking, you instinctively reach for the switch next to your head, the resulting flood of luminescence rendering everyone temporarily blind.

When your vision eventually returns, and you see who’s standing before you, you’re almost unable to fathom what the fuck is even going on.

“Dave? How the f- what are you… what the fuck?” you manage to prattle out, in spite of your inability to otherwise form a cohesive thought.

Dave could kick himself for being so careless, so sloppy. He was more clear cut than that. He should have known better.

His eyes flick to Max, his face neutral as he assesses the situation before speaking, taking a tentative step in your direction.

He’s in nothing but black boxers, one side of his hair flattened, his eyes weary and heavy with lingering traces of sleep.

He says your name, studying your face. He can tell you’ve been crying, and he wants to break whoever did this to you, rip them apart at the seams until there’s nothing left to identify a body.

He isn’t dense and can see that Max isn’t the source of your distress, clearing his throat subtly, whispering your name again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low, his need to touch you, kiss you, bordering on physical pain. But he doesn’t want to startle or upset you, your eyes as large as dinner plates.

As Dave creeps another step forward, Max shoulders up to him, practically bristling like a dog over a prized bone.

“Maybe you should answer her question, Dave.”

“Max—“ you warn, Max pivoting to meet your gaze, taking a single step back only because of you.

Dave passes him a glance, and for a brief, but satisfying moment, he imagines himself decking Max square in the jaw. He knows he could take the pretentious prick down in a single blow, he’s certain of it. But as much as he wants to do just that, he refrains.

He’s aware that acting on his instincts would disrupt your already fragile state. And as much as he hates to admit it, he understands why Max is acting the way he is. He would behave the same, were the roles reversed.

He draws in a deep breath before responding.

“I wanted to see you. You weren’t home… your door was unlocked, so I let myself in. I wanted to surprise you. But I must have drifted off...”

He pauses, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, giving you a moment to absorb everything.

“I’m sorry. I was exhausted, not thinking straight. I… I fucked up.”

You can’t help but notice Max is uncharacteristically quiet as Dave explains himself, hands on his hips, ready to jump in at any moment if needed. But like Dave, he doesn’t want to do anything to upset you.

“Please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help, if I can. I-“ He takes another step, his hand reaching for your arm. “I missed you.”

You see a muscle in Max’s jaw jump when Dave touches you, and as much as you want to shove him away, scream at him, tell him to fuck right off for breaking into your apartment… locked or not… you can’t bring yourself to do it. You’ve been angry enough for one day and you’re too mentally drained to care right now.

More tears fall in lieu of your anger, and you almost can’t believe you still have any left to cry.

Dave closes the distance, Max immediately flinching, itching to pick a fight but holding back. Dave doesn’t seem to notice or care, his focus honed solely on you, cupping your jaw, his thumb dragging over your cheekbone, catching any stray tears.

They’re behaving surprisingly well, given the circumstances, you have to give them that.

And although Max knew about you and Dave, you’re shocked to realize Dave knows about you and Max. But it’s too much information to dwell on right now, your head a foggy mess, so you don’t.

“My grandma died,” you croak.

—

The first hour is awkward, uncomfortable, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Dave and Max are getting along but only just barely, both of them vying for your attention to the point of additional stress, wanting to do whatever they can to make you feel better.

None of it feels real. Everything feels dark and hazy, a fever dream.

You’re sandwiched between both men on your tiny couch, watching something on Discovery none of you give two shits about, passing a bottle of vodka around to add to your mixer of choice as you sit in otherwise oppressive, stifling silence.

Their hands are all over you, competing for your affections, probably wishing you would kick the other one out, and you consider more than once to kick both out to let you wallow in your sorrow in peace.

But the drunker you get, the less you care. The drunker they get, the less they care about the other touching you, as long as they do get to touch you in some way or another.

As their touches grow bolder, you sense something unspoken pass between them, their caresses gradually transitioning to fondling, their hands moving over your curves, groping your breasts, teasing your folds through your thin leggings.

Of course there are a few moments where they bristle and bicker, quarreling over who gets to touch you where, but for the most part, they cooperate, working your body in tandem.

Your head falls back, your neck folded over the back of the couch as Dave’s fingers slip under the band of your leggings, his lips finding your neck.

“So wet already,” he murmurs against your pebbled flesh, his fingers feather light touches against your skin, teasing. “You like the way we’re touching you, baby?”

Max’s lips are on the opposite side of your neck, nibbling and kissing from your jaw to your clavicle, his hand sliding under your shirt, pushing your bra aside to pluck at your puckered nipple.

You can only moan in response, so fucking horny you don’t even know what to do with yourself.

“I think she does,” Max replies with a crooked smirk, locking eyes with Dave as he slips your polo over your head, his head dipping to suckle at your exposed breast.

Dave pushes two fingers past your entrance, languidly pumping them as he anchors his thumb against your clit, causing your hips to twitch and sputter.

“So fucking pretty for us,” Dave purrs against your neck, pushing your leggings down to your knees, “Dirty fucking slut, letting two men touch you. What else would you let us do to you?”

“Anything you want,” you respond almost immediately, not having to giving it another thought.

Max’s head lifts from your chest, gently pushing you forward so he can remove your bra.

“That’s a dangerous proposition, doll. You think you can handle both of us at the same time?” Max counters, a devilish glint making his dark eyes shine as he palms himself over his pants.

You nod, unable to respond in any coherent language due to whatever magic Dave is currently performing between your thighs.

Dave tells you to lift your legs, tugging your bottoms the rest of the way down.

He had pulled his pants back on after you and Max arrived, but he shucks them off again, the outline of his dick visibly straining through the fabric.

Max had already stripped down to his undershirt and pants, wiggling out of his shirt while Dave removes his pants.

Dave spreads your thighs apart, drinking in the vision of your sopping wet pussy, the tip of his tongue flicking at his bottom lip like a hungry reptile.

He turns to Max, his eyes glistening, his brow furrowed.

“Make her cum. Get her ready,” Dave commands, Max not bothering to argue with being told what to do so authoritatively, because he wants it just as badly as you do.

“Ride his face,” he tells you, gesturing for you and Max to move over to the bed.

“Use him to get yourself off.”

Max moves into position, wriggling out of his pants in the process, leaving both men in their boxers and you completely nude.

Your walls clench around nothing as you mount Max’s face, planting your knees on either side of his head, your palms against the wall.

Max places a few delicate kisses to your inner thighs before abruptly pulling you all the way down, his tongue curling into your wet heat.

Dave growls, his eyes darkening with lust as he steps out of his boxers, large hand wrapping around the base of his thick cock, steadily stroking himself to the vision of Max eating you out with abandon.

Dave bends to kiss your velvety lips, his tongue demanding access and you let him.

“You remember your safe word, don’t you?” Dave asks as he breaks the kiss, his fingers entwined in your hair.

You nod, your lower lip dangling. “Foxglove for you, lavender for Max,” you reply.

“Good girl,” Dave praises, giving your right ass cheek a solid smack. “Now ride his face. Use him.”

You hear Max grunt something against your folds but you aren’t sure what, leaning back, your spine flexing as you brace yourself on Max’s muscular arms.

Dave watches, transfixed, his hand never leaving his cock as he tilts your head back to kiss and bite at your throat, your jaw.

“Is he doing a good job, sweetheart?” Dave asks and your head bobs eagerly in response.

“Yes he is,” you say as your hips roll forward, thrusting against Max’s tongue, his arched nose bumping your clit with every stroke.

“Max, spread her cheeks for me,” Dave says firmly and Max immediately obliges, his cock twitching in his shorts when he understands where this is going.

With his hands gripping your ass, he helps you to guide your movements, moaning against your folds.

Dave perches on the edge of the bed behind you, collecting some of your excess slick to coat his fingers, assisting Max in spreading you even wider as he teases and prods at your puckered star of muscle.

“Let me in, sweetheart, or it’s going to hurt later,” Dave commands softly, circling your entrance with his index finger. “Lean forward a little bit,” he tells you, placing his palm between your shoulders as he guides you into position.

You brace against the wall again, relaxing as much as you can, the new angle helping.

Dave manages to slip one finger inside, pistoning into your tight tunnel, making you whimper and quiver against Max.

He spits directly onto your anus to apply more lubrication, adding a second finger to the first.

“Keep riding his face just like that. Use both of us, pump yourself onto my fingers as you use his mouth,” Dave says, his voice low, his other hand reaching around to circle your throat.

“There you go,” he says as his fingers probe deeper, scissoring them apart to help stretch you further.

“Yes, fuck yes,” you whimper, your movements becoming more determined, more frantic.

Max is a trooper, his fingers still digging into your ass, his grip bruising, his tongue still flicking and curling into your tunnel, not even stopping to take a breath.

“That’s it, sweetheart, such a good girl for us,” Dave murmurs, his voice low and velvet.

He attempts to insert a third finger, adding more spittle and slick, only getting it past the first knuckle, but it does seem to help in spreading you open.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum… I’m so close…” you whine as your bounce more fervently on Max’s face, making him grunt words of affirmation under you, muffled against your soft mound.

Dave’s hold on your neck tightens, his fingers flexing against your skin, his lips brushing your ear.

“Let go for us, sweetheart. Let it all out.”

Max continues to guide your movements, Dave helping now as well, bouncing you up and down, using your neck as a handle.

With a loud cry, you cum hard and fast, stars behind your eyes as both men work you through your orgasm, Dave’s hand releasing your throat to return to his cock, Max groaning into your pussy until the waves of pleasure subside.

Dave pulls his fingers free, stilling his ministrations on his own body as he gently cups your cheek.

“Still okay?” he asks, and you nod with a smile as you climb off of Max who, understandably, needs a moment to take a breath.

Max finally extricates himself from his boxers, heavy cock springing free, pumping himself slowly as his visage roves hungrily over you and Dave.

“Get on his cock and lean forward,” Dave demands in a low growl, and you shimmy down Max’s body, straddling him, Max slotting himself at your entrance and lifting his hips to meet you in the middle.

You slowly sink down to his lap, Max releasing a hiss of pleasure, placing his hands on either side of your hips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel amazing,” Max pants, already bucking his hips in anticipation.

Dave positions himself behind you, on his knees, his hands also moving to your hips, fingers brushing Max’s.

They lock eyes with each other, his brow a hard, dark line as he regards the other man.

“You are not allowed to cum in her. Understand?” he tells Max, his voice low and authoritative, his lips tight.

Max frowns, his brow wrinkling in disapproval, but he doesn’t protest, not wanting to let the opportunity to be inside you slip through his fingers.

Dave edges closer, adding more spit and slick to your anus, inserting two fingers again to ensure you’re ready.

“Just relax, baby, and use your safe words if you need them,” Dave tells you gently, placing the head of his cock against your tight ring of muscle.

“Just breathe,” he says, and begins slowly pushing himself into you.

As Dave gradually gains ground, you’ve never felt so full in your entire life, the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, even when Dave claimed your ass the first night.

There is some pain initially, but the alcohol helps to alleviate some of the discomfort, as well as slacken your muscles enough for Dave to bottom out.

His head falls back with a loud groan as his hips press firmly against your ass, stilling himself for a beat to relish the sensation of your body strangling his cock.

After a moment, both men exchange another look and they begin to move slowly in conjunction with one another, their movements choppy and stilted at first as they learn the other’s movements, able to find a mutual rhythm after a few minutes that seems to work for you.

“Oh fuck,” you keen, burying your face against Max’s shoulder while both men slide in and out of you in tandem, and you think you’ve never felt anything more glorious in your entire life.

Max wraps his arms around your back, holding you against him, whispering encouragement in your ear.

“Look at you,” Max praises, one hand moving to cup the nape of your neck. “Taking both of us so well. You like having two men inside of you, don’t you?”

You nod and whimper against his neck, your hot breath fanning his skin, on the verge of tears with how heavenly it feels, how much joy and pleasure they’re gifting to you.

Dave gives your right ass cheek another sharp smack, making you yelp in surprise at the abrupt lance of pain.

“Say it. Say out loud how much you love it,” Dave grits through his teeth, his ministrations growing more intense.

“I love having two men inside of me, fucking me, using me,” you mewl between breaths, relinquishing a loud moan when their hips snap against you simultaneously, almost as if they planned it.

Little by little, their movements increase in speed and power, seamlessly with the other, a series of curses and inhuman noises bellowing out of your ribcage.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you cry out when you feel yourself getting close for a second time, your muscles already tightening. “I’m gonna fucking… cum… again…” you groan against Max’s neck.

Dave lands another slap to your ass, their thrusts growing rougher, your bed rocking against the wall.

“Cum for us, baby. Cum all over Max’s cock while I’m railing your tight little ass,” Dave snarls, panting hard as he chases his own end as well.

You reach your second peak only moments later, your vision going pure white as you’re hurtled far over the edge, experiencing the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, gushing unapologetically all over Max’s lap and your bed.

They keep pistoning against you, riding you through the waves of your orgasm, the sounds of their grunts and growls filling the small space.

Dave can tell by the look on Max’s face that he’s close as well, his breath ragged in his chest as he warns Max a second time not to finish inside of you.

Max’s cheeks inflate, his skin a deep shade of pink, sweat prickling his brow as he does everything he can to hold back.

“Final warning,” Dave grits, reaching around you to grip Max by the throat, squeezing hard enough to get his point across.

With a deep grunt, Max pulls out of you at the last possible second, locking eyes with Dave, hand still wrapping his throat, exploding like a goddamn geyser all over your ass and Dave’s stomach.

That spurs Dave to reach his own end, stilling inside of you, hips twitching and jerking involuntarily as he unloads everything he has to give, your flexing and pulsing anus milking every last drop.

He collapses on top of you, both men breathing haggardly, your skin slicked with perspiration.

You stay like that for a while, none of you wanting to move for a long time.

Dave pushes his face against the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, his cheek resting against Max’s chest.

He eventually pulls out, rolling onto his back as you settle between them, lying in comfortable silence for what seems like an eternity.

Max pushes himself up, going over to the bathroom to grab some warm, damp rags, tossing one to you and Dave, using the third on himself.

Dave scoots to the edge of the bed, studying Max in silence as Max gathers his clothes.

You move next to Dave, also watching Max get dressed, quirking a brow in confusion and concern.

“You aren’t staying?”

—

You walk Max down, the elevator ride silent and stifling, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, having never been more quiet in his life.

You follow him to the street, staying with him until he reaches the corner.

“I have work tomorrow,” he says, a flimsy excuse at best.

You cross your arms, searching his face. “Are you okay?” you question, finding yourself genuinely worried.

“Yeah,” Max replies stiffly, confused and overwhelmed by everything that just occurred, his mind replaying the moment Dave grabbed his throat, resulting in him exploding all over both of you like a nervous teen on prom night.

“I just want to be sure…” he begins, lifting his hand to caress your cheek. “Did you want that?”

You meet his eyes with your own, not used to seeing Max this vulnerable, this unsure. You don’t like it.

“Yes. I did…” you say honestly, exhaling a slow breath.

“Did you?” you ask softly.

“Yeah. I did. I wanted it, and I enjoyed it, but… I don’t know,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I guess I’m just tired.”

You search his face again, searching for the unspoken answers, but not wanting to scare him away by prying too much.

You step into him, wrapping your arms around him in a snug embrace, and he buries his face in your hair, his arms linking behind your back.

He pulls away after a beat, his hands moving to either side of your face.

“I’ll text you soon. Okay? I’m sorry again, by the way. About your grandmother.”

You inhale deeply, nodding in acknowledgment, trying not to cry again. Sensing your pain, feeling a different kind of pain twisting in his chest, Max does something he normally wouldn’t.

He pulls you closer, his lips connecting with yours in a soft, worshipping kiss, long fingers sinking into your hair, committing the way you taste to memory.

—

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @kellybelly1978 @heavennumber2 @alwaysmicado @yorksgirl @cosmic-li @chronically-ghosted @morallyinept @daddy-dins-girl @natdeandar @sarap-77 @guelyury @vabeachazn @gwendibleywrites @anoverwhelmingdin @oberynslady @untamedheart81 @casa-boiardi

[iloveoutlinesiswear]

For the first time asks!!! First time they were affectionate in front of other people??

(Note: a plot bunny bit me and once again the synopsis of Commands and Incriminations will have to change. There are a plethora of moments that I thought of. I couldn't pick one. So here are two. There will be a third later.)

Alive

(Fluff plus a dead chaos marine and a touch of Heinrix angst)

The vast carcass toppled with an awful majesty, Abelard's chain sword lodged in his throat, grinding against cartilage and rubber. The beast hit the deck, the noise resounding over the battlefield. And lay still.

Lathed in sweat, gasping for breath, Heinrix van Calox stood, force sword in hand. His iron arm sloughed shards of metal as his concentration wavered. Adrenaline drained away, leaving him shaking and cold. Watching the corpse, he took a tentative step forward.

How were they still alive?

They were still alive.

Experimentally, Abelard nudged the Chaos Marine with his shotgun, looking for the slightest bit of movement.

Nothing happened.

"Thank the God-Emperor," he exclaimed, letting his sword dip.

Idira whooped and swore in a half dozen languages as Abelard wrenched his chain sword free of the marine's gullet. Thick blood arced as Abelard shook his blade free.

A burst of airy laughter jolted him, alien to the smoke choked battle field. Then a flash of movement and he turned, half expecting another foe.

Karroleen seb Montreux ahn Bacque von Valancius, mistress of the Light in the Void, ruler of worlds, Rogue Trader, leaped into him with a full bodied jump.

Dropping his pistol, he grabbed her around her waist with his arm, his hand pressed flat against her back. Wrapping her arms around his sweaty neck, she all but molded to him. Her untamable curls tickling his temple, her breath warm on the shell of his ear and neck. Her soft cheek pressed against his, smooth and warm.

A light perfume cracked through the stench of burning promethium. Richly floral like Cabrian magnolias, heady without being overly sweet, cut through with vanilla and wood, emboldened with a muskinees he couldn't place.

God-Emperor, he should not even be touching her.

And here she was, in his arms, laughing in raw unadulterated joy.

"We're alive!" she breathed, looking into his face.

Her smile was electric. Not the slightly tight gesture of appropriate amusement, not the false expression of polite tolerance, nor even the tightly controlled enjoyment of good company. But a genuine effusive smile, that gave her dimples in her cheeks and made her eyes dance.

Her mask was off.

Time stopped.

Her smile shifted, softening into something shy, sensual, open. Her lips eased into a pout, slightly upturned at the corners. The light did not leave her eyes. Her gaze swallowed him.

Time slowed to a crawl, everything else vanishing.

She saw him, studying him, her gaze all but touching him. Lingering on his gray eyes, his dark hair, then dropping briefly to his mouth before looking him in the eyes again.

Then she leaned closer, her arms tightening around his neck.

"Thank you, Master van Calox," she whispered.

He continued to stare. Her thick brown mane long since broken free of her updo, the smudge of dirt over her delicate right brow, the flush in her pale cheeks. The rise and fall of her breathing, her body heat soaking his skin, the arch of her spine under his palm.

Her dark eyes looking at him through thick lashes, eyes that barely seemed to reflect any light at all.

Her flush deepened.

"Of course," he murmured. "Glad to be of service."

Something he long thought dead stirred restlessly.

Sentiment. Empathy. Affinity.

Desire.

The voice of his master broke in, calm, calculating and shaming. Heinrix, put her down. You know what you are. Remember the way she looked at you in the Cynobium. You are disgusting. A blood soaked tool.

He couldn't quite breathe.

A jolt ran through the landing area as the planet shuddered, bringing them back to themselves.

The mask slipped back on, sealing her away like the doors of a vault.

He set her back onto her feet as she smoothed her coat, letting out a prim little cough.

"We need to go," she said.

"Right," he said dumbly.

They turned and sprinted toward a random shuttle, even as the platform began to tilt. Without dignity, they hurled themselves into the harnesses as Abelard rushed to cockpit. A few moments later, the shuttle lurched into the air and hurtled away from the planet.

And Heinrix could not quite focus, even as he lashed himself into a seat. Once secure, he bit the tip of one fingertip, tasting the leather, trying to figure out what to do next. Even as they hurtled toward the Light in the Void.

What would she do? Given what he had seen of her decision making, he had a sinking feeling.

Yet, her perfume lingered.

***

As the others sprinted out of the shuttle, Idira Tlass froze on the shuttle ramp. Around them, the Light in the Void shuddered, tossed about by the alien pulses rippling from Rykad. The ship yawed, heaving to, desperately trying to hold position in a system ripping itself apart.

A whisper, loud as a teenager with a secret crush, murmured in her ear.

She cocked her head, her eyes widened and then she howled with laughter. Tottering, she leaned on her staff, almost bent double. She laughed until she was out of breath, until her stomach hurt.

"Witch, what is it now?" Argenta hissed, grasping her bolter, walking back toward her.

But even she couldn't dampen Idira's mirth.

"Oh, my whispers are funny today," she replied, chuckling.

Argenta's glare could have set water on fire.

"What are you talking about?" Argenta said.

"They say the Ice Man has met his match," she said. "Oh, he is in trouble."

And she laughed all the way to the bridge.

Breaking

During the Siege of Euphrates 2, Karroleen and Heinrix kept apart. Now that it's over, they start getting familiar with each other again.

(Making out, wall sex, accidental witnesses, Heinrix being his usual angsty self)

The celebration had been going beautifully until their fingers touched over a plate of Janusian peaches. Just a brush of Karroleen's fine fingers over his bare knuckles, so incidental even Abelard didn't notice it, sitting on Karroleen's other side.

It was over.

The connection Heinrix had been trying to stifle during the siege of Euphrates 2 roared deep in his loins like the engine of a land raider. Insistent, bellowing, willing to stop at nothing to find release.

Next to him, Karroleen gasped, blushing, her breathing turning to a ragged gasp. She squirmed against her chair, her thighs tightening together, her skirts rustling with the movement.

Her brown eyes flicked around, checking the mood of the celebration. Then fixed Heinrix with a yearning he could feel in the pit of his stomach. Desire found a higher screaming pitch.

Set up in the officer's lounge and stretching into the mess hall, the party Karroleen was throwing to celebrate her victory on Euphrates 2 was nothing less than lavish. Real wood tables weighted with food straight from Janus, roast grox, birds of every kind, delicate fish, pies, tarts. It was endless. As was her tendency, every deck was represented. The retinue closest, bridge officers, upper deckers, middle decks and unusually, the clan leaders from the lower decks.

"Lord Ulfar!" Karroleen shouted. "Tell us a tale."

Ulfar started as the entire room turned their eyes on him. He stood off to the side, his vast stature keeping him from the tables. Not that it kept him from eating, given the half empty platter in his hand. His brothers had long since excused themselves, leaving him alone among them.

And all focused on the Angel before them.

He glanced at her. Something twinkled in his eye, a knowing that Heinrix didn't like. His lip curled in a smirk, revealing a fang.

"So, do you want a tale from Armageddon?!" Ulfar said, turning to the crowd, "Or perhaps from the Crusades of Barxus the Vile? Or even a tale of Lemun Russ himself eh?"

The crowd roared, pounding the tables, shouting their choices, and then fell silent, enraptured as the Space Wolf began his tale.

Soon, the hall was enthralled in a combination of religious ecstacy and rapt anticipation. Gasps, groans, and muttering provided a counterpoint as the Space Wolf wove his tale.

Once the crowd was thoroughly engrossed, Karroleen nudged him with her knee.

Smoothly as he could, given his pitched state, Heinrix left the table and exited toward the back, filtering through the clusters of guests with ease.

No one wanted to touch him, favored of the Rogue Trader or not.

Soon, he was out in the abandoned officer's deck, alone and waiting and throbbing. The place, usually so busy, was deserted. Deep into the night shift, no one was here. Behind him, the party carried on.

Which thank the Throne, because he was a mess, bereft of any dignity, brought low by his inpulses, hiding in a dim alcove like a hormone enslaved boy.

The glow of her arousal suddenly shifted, floating toward him. A rush of desire rolled through him, very different from his own. Pulsing from a deep place in his body he didn't have. Feeding him in turn. Needy, eager to receive, to build.

Her light steps echoed, quickened and suddenly, she was flinging herself into his arms. Their lips met, bruising and desperate. He tasted the peaches, her lipstick, the rich sauces. She pressed her tongue into his mouth and he moaned. For long minutes, they locked together, tasting each other at long last after weeks of denial.

God-Emperor, he had missed this.

Finally, She broke the kiss, their lips slowly parting with a notable sound. Her eyes remained closed for a moment, before opening them, looking at him, searching his face.

"I-" he managed to gasp out, quivering with longing. "I need you."

"This way," she said, pulling him from the shadowy little alcove down the carpeted hall.

Somewhere between here, and wherever there was, they became entangled again, his hands roaming over her slim body, her arms pulling him to her, her lips against his, their steps drunken and stumbling.

The scent of her curly hair, soft with exquisite oils, her perfume floral and rich, undercut with musk, fine wood and that warm note at the end. Soft leather. A touch of gun powder. She was with him again.

As he had desired her to be. As he wanted her to be forever.

They staggered round the central atrium, oblivious in their desire.

Finally, she pulled him into another alcove. He pinned her against the bulkhead with a kiss, his hands entangled in her hair. Even as she fumbled with something on the wall, he ran his hands down over her sides to her hips. Her hips pushed against his grip, her center thick with her slick.

Then she gave up finding what it was and buried her fingers in his hair.

"I want you," she whispered. "Please."

"Here?" he said, suddenly aware of the open space, of the eyes potentially watching them.

She hesitated. Her pleasure hummed, her heart hammering. But then she looked at him and that determination came into her eyes, that he had seen more and more often.

"I do not care," she said, her vice quivering. "You're here with me. Let me have you. As much as I can."

Angry. Fearful. She was afraid. Afraid that he was leaving. That she was no longer needed in his master's grand design. That he no longer could be with her. That he could put her aside.

Calcazar. Damn him.

He would have this one thing. He would show her how badly he needed her.

Clamping his hands on her buttocks, he hefted her easily, pinning her against the wall with his weight. Wrapping her legs around his waist, her clothed slit met the rock hard erection bulging in his pants.

He all but yelped, his touch starved cock pulsing with need. Drops of spend soaked into his briefs.

"Heinrix," she whispered hoarsely.

Her hands flew downwards, lifting his jacket tails, hurriedly undoing his belt with a clink. Her cheeks flushed, her movements tight with need, her focus did not waver.

"I thought of you all the time," she said, "every minute of every day. It was torture not being able to-"

She wrenched each button of his fly free, opened his trousers and exposed his stiff cock. With a soft little moan, she grasped his shaft, rubbing the sensitive underside with her palm.

He lifted her skirts with a growl, hefting the fabric around her waist. Hurriedly she hooked the panties of her thumb, sliding them to the side.

Her hips rolled in desperation and he pressed his hardness against her slick, shuddering. Then he slid into her, choking back a shout.

Instantly, her pleasure flared, pulsing through her. She began to groan in time with it, softly, quietly, deep from within her throat. It grew rapidly, every stroke from him pushing her toward the edge. Every rock of her hips made him dance.

"Yes, you always know," she gasped, her head dropping back, her back arching. "How to. How to. Yes!"

Her orgasm hit her after just a few strokes, blossoming outward. She cried out, shockingly loud in the silent atrium and he smothered the sound with his mouth. She shook, jerking against him, moaning against his lips. Straining with him, her body clenching around him.

Heinrix came undone. He did not shatter or falter. His will never even came into it. His body simply chased after her, following blindly. A heavy jerking orgasm almost took him to his knees, pumping her full of thick spend in groaning brainless pleasure.

Then they froze.

His face flushed crimson as they both came to from the high. Embarrassment crashed through him as he realized what happened.

He was a man, not an idiot boy and here he was. A complete mess. Now, they still had to go through the bridge to reach her quarters or through the atrium to his own chamber. Both of them soaked, disheveled and reeking of sex.

What was wrong with him? He was Heinrix van Calox, a member of the Holy Ordos, the representative of the Emperor's Will. And he was supposed to be looking out for her, ensuring her reign was stable, ensuring she did not slide into depravity. He was supposed to keep her from scandal, from rumor, from vice.

He was supposed to be doing a lot of things. He was supposed to be different. Different from the rest of the grasping suitors. Different from all the people who would use her.

Didn't she deserve better than simple bestial need from him? Didn't she deserve more? She did, a devotion he could not give her. His duty did not allow it. Did it not?

Here he was, leading her on. Leaving her exposed. Leaving himself exposed. Literally.

Damn him.

Slick dripped down, soaking his open trousers, air cooling on his sensitive skin. Pressing himself close to her, hiding his softening cock in her skirts, he felt more utterly and completely naked than he ever had before. In danger. Endangering her.

Shame filled him. He was an idiot. A useless idiot. What had he done? Why had he-

Then her hand touched his face, breaking him free of his spiraling thoughts. And she smiled at him, and it was like a sun breaking through a storm.

"I've got you," she said, wrapping an arm around his neck, her breath warm on his ear. "You're here with me on my ship. You're safe. You'll always be safe here with me."

Her hand went to her vox bead.

"Jocasta," she said softly. "Could you take care of...a matter of discretion for me? The officer's atrium. Ensure my privacy. If you would be so kind."

A firm murmur.

"Thank you, Jocasta," she said.

Never had she given Jocasta orders. For a long time, Karroleen had been terrified of her chief enforcer. That she had gone to her and not Abelard. There would be no loose ends and he wouldn't have to deal with Abelard's disapproval.

"Thank you," he said.

She smiled, and kissed his lips softly.

With her other hand, she finally found what she was looking for, pulling on a hidden catch.

A door, perfectly disguised, opened in the wall, revealing a dark somewhat dank hallway, free of the gilt, wood and carpeting of the officers deck. A purely utilitarian space, it reeked of plasma and oil. A servant's entrance.

Of course, there was another entrance. She really had thrown him, hadn't she?

Yes, she had, and that was fine. Better than fine.

Without another thought, he tumbled into the dark with her. And the door shut behind them.

***

Frozen in terror, hidden in the cramped space behind a statue of the God-Emperor, junior officers Litzte and Olam stood with each other, shaking. Breathing as quietly as they could, the two women desperately waited for her Ladyship and the Interrogator to leave. Hoping that they weren't seen or heard.

Overhearing them as they undeniably fucked each other into oblivion. Those two. The Ice Man and Her Ladyship. The Interrogator and the Rogue Trader.

What a stupid time to decide to take a break and go sneak some food from the tables.

A murmured conversation. Then a door clanked open. Relief rushed through them as the door hissed shut with a clunk of finality.

For a long moment, the two friends stood, the whole overheard encounter still present. Until the ongoing silence convinced them they were alone.

"Was that?" Olam squeaked.

"Yeah," Litzte hissed back, her eyes big as dinner plates.

"And that was?" Olam whispered.

"Yeah," Litzte said.

For a long moment, they both looked at each other. And then one then the other started to laugh in the hysterical manner of the post terrified.

Olam stepped out, fanning herself with a hand, her dark skin gleaming in the warm light of the atrium. Litzte, pale and slim, ruffled her red hair, still shaking from the adrenaline.

"We are going out an airlock if he ever finds out we know," Olam said.

Litzte took a deep breath. "He'll know we were here. He's a spy."

"We will keep our mouths shut," she said, flicking her black braids behind her ears. "If we pretend they weren't here, maybe they'll pretend we weren't here. Her Ladyship is merciful, even if he isn't. If someone asks, we saw nothing."

Litzte nodded, ready to let it go. But then, a memory popped into her head of a bet she'd made almost a year ago as a joke to tweak lieutenant Morice's nose, the main bookie of the officer's deck.

Twenty geld on the man least likely to ever crack through the Rogue Trader's facade.

A very important bet given the circumstances.

"Go on, I need to find someone," she said.

Olam held back. "I'm going back to my station and forgetting this ever happened."

She departed and Litzte hesitated. Lieutenant Morice would want to know that the biggest betting pool on the ship had just been solved.

And it was an awful lot of geld. Months of pay. A years worth of pay.

She walked toward the party, as if she had permission. Through the atrium as if nothing had happened.

This was going to be a good day.

A heavy hand crashed onto her shoulder and jerked her around. And she was face to face with the second most terrifying person on the ship.

Jocasta, the enforcer chief glared at her with eyes like stone, her face not even moving. Her hand gripped the baton at her waist, her thumb rubbing the pommel.

"Chief Jocasta," she whimpered.

Jocasta slapped her across the mouth, splitting her lip.

"I won't say anything," she whispered.

"No, you won't," Jocasta said. "If only you'd just followed petty officer Olam."

Litzte was not seen on the upper decks again.

[year2000electronics]

they kinda give me dipper and mabel gleeful vibes to be honest

[shirohua]

i would like to apologize and retract my earlier statement. me saying i hate dazai is just how i say i like him.

[beastren]

Glyndwr

A young elf with an air of gentleness and timidity that is rare among the usually haughty elves. He is interested in the tools humans use and is fluent in human language. He despairs his lack of skill in archery, which is essential for an elven guard.

Doireann

Sister of Glyndwr, she too hails from the elves' home in the forest depths. A quiet, refined young woman with elegant manners. Due to her older brother's influence, she understands a few words of human language, and is kind and welcoming to those of other races.

[unvow]

being married to sam would be great because i get a really strange and overly involved brother in law for free

[killian-whump]

First things first, I love Colin's outfit for the Fireworks display. Lovely, lovely. Casual but classy, warm, and with a touch o' green.

But check this out...

In the tent they had some kind of weird spotlight that totally changed the coloring of his outfit, turning blue jeans and a black coat into... beige slacks and a bright green coat.

PRESTO CHANGO!!!

And we get TWO lovely outfits for the price of one, lol 😂

[suzdin]

Let it be know that yes, I am FINALLY working on the next installment of Two for One. Please yell at me if I don’t get it out in a timely manner.

Here’s a quick little preview. Most of it blurred so you sneakies don’t see any spoilers 🤭

Update: added a screenshot so you don’t have to pause the video to read.

[lifeofloon]

Two cats. One lap.

[everythingmaxriemelt]

And now the three leading stars of “Zwei zu Eins/Two for One” ❤️ World premiere at München Film Festival