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This contains what could probably be considered dubious consent, or non-consent due to intoxication. There are descriptions of drunkenness as well as dominant/submissive language. The intent is that both parties are consenting, but if you are unsure at all whether the situation might trigger or upset you, please do not read.

Also as a quick note: I might have bungled up some descriptions/timeline stuff and if that takes you out of it I apologize. I took some liberties but hopefully they are small enough that it doesn't matter much.

Thanks so much for reading!

Despite En’s scolding when you enter his room without warning, he bursts through your door without so much as a knock or hesitation.

To be fair, he's absolutely plastered, and you are a little drunk too, and you've been expecting him for a while now. 

"Oh, En!" you call in a sing-song voice. "what took you so long?"

You knew just how drunk he was. You were at the ball, for once content to socialize far away from him knowing he would definitely come visit you later. You could tell by how often servants were snapped at to fill his glass, and how intensely he was chatting up whichever rich or powerful guest he could corner to shill his new product or sniff something out about their magic. 

You forget which particular excuse it was for the event this time, but whatever he was getting out of it seemed to be keying him up more than usual. 

When you weren't sneaking glances, it wasn't very long before you'd felt eyes on you that you knew were his. As a result you’d been admittedly distracted, and after a while everyone who you’d pretended to be conversing with left when they realized you weren’t listening to a word they were saying. 

After you had your fun drinking and acting aloof you went back to your room, smiling and humming to yourself the entire long walk back. 

Even knowing his state of mind now, it's a little surprising to see him squint up at you in your cage and sway on his feet a little. 

You should scold him for drinking so much, but it'll only piss him off and probably make him leave out of spite. If you were being perfectly honest, the walk to your room from the main hall is more than a pain when you’re as drunk as En clearly is, and it warms you to know he still bothered to come all this way.  Even if it was just to get off. 

"Come down here," he says, voice still as strong and silky smooth as ever despite the obvious slur. 

You smile. "Darling, the bed's up here."

He stares at you for a long moment before shrugging it off. You’re happy at least that his binge drinking tonight appears to have calmed him rather than fuel his temper. You love his temper as much as you love everything else about him, but at the moment you have certain goals in mind that require his cooperation.

He steps forward before pausing and then doing a graceless spin back to the door. He slides the lock in place, even though no one but him ever comes to your room.

You giggle into your fist before he turns back around, though he is too engrossed in pulling himself up the ladder to your cage to notice. 

You feel a little bad for him when he almost misses a step, and you pull him up next to you once he reaches the doorway. 

"Hello," you say.

He squints at you, apparently still having trouble seeing you clearly despite how close you are.

Finally, he grunts and decides to close his eyes instead, sinking back into your downy blankets.

You watch him with your head propped in your hand as he immediately falls asleep. 

You sigh. You'd be disappointed, but he's just so impossibly cute lying in your bed and you drink in the sight. You memorize it for use in future fantasies… fantasies in which you are together for real and you get to have him next to you every night. 

Before you can get too sad you put your hand on his chest and lightly smoothe down his tie. You let your fingertips dip under his jacket just a little, but for now you just enjoy the sensation of the tie's silk against your palm. 

His chest rises slowly, and for a moment you can actually feel how much power is contained there. Even wasted, he could destroy everything and everyone in the manor and a great deal of the surrounding area in a manner of minutes.

It's unbearably sexy. 

You pull your mask off and lick your lips before you start drooling. You treasure your mask but it’s immune to the abuse you put it through -- you barely hear the slap of it hitting the ground below while you lean over En. 

Gently, you finger the loop of his tie and loosen it until you can slide it free. You can’t help yourself and push open a few buttons of his shirt as well… Anyway, he deserves to be comfortable after such a long night.  

He tenses when you place your hand on his chest and you start, automatically anticipating his smoke. 

He grunts and squints at you like he never fell asleep. 

“Cold…” he mumbles, and you realize he must be referring to your hands. Usually En runs very cold and you run hot, but he’s drunk a lake’s worth of wine and you keep it cold in your room. 

It's so cute how sensitive he is.

"Why don't you warm me up?" you say. 

He casts a long, withering look at you, the sleep visibly creeping up on him again. 

You change tactics quickly.

"Can I take your mask off?" you ask, finger trailing along the metal that cradles his jaw.

For a moment it looks like you were too late and he’s fallen asleep again, but suddenly he mumbles something and reaches up. 

You gently bat his hand away.

"En,” you say again. You try to be serious but you can’t help but sing his name every time. “Remember last time? Let me do it." 

He'd refused to take it off at all the first few times you'd done this. Those times had been quick and went exactly by his orders. You'd of course been more than happy to let him bend you over wherever and whenever he wanted, but you also knew he couldn't possibly be satisfied with just a quick orgasm. 

En was born to be worshiped, but as usual is too stubborn to let you worship him how you see best. 

When he had finally conceded to take off his mask ("just to shut you up," he'd said), he refused to let you put it somewhere safe. In the end, he'd somehow lost it under your bed and had given you hell for it, blaming you for being so annoying and making him take it off.

Luckily he’d gotten over that anger just as quickly as it’d come on, and he mumbles something that sounds like some sort of a 'yeah.'

You carefully, reverently slide the mask off. You roll over and gently place it on your bedside table (there's now a very soft altar cloth folded there for just such an occasion) before rolling back to his side and staring down at him.

You run your hand down the side of his naked face. His skin is flush and even warmer from drinking and the roughness of his jaw feels so good against your palm.

You turn his head towards you and kiss him, and you feel your blood boiling at how boozy and earthy and so very En he smells. 

He grunts and turns his head, eyes cracked just enough to telegraph his annoyance. Out of everything, kissing always meets with the most resistance. It makes your chest hurt painfully every time. 

"Don't be selfish," you scold, following his mouth with yours.

"Chota," he snaps, and you kiss him again. You insist.

This time his mouth parts just enough for you to notice it, and by some arcane magic he lets you stick your tongue into his mouth without further resistance. 

Out of obligation he makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, but his body betrays him and he goes boneless against you. 

For your part you're moaning into him like he's a decadent piece of cake. Underneath the stinging flavor of tobacco he does taste sweet - a wine that Turkey made specifically to his tastes. He's absolutely soaked in the stuff, and you savor it as a compliment to the chef.

“There,” you say, sitting up straight and gazing down at him like the gift that he is. “See? Wasn’t so bad.”

He looks unamused, but you’re immediately hit with what feels like a wave of ice water when he licks his lips.

You can’t help but stare with a lust that silences everything else in your brain. Everything you are is blood rushing straight down. It barely registers when his expression changes, but when you come back to your senses you think his face might be a little pinker.

You take hold of his collar and tear his shirt open. A couple buttons fly off, their clinking off the metal of your cage sounds as though it’s miles away.

Hey -” he complains, but quiets when you lean over him and lick a stripe down his bare chest.

You don’t detach your mouth from him as you push his arms out of his shirt and jacket. You’re maybe a little too rough lifting him bodily from the bed and tearing his clothes off of him, but you can’t control yourself. 

You feel the vibration of his grumble against your mouth as you kiss the bumps of his ribcage. You’re displeased that he’s been getting skinnier lately, but it admittedly sparks something in you to be able to wrap your arms around him easier than before. 

You kiss his too-flat stomach, missing the softness that was there when he wasn’t so stressed. When you crawl back up to kiss him again you realise he's already passed out.

This time you are frustrated. You whine and seriously contemplate shaking him. With a great mental effort you decide to let him rest. 

It's not like his dick will work anyway if he's this far gone, and he's going to need as much rest as possible with how hungover he will be tomorrow.

You sigh, willing away all of the tension vibrating through you. It doesn’t work in the slightest.

Taking what you can get, you lie down next to him and slide your arms around him. You press your painful hard-on against his thigh and bite your lip. 

You sigh again, accepting that you just have to wait for your dick to get soft by itself. You may be a bit of a shitbag sometimes, but you won't get off to En's unconscious body while he's lying right there. Maybe it's no more disgusting than what you usually fantasize about, but something about his actual presence makes you less willing. 

Still, there's no harm in touching him just a little more. You grab at his chest as though he's a woman and bite your lip. 

"You look so good," you say quietly.

He mutters something, and you feel warm knowing that dream Chota gets to experience such a gentle tone.

Stroking his chest, you take a long, contented breath. 

You wish you could bottle this moment. Once again, you refuse to allow the knowledge of how ephemeral this is to hatch into something sad and dark. 

You focus on how warm your bed is with him in it. How lovely he looks when he's relaxed. Without the mask, he has a softer face than one might expect. You know exactly how soft every inch of it is, and for that you are eternally thankful. 

"I love you," you say.  

This time he doesn't make a sound beyond deep, even breaths. 

You feel yourself calming down easily just staring at his profile and listening to him breathe. 

You can’t help but smile at how happy you are.


At some point you must have fallen asleep, because you are eventually woken up by a hand on your shoulder.


It's En's voice- the sleep and the long night of chain smoking has roughened it into something almost unrecognizable. You are immediately awake and halfway up before his hand is pushing you back down. 

His mouth bumps your cheek and then lands on your mouth, and you automatically open up for him.

The sound he makes is still very drunk, but it's got that rare urgency you've only heard when he's on the edge. It's enough to send a thousand volts through every inch of you.

His hand slides under your neck and wraps around, thumb tracing up the jewelry in your ear. There's one there he gave you recently - a delicate gold bird he made you promise to pretend you'd bought yourself. 

You shiver and moan. " En, " you say against his mouth. 

He presses all of his weight down on you and you put your hands on his hips, fitting them against yours. You need to see if - yes, he's getting stiff already. You thank every devil you can think of that En was blessed with so much stamina.

You recklessly bite his lip as he's about to pull away, and by some miracle he abides by the request, staying still while you kiss up his jaw.

"En," you say again, letting all of your reverence pour out of you. You really sound like a whore now, but you feel no shame for how much you desire him. You want him so badly it hurts. 

He leans into you just a fraction. You have to tamp down your adoration while you bask in the fact that, by his standards, he's nuzzling you. 

You nuzzle back, trapping him with your hand on his jaw. He's not fighting you like usual, and you stop yourself from declaring your undying love by kissing up and down his neck. 

You kiss and kiss and kiss and he lets you. It's so miraculous that you can't help but suck at the skin there, threatening to mark him. Normally he'd be viciously elbowing you in the ribs at the barest hint of this behavior, but he's still pressing against you and you're going absolutely crazy. 

You nip and lick the skin just under his jaw, moving down to kiss just above his artery, and finally drop to his clavicle to bite him. 

You've never heard him moan, but what comes out of him is the closest thing you've ever gotten. It's really just another of his frustrated sounds, but the way he lets his head fall back just a little gives it a strained throaty quality.

It's far too much for you. You want to keep tasting him and showering him with love just like this forever, but more than that you need him to get what he's come to you for so he will want to come back.

Prying yourself away with great difficulty, you wrap an arm around his waist and flip him back down onto the bed. 

It takes him a moment to react to his new position, and he grabs your hands just as you free the button on his pants. He glares, expression all intoxicated defiance.

You instantly understand the message.

It's almost a law of the cosmos that when En wants something he takes it. And there have been plenty of times where he's bent you over a table or desk or even laid you out on the floor and fucked you without bothering to greet you. 

But you know better and it's why he comes to you. 

You know him better than anyone. You know there's something he needs more than everything he's been able to take for himself.  It's something he can't take, or ask for, or even explain. 

Luckily, you are very good at this - at reading people…but especially reading En. When he's trusting you like this, you can't deny him anything. 

Feigning frustration, you frown at him.

You easily break his hold and grab his wrist instead, throwing off what little balance he'd had. His other hand grips at the blankets, but you manage to flip him over without completely tangling yourselves up for once.

He grunts and squirms when you get on top of him, your dead weight enough to pin him without much effort. Of course, there's absolutely nothing you could do should he decide to use his smoke on you, but in your tiny shared world right now you are stronger than him and you will get what you want. 

"Hold still," you say. 

You've gotten some practice sounding vicious, accepting your role with gusto as soon as you'd discovered how wild it makes him.

"Get off," he says, voice angry but also so uncharacteristically quiet. 

"Make me," you reply. 

He gives it a valiant effort. Without his magic, he really is no match for you physically. In the end, he gets a few good elbows in and manages to bite your hand pretty hard, but he can't break out of your hold. 

He's panting with the exertion by the time he goes mostly still, and you're so hard you're afraid you're going to cum just from pinning him. 

"Are you going to be good now?" you manage to get out despite how tight your throat is. 

He's quiet outside of his ragged breathing, face turned away. It's still hard to believe acting shy is something he'd even know how to do.

"Well?" you ask, a little disgusted at how cruel you manage to sound.

The sound has the opposite effect on him, though. You can feel the tension in his body growing by the second. 

You move your hips briefly to slap his ass, easily recapturing his arm as he attempts to elbow you again. Had it landed, that one might have broken a rib or two. 

He growls in frustration, the struggle between wanting to be dominated and wanting to punish anyone who would defy him already taking a toll on him. 

You give him a good minute of silently waging his internal war. Though he wants to be pushed, you know it’s still almost impossible for him to let anything drift out of his control. You know when to be patient.

Finally, he replies with his face buried in your pillow. It's muffled, but you hear it clearly.  


Now that he’s letting you, you can push. It’s chess, and you are impressed at how well he’s managing considering how shitfaced he still is.

You lean in fully, slowly pressing down on him. Like this he won't be able to move at all. Letting your full weight sink onto him, you wordlessly threaten to smother him. It's not a real threat of course, but the air is electric and it’s more than obvious it’s fair play.

"I didn't hear you," you say into his ear.

You grind your hips against his ass a little - also a threat - and struggle to keep your voice even. "I asked you, 'Are you going to be good for me now?'"

You release a wrist because he won't be able to attack you like this anyway, and grab hold of the back of his neck. You keep him still while you lick the shell of his ear

He makes a frustrated sound but otherwise stays quiet.

He knows you expect an answer, so you gently kiss his shoulder blade to kill time. 

But it's too long, and he’s much too mixed up at this point, and he stays quiet. You finally let up a little when you feel his breathing get too shallow. 

He gasps, and you can hear the saliva choking him. You rub his back while he coughs, hating yourself so much when you feel him shaking.

“You’re so stubborn,” you force yourself to say. “Why don’t you just behave?”

You get off of him and take hold of his shoulder. When you turn him you feel your burning hatred for this dissipate a little.

He looks positively feverish. His skin from face to chest is red, and he stares at you with an emotion that doesn’t fit on his face. It’s something like fear, but ...maybe more like awe. 

Reverent… like you're some kind of god.

You absolutely cannot let your facade crack, even though all you want to do is touch his face and kiss him back to sanity. 

“Fight me all you want, but I’m taking what’s mine,” you say. Somehow, magically, your voice doesn't waver.

You tug off his pants with ease. It was clear as day before just how hard he was, but with just his shorts he certainly paints a picture. You enjoy teasing him when he’s just barely clothed, but you know neither of you are going to last much longer. You pull them off too.

You want so badly to suck his dick. To reward him for what he’d endured, and because you simply want him in your mouth. But it’s not in the cards tonight. You know exactly what he wants from you, and you can be just a little more patient. 

You turn him back around again, this time pulling his ass against your hips with ease. His knees and elbows are shaking, so you steady him with one arm while you unzip your pants.

You smile when you hear him take in a breath. It feels so amazing to free yourself from your pants, but it feels even better when you let the weight of your dick settle against his ass.

“I’m not waiting anymore.”

He makes an almost imperceptible noise but it’s more than enough to spur you on.

You spit in your hand and do your best to make yourself slick. It’s mostly a failure, but he wants the pain anyway. 

You grab his ass with all of the rough technique of a back-alley pervert, and with your other hand guide yourself into him. 

As expected, it’s almost impossible with how bowstring tense he is. Luckily, you’d managed recently to get him to absorb some of your advice, and now it just takes your hand on the small of his back to remind him to relax. 

His frame slackens a little and you slide into him. You keep your hand on his back as a reminder and move the other to pull his hips back towards you again.

It’s slow going but when you finally bury yourself fully he’s covered in sweat and relying entirely on you to hold him up.

You release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and savor the feeling of being inside En. Every form of love and lust washes over you at once and you want to cry. You cherish every emotion you feel when you’re around him, but this one is relatively new and is always the most sublime.  

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from breaking down, and you are thankful En doesn’t seem to care that you don’t have the presence of mind to play anymore. You pull back just a little and bury yourself again. 

You almost jump at the sound he makes.


It’s… a whine. A plea.

You stare at the back of his head in shock. Your hips thankfully operate without the use of your brain, and you do it again.

Even though he’s more relaxed it’s still so tight and the friction is so intense, you know the pressure he’s feeling must be bordering on painful. But he makes that sound again and you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails into his too-prominent hip bones. 


This time you choke out some strained sound, hoping it conveys your promise to fuck him hard, and you thrust into him.

The first few thrusts are shaky and slow. You’re so full of anticipation and lust that you’re clumsy, but you manage to turn that excited energy into the punishing pace that you know he wants.

It takes only a few moments to find the spot, but when you do he sounds like you buried a knife into him.

He's spitting a string of muffled not-words into your mattress, and you are repeating his name every few breaths.

After a far too short time he reaches to touch himself, and you grab his arm. He growls, and for the first time all night he sounds dangerously sober.

"Just wait a minute," you say with your best soothing voice. "Just a little longer."

"Hurry,” he says. The past handful of minutes have turned what was left of his roughened voice into a rasp, but the familiar forcefulness in his tone makes your heart swell.

Though the threat of retribution is real now, you defy him and slow down. You pull out slowly and then grind into him with the force of your whole body until you're pressed against his back. You do this a few more times, running your hands up his sides and holding his waist. You hold him perfectly still while you fuck him slowly, your orgasm so unbearably close each time.

He has to be the same, because he moves to touch himself again.

"Wait, " you say a little too forcefully but by some ungodly luck he obeys, slamming his fist down on your mattress and grunting in displeasure.

"Chota," he says. He sounds as exhausted as you know he must be, so you relent. 

You breathe hard and drive into him quickly, pinning his hands with yours and hitting his most sensitive spot over and over and over. You can't help but pant obscenely with the exertion, and you almost cum immediately when you realize he's panting hard too. 

Finally you let go of his hands and grab hold of his cock. You can feel how close he is from the weight and heat in your hand. Out of both sympathy and perverse excitement you jack him off in time with your now brutally quick thrusts. 

It's barely moments before he cums, and you can no longer keep yourself together when his flushed back arches and he shouts your name with something closer to rage than pleasure.

As much as you love every aspect of him, you can’t help but favor his volatile self. It's what you've known best all of these years, and the sound of it is music to your ringing ears. 

You finish inside him with dizzying abruptness, letting your hips go on autopilot while you are without your senses for an indeterminate amount of time.

The heaps of remaining tension and excitement and joy and love have to come out of you somehow, so you laugh joyously as the feeling comes back to your body and your muscles turn to jelly.

En’s still hunched over with his back to you, but you can see his body similarly going slack. 

You ease yourself out of him without making much of a mess and pat the red mark you'd left on his ass from earlier. Your hand is covered in his cum and you leave a wet mark. 

"What is wrong with you?" he snaps. He props himself up on wobbly arms, and once barely steadied he turns and punches you square in the chest.

"Ow," you pretend. "What did I do?"

He's quiet suddenly. The sleepiness is plain on his face but you are instantly alert.

"Chota," he says. There's a heaviness to his tone that clashes with how out of it he looks, but it's often extremely dangerous not to take him seriously.

"...Yes? En?" you practically beg when he doesn't go on.

He spends a few moments seemingly gathering his thoughts from the sludge of his exhaustion. "You know how annoying you are?" he finally says.

You process his words slowly and then pout. "You don't really mean that," you say. 

Another silence, and maybe you are a little too drunk as well, because you have a nagging feeling that he'd wanted to say something else.

He casts one last glare at you and lies down, pulling one of your soiled sheets over him. 

You should really force him to get up and bathe or at least use the toilet, but at this point it's honestly incredible he can even stay conscious.

It doesn't matter. You'll carry him.

For the moment, though… you'll let him rest just a little bit. He really looks so cute all bundled up in your sheets. You slip under them from the other side, inching closer until your side is touching his back. 

You sigh, this time contentedly. The glow you're feeling could be categorized as radioactive. 

As you're about to drift off yourself you could swear you suddenly feel his back pressing closer to you. He mumbles something that sounds like "cold," and you grin. 

When you wrap your arms around him and pull him close to you he shifts and lazily bends one arm around yours. You will all of the warmth you possess into him and you both fall asleep. 

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks again!