He’s not entirely sure how he keeps winding up in positions like this –well, okay, no, that’s not entirely accurate.
A lot of it has to do with how much he loves you. He adores you, completely and utterly, and he’s happy to humor you on most of your ideas provided they aren’t too dangerous or expensive or downright ridiculous beyond any sense of reason.
And, admittedly, while he doesn’t like the risk involved with situations like these, it’s not like the two of you are cheating or in a secret relationship, or anyone stands to get hurt if the two of you get caught. The worst anyone would have to go through is some moderate embarrassment, maybe a lecture about knocking and-slash-or sense of appropriate time and place.
And considering that you had a panic attack during a mission and are still a little strung out from the stress of that –understandably so—there’s not a single thing he won’t do to help you feel better if it’s within his ability to do it.
Which is how Piotr ultimately finds himself with you in one of the changing booths on the X-Jet; they’re big enough to accommodate him –in and out of armor—and have a little bench built into them, meaning they should be big enough for what he’s offered to help you wind down a little.
Namely, riding him.
“Are you sure about this?” you murmur, wringing your hands as you watch him seat himself on the bench –and that’s definitely the stress talking, because normally you’d jump him within the first two seconds of him offering something like this.
“Lock door,” he reminds you kindly, then holds his hands out to you once you slip the latch into place. “And, da, I am. You had rough time, and if I can help you feel better, I will.”
“But you don’t like doing this,” you say, taking a half step towards him before stopping again.
“I like you,” he says earnestly. “I love you,” He gently takes your hand in his and smiles as he draws you to him. “I like being with you. I like making you feel good.”
You hide your face in his neck. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to. I know you’re not into the whole ‘semi-public sex’ thing like I am.”
Piotr kisses your temple. “I want to do this. I want you to feel good. Unless you would rather not, I am happy to do all this.”
You contemplate that for a moment before sitting up and looking him in the eye. “I just… I don’t want you to think you owe me or anything.”
He doesn’t understand where your anxiety draws from at times. Your relationship has never been transactional; everything he does is because he loves you and he either wants to do it or thinks it’ll benefit one or the both of you.
But just because he doesn’t understand where you brain goes in moments like these doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to reach you while you’re there.
“Y/N L/N, I love you with my whole heart. You are my fiancée—” he picks up your left hand and taps on your engagement ring, which makes you smile “—and if there is anything I can do to help you feel better in this life, I will do it. I have never –and will never—feel like I owe you comfort because comfort and love are what you deserve. The only thing that will stop this situation is an emergency or if you say ‘no,’ khorosho? Everything we might do from this moment forward, I am okay with.”
You take a deep breath, then smile and nod. “Okay. Yeah.”
He smiles back, then leans in to kiss you.
It never takes him long to react to you or your body. Even after so many years and what must be thousands –quite literally—of kisses, the sensation of your lips against his is still nothing short of heavenly.
He sighs through his nose as you thread your fingers through his hair and shifts his hands to rest on –and gently grope at—your ass. You’ve taken to rolling your hips against his crotch, and he can feel his cock thickening with every movement of your hips –and, admittedly, excitement at the prospect of being inside you soon.
Speaking of which…
He holds up his index finger when he breaks the kiss –“One moment, dorogoy.”—and reaches into his nearest pocket. Protein bar, wallet, phone…
You frown, confused, as he shifts to check the matching pocket on the opposite side of his cargo pants. “Babe? Are you okay?”
“Completely.” He kisses you as he opens the largest of his cargo pockets and fishes around in there. “I just… need…”
Except he can’t find what he needs in there, either. Or the next pocket. Or the next. Or the next. Or the next. Or in literally any his pockets.
You snort at the startled look on his face, having caught on to what he was looking for. “Do we not have a condom? You keep at least twenty protein bars and a whole bag of dental flossers on you at any given time, but you don’t have a condom?”
“I have high metabolism,” he defends himself, grinning as you giggle and slump against his shoulder. “And flossing is part of proper dental hygiene. Speaking of which—”
“No.” You press your index finger against his lips. “You’re about to fuck me senseless. You are not lecturing me about dental hygiene right now.”
“Well, no,” he corrects, kissing the pad of your finger before taking your hand in his and interlocking your fingers. “But we still have other options, if you’d like,” he murmurs as he plants kisses against your neck –he’s already thinking about setting you on the bench and eating you out until you’re a writhing mess, and granted it’d be a little tricky since the bench itself is so low to the floor and the space is limited, but he wants to make it work, fuck, he’s getting harder at just the idea—
“Actually,” you respond, already a little breathless from his work on your neck. “I do have an idea.”
“By all means.”
“But you’ll have to get into defense mode first.”
Now it’s his turn to frown in confusion. The two of you usually avoid “fraternizing” while he’s armored up; it’d just be a very fast trip to getting you hurt, and his overall sensation is so drastically lowered that he can’t really feel any touches of that caliber in his armor. All in all, it’s just not worth the effort. “I do not understand.”
“Well, there’s this thing I want to try called thigh riding—”
And that just makes him frown deeper –because what even is that?
“It’s like dry humping, but on your thigh,” you explain before positioning yourself on one of his thighs to demonstrate.
And now that he knows what you’re talking about, he can see the appeal, but— “I still do not see need for my armor.”
“The plane vibrates when it flies, and metal is really great for conducting vibrations…”
He chuckles quietly when your voice trails off. “Really.”
“Come on, baby.” You loop your arms around his neck and press kisses all over his face. “Please? Pretty, pretty please?”
Like there was a chance he’d say no.
“Step back,” he says, acquiescing with a smile. “I do not want to hurt you while I change.”
You let out a delighted –albeit quiet—squeal and bounce back, clapping your hands.
He can’t help but smile fondly –he loves you so much, he can feel it with every breath he takes—then focuses on shifting into his armor.
The bench creaks a little as he phases into his bulkier steel form –but ultimately holds, considering that most of the things on the jets were designed with his weight threshold in mind to begin with.
You cock your head to one side and smile softly as you look him over. “I always love watching you do that. You look so cool; it never gets old.”
He smiles bashfully and holds out one hand to you. “Come here, myshka.”
You quickly clamber into his lap and start peppering his face with kisses.
He chuckles, but quickly –gingerly—holds you back. “Careful. Do not—”
“You need love in this form too, big guy.” You tap your index finger against his nose, then smile softly. “I love you.”
He smiles back shyly. “And I love you, dorogoy.”
You kiss him gently, almost delicately, then shift so you’re straddling one of his thighs. You flex your hips, then stop and duck your head sheepishly.
He places your hands on your hips –gently, mostly just to comfort you—and lets his lips brush against your temple. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know –it’s just weird. I feel like you’re not going to enjoy yourself.”
“I will, dorogoy. Besides, you should focus on you.”
“Yeah, but it seems weird to get myself off and not you.”
“But I like watching you cum,” he murmurs as he gently –very gently—mouths at your neck. He smirks when you shudder against him. “I want to watch you cum.”
You gasp and grip his shoulders. “Yeah? Even like this?”
“Da. I want to see if your idea works.” He tenses his thigh, which makes you suck in a breath. “Is your ‘transferring of vibrations’ premise working?”
“Oh, it definitely is.” You squirm against him a little. “You feel… you feel amazing.”
“Good.” He presses a delicate kiss against your jaw. “Will you start now, dorogaya moya? Pozhaluysta? I want to watch you.”
You whimper a little, then brace your hands against his shoulder and start rocking your hips back and forth.
He does really enjoy watching you while your work yourself –or, more often, while he works you—towards an orgasm. From an artistic perspective, he likes watching the way your face changes –all the little microexpressions, the changes to your skin as your body flushes from arousal, which muscles tense and which ones relax; he is an artist, and his duty aside from creating art is appreciating it, and the universe has never created a more beautiful masterpiece than you.
From a non-artistic perspective, though, it’s a massive turn on.
Your whines and whimpers as you grind against his thigh go straight to his cock; he has to continually remind himself that he’s in his armor, which means he can’t grab you too hard or move too quickly, that he needs to hold still while you take your pleasure…
Speaking of which, your theory about the vibrations from the jet transferring through him seems to be confirmed, because you’re winding up much faster than you normally do.
Your eyelids flutter as your eyes roll into the back of your head, and your lips stretch into an ‘o’ shape as you moan quietly. “Piotr—”
“That’s it,” he murmurs in Russian –he knows you like it during situations like these—while he nuzzles your neck as gently as he can. “You’re doing so good, my love.”
Your fingers dig into the material of his uniform, and you pant as you grind your hips against his thigh. “Fuck—”
“I know you’re almost there,” he continues, voice husky with his own arousal. “Come on, little mouse, I want you to feel good. You deserve to feel good. Can you do this for me? Can you make yourself cum for me?”
You throw your head back, your back arches, and you smack your palms against his chest –which does worry him for a moment, he’d forgotten how much control you lose during moments like this—
But then you’re climaxing, and he doesn’t have to be inside you to be sure of that. Not with the way you’re gasping, or the way your hips jerk erratically against his thigh.
He catches you before he can collapse against him –he doesn’t want you risking giving yourself a concussion, especially with this as the context for it. “Better?”
“Yeah,” you pant breathlessly. “That was… that was really good.”
“I am glad,” he murmurs as he tries to slow his own racing heart and get the blood flow in his body going in more normal directions.
Before he can get anywhere with that endeavor, however, your hand slides off his shoulder, down his chest, and rubs against the bulge in his pants.
“Well,” you purr in a husky, still slightly breathless voice. “What do we have here?”
Even in his pants, his cock twitches at your touch. “You underestimate how arousing it is to watch you get off.”
“Is that so?” You rub your hand over his erection, then grip him through his cargos. “Mind if I do something about this?”
He’s hard-pressed to imagine a situation where he would mind. “If you’d like.”
“Oh, I’d like,” you say seductively as you slide off his thigh and get down on your knees. “In fact, I’d really like to suck your dick.”
He has to bite back a groan at that –and then quickly grab at the waistband of his pants when you reach for his belt. “Wait, moya lyubov’. Let me change back first, please.”
You grin and sit back on your heels. “Fair point. I don’t think I could get your dick in my mouth right now.”
He does groan at that, then quickly shifts out of defense mode.
You waste no time undoing his belt –he lifts his hips so you have an easier time pulling his pants down a little—and then you fish his cock out of his briefs and—
There are times where you tease him –work him over by trailing your tongue up and down his shaft, swirling it around his head, maybe taking an inch of his into your mouth for a couple fleeting moments before going back to teasing him, until he was on the verge of begging and occasionally passing it.
Today is not one of those days, however, and he couldn’t be more grateful. He actually moans in relief as you take about half his length into your mouth, until he quickly remembers where he is and who else is on the jet and claps a hand over his mouth.
You start bobbing your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking when you reach the bottom of the motion before relaxing your mouth and moving back up. You look up at him, eyes wide and almost innocent looking as you suck on his cock—
Then you take a deep breath and slide your mouth down his length until your nose is pressed against his crotch.
Piotr bites down on his fist to avoid moaning out loud. His eyes squeeze shut, and his hips flex forward before he could stop himself –which only makes you moan excitedly around his cock, the vibrations of which go straight through his dick and nearly make him lose his mind because blyad.
It’s good. Too good. Between watching you get off on his thigh and having your mouth around him, he’s already on the edge of losing himself and he can’t… he can’t…
“Wait,” he manages amidst the myriad of sensations and fog of euphoria he’s in. He places one hand on your hair, more guiding your head back as you move your mouth off his cock than holding on to you. “You need to stop.”
“Why?” you ask, voice rusty from having had his cock down your throat. “Does it hurt?”
“Nyet. I am… just too close.”
You smirk and wrap a hand around his dick. “That sounds like the opposite of a problem.”
“I am not climaxing in your mouth, dorogoy,” he says quickly –it’s an old argument; he knows you don’t mind, but it just feels wrong to him. “And any other way would make too much mess.”
You mull it over for a moment, then grin up at him. “You could cum in me.”
“I just said—”
“Not in my mouth. In me.”
It takes him a second to catch your meaning, but then the penny drops and he can physically feel himself turning red. “That –we do not have protection.”
“My period ended two days ago,” you say, voice thrumming with excitement. “And there are always contraceptive pills.”
It’s tempting. And, even better, it’s possible. You’re both clean, you’re committed to each other, you’re both in a position to consent to it—
He lifts you off the floor and into his lap so you’re straddling him, then kisses you. Hard.
You starting shimmying your pants and underwear off –he has to catch you when they snag on your boots and you almost fall over—
But before you can lower yourself onto his cock, he slides two fingers between your folds and into you and—
You’re soaked, almost dripping down his fingers.
You whimper and press your face against his shoulder as he crooks his fingers against your walls. “Piotr!”
He’s not necessarily trying to get you off –though it looks like he might, and if he does it’s not like he’s going to complain about it; he’s more trying to calm himself down enough that he doesn’t climax as soon as you sink down onto his cock.
He does have some standards, after all.
You, however, are none so patient. You tolerate maybe fifteen seconds of him fingering you before you’re pushing your hand away and kissing him passionately, and then your hand is sliding down his chest and wrapping around his dick, and bozhe moi.
Your wet cunt feels like heaven against his bare cock. You lower yourself onto him slowly, giving him time to feel every inch of your walls, to savor the sensation of how you feel without a condom between the two of you…
And then you start bouncing up and down on his cock, and then it becomes a race to get you off before he completely loses his mind and the last few shreds of his self-control.
He plants his feet against the floor, puts one hand on each side of your waist, and starts lifting you up and down the length of his cock, hard and fast.
You grip his shoulders, fingers curling into the material of his suit. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth falls open—
“Quiet,” he pants against your damp skin as he mouths at your neck. “Quiet, we have to be quiet—”
And then your walls clench around his cock as you climax, and your fingernails dig into his shoulders, and he’s done for.
He slams you down against his hips as hard as he dares –he’s pretty well strung-out on ecstacy, but that doesn’t mean he wants to risk hurting you—and cums with a choked groan.
You gasp against the crook of his neck as he releases inside you, almost trembling as you both ride out your respective orgasms.
For a moment, neither of you move; the two of you simply stay put, catching your breath and enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence
Eventually, though, you do attempt to stand –which immediately presents a problem… namely that without a condom, there’s nothing to catch… everything…
“Shit.” You attempt to sit back down, but that just… pushes everything out faster and makes a mess of your ass and his pants. You start giggling and collapse against his shoulder. “I don’t think we thought this through. Piotr, I don’t think we thought this through at all!”
He sighs –he’s going to have to get these pants dry cleaned—but can’t resist chuckling along with you. “Perhaps not.” He kisses your forehead gently. “Ya lyublyu tebya, myshka.”
“I love you, too, babe.”