Work Text:
You had relearned many things in your time since returning from the Lazaret.
Walking.
Talking.
The constellations.
Magic.
Asra had taught you it all, with patience and prudence, giving each like a precious gift that would help you take your world back.
Of course, there were other things he had taught you, and not so wittingly. Things you had picked up on and mimicked without thought, things which he observed for the first time and had to pause so as not to cry at the sight of.
And of course, not all of them were delightful. Some of them were things he probably wouldn’t have taught or shown you given the choice, but now that you knew them, he wouldn’t change it for the world.
Your current favourite?
Teasing.
The sweaty slap of skin on skin fills the humid room, undercut by the distant sounds of the city at dusk carrying in through the open windows.
You are bent over the shop counter, paperwork strewn across it and made all the worse by your hands as you grapple for leverage, something to keep yourself steady as Asra pounds into you from behind.
You yelp as his teeth sink into your shoulder, the arm around your neck tightening just a little. In response, your back arches, adding to every delicious and torturous ache in your body.
“Let me hear you say it, baby,” he murmurs to you, voice breathless and low in your ear. “Tell me what I want to hear.”
You shake your head, and in response he takes his fingers from between your legs, where he has been teasing you for almost too long.
He laughs as you whine, as though he can hear your grinding teeth and how your foot would stamp if you could move it.
“Let me hear you say it,” he groans into your neck. “If you want to cum you need to say it.”
You shake your head, stubborn to the end. Despite the torture of his cock stretching you, despite knowing you could have come at least three times by now if he had not wrapped his magic so delicately around your body, you don’t yield.
You know the reward of the torture is far better than giving in so easily.
At your refusal, his movements immediately cease and he pulls out of you. He ignores your whine and turns you around to face him, lifting you with tense arms to lay you down on the counter.
Both of you are panting. There is a wicked glint in his eyes, one that says no part of him regrets letting you see just how much he loves hearing those three words from you.
How much it weakened his knees and tightened his throat the first time you said them.
How much it continues to floor him every time you say it again.
And how frustrating it is when you, with a wicked glint of your own, withhold them just to rile him up so he’ll fuck you into the next century.
Pushing his hair out of his face, he leans over to kiss you. It’s soft, and sweet, with his tongue sweeping in to taste every corner of you.
When he pulls away, breathless still, he nudges his nose against yours.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Please.”
“I love you.”
He grins. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love y–AH!”
He thrusts into you, right to the hilt, cutting you off with a strangled moan.
There he sits, enjoying the feel of you, sighing into your neck. You hear him murmur his affections, feel him nip at your flushed flesh. It makes you more than a little dizzy, and you squirm against him in response.
“Maybe next time,” he tells you, teeth grazing your jaw. “You’ll think twice before using my weaknesses against me.”
And you think, as he resumes his brutal pace and desperate little sighs, that maybe you definitely won’t.