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Stars, you love him.
You’re not sure when it started, not that it really matters in the long run. The thought of him consumes you in a way that’s beyond just love, it’s a hopeless devotion. You love him like you love something far from your grasp, something cosmically beyond you but irresistible all the same. You’ll keep it to yourself if you can help it. What you share with him is purely physical, and though the way he worships your body is utterly divine, you try to remember that.
But, fuck, he makes it hard.
“So perfect for me.” He mutters, lips pressed to your throat to share a few gentle kisses, one hand holding your waist, while the other is holding him up in the pillows by your head. Your lashes flutter slowly as you lean your cheek to his jaw.
Each inch of him is pressed slowly into you, far too intimate to be anything but making love. He pulls his head back from your throat, searching your face, lips parted slightly with each breath. He looks beautiful in the dim lighting, his features unfairly perfect.
“You look beautiful.” He says, taking the words from your mouth, hips gently rocking into yours fully. Your lips part, soft whines falling from them, each press of his hips feeling more divine than the last. Your hands rest weakly on his chest, fingers forgetting their prior task of tracing his tattoos. He sighs in pleasure, eyes pressing shut for a moment before he’s looking back at you, one golden eye gleaming.
His hand slides down your waist, fingers pressing into the side of your thigh, catching under your knee to push it up. He doesn’t force it higher than you can manage, thumb gently rubbing over your soft skin. It’s so much deeper this way. He’s so close, so much of his skin touching yours, so warm-
“I wish-“ His words stop your running thoughts, your eyes looking up at him reverently. His gaze is slowly sifting over your body, taking in each detail as he considers his words through the gentle exhales of pleasure. “I want you to see yourself. So pretty.. taking me so well.”
You flush deeply, his praise and affection wearing your heart out. You shouldn’t be so in love, but he’s all you’ll ever want, and you know that better than anything.
“Mmh- Midas—“ You embarrassingly stammer out his name, watching the corner of his lips curl up in a smirk at the pathetic attempt. You don’t even know what you want to say; probably something stupid, something that you shouldn’t even be thinking.
“Shh.” He utters gently, expression faltering slightly into something more sincere and sweet, something where his lips part in ecstasy and there’s nothing but focus and adoration in his gaze. “Just feel.”
It’s all you can do. Right now, there’s nothing else but him, nothing but the way he fills you and the way he feels underneath your palms. You’re not sure where you end and he begins; where you become separate and different things. There are stars in your eyes, and he hung them there himself.
“Please,” You whisper, a gentle whine breaking up your plea. “Kiss me?”
You watch as he tilts his head, feel the stretch as he pushes your knee a little closer to your chest. He seems to be thinking, brows pushing ever so slightly together. His tongue swipes out to wet his lips, splitting them into a soft smile.
“Sweetheart,” He mutters at last, leaning down close enough for his nose to bump against yours. Your lips part with a gentle gasp as he pushes harder into you. “You don’t have to beg.”
Then he’s kissing you, swallowing every little noise you make. He tastes like heaven, like sin and salvation, like the only thing you’ll ever want again in your life. He kisses you like he wants to devour you whole, and fuck, he just might. He pulls away, leaving you to gasp, your brows pressed close together, your mouth ajar in a silent moan.
“I love you— loveyou—“ You finally choke out, the words unbidden. His hips stutter to a halt. In the sudden silence, you feel the heat crawl all over your skin, pricking like little needles everywhere you feel the sheer embarrassment. He merely stares at you with that cold expression he’s always wearing outside of this room, chilling you to the bone. Tears prick at your eyes, mouth already opening to rectify the situation, “M’so sorry—“
The hand that had been resting by your head lifts, ice cold fingers sliding up your jaw. A faint golden shimmer glints in your peripheral, but you can’t look away from him. He’s gentle for only a moment before he takes your chin fully between his fingers roughly.
“Of course you do,” He says at last, thrusting into you once more, your knee now pressed all the way to your chest with his weight holding it down. You writhe and moan at the new depth, chest heaving with labored breaths. Then, with mocking condescension: “You should.”
You stare up at him in confusion, chin held secure in his hand. He crushes his lips against yours with no preface, tongue sliding into your mouth with no resistance on your part. His kiss is nearly as bruising as his new pace, which is sliding you up the bed with every thrust. Your hands scramble against his chest, nails digging into the inked skin in your desperation to find anything stable to cling to.
When he pulls away you gasp for air, your eyes still pressed shut, if only to keep the tears from falling. He’s relentless, still, with his hand leaving your face to slide under your other knee to nearly fold you in half. This time, you scream, pleasure building up faster than you can register it.
“Look at me.” He growls, and you force your eyes open, finding his expression close to something picturesque. His hair, usually brushed back neatly, hangs over his forehead, stopping just above brows that are pushed down in either concentration or irritation. His gaze is nearly unbearable, but fixed on you in such a way that you can’t just look away. His lips are parted as he breathes sighs of pleasure, matching every thrust and moan of your own.
It’s a surprise when you come undone, shuddering and trembling, pinned too tight under him to do anything but wail and cling to him. He curses under his breath, releasing your legs so suddenly that you barely catch his hips.
“Say—“ Midas’ head lowers to your chest before he finishes, to press languid, wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. He sucks in a long breath, hands now at your waist to pull you against him. “Say it again.”
“I—“ Your breath hitches, trying to process exactly what he’s asking. You stare at the top of his head, then over his tattooed back, where he works between your legs with desperate effort. “I love— I love you.”
His hips stutter to a slow, breaths coming out in short puffs against your skin, as warm as the feeling within you. He is still above you, only his head turning to rest against your chest. You can’t help it, can’t resist the urge to bring your arms up, one hand gently rubbing against his scalp, the other running soothingly over his back.
For a moment, you feel it again, that impossibility of finding where you are seperate. Each breath of his is yours, the expanse of his skin merely an extension of your own. The ache between your legs is something you share, the gentle afterglow is certainly something you both bask in. Then he’s moving away, and it becomes starkly apparent that he’s separate from you. He moves with precision, legs thrown over the side of the bed where he’s redressing himself already.
The thudding of your heart against your ribcage is suddenly apparent, heavy breaths not slowing as you curl into yourself. You’ve ruined it— ruined everything that had been so meticulously laid out. What’s wrong with you? Every thought in your mind is silenced when a cold hand lands at the side of your jaw. You blink away the sudden tears, watery gaze falling onto his face. A sharp exhale falls from you when his thumb brushes over your lip, now taking your chin back into his grasp. He turns your face from one side to the other, stilling it once he’s gotten a look at you. His expressionless face morphs in a grin that’s bordering cruel, releasing your face with an impolite shove.
“Clean up.” He says, grin falling into that cold and detached look. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”
You watch him go, leaving you clinging to nothing but the idea of him.