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It had been a few months now, working under the Brotherhood’s banner.
Ocheeva’s sanctuary had become your home — a strange, bloody kind of home, but a home nonetheless.
The people there were as kind as assassins could be, always ensuring you had the tools and knowledge needed for your next contract. You were never left to stumble blindly in the dark. It was a far cry from the musty, hopeless jail cell you'd once been thrown into.
For the first time in a long while, you had something that resembled a family.
This morning, Ocheeva had given you a note — penned in a hand you recognized immediately. A chill had crept down your spine just reading the first line.
It was from your personal boogeyman of sorts: the man who had dragged you from sleep and thrust you into this blood-stained path.
Lucien Lachance.
At first, you had kept your distance from him, finding the quiet menace he carried unnerving. There was something too controlled, too unknowable about him.
Yet, somehow, the low, silken cadence of his voice had chipped away at your wariness, luring you closer.
You had followed the directions in his note without question, placing your faith in the Brotherhood not to lead you astray.
Your hand tightened unconsciously around the blade you carried — a gift from them, sharp and unforgiving. Its once-pristine surface was now slick with crimson, the blood of some unfortunately nobody who had been deemed worth more dead than alive. Some poor man exchanged for a pouch of gold.
You drew a breath and forced yourself to look away from the drying blood, lifting your gaze toward the ladder in front of you — the one that descended into Lucien’s lair.
Once you had reached the bottom, you paused, letting your hand rest lightly against the wall as you gathered your nerves. The air was thick, damp, and carried the faint, metallic scent of rust and something older, harder to place. The room stretched out around you in pitch blackness, but even without light, you could sense its vastness — the ceiling arched high above your head, the walls set so far back they felt more imagined than real.
A sudden curse, sharp and low, cut through the stillness, followed by the clatter of metal striking stone. Instinctively, your eyebrows knitted together, a flicker of wariness passing through you. Before you even fully registered the decision, your feet had started moving, drawn toward the sound like a moth to a flame.
The noise led you to a door, heavy and slightly ajar, a narrow wedge of light bleeding out from the crack. You hesitated only for a second before lifting your hand and rapping your knuckles softly against the cold metal. From within came the frantic rustling of movement — the scrape of a chair, the creak of floorboards, a muffled grunt that spoke of some unseen struggle — before a tired voice, rough and edged with something you couldn’t quite place, called out, "Come in."
You pressed your palm flat against the door and pushed it open, the hinges groaning softly in protest. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, finding Lucien slumped in a battered chair in the center of the room. His hair was a wild, tangled mess, his clothes rumpled and stained, dark smudges ringing his hollow eyes. He looked — there was no kinder way to say it — he looked like hell.
Fresh from a contract, Lucien sat slouched beside a flickering lantern. The auburn light threw warm highlights across his pale chest and caught in his raven hair, now loose from its usual ponytail and falling in disarray around his shoulders. What struck you most, though, was the blood — it coated his hands and streaked up his neck, dark and stark against his skin.
The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it. "What happened, Lucien?"
As you stepped forward, your foot bumped into a metal bowl, sending it skittering across the floor with a sharp clang. Lucien winced immediately, eyes squeezing shut. "Please... keep the noise down," he muttered, his voice strained. "It's causing me pain."
"I'll try my best," you replied more softly, halting a few paces in front of him.
Lucien tilted his head back in the worn wooden chair to look up at you. His eyes were dulled, heavy with exhaustion.
"The contract fought back," he explained, his voice dropping into that low, familiar register that always managed to steady your nerves, no matter the circumstances. "Decided tonight he would have no funeral."
You extended your hand toward him, a silent request for one of his own. Lucien hesitated for only a moment before offering his left hand, palm up.
"That would explain all the blood around your neck, then," you mused, watching as his free hand belatedly rose to his throat. His fingers brushed over the tacky, drying blood, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face — as if he was only now realizing it was there.
Without a word, you reached for a nearby cup of water, soaking a cloth and wringing it out with a few swift twists. Returning to him, you began carefully wiping the blood from his fingers, working methodically, your touch deliberate and gentle.
You found yourself idly marveling at the way the tendons shifted beneath his pale skin, the fine structure of his hand — but you forced yourself to look away before you lingered too long.
When you reached the gash running from the base of his palm up toward the middle, you slowed, barely grazing it with the cloth. You didn't want to cause him any more pain than he was already shouldering. Instead, you dabbed carefully at the wound, glancing up to gauge his reaction.
"Don't be afraid to be rough." Lucien smoothed.
His voice slid over you, intrusive yet strangely welcome.
"I don't want to cause you pain, Lucien," you said simply, though you pressed the cloth more firmly along the cut anyway. He didn't so much as flinch.
"Pain is my pleasure at this point," he murmured, the words curling out of him like smoke, low and syrup-slow. "Sickeningly sweet." The tone was barely audible, a deep purr that stirred a hint of suspicion somewhere beneath your calm.
You set aside the hand you'd finished and reached for his other, wrapping your fingers around his wrist with quiet efficiency. "You sound like you're enjoying this a little too much," you teased lightly, running the damp cloth along the length of his pointer finger.
Lucien said nothing. No denial. No amused retort. Only a heavy, contemplative silence.
You shook the thought off and overturned his hand, wiping the blood from his palm with careful strokes. Unlike the other, this hand seemed unscathed — no hidden cuts, no bruises. It pulled a small, relieved breath slipped from you without thinking.
It wasn't long before both hands were cleaned and taken care of. The only area left that was needing care was his neck. So you ditched the now completely red cloth on the table beside you, and fetched another.
"Would you like to clean your neck?" You asked while wetting the new cloth.
He blinked slowly. "You're already doing a better job then I would've. Continue, if you will."
You replied with a small nod.
Once you had turned around to meet his eyes, he was staring back with a newfound intensity. Perhaps it was curiosity, maybe scrutiny, but his eyes had cut through your theories all the same. You soon had grown uncomfortable under the weight of it. Feeling as though his eyes were shedding you, looking inside.
Regardless, you returned to the task at hand. Walking closer to him, he didn't seem to get the hint that he should move his head back.
You sighed, placing two fingers on his forehead to guide him to where you had wanted him to be. He cooperated surprisingly well, offering no resistance in an effort to make it easier for you. You internally thanked him.
As you ran the cloth along his skin, the muscled underneath contracted subconsciously. The most noticeable was how his Adam's apple bobbed when you cleaned around it, you somehow found it a bit amusing.
Yet he was ridded of the crimson, so you placed the cloth back down on the table. Lucien rose his head to be vertical once again, soon standing.
He loomed over you, silhouetted by the flame behind him. His hair was really the main point here – you had never seen it down from its ponytail. It was a lot longer than you had expected. It reached his midback, and was very well taken care of.
"Thank you." He hummed, adding your name in a low whisper. The man then retreated through a doorway that you assumed to lead to his bedroom. The door had shut behind him, signifying the end of this little visit.
A reminder that he was a cold, and murderous man. A reminder that you are a little insane for finding warmth and comfort in that.
---------------------------
The routine had gone on like that for a few more months. With you returning to his hideout, and with him awaiting your care. It was a mutual agreement. He pays you for contracts, you repay him by tending to his wounds.
Tonight had been the same as any other, with you stitching up a rather deep gash on his shoulder. It hadn't reached bone, though it was still gnarly, causing you to be a little lightheaded.
Yet the health of Lucien was far more important then your own in this moment, so you continued on.
The extent of his indifference was a bit maddening to you, though. While you stood behind his seated form, stabbing and shifting his separated skin he had not moved. He didn't make a single sound. Simply being content in the enchanting flames that had burned a few feet infront of him.
You saw it only fit. Lucien had been in combat ever since he was a kid. By now he had to be numb to it, or simply didn't care. You didn't know which one was the most concerning.
At the end of the day, it only proved how powerful the man was. He was capable of a lot of things, killing was just a chore to him. A job. A way of payment.
Somehow you didn't see a problem with it. You couldn't, lest you be a hypocrite.
With an inhale, you turned back to your task at hand. You were nearing the end of the laceration, the enchanted thread helping the mending process quite a lot. You'll need to pull it out in the morning, hopefully Lucien won't get cranky with you for waking him up early.
Cutting off the thread, you set aside the needle. Taking a clean wipe you swiped across the stitching lightly, and then began to wrap the shoulder with sterile bandages. Once it was done, you walked around to his front.
"That was surprisingly quick. Good work." He hummed, coming to a stand. He had a habit of making sure your work was good, something you had taking a liking to. It was nice to know your actions were actually being appreciated.
"Thank you. Though it wouldn't be needed if you had been more careful." You teased, leaning back on the wooden table.
He, in turn, chuckled lowly. "Humorous." His words were dripping in sarcasm. Lucien's sense of humor was quite strange, you had learned. He finds others misery laughable at times, especially that one time a beggar had tripped over his own feet and landed in a fountain. He had laughed the most you had ever seen him laugh, and it only lasted about three seconds.
Then, he turned to leave to his room once again. The action had always meant for you to leave as well, so you shifted to grab your items.
Tightening various belts around your person to make sure your weapon equipment wouldn't come loose in the trek back home. Adjusting your cloak, you moved towards the ladder.
"Departing so soon?"
You looked back to see the man holding a book and a loaf of bread. His fingers were running absent-mindedly along the spine of the book, perhaps nervously.
You raised a brow. "Its usually like this. You go to the room, I leave."
The man walked past you, sitting on the ground next the the fire. "May I ask you for more of your time?"
Smiling, you moved away from the ladder and unstrapped your belt, discarding in the general area. "Of course."
Sitting on the ground next to him, Lucien handed you the bread. You took it without hesitation, doing a bit of investigating on the loaf before you decided to eat it. It was perhaps a few hours old at best – he might've gotten it when he was out on his contract.
"I would like to read something to you." He spoke, turning his head a tad to look at you. Look at your reaction.
You took off a piece of the bread. "Carry on." You replied before popping it in your mouth.
He nodded, turning back to the book. He opened it, turning to a page he had marked.
"My lover's heart is numbing stone
That hides in ice beneath our sight.
So some decry, "It is not there,"
While others whisper, "Yet, it might."" His tone was nice to hear, to put it simply. Specifically when he was reading, his tone and volume worked together well.
Yet, you paused him to ask a question. "This is a romance poem?"
"Yes, may I continue?"
You nodded.
"Though stone is born from fevered ash,
Once formed it yields no whiff of heat.
So too, his heart betrays no love,
Nor comforts those embracing it.
As mountains grow and yearn for sky,
Then climbers, conquering, ascend.
With chisel, rope, with axe and pick,
They force the rock to yield to them."
As he was reading, you looked over his shoulder to read along. He showed no reaction to your chin brushing against him.
"One peak stands proud amidst the range,
Invincible, and scaled by none.
Those men who try wash down his slopes;
Their eye-born streams obliquely run.
For brash assault could never pierce
Those guarded depths that lay apart.
But patient water gently shapes
A furtive channel to the heart."
The man seemed to be satisfied with what he read, closing the book and turning to look at you. With your faces suddenly a little too close, you backed up a bit.
"What does it remind you of?" He questioned. You were caught off guard that this turned into a poetry discussion, though you weren't uncomfortable.
Taking a few seconds to think, you answered. "You." Rather confident in it, you used a sure tone. It made sense. The whole heart hiding behind ice thing.
He hummed. "That so?" You answered with a positive nod. "I would have to disagree."
"What do you relate it to?" You asked, ripping another piece of bread off the loaf and eating it. He looked at you intently in turn.
"Us." He answered. "You, the water. I, the stone."
"You see us as lovers?" You set down the loaf of bread. It laid, forgotten, as you tried to fully dissect what he meant.
He blinked. "If you would have it be." There was a certain aspect of his tone that was unsure, curious. Lucien shifted a tad closer, "Do you accept?"
It was one hell of a weird way to ask someone to be your lover, but to be fair you wouldn't have expected much more. "Yeah. Yeah I accept." You replied a bit breathily. Lucien's quizzing stare had caused you to be a bit intimidated.
His lips tugged to a small, sinister grin. "Good." The words were low, measured, and somehow, they felt like a promise — not a declaration, but a subtle shift in everything between you two. It wasn’t a typical response, but then, nothing with Lucien ever was.
His hand rose, slow and deliberate, his fingers cold as they cupped your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. The stark contrast of his touch against your warm skin grounded you in the moment — his icy fingers felt like a mark of his difference, a reminder that there was always something dangerous about him, even now. Still, it felt strangely intimate.
He leaned in slowly, hesitating just inches away, as if weighing the space between you. For all his control, there was a vulnerability in that brief pause, like he wasn’t entirely sure what came next. That hesitation only made you want to close the distance more.
You moved first, unable to wait any longer, your lips brushing his with a fierce urgency that surprised even you. The hesitation on his part didn't last long — Lucien was a quick learner, and he matched your fervor, pulling you closer as his kiss deepened. His cold hand drifted down to your neck, and the sudden contrast of his touch there made your pulse race, heart thumping loud in your chest.
Lucien soon pulled away from your lips, cradling your head with a soft hand. "Beautiful." He murmured, craning his head to leave a trail of warmth on your neck. Then, he bit down gently, just enough to sting before soothing the mark with a soft kiss. He remained there, his breath steady against your skin.
"Thank you for sharing your warmth with me, even if I am undeserving." Perhaps a bit snakelike with his tone, though the words themselves weren't venomous.
You frowned, not liking the self-criticism in his words. "Don't sabotage yourself." Your voice was quiet, yet firm, your hand instinctively reaching to touch his face. "You've endured enough pain."
He managed a coy smile. "Its familiar, so it's comforting." You weren't sure if his logic was entirely fool-proof, though you weren't about to argue. Whatever made him sleep better at night.
The silence between you stretched, and in the warmth of the moment, before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. "I could comfort you further." The bluntness of your statement hit you like a wave. Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise, your own mind caught off guard by your sudden boldness.
Lucien’s eyes sparkled, amused. "How scandalous," he teased, his voice still low, the heat of the moment not lost on him.
His fingers tightened around yours as he stood, pulling you gently to your feet. Lucien kept eye contact as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. The touch was tender, deliberate, but beneath it, there was an unmistakable intensity.
"Should we set our love in stone?" The words were hushed, almost a whisper.
Despite your pounding heart, your words came easily. "Yes, I believe we should."
"Then let Sithis shiver with our joining."
With that, Lucien led you toward the shadows of his room. His grip on your hand was firm, guiding you through the small corridor, past the flickering candles and the rustic decor, each step growing more and more intimate.
As the door to his bedroom closed behind you, the sound of the latch clicking shut seemed to seal the moment. The room was dimly lit by the firelight, casting long, flickering shadows across the stone walls. The bed loomed before you, a silent invitation.
With the latch securely shut, Lucien moved into your space. "You demand worship," he murmured out, breath grazing your lips, hands working at your armor, "I intend to please."
Holy shit.
Your brain paused, observing his practiced movements. He knew which strap to pull, exactly how much was needed, and in what order. You had no idea how he managed to become even more tempting.
It wasn't long before your leather was forgotten on the stone. Your bare skin quickly protested this, goosebumps raised by the chill – but it was banished as Lucien dragged a bent finger down your abdomen. "You are as captivating as the shadows themselves."
His hands snaked back, untying your breast band with one easy tug. His reaction was immediate – a small gasp betraying the control he tried so hard to muster.
Wanting to break that a little more, your hand found his cock beneath his robes – and squeezed. Lucien's hand snapped up to clutch your arm, nails digging in, hips driving forward to savor your touch, "Yesssssss..."
His words slunk into your ears like warm honey, immediately travelling down and making a mess of your underwear. "Fuck, Lucien." You whispered, perching your chin on his shoulder.
It was maddening. He was maddening.
You made quick work of your boots and pants, kicking them off to the side. Despite his sermonizing claims to ravish you, Lucien is content with your pacing. Allowing for you to make the plunge, letting you dictate what will happen.
You got the feeling it was temporary.
His hands slide down the curves of your sides, neck craning to suck at the crook of your neck. Leaving one mark. Another – a third. Claiming you, leaving himself on your skin.
Then, he retracted, fingers sliding off, too lazy to lift them properly.
You followed him over to the bed. Climbed on top without ask, assuming a pose that was far too casual. If he minded, he didn't say, simply working away at his robes.
"Look at you," he purred, "so ready to be defiled." The clothing fell, and so did your jaw.
His pale skin was marked here and there, a reminder of his violent past — scars that only seemed to add to his enigmatic allure. His chest rose and fell with each breath, the muscles under his skin shifting as he moved. Faint, almost imperceptible dark hair trailed down from his navel, growing in quantity around his dick –
Fuck.
Gods is he beautiful. Every fucking part of him, his cock included. You eyed it eagerly, needing to get your hands on it, to feel it.
The sight of him like this — a man who lived and breathed in the shadows, one who carried both grace and danger in equal measure — was almost overwhelming.
Lucien, ever the observant one, noticed your lingering gaze, and a knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You look lost in me."
"I'd never want to leave." You replied, holding your hand out. "Come then, defile me, if I'm so ripe for the taking."
"You are, wretched one," That would be an insult from anyone who wasn't Lucien. But no, from him, that was singing your praises. "you are both an enigma and a revelation."
He moved forward, on top of you – holy shit – and kissed you. It was desperate, hungry, and full of longing, each touch a claim, each movement a surrender. His hands roamed, pulling you closer, his lips exploring yours with an intensity that left you breathless, leaving no space between your bodies.
You released a groan when he took your chest in hand, squeezing it enough to border on pain. Lucien swallowed your noise eagerly, providing an answering moan.
"Please," you whispered, after he took a breath, "Lucien."
"Mmmmm," It came out low, rumbling from his chest. Entirely too pleased that you had spoken his name. Still, he held no further reply, continuing to brand you with his lips.
His mouth burned hot on your septum, slow and methodical. You curled up, pressing your skull into the pillow, soaking in the too-soft feeling infecting your bones.
"For someone who pretends to be so composed," he murmured, voice dripping with desire like sap from bark, "you unravel in my hands so effortlessly."
Even in his brevity, he wasn't so composed himself. Lucien wanted it, wanted you so bad that he was shaking, hands trembling above your thighs as he lowered to lay in-between them. His kisses grew more intense, opened mouthed and sucking the closer he got to your underwear.
"Like silk under my touch." His voice came hazed, drunk on the feeling of you. Apparently, he wanted more, placing spit-damp kisses to the inside of your thighs – ever fervent on the preamble. You choked his name out again, and that was enough to spur him back towards your pleasure.
Lucien hooked a finger around the waistband of your underwear, glancing up at you with question underneath his eyelashes. Some silent ask, or perhaps more accurately a plea.
You give your answer by hooking your legs over his shoulders. Digging your heels into his back, pulling him towards your cunt.
Lucien waited no longer. Quickly, he pulled down your undergarment, flicking it away like it offended him. You buzzed in anticipation, watching him through lidded eyes, keening when he moved closer, yes yes yes yes!
Only for him to press a kiss at your pubic bone. You bit down a sob, "Lucien, please please, fuck, I need it so bad."
"You need only ask." What a tease – to still be messing with you like that, when you were already there, quivering, shaking – oh, oh fuuckkkk.
Lucien dropped his head, fitting his mouth on you, giving one long suck to begin his brigade. He slurped on your slick, completely and utterly in support of the mess you had made.
Your hands quickly found the sheets, white knuckling the fabric, keeping you in place as your body worked against you. Your legs spread, chest heaved, heart thumping like a horse canter in the back of your mind.
He swallowed you whole. "That's it," he spoke thickly between licks, "so good at taking it."
Lucien flattened his tongue, and dragged it against you top to bottom, leaving a molten trail behind it. He licked you open, until there was no breath left in him, until his jaw was sore and your slick rolled off his chin. He kept going and going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy breaths.
Your eyes widened, fingers twitched. "Fuck, Luc– oh, oh hells, fuck!"
It was pathetic. Fleeting words that pleasure alone had ripped from you, but the man between your legs drank them up. His throat purred with a delicious, dragged-out moan, falling on you like a warm blanket.
With that, your ability to speak officially left you. Leaving only tiny mewls and opened mouthed hedonism behind. Still, he continued, forcing your hips to twist helplessly up into his face. He made it worse by slipping in a long finger, and curling it at the exact place you needed him to.
Your head flew back, and Lucien hummed to himself.
Flowing tendrils of pleasure wrapped themselves into your skin, winding tighter, and tighter, and tighter, vibrating in your muscles and nearly cramping them. Lucien shuddered, pressed more, tasted more, took more –
"Breathe." He spoke out, breath hot against your pussy. His mouth had paused its ministrations, but he added a second finger to fill the gap. The length of them was immediately abused, stretching you out, curling, exploring.
They were swallowed up easily by your unimaginably wet cunt, pulling him right in.
How could you breathe with this? With him?
Your eyes fixed themselves on the ceiling, watching the candlelight swirl and mix with the stone. You watched the silhouette of his head rise, undeniably checking to see if you were following his instructions.
Only then does his tongue return to your clit. Flicking it once. Twice.
His fingers speed up. Your body hummed in pleasure, every atom singing a sermon, reveling in this newfound astonishment.
Your eyes dropped, watching his nose bump up against your pubic bone, squished against his determination and your ecstasy. Somewhere, he's grinning. The corners of his dark eyebrows were lifted up, eyes crinkled, somehow enjoying this just as much as you were.
The scraps of your soul keened, surged by him, by his fingers, his mouth. The pleasure heightened, tendrils wound tighter, your moans grew shriller, close, close, so close... closeclosecloseclose!
You're there. In that shining, delicate canopy, the place Lucien crafted only for you. It flashed through your body, white-hot and divine, touching even the numbed ends of your nerves.
Lucien had no plans of stopping. His mouth didn't let up, neither did his fingers. He wanted to drink you dry, take everything, consume you in your most vulnerable state. Your pussy communicated what you couldn't, clamping down in rough pulses, thanking him for ruining you.
Just when it was about to become too much, he removed his hand. "Better than wine." He commented, bringing his two fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them, drinking the concoction of your slick and his spit.
And – and he groaned. Eyes rolled back, savoring the taste he moved around in his mouth.
"You are depraved," you huffed out, fighting your lungs to cooperate, "a depraved, debaucherous man."
Lucien flashed one of those fucking sharp grins of his, rising to his knees, and sitting back on his haunches. His ribcage rose and fell like he just ran a marathon. "Only for you, loved one. I'd bathe in hellfire for just a taste of you."
Fuck.
You smiled, blushed a little, wanted to come up with something to say but your brain was mush.
He crawled forward, looming over you with a propped elbow. His void-black hair fell off his shoulder in a smooth sweep, tickling your skin. "As beautiful as the moon, as dangerous as a viper. It's a blessing to know you so." He pressed a kiss to your forehead, free hand cupping your jaw.
You tilted your head against his, nose warmed by his breath. "Then know me further." You placed a hand on his chest, dragging it down, feeling every ripple and scar on Lucien – loving every second of it.
His skin became rougher beneath his navel, interrupted by the trail of hair you spotted earlier. You followed it down, and wrapped your hand around his awaiting cock.
Lucien's eyes fluttered shut for just a second, a heavy breath following suite. He bumped his forehead against yours, "Take it."
You dragged his tip up and down your folds for a few strokes, and a satisfied purr leaked from you. His hips hitched, a momentary break in his resolve.
You were spit-wet and covered in slick, so there’s no pause when you pulled Lucien in, just a hot, absolute fullness that seemed go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking tight. Tight like the dread father made him just for you.
When he was fully hilted, he sucked a breath through his teeth, mouth agape and catching your breathless moan. "Fuckkk..." He sighed out, his arm suddenly shifting as he repositioned, "you feel so... mmmm."
You stayed there for a moment. Breathing him in, watching the flickers of pleasure strike his face. Greeting him with a meek smile when his eyes met yours.
He slowly reached down, and removed your hand. Moved fully on top of you, caging you in with both arms, caging you so you only see him, only feel him.
Slowly, agonizingly so, he pulled back, pushed, pulled back, pushed. Each time sending a shake through you, opening your jaw just a little more. It was incredibly intimate this way, he was learning you. Savoring this moment like a high class meal, studying you for all you're worth.
"Why didn't you read me – oh – that poem earlier," you panted, tongue darting out to wet your lips, "I've been missing out."
"It's the waiting that makes it more delectable. The chase. The whispered "will I, won't I?"" He promptly replied, one hand snaking down to return to his home on your clit. His fingers circled it, sowing the pleasure he had so thoroughly reaped.
You were good for nothing. Between his fingers and the drag of his cock against your walls, there was nothing in your head except for more, more more more!
Then Lucien picked up his pace. Pushing and pulling in brief strokes that filled you down to your soul. Rocking, driving you insane, making you need him like air.
You shuddered, twitched, moaned and groaned, grasping his shoulders like you'd suddenly fly away. You panted through it all, and Lucien watched eagerly.
It felt like hours. Of him driving into you, forcing sobs and near wails from your throat. "That's it." He praised, breath quick, "You look so good like this."
Says you.
There was a sheen of sweat on his face now, complimenting his maddened grin. He was enjoying it far too much – but you were in no position to complain.
No, you loved it. Drowned in it, waded through the waves of heat that passed every time his hips snapped against yours. You wriggled beneath him, gasping, squeezing, mewling, silently begging for more. Boy, did he listen.
He sat up, pulling your hips along with him, pulling your head off the pillow. With the angle he was able to hammer into you, somehow not relenting his assault on your clit, not stopping anything.
The noises you both made filled the room, drenching it, kissing your skin over and over. Indescribable pleasure followed his every move, no matter how small or grandiose. You absorbed it all, legs spreading further, back curling.
Your gut twisted in knots, spreading, consuming – just a little more, just a little....
One more circle on your cunt. One more snap of his hips –
"Fuck, so close." You managed, staring up at him in plea.
"Take it." He repeated, "Take what you need."
You half expected for his thrusts to change, pick up, become rougher. But he stayed at the same tempo, allowing you to grasp onto it, follow it into that blissful oblivion.
The muscles in your body wound themselves tight. The hot, gorgeous drags of his cock in you tick you closer, urging you to unravel for him.
You came on him in long waves, rippling wet heat. Distantly, you heard your sounds of rapture, but all you could focus on was him, and the utter bliss he gifted you.
Consciousness wanted to flee, and you had to fight tooth and fucking nail to keep from passing out.
But... fuck he was still going.
Quicker now, transfixed by the sight of your ascendence, eager to get there himself. He leaned down, wrapped his arms around you as he brought himself closer and closer to where he needed to be.
You let him. Let him use you, even in the throws of your aftershocks, elated by the sight of his eyes, his tensing jaw, bobbing throat.
Lucien's hips stuttered, his breath hitched, and then he fully pulled out of you. Immediately his hand flew to his dick, stroking it in firm tugs, hips thrusting involuntarily in greeting. After a few more, his voice was broken, teetering on the edges of a whimper, abdomen flexing as his orgasm was ripped from him. His spend greeted your stomach with a dark heat, followed closely by one last gritted curse.
"My devil," he spoke softly, as if even his voice might shatter the fragile warmth between you. "I could die a happy man."
"Me too," you breathed, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. "But let's not talk about death right after you fucked me so good I saw stars."
He let out a low, warm murmur of laughter, reaching for the side table to grab a cloth. He cleaned you off with surprising tenderness, pressing a lingering kiss to your ribcage once he finished.
"I'll never tire of looking at you," he murmured against your skin.
Your heart stirred — not from desire this time, but something deeper, more unsettling in its sweetness. "Nor I, you," you replied, voice barely above a whisper.
Lucien collapsed next to you. Wordlessly, you curled into him, placing your head on his chest.
Lucien's hand lazily traced shapes against your side, the path of his fingertips soft, thoughtless, like he was memorizing you in the dark.
"You’re dangerous," he murmured against your temple, voice still heavy with the aftermath of everything you'd shared. "More deadly than any blade I’ve ever carried."
You huffed a quiet laugh. "That so?"
"Mhm." His nose brushed along your hairline. "You've brought me to my knees more completely than any enemy."
The words should’ve sounded dramatic — absurd, even — but from Lucien, they felt devastatingly true.
You shifted to look at him, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart. "I suppose that makes us even," you whispered back. "You've wrecked me too, you know."
He smiled — a real one this time, faint and a little wry. "Good. I intend to ruin you further."
You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. "I wouldn't be opposed."
Lucien hummed, his hand smoothing lower along your spine, pausing at the small of your back. "I was hoping you'd say that."
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You let the silence stretch — not awkward, not tense. Just... full. Full of everything unspoken, everything too big for words.
Then he kissed you again — slow and deep and lingering — as if sealing something sacred between you.
Outside, the night stretched on, wild and endless, but here, in the cradle of his arms, you found something terrifying and wonderful.
You found home.