Chapter Text
“F-fuck, go harder” your muffled cries went all the way to Hange’s room. They dropped their pen on the desk, cupping the palms of their hands over their ears so they wouldn’t hear. But it was no use, the rhythmic creaking of your bed, the occasional thump against the wall, and those breathy moans seeped through anyway.
They couldn’t even focus on their work, you had some asshole over, letting her fuck you hard while Hange suffered in the next room.
It had been over an hour since you’d stumbled through the front door with that random woman, her laughter mixing with yours as you’d shot Hange a quick, apologetic glance. “Hey, roomie, gonna be busy for a bit,” you’d said casually, as if it were no big deal, before vanishing into your room with her in tow. Busy. Yeah, that was one way to put it.
Being your roommate was hard, harder than Hange had ever imagined. They had no issues the first few months you guys moved in together, they deemed themself lucky tha their roommate was a clean, smart, pretty girl whom they found common ground with. It even went a little further and they considered you two to be friends.
But recently? It was as if you were in heat, bringing anyone home and letting them fuck your brains out in your room. It started off less frequently. But recently the amount of people you bought over certainly doubled.
Hange didn’t hold it against you, really. If you wanted to sleep with anyone on the planet that was your business alone, I mean, after all, you were a free independent woman. What drove them mad was that it was you. If it were anyone else, Hange might have just shrugged it off, maybe complained about the noise like a normal person. But it was you. And somewhere along the line, amidst the late-night talks and shared laughs, Hange had realized they were attracted to you. More than attracted, if they were honest. It was a tiny crush at first, easy to ignore. But their feelings kept growing, and they didn’t know what to do about them.
You had made it clear several times that you weren’t interested in relationships, something about them being “overbearing” and “restrictive”, Hange wasn’t experienced enough to understand what you had meant. So they had made peace with the fact that they didn’t have a chance, that you’d never notice them like that. And they thought that perhaps they could live with that, it would’ve been fine, it was fine, until you set a goal to sleep with the whole city.
Hearing you like this? Your voice breaking into pleas, the bedframe protesting under the weight of whatever passion was unfolding next door? It was maddening. Hange shifted in their chair, trying to ignore the unwelcome heat pooling in their stomach, the way their cock twitched traitorously against their thigh. They pressed their thighs together, willing it away. Focus on work, they chanted internally. Just focus.
After what felt like agonizing forty more minutes, the creaking of the bed and your sounds died down. Hange could finally breathe a sigh of relief, their hardened cock couldn’t.
Ten more minutes passed before the front door clicked open and shut, signaling your guest’s departure. Then, the familiar hum of your shower started up.
How did you even do this, anyway? Not like they had any experience to speak from, but Hange could never imagine leading the type of life you led. You had to be some feral animal to sleep with that many people. What concerned Hange more was that it almost always went on for more than an hour. Did you truly not get satisfied?
Hange brushed these unnecessary thoughts out of their head. They needed to get some water. Standing up from their chair they left their room, walking over to the kitchen and pouring themself a glass. That’s when you emerged from the bathroom.
Hair still damp, a white towel wrapped around your body but the curve of your breasts we’re still visible, and Hange almost choked on their glass. They tried very hard not to think about the fact that you were probably very warm and soft from the shower, smelling of that light vanilla smell shampoo that you always used.
“Easy there,” you teased, walking past them in the kitchen to pour yourself a drink as well. “I’m dying of thirst.”
Hange almost rolled their eyes. Of course you were thirsty, after all that... activity. You downed one glass, then another, your throat working as you swallowed. Only then did you catch them staring.
“What?” You asked, confused.
“You have… uh… marks on your neck.”
You looked down at yourself. Indeed, your neck and collarbone, even breasts were covered in red hickeys. You huffed in annoyance, you had specifically asked that person not to leave any, but in the heat of the moment she did anyway. You’d tried to rub them off in the shower, but it seemed like they would still be visible for a few days.
Oh well, at least something good came out of it – the opportunity to tease Hange about them.
“They’re called hickeys Hange, do you know what that is?” You sounded almost sarcastic. It was funny how Hange was looking at these marks as if they were unusual.
“I have a guess” Hange said quietly.
You just loved how clueless Hange was sometimes. They had no prior sexual experience, you had managed to coax that information out of them on a drunk Friday night. It was rare really, to see an attractive adult with no sexual experience, but here Hange was, getting flustered at the sight of some hickeys.
“They must hurt,” Hange said, not taking their eyes off of your chest.
“They don’t feel like anything to be honest.”
Hange then looked at you, confused, “then why would you do it?”
You smirked. This silly, clueless fool. “They feel good when you’re receiving them.”
Hange’s brows furrowed, “oh.”
You loved it when they asked these questions, which rarely happened. “Have you ever received one Hange?”
Hange’s face went red. “You know I don’t date - “
You were amused. “I don’t date either.”
“You know what I mean,” they said defeated.
You were smirking now, “friends give each other hickeys for fun too, it’s not an explicitly sexual thing.”
“I don’t know what kind of friends you’ve got, but I wouldn’t want anyone breathing down my neck like that.”
You laughed out loud. God, why did you have to feel this way about them? Out of everyone, this uptight, oblivious nerd had wormed their way into your thoughts. You’d never felt this way before. Yes, you found some people attractive, but everyone you set your eyes on was eventually yours. And you lost interest after sleeping with them, maybe if they were any good you’d engage in them a few more times but that was it. It never went as far as to learn anyone’s middle name.
With Hange however? You weren’t sure you’d be able to stop after sleeping with them for a few times. They were just so adorable, you loved teasing them, you loved listening to them talk, you loved their sense of humor. You just wanted to take their hand and show them all the sinful things biology had to offer. But you knew better than that. You’d never sleep with your roommate, it would just make things complicated for no reason.
The apartment was good, the rent was reasonable, the neighborhood was close to everything. You got lucky in all the aspects, you didn’t have time nor energy to move out if anything went wrong. Therefore, Hange was strictly off limits. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t tease them and watch their flustered expression.
“It feels good I promise!” You laughed, “you just have to see for yourself.”
Hange only hummed at your response, putting away the glass. You knew within seconds they’d be back in their room and you probably wouldn’t see them for a while, not until they finished working on whatever it was they were working on. Why not give them something to think about then?
You stepped closer, leaning against the countertop next to them, “you know, I could give one to you.” Your voice was low, sultry.
Hange’s hand paused, they glanced at you and there was slight pink covering their cheeks. “It’s not funny.”
Your smirk widened, you moved to stand in front of them, caging them between your hands that rested on either side of the counter. They were taller than you but somehow they looked so little from this position. “I’m not joking.”
You saw their eyes widen, and you decided to test the waters. This was fine, right? They’d pull away before you did anything anyway.
You leaned in, your lips softly grazing their neck, and you felt them twitch, goosebumps covering their skin which you could feel on your lips. They shut their eyes, turning their head to the side, which conveniently exposed more of their neck to you. Their hands braced on the counter, gripping the edge like their life depended on it.
Hange could feel your hot breath on their throat. They could feel their heartbeat increasing. They were right, even though only your lips made contact with their skin, they could feel the warmth and softness of your skin.
It was getting hard not to lose their mind, you had them caged between your hands, kissing their neck, half-naked. Naked actually, because if Hange had tugged on the towel, just a little, you’d be fully exposed.
Nonono they shouldn’t think about things like that, their cock was already half-hard, any more and you’d surely notice.
You kissed their neck softly, leaving a few soft kisses before choosing a spot and closing your mouth over it. Hange sighed when they felt you suck on them. A deep satisfied sigh escaped their lips. Then they felt your tongue on their skin at the suction and then nearly melted.
“H-haah” a soft whimper escaped their lips before they could even register it. Their right hand grabbed your bare shoulder, fingers digging a bit hard into your skin.
You pulled away, eyeing the deep purple mark that was taking shape on their neck, looking satisfied.
“See? I told you it felt good!” you said so lightheartedly that Hange was convinced only they felt the heat currently coursing through them.
Before they could even respond, and before you could notice that they were hard, you left the kitchen, as if that was a normal interaction. As if roommates went around, giving each other hickies.
What was wrong with them? You’d said it yourself, friends do this to each other sometimes. But here they were, in immediate need of a cold shower.
You closed the door to your room, finally taking a breath of relief. Then you let out a frustrated sigh. Why hadn’t they stopped you? You fully expected them to pull away but they didn’t. Instead, you now had to live with a memory of Hange’s warm skin on your lips, having them whimper from just one hickey.
You plopped down on the bed, you had just had sex but you found yourself wet again. This was driving you mad, no matter how many people you fucked, you weren’t satisfied, because they weren’t Hange.
Just how many people did you have to sleep with to satisfy your hunger for your roommate? Surely there had to be a limit to how many times you could get horny. But oh well, here you were, your fingers deep in you, moaning Hange’s name softly into the pillows. This was truly becoming a problem.
It had been three days since the kitchen incident, and Hange was doing their best to pretend it never happened.
This was proving difficult for several reasons. First, the hickey you’d left on their neck was still very much visible, a deep purple mark that made them flush every time they caught sight of it in the mirror. Second, you seemed to find it endlessly amusing to brush past them in the apartment, always just a little too close, always with that knowing smirk that made their stomach flip. And third, most problematically, they couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The feel of your lips on their skin. The heat of your breath. The soft, satisfied sound you’d made when you pulled away to admire your handiwork. It played on a loop in their mind, especially late at night when they were alone in their room and their hand inevitably found its way into their pants.
They’d masturbated more in the past three days than in the entire previous month, and it still wasn’t enough to get you out of their system.
So when Saturday evening rolled around and Hange found themself sitting in your shared living room, switching channels on the TV out of boredom, they were already in a somewhat compromised mental state.
They didn’t even glance up when they heard your bedroom door open, you’d been getting ready for the past hour, music playing loud enough that they could hear it over the television. Probably going out again. You’d mentioned something about a party earlier in the week.
It wasn’t until you moved directly in front of them, blocking the screen, that they looked at you.
And immediately regretted it.
You were wearing a black tube dress, and calling it a dress was generous. It hugged every curve of your body like it had been painted on, the stretchy material clinging to your breasts and hips in a way that should probably be illegal. The hem cut off dangerously high on your thighs, so high that Hange was fairly certain if you bent over even slightly, the whole world would get a show. The neckline was low, showcasing the swell of your cleavage in a way that made Hange's mouth go dry. You were the most devastatingly attractive thing Hange had ever seen in their entire life.
“So?” you asked, giving them a little spin that made the dress ride up even higher and nearly gave Hange a heart attack. “How do I look?”
Hange swallowed hard, their throat clicking audibly. Their eyes betrayed them, tracing the lines of your body, the way the dress hugged your hips, the bare expanse of your legs, the way your breasts strained against the thin material. Heat flooded their face, and lower, a familiar twitch stirring in their pants. They forced a response, aiming for sarcasm to mask the thirst clawing at them. "Like a hooker?
You grinned, unphased, hell, even delighted, like that was exactly the response you’d been hoping for. “Thank you!”
You turned toward the entryway, bending slightly to slip on your heels, and Hange's gaze followed involuntarily. The back of your thighs, smooth and toned, leading up to the subtle outline of your ass under the dress.
Did you really have to go out like that? Did you have to look like every single one of Hange’s fantasies come to life? And worse, would you bring someone home tonight? Would Hange have to listen to some stranger touch you, make you moan, when all Hange could think about was how desperately they wanted to be the one doing those things?
The jealousy that flared in their chest was so intense it was almost painful.
“I’ll be out till late so don’t wait up,” you said as you bent down to strap on your heels, and god, the way that dress rode up when you bent over made Hange dig their nails into their palms. “Unless you want to join me.”
You asked every time you went out, Hange had noticed. Partly because it was common courtesy, but they suspected partly because you genuinely wanted them to come along. Some twisted part of you probably enjoyed watching them squirm.
Hange always said no. They didn’t do parties, they were too loud and crowded, too many opportunities to make a fool of themself. They much preferred the quiet of their room and their carefully ordered life that didn’t involve watching you flirt with strangers in a dress that should come with a warning label.
“Where are you going?” they asked, because they had to know what they were potentially getting themself into.
“Mikasa’s having a party at her place,” you said, adjusting the strap on your heel. “It’ll be a few close friends, nothing too crazy. Probably like ten or fifteen people max.”
Hange hesitated. The rational part of their brain screamed to say no, to stay home and avoid the temptation of being near you in a social setting. But the other part, the one that had been simmering with unspoken desire, won out.
“Okay,” Hange heard themself say, “I’ll come.”
The words were out before they could think them through, before their rational brain could catch up and ask what the fuck they were doing.
You paused mid-motion, your hands stilling on your jacket. You turned to look at them, your eyes wide with genuine surprise. “What?”
“I said I’ll come,” Hange repeated, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. “To the party. With you.”
For a moment, you just stared at them. Then your face split into the biggest, brightest smile Hange had ever seen on you, and despite everything, despite their immediate and overwhelming regret, something in their chest went warm.
“Really?” You were practically bouncing with excitement now. “Oh my god, Hange, yes! It’s going to be so much fun! I promise, these people are cool, you’ll like them. And Mikasa’s place is really nice, and…”
You kept talking, excited and enthusiastic, already planning out how the evening would go, but Hange was barely listening. They were too busy having an internal crisis.
Why had they said yes? What possessed them to agree to attend a social gathering, a party, when they could have stayed home in comfortable solitude? They didn’t even like parties. They didn’t know how to act at parties. They’d probably spend the entire evening awkward and uncomfortable while you had the time of your life.
But the alternative of staying home while you went out in that dress, while other people got to look at you, talk to you, maybe touch you, was somehow worse.
At least if they were there, they could… what? Keep an eye on you? Make sure no one got too handsy? That was ridiculous. You were an adult who could take care of yourself. You didn’t need Hange’s protection.
But the truth they barely wanted to admit even to themself was that they didn’t want you to go alone. Didn’t want to spend another evening sitting in their room, imagining you with someone else, wondering if tonight would be the night you brought someone home.
“…should probably change,” you were saying, and Hange tuned back in. “I mean, you look fine, but maybe something a little less…” You gestured vaguely at their ratty sweatpants and old university t-shirt. “…comfortable?”
Hange looked down at themself, then back up at you in your designer dress and perfect makeup, and felt severely underdressed for whatever they’d just signed up for.
“Right,” they said faintly. “I’ll just… go do that.”
Twenty minutes later, they emerged from their room in dark jeans and a button-up shirt, the nicest thing they owned that wasn’t actively covered in stains. They’d even attempted to do something with their hair.
You looked them up and down and it made Hange’s skin prickle with awareness.
“You clean up nice,” you said, your voice dropping lower, it always made Hange’s stomach flip.
“Thanks,” they managed, shoving their hands in their pockets to keep from fidgeting. “So, uh. Should we go?”
Music pulsed from inside as you knocked, a low bass that vibrated through the door. Mikasa opened it, her sharp features softening into a smile as she pulled you into a hug. "You made it! And... Hange?" Her eyes flicked to them in surprise.
"Yeah, I dragged them out," you laughed, stepping inside and tugging Hange along by the sleeve.
The living room was packed, with about a dozen people scattered on couches, chairs, and the floor. Half-drunk already, laughter and chatter filling the air. Bottles cluttered the coffee table, red solo cups in hands. Hange felt immediately out of place, the noise assaulting their senses. They hovered near the edge of the room, declining a drink from a person who offered. They needed to stay sharp, to watch you.
You, on the other hand, dove right in. Jacket discarded, dress on full display, you greeted friends with hugs and cheek kisses. Hange found a spot on a loveseat in the corner, sinking into it with their arms crossed, eyes glued to you.
They weren’t sure how, but somehow, an hour later, you ended up on Mikasa's lap, perched there casually as if it were the most natural thing. Mikasa's arm looped around your waist, holding you steady, and you played with her hair, twisting dark strands around your fingers while whispering something that made her laugh.
Hange tried not to stare. They really did. But their eyes kept drifting over. The two of you were clearly comfortable with each other, the kind of easy physical intimacy that spoke to years of friendship.
But watching your fingers run through Mikasa’s hair, watching you lean in close to whisper something in her ear that made her smile, watching the way Mikasa’s hand rested on your waist, it made something ugly and possessive twist in Hange’s gut.
They knew you were friends. You’d told them that. But the way you were touching her, the way you were talking so sweetly to her, your lips close enough to her ear that you could kiss her if you wanted…
Hange took a long drink of their beer and tried to focus on the conversation happening around them. Something about work drama that they had no context for.
“So wait,” Pieck said suddenly, and Hange realized with horror that she was looking at them. “Are you two dating?” The little group all turned to look with interest.
“Who?” you asked, though Hange could hear the amusement in your voice.
“You and Hange,” Pieck clarified, gesturing between you with her wine glass. “I just… you’re roommates, right? But you came together, and you keep looking at each other, so I figured…”
You laughed, like that was the funniest thing you’d heard all night. “God, no. I’d never date Hange.”
Hange was going to die in this house. They felt their face flush hot, felt their chest constrict with something that hurt worse than it should have.
They knew that. Of course they knew that. You’d made it abundantly clear that you weren’t interested in relationships, that you preferred casual encounters with people you’d never see again. And Hange was the type of person you probably wouldn’t go for.
But hearing you say it so casually, like the idea was laughable…
“Why not?” Pieck asked, and Hange couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious or trying to start drama.
“Because-” You paused. “Hange’s just… they’re not really my type, you know? Too serious. And they’re- I mean, they’re great, don’t get me wrong, but they’re really sweet for my taste.”
Hange should have stayed quiet. Should have just nodded along, maybe made some excuse to leave. But the words were out before they could stop them, more sassy and confident than they felt: “And you flirt too much for my taste.”
A few people chuckled in surprise, like they were watching something amusing unfold. You turned to look at Hange, your eyes wide with genuine surprise, and Hange realized they’d never actually criticized you before. Never said anything negative about your lifestyle or your choices.
“I flirt too much?” you repeated slowly.
Hange had expected you to get offended, in fact, they were already preparing to apologize. But the challenging look in your eyes suggested that you found this just as amusing as everyone else in the room.
“Yes,” Hange said, doubling down even though they knew it was a bad idea. “You flirt with everyone we meet. Dating you would be exhausting.”
It was a lie. Hange wouldn’t find dating you exhausting, they’d find it exhilarating and terrifying and probably the best thing that ever happened to them. But they were hurt and defensive and desperately trying to save face.
For a long moment, you just stared at them, something complicated flickering across your face. Then, in one fluid movement, you stood up from Mikasa’s lap and crossed the space between you.
Hange’s breath caught as you settled yourself directly in their lap, straddling their thighs, your arms coming up to drape around their neck.
“Is that so?” you murmured, your face inches from theirs.
Hange went absolutely rigid, every muscle in their body locking up. You were in their lap. Sitting in their lap, your weight pressing down on them, your chest close enough that they could see the rise and fall of your breathing, your face so close they couldn’t look at you directly.
"Maybe I should flirt with you then,” you said, your voice dropping to that sultry purr that went straight to Hange’s cock. “See if I can change your mind.”
The conversation around you continued, no one minded that you were in their lap, as if this was a usual occurrence. But Hange barely heard any of it. Their entire world had narrowed to the feeling of your body against theirs, your breath on their face, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of their neck.
This was torture. Actual, literal torture.
Because you weren’t being subtle about it. You were touching them constantly, running your fingers through their hair, tracing patterns on their shoulder, adjusting your position in their lap in ways that made Hange want to die. Every shift of your hips sent sparks of arousal through them, and they could feel themself getting hard, their cock filling and pressing against their jeans in a way that would be very obvious if you shifted up even slightly.
Hange’s hands hovered uselessly at their sides, unsure where to put them. They settled finally on your waist, partly because it seemed like the least inappropriate place, partly because they needed to keep you from shifting and discovering exactly how affected they were by this.
Your dress had ridden up from your position straddling them, and Hange could see the smooth expanse of your thighs, could feel the heat of your body through the thin material. You weren’t wearing much under that dress, and the thought made Hange’s cock throb.
“You make a cute couple,” Mikasa observed from across the room.
“Right?” you said, turning to flash her a smile without moving from Hange’s lap. “We’re very domestic.”
To emphasize your point, you turned back to Hange and cupped their face in both hands. Hange’s breath stopped entirely as you leaned in, and for one wild, desperate moment they thought you were going to kiss them.
Instead, you pressed your lips to the corner of their mouth, and Hange nearly lost their goddamn mind. Their fingers tightened convulsively on your waist, and they felt more than heard the small, satisfied sound you made. You were so close they could feel your breath, could smell your perfume. Your lips were soft and warm, and when you pulled back, the smile on your face was absolutely wicked. They wanted to pull you closer, kiss you properly, but they froze, overwhelmed.
“See?” you said, though Hange wasn’t sure who you were talking to anymore. “Very cute.”
“You’re terrible,” Pieck said, but she was laughing.
“Hange’s too precious for me to date anyway,” you continued, and your fingers traced down the side of their face in a gesture that felt far too intimate for the public setting. “They’re too good. I’d corrupt them.”
Hange didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know if it was a compliment or an insult or some combination of both. All they knew was that you were still in their lap, still touching them, and they were so hard it was actually painful, and if you didn’t move soon they were going to do something incredibly stupid.
Like kiss you for real. Or flip you onto your back right here on Mikasa’s couch and show you exactly how “pure” they weren’t.
“We should go,” they said abruptly, their voice coming out rough. “It’s getting late.”
You tilted your head, studying them. “It’s barely eleven.”
“I have work tomorrow.” A lie. It was Saturday. “Stuff to do.”
“On a Sunday?” you asked skeptically.
“Important stuff,” Hange insisted, and they could hear the desperation in their own voice.
For a moment, you looked like you might argue. Then something in their expression must have convinced you, because you nodded and stood up, finally, mercifully removing yourself from their lap.
“Alright,” you said, turning to the group. “We’re gonna head out. Thanks for having us, Mikasa.”
There was a chorus of goodbyes, Mikasa insisting you text her when you got home safe, Pieck making some comment about hoping to see Hange again soon. Hange barely processed any of it, too focused on keeping their hands strategically positioned and getting out of this apartment before they embarrassed themself further.
By the time you unlocked the apartment door, Hange had regained some semblance of control over their body, even if their mind was still a mess of want and frustration.
They headed straight for their room, desperate for the safety and privacy where they could finally deal with the arousal that had been building all evening. But your voice stopped them.
“Hange?”
They turned reluctantly. You were standing in the middle of the living room, your jacket discarded, looking at them with an expression that was unusually serious.
“Yeah?”
“Are you bothered by the fact that I sleep around?”
They didn’t expect that question. “What gave you that idea?”
“You said I flirt too much,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “You said dating me would be exhausting. It kind of sounded like you have a problem with my lifestyle.”
Hange felt something crack in their chest, guilt mixing with frustration mixing with the bone-deep exhaustion of wanting something they couldn’t have. They moved to the couch and sat down heavily, running their hands through their hair.
“I don’t-” they started, then stopped. “It’s not that I have a problem with it. You’re an adult. You can do whatever you want.”
“But?”
“But the noise is… distracting,” they said finally, carefully. “I’m trying to work, and sometimes it’s hard to concentrate when you’re… when there’s…”
“When I’m fucking someone?” you supplied bluntly, and Hange winced.
“Yes.”
You moved to stand in front of them, and Hange was eye-level with your legs in that criminally short dress. “Is that really all?”
“What else would there be?” Hange asked, but they couldn’t meet your eyes.
“I don’t know,” you said slowly. “You tell me.”
The frustration that had been building all evening, all week, really, maybe for months, finally boiled over. Hange stood up abruptly, forcing you to take a step back.
“Fine. You want to know what bothers me? It bothers me that you bring home a different person every few days. It bothers me that you’re so casual about sex, like it doesn’t mean anything. It bothers me that you put yourself at risk sleeping with strangers-”
“I’m safe about it-”
“-and it bothers me that you never seem satisfied!” Hange continued, their voice rising. “You have sex for hours and then the next day you’re bringing someone else home. It’s not healthy. You’re going to burn yourself out or catch something or-”
“So what’s your solution?” you interrupted, your eyes flashing. “Should I just become celibate? Live like a nun?”
“No, just…” Hange threw their hands up. “Just stop sleeping with random people.”
“Oh?” You took a step closer, and there was something dangerous in your smile. “And what am I supposed to do instead?”
Hange didn’t answer, because any answer would reveal too much.
You leaned closer, close enough that Hange could smell your perfume again. “You volunteering?”
It was meant as a joke, Hange could hear the teasing lilt in your voice. But something in their expression must have given them away, because your eyes widened slightly.
“If you care about my wellbeing so much,” you continued, your voice dropping lower, “why don’t you fuck me instead?”
Hange’s brain short-circuited. Actually fully stopped working. All the blood in their body rushed south so fast they felt dizzy.
“I- that’s not- I didn’t mean-” they stammered, backing up a step.
But you followed, closing the distance, your eyes tracking down their body to where they couldn’t hide their reaction anymore. To where their cock was hardening again, pressing visibly against their jeans.
“Oh,” you breathed, and Hange had never heard that particular tone from you before, something between surprise and hunger that made their knees weak. “Hange…”
“Don’t,” Hange said desperately, but it came out as barely a whisper.
Your eyes dragged back up to meet theirs, and Hange felt like prey being stalked by a predator. You looked at them the way they imagined a starving person might look at a feast, and it made their cock throb almost painfully.
“Is the idea of fucking me that appealing?” you asked, taking another step closer.
Hange’s hit the edge of the couch. They were trapped, and you were advancing slowly, like you had all the time in the world, you didn’t stop until they fell back, looking up at you with terrified eyes.
“I-” Hange tried to speak, but the words died when your hand landed on their thigh.
Slowly, torturously slowly, your hand slid up their leg, over the rough denim of their jeans, until your palm pressed directly against their erection.
The sound that escaped Hange’s throat was embarrassing, a high, desperate whine that they couldn’t have suppressed if they’d tried. Their hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking more of your touch, and their hands flew to grip the couch cushions to keep from grabbing you.
“Fuck,” you breathed, your hand pressing more firmly. “You’re so hard.”
You palmed them through their jeans, and Hange made another broken sound, their head falling back. They’d touched themselves countless times, but this, having someone else’s hand on them, having your hand on them, was so overwhelmingly different that their brain couldn’t process it.
“Please-” The word fell from their lips before they could stop it.
“Please what?” you asked, but your voice was breathless now too.
Instead of letting them answer, you leaned in and pressed your lips to their neck, right over the fading hickey you’d left days ago. Your hand continued its slow, torturous movements over their cock, and Hange felt like they might actually die from this.
“Didn’t know you were so perverted,” you murmured against their skin, and Hange felt the press of your teeth, the hot slide of your tongue. You were leaving more marks, and they should probably care about that but they absolutely didn’t. “You’re a mess.”
Your lips traveled up their neck, placing open-mouthed kisses that made them shudder. When you found the spot just below their ear, the sensitive place you’d discovered before, and sucked hard, Hange’s hips bucked up into your hand and they let out a whimper that should have been mortifying.
“Is this the first time someone’s touched you like this?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look at their face.
Hange could barely form words, but they managed a strangled, “Y-yes.”
The smile that spread across your face was absolutely sinful. “Want me to keep going?”
Hange nodded so enthusiastically they might have given themselves whiplash.
“I need words, Hange,” you said, your hand stilling.
“Yes,” they gasped. “Yes, please, don’t stop.”
“Good.” Your hand moved to their belt, and Hange’s breathing stopped entirely. “What exactly is it that you want me to do to you?”
Hange couldn’t answer, their brain had shut down entirely, all higher functions ceased. They just watched, paralyzed, as you worked their belt open, popped the button of their jeans and drew down the zipper.
“Since you’re not answering,” you said, your voice taking on that commanding edge that made Hange want to do whatever you said, “I guess I’ll just have to figure it out myself.”
You reached into their jeans, into their boxers, and when your hand wrapped around their cock, skin to skin, nothing between you, Hange made a sound they’d never heard themself make before.
“Fuck,” you breathed, your eyes darkening. “You’re so hard. So sensitive.”
You pulled them free of their pants, and Hange heard themself whimper at the sensation of air on their cock, at the sight of your hand wrapped around them. They’d imagined this so many times, but nothing compared to the reality.
You started to stroke them, slowly, and Hange’s hips jerked into your touch. It felt so much better than their own hand, your palm was softer, your grip slightly different, and just knowing it was you touching them made everything more intense.
“Does this feel good?” you asked, though your smirk suggested you already knew the answer.
Hange could only nod, their mouth open, panting.
“Do you want to cum?”
Another frantic nod.
Your hand stilled completely, and Hange made a sound of protest that was honestly pathetic.
“Then be good,” you said, “and do what I tell you.”
Hange would have agreed to literally anything in that moment. Would have signed away their PhD, their savings, their eternal soul if it meant you’d keep touching them.
You took their hand and brought it to your thigh, just below the hem of your dress. Hange’s breath caught as you guided their hand higher, slowly, the fabric bunching as you pushed their palm up your leg.
Your skin was so soft, so warm, and Hange’s fingers trembled as you directed them higher, higher, until-
No underwear. You weren’t wearing any underwear.
Hange’s fingers made contact with slick heat, and they made a strangled sound of surprise and arousal. You were wet, so wet that their fingers slid easily through your folds, and the realization that you were this turned on, that you wanted this too, made Hange’s cock throb in your grip.
“Feel that?” you asked, your voice breathy. “Feel how wet I am for you?”
Hange nodded frantically, unable to form words. Their fingers explored instinctively, mapping out your pussy with shaking hands, the soft outer lips, the slickness pooling at your entrance, the small, firm bundle of nerves at the top that made you gasp when they brushed against it.
“Inside,” you instructed, guiding their fingers. “Put them inside me.”
Hange obeyed, sliding two fingers into you slowly. The sensation was overwhelming, hot and tight and so wet that they slid in easily despite never having done this before. Your walls clenched around their fingers, and Hange felt like their brain was melting.
“That’s it,” you encouraged, your head falling forward to rest against their shoulder. “Now move them. In and out. You can go harder than that.”
Hange started to move their fingers, awkward at first but growing more confident as you moaned softly against their neck.
“Curl your fingers,” you instructed breathlessly. “Like-yes, like that. Right there-”
Hange had found something that made you cry out, some spot inside you that felt slightly different, slightly rougher than the surrounding tissue. They focused there, stroking against it with each thrust of their fingers, and you started moving against their hand, riding their fingers with increasingly desperate movements.
“Fuck, Hange,” you moaned, and hearing their name in your voice while you fell apart on their fingers was possibly the hottest thing that had ever happened to them. “You’re doing so well. Such a quick learner.”
The praise made something warm bloom in Hange’s chest, made them want to do better, be better, make you feel good.
Your hand had started moving on their cock again, matching the rhythm of their fingers inside you, and Hange felt like they were drowning in sensation. The wet sounds of their fingers moving in and out of you, the soft moans you were making, the feeling of your hand on them, it was too much.
“Okay,” you said after a few minutes, your voice wrecked. “Okay, stop.”
Hange immediately stilled, and you guided their fingers out of you. They were coated in your slickness, glistening in the low light, and Hange stared at them with something like awe.
“Give me your hand,” you said, and when they did, you guided their wet fingers to their cock, wrapping their hand around themselves. “Spread it. Get yourself nice and wet for me.”
Oh fuck.
Hange stroked themself once, twice, spreading your wetness over their cock, and the slide was so much better than anything they’d ever felt. The fact that it was your arousal coating them, preparing them to be inside you…
You pushed them back onto the couch, and Hange went willingly, their back hitting the cushions. You straddled them in one smooth movement, and then you were reaching down to gather the fabric of your dress, bunching it up around your waist.
And Hange could see everything.
Your pussy, glistening and pink and so perfect that Hange felt like they might cum just from looking. The curve of your thighs, your hips, the small patch of hair. You were the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen, and they were going to get to be inside you, and their heart was beating so fast they thought it might give out.
“You ready?” you asked, positioning yourself over them.
“Yes,” Hange gasped. “Yes, please, I need-”
You sank down slowly, and Hange’s world exploded.
The sensation of entering you was indescribable. Hot and wet and tight, so tight that Hange felt like they were being squeezed, like their cock was being hugged by velvet. You took them inch by inch, and Hange watched with wide eyes as they disappeared inside you, watched your face as you adjusted to the feeling of them.
When you were fully seated, both of you stopped moving, just breathing hard and staring at each other.
“Fuck,” you whispered. “You feel perfect.”
Hange’s hands found your hips automatically, gripping tight because they needed something to anchor them to reality. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, some incredibly vivid fantasy their sex-starved brain had conjured.
But then you started to move, lifting yourself up until just the tip of their cock remained inside you, then sinking back down, and Hange knew this was real because nothing they’d ever imagined felt this good.
You set a slow rhythm at first, rolling your hips in a way that had Hange seeing stars. Your hands braced on their shoulders for leverage, and with every downward motion, your breasts bounced enticingly under the thin fabric of your dress.
Hange couldn’t stop staring at them. Could see your nipples clearly outlined through the material, could see the way your breasts moved with each thrust. They wanted to touch, wanted to pull the fabric down and get their mouth on you, but they were too shy, too overwhelmed to do anything except hold your hips and try not to cum immediately.
“You can touch me,” you said, like you could read their mind. “Anywhere you want.”
But Hange’s hands stayed frozen on your hips, their fingers digging in as you rode them. They were completely at your mercy, letting you set the pace, letting you take what you needed.
And god, the sounds you were making. The same soft moans and gasps that Hange heard through the walls when you were with other people. These were more intimate, and knowing they were the cause made Hange’s cock throb inside you.
“Touch me,” you instructed breathlessly. “I want you to touch me while I ride you.”
Hange’s cock tiwtched at the command, but their hand moved automatically, reaching between your bodies to find your clit. You gasped when they made contact, your walls clenching around them, and Hange had to bite their lip hard to keep from cumming right then.
They rubbed in small circles, watching your face for any reaction. You seemed to like it, your movements became more erratic, your moans louder, and Hange felt a surge of pride that they were making you feel good.
“Hange,” you gasped. “I’m so close- fuck-”
You started moving faster, bouncing on their cock with increasing desperation, and Hange felt their orgasm building embarrassingly quickly. They’d been hard for so long, had been so worked up, and you felt so good that they couldn’t hold back.
“I’m-” they gasped, their fingers stuttering on your clit. “I’m going to-I can’t-”
“Cum inside me,” you said, your voice firm despite being breathless. “I want to feel it.”
The words combined with the image of you riding them, with the sensation of your pussy clenching around them was too much. Hange came with a broken moan, their hips jerking up as they spilled inside you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over them until they felt boneless and drained.
But you weren’t done. You kept moving, kept riding them through their orgasm, and Hange made a high, desperate sound as oversensitivity kicked in. It was too much, too intense, bordering on painful, but you were chasing your own release and Hange would endure anything to get you there.
Their fingers found your clit again despite the trembling in their hands. It took less than a minute. You came with a cry, your head thrown back, your walls clamping down on their oversensitive cock hard enough to make them whimper. Hange watched in awe as you fell apart above them, committing every detail to memory, the flush spreading across your chest, the way your mouth fell open, the rhythmic pulses of your pussy around them.
Finally, you stilled, collapsing forward against their chest, both of you breathing hard.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Hange could feel their cum leaking out around their cock where you were still joined, could feel the rapid hammering of your heart against their chest.
“Told you it felt good,” you said finally, your voice muffled against their shoulder.
Hange let out a breathless laugh. Good didn’t begin to cover it.
They were absolutely, completely fucked.
Because now that they knew what it was like to be inside you, to make you moan, to feel you cum around them, there was no way they could go back to just being roommates who occasionally gave each other hickeys as a joke.
Two weeks.
It had been exactly two weeks since that night, and Hange was losing their mind.
They sat in the single armchair, the one-person seat they’d claimed as their new workspace because they absolutely could not sit on the big couch anymore without remembering how you’d looked riding them, the sounds you’d made, the feeling of being inside you, and tried desperately to focus on the document open on their laptop.
They’d read the same paragraph four times and still couldn’t tell you what it said.
That damned night two weeks ago, after you’d both caught your breath and cleaned up in awkward silence, you’d turned to them with an unreadable expression and said, “We shouldn’t have done that.”
Hange’s heart had dropped into their stomach. They’d opened their mouth to respond, to apologize, to say something, but you’d continued quickly: “I mean- it was good. Really good. But we’re roommates, and I don’t want things to be weird, so… friends with benefits? That’s a thing people do when they just want to have sex.”
Hange had nodded mutely, not trusting their voice, not sure what friends with benefits even really meant beyond the literal interpretation. Friends who also had sex. Casual sex. No strings attached.
Except Hange was pretty sure they had strings. So many strings they were practically a puppet.
And now, two weeks later, they still didn’t understand the rules. Friends with benefits did it more than once, right? That was kind of the whole point? But you hadn’t brought it up again. Hadn’t touched them beyond casual, friendly contact. Hadn’t given any indication that you wanted a repeat performance.
Maybe friends with benefits only did it once and then went back to normal? Maybe that’s how it worked and Hange just didn’t have enough experience to know?
But Hange couldn’t go back to normal. They’d tried, they’d tried so hard. But everything reminded them of that night. The couch where they’d fucked you. The kitchen counter where you’d given them that first hickey. The sound of your shower running and knowing you were naked just a wall away. The lingering scent of your shampoo that sometimes wafted from the bathroom.
They wanted you to do it again. Wanted you to touch them, fuck them, make them fall apart the way only you seemed capable of. But they were too embarrassed to bring it up, too afraid of rejection, too inexperienced to know if asking was even appropriate.
What if they’d been bad at it? What if once had been enough for you and you were just too polite to say so?
Sometimes Hange wondered if that night had even been real. If maybe they’d fallen asleep at their desk and dreamed the whole thing, their sex-starved brain conjuring an impossibly perfect fantasy.
But then they’d catch sight of the fading marks on their neck in the mirror, or they’d notice that you hadn’t brought anyone home since that night, no hookups, no strangers, no sounds through the walls that made Hange want to tear their hair out with jealousy, and they’d know it had been real.
Though that observation brought its own concerns. You hadn’t slept with anyone in two weeks. You, who used to bring someone home multiple times a week. Had sex with them been so bad that it had somehow cured your libido entirely? Had they disappointed you so thoroughly that you’d sworn off sex altogether?
The thought made Hange feel vaguely nauseous.
They kept trying to convince themself that things would eventually go back to normal. That the awkward tension would fade, that you’d go back to your regular habits, that Hange would stop getting flustered every time they looked at you for too long.
Any day now, things would be normal again.
Except they wouldn’t, and Hange knew it, even if they couldn’t quite admit it to themself.
The sound of keys in the lock made them glance up. You came through the door looking tired but pleased, your work bag slung over your shoulder, your hair slightly mussed from the wind outside.
“Hey,” Hange said, offering a small smile.
“Hey yourself,” you replied, returning the smile with that particular warmth that made Hange’s chest tight.
You headed to the kitchen, dumping your bags on the counter. "What's for dinner? I'm starving."
How could you act so normal? Like you hadn't ruined them for anyone else, like your body wasn't etched into their every fantasy.
Hange shrugged, eyes flicking back to their screen but not really seeing it. "Uh, leftovers in the fridge? Or we could order pizza."
You opened the fridge, peering in with a frown. "Ugh, the milk's expired. How does that even happen? We just bought it." Your voice was light, complaining about something trivial, and Hange watched you over the top of their laptop. The domesticity of it all, the way you moved around the space like it was yours (well, it was shared, but still), it was comforting and torturous. They wanted you, in every mundane moment.
Grabbing a yogurt and a spoon, you wandered into the living room, setting container down on the coffee table with a clink. But then you paused, nose wrinkling as you sniffed the air. "Did you use my conditioner?" you asked, turning to look at them.
Hange felt their face heat. They had used your conditioner, that expensive bottle with a vanilla scent that you’d complained about the price of but bought anyway because it made your hair so soft. They’d seen it sitting on the shelf in the shower and, in a moment of weakness, had used it themself.
Because it smelled like you. Because they were pathetic and desperate and wanted to be surrounded by your scent even when you weren’t around.
“Yeah,” they admitted, trying to sound casual. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”
You stepped closer, and Hange’s heart rate kicked up. “Unfair! I can barely make the smell linger in my own hair, but I could smell yours from across the room!”
Hange chuckled, trying to ignore the way their pulse was racing. “The smell lingers on you too. Trust me.”
They knew because they’d noticed it constantly over the past few weeks, that subtle vanilla scent that clung to your hair and your pillows and sometimes your clothes.
“It does wonders, doesn’t it?” you said, moving even closer. “Makes your hair so soft.”
You were standing right next to the armchair now, close enough that Hange had to tilt their head back to look at you. “I guess,” they said, their voice coming out slightly strained.
And then you did something Hange absolutely didn’t expect.
You sat on the armrest of the chair, right next to where Hange’s head was, and reached out to tangle your fingers in their still-damp hair. Threading your fingers through, nails grazing gently against their scalp in a way that sent shivers racing down Hange’s spine.
“Let me see,” you murmured, your voice dropping to something softer.
Hange’s eyes fluttered closed involuntarily, their head tilting back into your touch. Your fingers moved slowly, almost massaging, working through the strands with a gentleness that made Hange want to melt into a puddle.
A soft, content sigh escaped their lips before they could stop it, and their head followed the direction of your gentle pushes, pliant and submissive under your touch. The laptop on their thighs was forgotten, their work completely abandoned as every nerve ending focused on the feeling of your fingers in their hair.
It felt so good. Too good. The slight tug on their scalp, the warmth of your body so close, the vanilla scent surrounding them, it was overwhelming in the best way.
“So soft,” you murmured, almost to yourself, your fingers continuing their exploration.
You know what wasn’t soft? Hange’s cock.
They realized with mounting horror that they were getting hard, their cock filling and pressing against their sweatpants, and thank god for the laptop on their lap providing some cover. But at the same time, the laptop wasn’t exactly helpful, because the last time you’d noticed their erection, you’d fucked their brains out, and Hange’s body apparently remembered that very well.
Their breathing had gone shallow, their hands gripping the edges of the laptop. They couldn’t open their eyes, couldn’t look at you, because if they did you’d definitely see how affected they were, how desperate.
Your fingers stilled suddenly in their hair and then withdrew completely, and Hange wanted to protest but they couldn’t.
You cleared your throat, and when Hange’s eyes finally opened, you were already pulling your hand back, your expression carefully neutral except for the slight flush on your cheeks.
“I’ll just eat in my room,” you said, your voice slightly rough. You stood quickly, grabbing the container from the coffee table. “Got some work to catch up on anyway.”
And then you were gone, disappearing into your bedroom and closing the door behind you with a soft click.
Hange sat frozen in the armchair, their laptop still balanced on their lap, their hair still tingling where your fingers had been, their cock still embarrassingly hard.
Maybe things wouldn’t go back to normal after all.
In your room, you leaned back against the closed door and tried to calm your racing heart.
What the fuck had you been thinking?
You’d been doing so well for two weeks. Two weeks of keeping your distance, of treating Hange like a normal roommate, of pretending that night hadn’t fundamentally altered something in your brain chemistry.
Two weeks of absolute torture.
Sleeping with Hange had led to exactly what you’d feared, you couldn’t think about anything else. Couldn’t focus on work without your mind drifting to the memory of them inside you, the sounds they’d made, the way they’d looked at you like you were the most amazing thing they’d ever seen.
You couldn’t sleep with anyone else. You’d tried, or rather, you’d thought about trying. You’d opened your dating apps, scrolled through your contacts, even gone out one night with the intention of finding someone to take home.
But every person you looked at was wrong. Too tall, too short, too confident, too annoying. None of them were Hange with their messy hair and their nervous rambling and their complete inexperience that somehow made everything more intense.
You’d used that “friends with benefits” excuse to show Hange it was casual, to protect yourself from getting too attached. But honestly, you were losing your goddamn mind.
You wanted them again. Wanted them constantly, desperately, with an intensity that scared you.
But Hange deserved better than you. Deserved someone who could offer them a real relationship, not just casual sex with their roommate who was terrified of commitment. Someone who hadn’t spent the better part of a year sleeping with half the city trying to suppress feelings for their oblivious, brilliant, completely adorable roommate.
So you had to hold back. Had to keep your distance. Had to pretend that you were fine with how things were.
But now your hands were tingling with the sense memory of Hange’s soft hair between your fingers. Your mind kept replaying the way their eyes had fluttered closed, the soft sigh they’d made, the way their whole body had gone pliant and submissive under your touch.
And you’d seen it, the tension in their shoulders, the way their breathing had changed, the slight shift in their posture that suggested they were trying to hide something.
They’d been turned on. Just from you touching their hair.
The knowledge sent heat flooding through your body, made your pussy clench with want. You wanted to march back out there, push that laptop aside, and find out exactly how turned on they were. Wanted to watch them fall apart again, wanted to make them whimper and moan and say your name like a prayer.
But you couldn’t.
You had to maintain boundaries. Had to protect both of you from the inevitable mess that would come from getting too involved.
You just had to stay strong. That was the only way.
But a few days later, everything fell apart.
You’d woken up early, too early for a weekend, really, but you’d been restless lately, your sleep schedule all messed up. You’d made coffee and settled on the couch to watch the new episode of the show you’d been following, wearing your favorite silk robe and nothing else because it was your apartment and you could dress however you wanted.
You were so absorbed in the show that you didn’t hear Hange’s bedroom door open.
“Morning,” their voice came from behind you, and you turned to see them emerging from their room.
And there went your plans to stay away from them.
Hange was wearing a black compression shirt that clung to every line of their torso, showing off lean muscle and the subtle definition of their abs. Grey sweatpants hung low on their hips, and their hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail with flyaway strands framing their face.
You had a love-hate relationship with this specific outfit. Love because Hange looked absolutely delicious, like they’d walked straight out of one of your fantasies. Hate because seeing them like this made you want to devour them whole, made it impossible to maintain the careful distance you’d been cultivating.
“Morning,” you managed, your voice coming out slightly strangled.
“I’m going on a morning run,” Hange said, heading toward the door to grab their shoes. “Should be back in an hour or so.”
You hummed in response, trying to focus back on your show and absolutely failing. Because Hange was stretching slightly, their compression shirt riding up to show a sliver of pale skin.
Before they could reach the door, before you could stop yourself, you called out: “Wait.”
Hange paused, turning to look at you with raised eyebrows.
You stood, setting down your coffee mug, your body moving before your brain could catch up. You crossed the space between you, drawn by some magnetic force you couldn’t resist.
When you reached them, you lifted your hands to their shoulders, your expression thoughtful like you were inspecting something. The fabric of the compression shirt was smooth under your palms, stretched taut over firm muscle.
Hange caught a glimpse of your breasts through the loose silk of your robe, you hadn’t tied it very tightly, and the fabric gaped slightly when you moved, and immediately looked away, their face flushing pink.
You didn’t notice, too focused on the feeling of them under your hands. Your fingers danced across the fabric of their shirt, tracing the line of their shoulders, the swell of their biceps.
“This fabric is too thin,” you said, your voice dropping lower. “You’ll get cold.”
Hange let out a slightly nervous chuckle. “I’m planning to run. It’ll warm me right up.”
You looked up at them, and they looked back, and suddenly the air between you was charged with electricity. Your hands were still on their biceps, you could feel their pulse racing under your fingers, and you were close enough to see the way their pupils had dilated.
The tension was suffocating. You wanted to close the distance, wanted to press your body against theirs, wanted to find out if they were as affected as you were.
“You’ll catch a cold,” you insisted, your voice softer now.
Normally Hange would have argued. But right now their brain clearly wasn’t working, their eyes slightly unfocused, their breathing shallow.
“Maybe you should just work out at home,” you suggested, your hands sliding down from their biceps to their forearms.
Hange nodded obediently, not a single protest, and satisfaction curled in your stomach at how easily they submitted.
“How?” they asked, their voice rough.
You let a slow smile spread across your face, the kind you knew drove people crazy. “I have an idea.”
Hange’s throat bobbed as they swallowed hard, and you watched their eyes darken with want. You could feel the tension in their body, could see the way their hands twitched at their sides like they wanted to touch you but didn’t dare.
Your eyes dropped deliberately down their body, tracking over the compression shirt, the sweatpants, landing on the very obvious bulge straining against the grey fabric.
“Seems like your dick also has an idea,” you said, your voice taking on that teasing lilt that always made Hange squirm.
Hange’s face went scarlet in an instant, their breath catching audibly. Their eyes flicked up to meet yours, then dropped straight to your lips, lingering there like they were hypnotized. You could see the internal war playing out behind those wide, glassy eyes, the flush creeping down their neck, the way their fingers curled into loose fists at their sides. They looked so fucking pretty like this, all flustered and needy and trying so hard to be good.
In your head, a single clear warning screamed: If you cross this line right now, it’s over. There’s no coming back. You said no more. You said it was for the best.
But your body had already decided.
You rose onto your toes, one hand sliding up to cup the back of their neck, and kissed them.
Hange melted the second your lips touched. A soft, broken sound escaped them and their whole body sagged forward like every bone had turned to liquid. Their hands flew to your waist, gripping the silk of your robe. They didn’t know what to do with their mouth at first, just pressed back shyly, but when you tilted your head and licked gently at the seam of their lips, they opened for you with a helpless little noise that went straight between your legs.
You took their hand and led them to the couch. You couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t make it to a bedroom, couldn’t do anything except get your hands on them right now.
You sat first, then tugged Hange down with you. But instead of letting them sit beside you, you lay back against the cushions, pulling them over you until their body covered yours completely. Hange braced on their forearms, hovering just above you, eyes wide and pupils blown as they took in the sight: you spread out beneath them, the silk robe had already slipped from your shoulders, giving Hange a full view of your body.
“Like this,” you murmured. Your hands slid up their back, over the tight compression shirt, nails dragging lightly. “I want you on top of me.”
Hange let out a shaky exhale, nodding frantically. “Okay… okay.”
They settled their weight more fully, careful not to crush you, but close enough that you could feel every hard inch of them pressing against your core through their sweatpants.
And then they leaned down to kiss you again. You wrapped your legs around their waist, ankles locking at the small of their back, pulling them down until their cock, which was still trapped in grey fabric, notched perfectly against your slick entrance. Hange groaned, hips jerking forward on instinct.
“Touch me,” you ordered softly, guiding one of their hands between your bodies.
Hange’s fingers trembled as they slid down your stomach, past your mound, until they found your soaked folds. They circled your clit, then dipped lower, pressing two fingers inside you slowly like you’d taught them.
You arched, moaning openly. “Just like that… fuck, Hange, your fingers feel so good.”
They pumped slowly at first, curling on every inward stroke, thumb rubbing messy circles over your clit. Their eyes were glued to your face, watching every hitch of your breath, every flutter of your lashes.
“You’re so wet,” they whispered, voice reverent and wrecked. “Is this because of me?”
“All for you,” you confirmed, rolling your hips to meet their thrusts. “No one else has ever made me this wet. No one.”
Hange’s rhythm faltered for a second at the praise, then sped up, fingers plunging deeper, faster. You could hear how wet you were, obscene, slick sounds filling the quiet morning air.
“Don’t stop,” you gasped, nails digging into their shoulders through the shirt. “Make me cum on your fingers. Show me how much you learned.”
They did. Relentlessly. Until your thighs shook, your back arched off the couch, and you came with a sharp cry, clenching hard around their fingers, soaking their hand.
Hange kept moving through it, gentler now, drawing out every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive beneath them.
When you finally caught your breath, you reached down, tugging their sweatpants and boxers lower, just enough to free their cock. It sprang up, thick and flushed, already leaking steadily.
You took their slick-covered hand and coated them with your release, stroking from base to tip until Hange was panting, hips twitching helplessly.
“Need you nside me,” you whispered, spreading your legs wider, ankles still locked around them. “Now.”
Hange's eyes widened, their hands bracing on either side of your head as they settled between your thighs. You guiding them to your entrance. "Go ahead," you encouraged. "Take your time."
Hange pushed inside slowly, and both of you moaned at the sensation. They were careful, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, sliding in slowly until they were fully seated inside you.
"Oh god," Hange breathed, their arms trembling slightly as they held themselves above you. "You feel- this is-"
"I know," you murmured, your hands sliding up their back. "You feel perfect too."
For a moment, Hange just stayed still, their forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard. Then slowly, carefully, they started to move. Long, slow strokes that had you gasping.
"Is this okay?" Hange asked, their voice strained.
"So good," you assured them. "But you can go faster. I won't break."
Hange's pace increased slightly, their hips snapping forward with more confidence. The new rhythm had you moaning, your nails dragging down their back, and you could see Hange's muscles flexing with each thrust, could feel the power they were holding back.
"Harder," you gasped. "Faster- please, Hange-"
They complied immediately, their thrusts becoming more forceful, the couch creaking beneath you with the movement. You could see the concentration on their face, the way they were trying so hard to make you feel good, and something in your chest went warm.
"That's perfect," you moaned. "Just like that- don't stop-"
Hange's rhythm was getting erratic, their breathing harsh, and you could tell they were getting close. Their jaw was clenched, their bottom lip caught between their teeth, and there was something almost pained in their expression.
You could feel them getting desperate, their thrusts becoming more frantic, and your own orgasm was building rapidly. The angle was perfect, hitting that spot inside you that made your toes curl, and combined with the sight of Hange above you, completely lost in pleasure-
"I'm gonna cum," you warned, your walls starting to flutter around them.
"Me too- fuck- I can't-"
You came hard, your back arching off the couch, your pussy clenching around Hange's cock. You felt them still, felt their whole body go rigid, and you expected to feel them pulsing inside you.
But when you came down, gasping and oversensitive, you realized Hange was trembling above you. Their bottom lip was bleeding slightly where they'd bitten down too hard, their face contorted with effort, and they were still hard inside you.
"Hange?" you asked, your trembling hand cupping the side of their face. "Why didn't you cum?"
They looked at you with something vulnerable and desperate in their eyes. "I don't want it to end," they admitted, their voice small.
Your heart clenched in your chest. "What?"
"Last time-" Hange swallowed hard. "Last time after I came, it ended. And then we didn't do it again for two weeks and I thought maybe- I just wanted to make it last longer this time."
The confession broke something open in your chest. They'd been holding back, denying themself pleasure, because they were afraid this would be the last time.
You cupped their face in both hands, forcing them to meet your eyes. "Hange, we can do this again. As many times as you want. This isn't a one-time thing, I promise."
"Really?" The hope in their voice made your chest ache.
"Really." You pushed gently at their shoulders. "Now sit up. Let me take care of you."
Hange pulled out carefully and sat back on the couch properly, and you climbed into their lap, straddling them. Their cock was still hard, pressed between your bodies, and you could see how desperately they needed release.
You reached between your bodies, positioning them at your entrance, and sank down slowly. Both of you moaned at the sensation, the new angle allowing them to go even deeper.
Your hands tangled in their hair the same way they had a few days ago, fingers threading through and tugging slightly. Hange's eyes fluttered closed, their head falling back, completely surrendering to your touch.
"You're so good for me," you murmured, starting to move. "So perfect."
Hange's hands came to your waist, their fingers digging in as you rode them. You set a faster pace this time, rising and falling on their cock, determined to make them finally let go.
You kissed their neck, sucking marks into their skin, claiming them. Your hands moved from their hair down to their shoulders, your nails digging in slightly, and Hange whimpered at the sensation.
"You feel so good inside me," you murmured against their throat. "No one has ever felt this good."
Hange's hips started to thrust up to meet your movements, their breathing ragged. You pulled back slightly, tugging their face close to your chest, and Hange immediately buried their face there, their breath hot against your skin.
Your movements became more desperate, riding them harder. You could feel them getting close, could feel the tension in their body, the way their fingers were gripping your waist.
"That's it," you encouraged. "Let go."
Hange's face stayed buried against your chest, their breath coming in desperate gasps. You hugged them close, one hand tangled in their hair, the other arm wrapped around their shoulders, holding them tight as you rode them.
"Please," Hange whimpered against your skin. "Please, I need-"
"I know," you murmured. "Cum for me, Hange. Fill me up."
You felt your own third orgasm building, the angle and pace perfect, and when it hit you, your walls clenching tight around them, Hange finally let go.
They came with a loud moan, their cock pulsing inside you, and you felt the warmth of it as they filled you. You clung to each other, trembling and gasping, riding out the pleasure together.
When you both finally stilled, you were pressed together chest to chest, hearts racing in sync. Hange's glasses had fogged up completely, and you reached up with a gentle smile, sliding them off their face and pushing them up to rest in their hair.
Then you did something you absolutely shouldn't have done, something that crossed the boundaries you'd set.
You kissed their forehead. Soft and sweet.
Hange's breath caught, their arms tightening around you, and when you pulled back to look at them, the expression on their face was so open, so vulnerable, so full of something that looked dangerously close to love, that it scared you.
"We should clean up," you said quickly, breaking the moment before it could become too much.
But as you separated, as you both cleaned up in awkward silence, you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted between you.