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It was an invitation that raised cause for alarm.
Oftentimes, Sinclair’s room was the most reasonable choice. It was serene, it was quiet, it lacked visual noise. Don Quixote’s room was none of those things. Not too tall of an order, but not the ideal circumstances for lovemaking.
But during the commotion on Mephistopheles, going from one location to another, she had insisted in private conversation that he visit her living quarters. There was a degree of enthusiasm to her voice, not unheard of from such a cheery woman, but slathered with intent.
Later in the night, he obliged and found himself alone in the room, surrounded with nothing more than her fixer-related belongings. By now, he was familiarized with a good chunk of the items, knowing which Colors they belonged to, knowing where they always would be, knowing she wasn’t one to chaotically arrange them.
It was only a matter of time before she arrived, so he took the opportunity to survey what was around him. He nodded to himself, assured of the objects he had some awareness of, though by the end of his glaring, he had to do a double-check. He couldn’t pinpoint everything, but there was an item that he really liked, and it… it… oh.
The truth stood now. Something in this room wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
Whoosh.
“W-wha-AAAah–!”
A certain lance, definitely not one of the merchandise, flung out to the side of Sinclair. With a loud thud, it lodged itself into a wall nearby, a gigantic dart having successfully missed its target. That was the intention, but if by some misfortune it hit him, then a trip to Dante could get him back on his feet.
Regardless, it made him short of breath, barely able to keep himself steady with the ambush. He should have known well that harm wasn’t to come his way, but sometimes his partner liked to mess with his expectations. And it worked wonders to make his muscles shiver and convulse in a typical bout of panic.
Fortunately, it was only a few more seconds until the tension cleared with an energetic, unmistakable bellow.
“Turmoil fills the air. The whole City engulfed in terrors unknown. But not to fear! She has cometh, a Color to stand above all other Colors!”
Step… Step…
“So here enters, The Red Mist!”
With the brightest eyes and the warmest smile she possessed in days, maybe weeks, stood Don Quixote. Her equipment was not what Sinclair had seen from her before. No jacket, no tie, no fixer badges. Just a skintight bodysuit, shaded with a dark scarlet, lined with brighter tints down her torso and thighs, and a peculiar opening at the top of her chest.
As the situation dawned on him, she slightly spread out her legs and put both hands on her hips, a posture which seemed to emanate alluring confidence. His eyes slowly widened, his mouth slowly shrank, his cheeks slowly flushed, and his legs slowly crossed. He could never do a good job hiding such a reaction.
“Ah-haah, it appears that Young Sinclair trembles before this marvelous sight, nay? As would any feeble citizen! After all, I…”
It was at that moment which Don Quixote did something she had neglected to think of earlier. She was in such a hurry to put on the suit, with little else mattering to her at the time. She turned her head to the mirror on the side of the room, presenting herself to the so-called marvelous sight.
“I-I…”
As the realization manifested, that proud stance Don Quixote put up earlier was quick to fade away. Her pupils shrunk, her smile became a sheepish pout, and her cheeks flushed red. She could only stand in dumbstruck awe at her own shape, nipples slightly edging out of her breasts, abs leaving a faint trace, navel hidden in plain sight, intimate folds creased together.
That last portion was what struck her nerves the hardest, prompting an awkward chuckle before she covered herself with her arms, one across her chest and the other down towards her crotch. It was hardly a step above total nudity, and although she went bare for Sinclair in the past, the timing here couldn’t have been worse.
Especially knowing that such a peculiar, immature boy would take amusement in seeing such a composed, mature woman get overrun by shame.
“Qui-Quixote…” Sinclair scooted forward with bated breaths, trying to get a closer look at the suit’s pristine texture.
Don Quixote shifted her pupils diagonally off to the floor, no longer having the grit to even so much as look in the direction of her boyfriend. She was making a show of herself already, having realized it too late. But if there was one thing she didn’t show, it was her outward personality.
“So… this is really what she wore in front of everyone? Her employees, her friends… they all got to see her body like this, and she didn’t even care?”
“How lucky… haah…” Sinclair might have been getting too worked up for his own good, his sweat dripping like bullets. “I c-can’t blame anyone if they got… you know, needy… it’s so fucking hot, Sancho…”
The woman proceeded to drop her guard, arms jutted off to the side such that her partner could again see her in full glory. But now, her eyes were closed, and her pout was of slight annoyance instead of embarrassment.
“Emil… if I had known I was going to present myself to you in such a fashion, I may not have gone through with it.”
Sinclair didn’t want the implications of those words to get to his head. He and Sancho had come too far with this goofy date anyway. Surely it was better to just let things take their natural course.
“B-but you’ve been naked in front of me before, and, and we’ve… slept with each other, and…”
Sancho opened her eyes to give Sinclair a plain, but somewhat unwelcoming glare. “I planned to present an exciting cosplay tonight, but I hadn’t necessarily planned to excite you carnally.”
“S-Sancho, please, I appreciate the gesture beyond such things!” It was difficult to discern if Sinclair was being fully honest with himself, given the pure rot festering in his mind. But there was still a heart buried deep inside him, and he tried to expose it.
“The effort you put into maintaining this suit shows your passion for fixers. You love your hobby, you show it to me with pride in your eyes, and I don’t know if I could say the same for myself…”
A shaky sigh came out of Sancho, and at first Sinclair couldn’t be sure how she would respond. But soon, he felt a hand gently caress his shoulder, and he looked up to see her form a weary smile.
“It’s silly, isn’t it? Despite everything that happened in my hundreds of years existing, my obsession has never gone away. It’s true, and frankly, I want to stop feeling down about it right now.”
The hand that wasn’t attached to Sinclair instead snaked around his back, pulling him closer to Sancho’s body, her curves rubbing against him almost as plainly as if she had gone the extra mile to strip naked. Her lips opened into a narrow grin, matching the furrowed shape of her eyes.
“After all, it’s just you and me, dear Emil. Together in embrace, as it was then, as it is now. I may deny myself at times, but I follow your heart, as you do to mine…”
- - -
This most recent make-out session shouldn’t feel as primal as it is. But surely, it had something to do with the suit.
As Sancho pressed herself against Sinclair, her lack of modesty was becoming more apparent in multiple ways. As usual, her tongue was nested deep in his mouth, fighting against his own, embracing the slick sensation. But because of what she wore tonight, he could easily feel every little bump of her body, vulnerable in comparison to his typical jacket and pants.
She was past the point of caring, though. Even as his hands wandered to places they perhaps shouldn’t have been exploring yet, one caressing her somewhat firm stomach and the other kneading its fingers into her much softer rear end. Even as a certain tent in his clothes got bigger and bolder, rubbing itself against her enriched thigh.
His lust was clear and pathetic, enough for her to break off the kiss and tell it like it was.
“Uh-hee-heee~... despite what you said earlier, you sure are getting antsy about my getup. My shapely body left at the mercy of your daring hands, and your throbbing manhood… not that I mind anymore. Just another way for you to appreciate what I strive for~...”
In turn, Sancho appreciated Sinclair by softly nibbling his ear, letting just a tad of her predatory instincts kick in. The sensitivity of that area combined with her teasing nature caused him to shudder and moan, and there was a part of him that wanted her to just snack on him all night. He was liable to reach his climax without her really needing to do much.
But do much, she did. His frail body was pushed ever so slowly, until she was able to throw him against the mattress by his back, and pounce on him like a cougar. Her arms planted themselves near his sides, and her legs lifted above his own, absolving him of intimacy but distracting him with her swaying breasts, her nipples evidently hardening under the suit.
“S-Sancho… Wings…”
The bloodfiend had such a sultry grin as she noticed her boyfriend staring at her surprisingly gifted assets.
“What’s wrong, Emil? Could it be that my jiggling bosom is catching your eye? From that perspective, they must look huge… so tantalizing~…”
Oh, they caught his eye alright. Sancho could just barely make out the swirls in Sinclair’s pupils, but it was easier for her to notice his arms moving upward, with fingers spread under intent. Alas, her reaction time was much too fast, gripping onto an arm to stop it dead in its tracks. Although she had Rociante on, her innate strength never ceased to impress.
Her free hand went up to the air, with her index finger wagging side-to-side. “Ah, ah, aaahh! No touchy-touchyyy~!”
Even by Don Quixote’s standards, that might have been excessively juvenile. But to say that Sancho was playful in bed would be an understatement. Her cunning grin persisted in light of her upbeat mood, even as Sinclair softly whined in light of his starvation.
“The Red Mist overpowers any foe, and this timid boy below her shall be no exception. She will be the one to please, in whichever way she wants. I believe I have an idea of what she might do…”
Sancho proceeded to lift her back up straight, before turning around and curving down a bit. She unzipped Sinclair’s fly to get his aching member out in the open, then started to shift her hips. As she brought her body closer and closer, the intent becoming clearer and clearer, her head turned towards him with a smug cat-like smile.
“Are you enjoying the view down there~?”
“Ye-yes, yes, Sancho, I- nnghhh…”
Sinclair squinted his eyes shut once Sancho was firmly seated on his stomach, with his steamy erection trapped between her latex thighs. A sensational combination of fat and muscle, squeezing his fragile dick, threatening to crush it against her weight. Fortunately though, she wasn’t as physically strong as The Red Mist herself.
Already, some traces of precum were leaking from his tip, a telltale sign of his subconscious happiness to be at the mercy of his girlfriend’s capable body. Upon seeing it drip onto her suit, she giggled.
“Mm-hu-hu-huu~, a certain someone is getting my specially tailored fixer costume all dirty. Such a bad boy… the upper management needs to lay out a punishment~…”
That got Sinclair’s pupils drifting off. “A-aah, I’m sorry I’m sorry, I just got really horny, I don’t know what you expe-gghhHHH, f-fuuck!”
She was moving. Her legs, going up and down, crossing, rubbing against that bare sensitive cock. Sometimes she squeezed it tighter against her muscles, before sliding her hips to slowly but surely jerk it off. On the other side of his body, he was an absolute wreck, his entire face tinted red and drenched in sweat, teeth gritting for dear life.
“GHHHhhh, haah, oh fuck me - nghhh - it’s so tight b-but I love it, I love your thighs, and your ass, an–KKKhhh…”
Sancho momentarily ceased her friction, but kept Sinclair’s hard-on at bay, primed to burst at any inopportune moment. She again turned to look at him, this time with one hand covering her knowing grin.
“Isn’t that quite crass for my little Emil to say? My charm is just too potent, I’m afraid… eh-hee~...”
Sinclair wasn’t in the mood to defend himself tonight. It was often a futile effort, considering the perversion that weighed over his head. He just wanted more, his breaths giving way for pitiful begging.
“P-please, keep moving, please…”
“Oh, Emil…” Sancho proceeded to do what Sinclair asked, but not without giving him an earful.
“In times like this, you just lose all senses. When I, noble Sancho, go as far as to squeeze her plush thighs against your member…”
On cue, Sinclair’s throbbing dick was further agitated by the legs trapping it in place, rubbing against the foreskin with latex texture. Each time Sancho pressed her thighs together, she could see it turning redder and hear him gasp in pleasure, leading her to softly chuckle in self-satisfaction.
“...and to brush her round bottom against your stomach, protected only with thin fabric…”
It was easy to forget, given that it wasn’t where Sinclair’s strained cock was located, but he could indeed also feel the sensation of Sancho’s weight, her backside pressing against his abdomen. Because of the suit, he could glimpse the exact shape of its curves, tilted towards his own gaze.
“...you’ve always been so easy to please, my dear. And I, too, am pleased, knowing that you can appreciate the fine craft of a bloodfiend grown over centuries. But perhaps the happiest, most pleased guest here of all, is that small, yet enormous, tingling, drippi-”
"Sancho, S-Sancho, I can’t, I ca-I-I-I’m gonna cum–!!”
Grip.
“Not yeeet~!”
All Sinclair could do was whine like a dog, as Sancho brought her hand down onto his twitching dick to silence it, the finale of this play yet to come. Oftentimes she had no problem letting him coat the bed with his spend, but she figured that she could keep him on edge for a while longer, even if that while felt agonizing on his end.
She wasn’t always going to put on that suit, so she wanted the fun to last.
- - -
Sancho remained where she was, her thighs and rear still against Sinclair’s delicate body. In fact, she wasn’t planning to reposition herself anytime soon. But there was a way for her to take further advantage of her situation, with a minimal amount of effort on her part. For several seconds, she listened to his winding breaths, before her announcement came through.
“The Red Mist is a harsh and relentless fixer when she needs to be. Her weapon cleaves foes like a knife to butter, but she is all too capable of choking someone with nothing but the clothes on her back. And now, you find yourself in a vulnerable stance, ready to be… shall we say, suffocated~”
As that last teasing word escaped Sancho’s lips, she finally began to move again, but in a different direction from before. She was directing her hips backwards, ever so slowly, pushing more and more of herself towards Sinclair’s head. His eyes widened in anticipation, before they and everything else on his face was buried in her most intimate warmth.
What wasn’t stuck down there was his cock, left to throb on its own terms as the human attached to it felt the soft force of her body crashing down onto him. She could see it clear as day, an indication which got her opening her big mouth as she did time and time again.
“Oh dear… my Emil is being suppressed, in the most pleasurable form possible… and yet there’s a portion of him which is thrilled by the sensation, shamelessly aroused by my own bottom… e-eeh?”
Sancho stopped herself with a gasp, then a squeak. Because on the other end of her body, where Sinclair laid under organic binds, he was breathing. Hard. Deliberately. Not just to get himself whatever fresh air he could find, but to have a whiff of her barely-protected special place. It was inevitable, what with him being mere centimeters away.
The latex, the sweat, the hints of love juice glistening within… it was such a primal scent, nowhere near sweet in the traditional sense, but sweet in ways which he couldn’t possibly describe with words. It was an addiction, as potent as famed drugs within the City, and that was reflected in his inhalation, which came in thick waves.
Although he couldn’t see it, she closed her eyes and ducked her head, her cheeks flushing with a bright pink. The shame was coming to her again, on a much more personal level, now that he was audaciously indulging in her most private area. But this time, she fought through it, having vowed to keep the energy positive. As embarrassing as it may be for her to acknowledge it, she did so anyway.
“I sense some naughty sniffing at a place which shouldn’t be sniffed… how dare you~... I ought to up the punishment…”
It was about high time that Sinclair’s dick, pleading for any form of attention, got some in the form of Sancho’s spindly fingers. She gently wrapped the palm of her hand against it, trapping it in her warmth, in much the same way as his face. Each of her strokes were timed with intent, carefully monitoring how he would handle her weight. He didn’t give up, and she didn’t give up.
Quite the opposite, really. He was becoming so intoxicated by the touch all around his body, and the scent clogging his windpipes, that he decided to bring his tongue out to play. Because of the suit’s protection, he couldn’t have a full taste of her delicacy, but it was nearly as potent as what his nose could muster.
Now that was a real bold move. Sancho almost collapsed on top of him from sheer humiliation. But she kept steady, and fought fire with fire.
“I see… I see how it is… thou seek a duel, Young Sinclair? The two of us, going at it up close and personal? I have no objections. En garde~!”
With nary a relent, Sancho opened her mouth wide to stuff as much of Sinclair’s engorged cock inside her throat as she could. In seconds, she heard him moan loudly underneath her curves, muffled by the bulk surrounding his face. It was his acceptance of the battle to come, one which was surely in her favor because of the latex shield covering her genitals.
The upward motions she once had stroking his hard-on with her hands, were now being done with her mouth, further exacerbated by her tongue hugging tightly against the shaft. Its arousal was palpable, as was hers, with his own appendage of taste sensing more and more of her leaking fluids.
They were both making such salacious vocalizations, sometimes broken up by gasps for air. Though on her end, it was kind of unfortunate. Her gig was to tease him into flustered putty with her words, but that couldn’t be done while his excited length blocked her throat. Not that he minded though, not at all, not when he was blessed by her moist warmth from both ends of her body.
His dick throbbed with need inside of her mouth, somewhat disorienting her with its subconscious motions. His tongue was likewise ferocious, patting against her crotch and lapping up whatever dampness he could gleam from her. In contrast with his member, it was gradually making deliberate motions, with its tip carefully brushing against a firm bean-like growth just barely sensible underneath her suit.
Over time, her muffled moans grew louder and higher in pitch, and she struggled just a little bit against the beast she dueled with. She sometimes underestimated just how much of a pervert her boyfriend was, with gestures of bravery that he otherwise could rarely maintain. In and out of bed, her own bouts of courage occasionally went wrong, and this wasn’t an exception.
But she continued to fight, as hard as she could. A part of her was tempted to just bite into his meat, but that would be as unfair of a contest as if she were to disembark from Rociante. It was just the walls of her mouth, and the muscles of her tongue. At this point, his cock was so warm, so worked up, so tantalizingly close to blowing a thick load inside of her.
Something similar could be said for her snatch, alarmingly so. He was steadily becoming more aggressive with her clitoris, rubbing a greater area of his tongue onto it. Oh, how he wished she laid it all bare, so he could really dig inside and make a mess of her. Even still, with the suit wrapped across her depths, her nerves were impossible to fully protect.
She had to win this duel, damn it. She couldn’t reach completion before he did. She opted for drastic measures.
With a loud pop, her mouth was freed from his shaft, a trail of drool running down to its tip. Without giving him much of a break, her hand went back onto it, jerking it much more quickly, as she proceeded to do what she was most proficient at in bed.
“Did that feel good, dear Emil~? Does this feel good, my soft fingers stroking as hard as they can against your thick, aching erection~? Do the various senses of my butt overtake your vulnerable face~? Doesn’t it all make you want to let go of your worries, spilling them out into the world beyond~? Don’t you just want to release all of that pent-up tension~...?”
“Mmm-ghh-mmGGhhh…”
“That’s it, Emil… don’t fight it, don’t hold back… I will be here to take care of it, as I always am, taking care of you~...”
“Ghmm-GHHHh–!!”
On an impulse, preparing himself to finish, Sinclair dug his fingernails rather deep into the fat portions of Sancho’s ass, trying to pull her body closer against his face, even though it was already much too close. He just had to, because he could feel his stress flowing through his other side, milliseconds away from bursting.
If she wanted to, she could have tried to swallow it. But she was at an awkward angle, and regardless, she felt much satisfaction seeing all the sticky ropes that would be fired into the air. And fired they did, large white strands shooting out with as much force as a water fountain. Not strong enough to hit the ceiling, but it was inches close.
The sheer potency of his orgasm could have made her giggle in delight, but she was instead caught up with sharp squeaks, his tongue having contacted just the right spot at just the right time. Her climax wasn’t as strong as his, but the dark stain on her crotch couldn’t go unnoticed, and some of her spend managed to leak through the suit and into his mouth.
At last, once the pace had settled into a passive ooze, she lifted herself up and away from his face. What a mess, still tinted red and absolutely soaked in bodily fluids. From a glance, he could have very well been overstimulated. His lust, as strong as it was, may still have a limit. But at least he was getting some true air, with each long and sharp gasp.
“And so, The Red Mist has successfully dispatched a powerful villain. It was nothing she couldn’t handle, as if there were anything in the City that could ever overpower her. And she made a particular boy so happy in the process~...”
With the more gentle caress that she was better known for, Sancho turned towards Sinclair and slowly edged her body up to his, chest against chest. Her wide, genuine smile surrounded his vision, before smothering it with a short kiss on the lips. It was just a fleeting moment, until she gave him more room to breathe.
“S-S-Sancho… haah…”
“Uh-he-hee~...” The boy was further rewarded with a soft kiss on the cheek.
“Your happiness is my happiness, Emil. We stand strong with our mutual passion. It is forever an honor to have you by my side.”