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Chapter Text

Dear reader...

First things first, big, big thank you for taking the time to read my book; I appreciate you reading! ♥️ 

•  I am taking requests!! I am happy to do smut, fluff, and angst with any metal/rock band members. it works for me best if you have an idea/scenario in mind or a specific attribute to the character (example: Dom![band member name here] x reader).  Commenting below is the easiest way for me to see them, so don't be shy! =P

• This oneshot book does contain forms of NSFW smut, which will be marked with a star (★), as well as SFW fluff and angst, which will be marked with an arrow (➞) for easy identification.

• There are no connections between the oneshots unless specified.

• The updates on this book will most likely be sporadic. I will try to come up with a few updates a month depending on my schedule. ^^

Happy reading! ♥️ 

-Bethany

Chapter Text

𝕴𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖘 // 𝕽𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖉𝖐𝖊

Dull orange leaves dance and swirl as the crisp November wind picks up. Through the bangs pushed up against my face, I watch the trees' branches above me groan with protest as they succumb to the current. They're stout enough, but the thought of them snapping off like twigs lingers at the back of my mind. I pull my coat tighter around me. It doesn't do much to prevent the frigid air from snaking through my clothes.

The clearing just barely comes into view. Instinctively, my hands extend out to unravel the stray undergrowth in the path I've taken so many times before. Faint muddled footprints mark the bare ground but soon disappear after I push past the last of the shrubbery.

As soon as the wind dies down, I take in a breath of relief. Then, slowly, I step out into where the trees divide.

The moon peaks from the treeline, casting its glow on the lake's stagnant black water. If I look closely enough, tiny stars fleck the surface, gray paint splatters against a canvas. There's an urge to reach out and graze my hand over the cool water, just to see it being disturbed before settling again.

However, my eyes skim over it. I can admire it later. There are important matters to attend to first.

Nothing waits by the water—nothing for the whole mile circumference of the lake. I shift my gaze to the edges of the woods. There's no car parked near the treeline.

Even the wind's rustling stops as if allowing me to pick up on the smallest sounds. It sends an unnerving chill up my spine, but a more alarming thought enters my mind: There's nobody here except me.

I furrow my brows. This is the only time I've ever gotten here before him. Could something be keeping him? Has something happened?

No. He's not stupid enough to allow anything to happen, I convince myself.

Nonetheless, my gut churns as I take a step forward. A dead leaf crunches under my boot, as if verifying that I'd hear someone approaching me in any direction. I take another towards the lake, shivering.

I gasp when I feel thick arms embracing my waist. "I was wondering if I'd see you here again," a voice purrs.

My tense body relaxes and I sigh, cursing myself for being paranoid. The shock of his complete absence still has adrenaline coursing through my blood and it makes my heart drum with fright. How pathetic we both are.

"Go fuck yourself, Ronnie."

He leans his head against the back of mine. "That's no way to greet an old friend." A subtle scent of sandalwood creeps into my nose. It makes me feel a little woozy.

I take a deep breath in to try to gain more control of myself. Which was a mistake. "Your 'friend' thought you evaporated into the night and left her on her own," I reply, reaching out for his hands. They're cold even against my freezing fingertips. A slight tremor runs through my arms.

"You'll find me if you look for me better.  It's not too hard to put in a little effort, is it?" he mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I did. You're such a horrible liar."

He chuckles through his teeth. It's a sound that could make anyone stop dead in their tracks. It's so tantalizing, so impossible to resist. It's inviting. Cold. Deadly. It's like the last thing the hunter's prey hears before falling into his grasp. He knows it.

And damnit, I fall for it every time. 

"Come on, don't be like that," he murmurs coolly. Then his hands begin trailing down, from my waist before getting lower and lower...

I don't realize he turned me around, with his hands resting against my hips, until I'm suddenly met with glinting umber eyes. They flash like the lake standing still behind me.

My breath quickens. "Long time no see." I reach for his face and brush away a lock of silky obsidian hair that had curtained over his eye.

A soft wind makes the trees around us sway, almost as if answering me. The corners of his lips turn upward. "Long time no see," he echoes, fingers gently pinching my chin between them and lifting my head closer to his. "I missed you."

I can barely make out the blue teardrop just above his cheekbone, but what stands out to me the most is the sudden softening of Ronnie's eyes. It's a privilege only I get to see, and something about that makes my breath hitch in my throat.

I almost forget to close my eyes as he tilts my head perfectly enough to fit his.

The chill completely disappears the moment I feel our lips meet. Today's previous thoughts melt away like wax from a flame, and I finally let my body fall into his. Warmth blooms in my stomach until it surmounts everything else and all I can focus on is him.

He breathes gently, his chest rising and falling against mine in a kind of captivating rhythm. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, relishing his smooth, silken, lips. I'd almost forgotten how familiar they are with mine.

I missed you too.

Then he pulls away slightly with a slight exhale. "You're cold," he whispers.

I don't quite open my eyes. "Look who's talking."

"We should get to the car." He secures my coat around me.

I nod. He leads me to our left, just beyond the treeline where a sleek, black sedan waits for us. He ushers me inside, opening the passenger door before entering through the driver's side.

As soon as he pushes the ignition button, the vehicle comes to life with a purr. I take off my coat, leaving myself in my black tank top to appreciate the hot air he sets to low.

The interior lights shine on Ronnie as he strips off his leather jacket too. It saturates the tattoos garnishing his body, from his neck to his arms, and then finally disappearing beneath his shirt, only more to be uncovered. Wherever his pale, naked skin peeks, it seems to reflect the beams of light.

He runs a hand through his hair, layers falling clumsily around his face before taking me in his gaze. The smokey black around his eyes gives the illusion he's irate, but the slanting of his lips suggests otherwise.

"Damn, you look...incredible tonight," he compliments.

Is that pride I hear? I wonder, my heart skipping a beat at the thought. I acknowledge him with a smile, one that's too shy, I think.

"We really were away for this long, hmm?" he muses quietly. By this time, the lights are fading to darkness. Only the moon illuminates us now.

Guilt gnaws at my stomach all of a sudden. I should've been communicating more with Ronnie. It's my fault we were apart all this time. I don't say anything in fear of choking on my words. So I only flash him a closed smile again.

He bends over and pulls the tab under his seat. With a loud clank, it's pushed as far back as it can go. "Hey," he beckons me. "Come here. Don't be shy," he sings the last sentence silkily. 

I obey, scooting over to sit on his lap. Wrapping his arms around my stomach, he lets me rest my head on his shoulder. The corners of my lips twitch when I feel a finger slip into the bottom of my top and graze my bare skin.

As he sighs, his chest rumbles against my back. "I missed this."

"Me too," I admit truthfully, reaching for the other hand that rests on my thigh and intertwining our fingers together. Despite the weight of my thoughts entertaining my mind, I relish the coolness as I trace the scarlet rose on the back of his hand. "I don't want to be away this long from you again."

Sounds rich coming from someone who closed herself off from everyone, a voice in my head berates.

"Hearing you say that makes me feel better," he interrupts my thought.

"Why? You didn't doubt I missed you, did you?" I jest.

I feel him shaking his head. "I only needed closure."

"Well, you have it then."

He exhales a gentle laugh.

This is a nice feeling–after being mentally beaten down for weeks, spending tonight with Ronnie feels like a paradise, a little island that only he and I inhabit. A minute passes by, and I settle more against him, letting my eyes stare into space.

That's when I feel his fingers busying themselves with me. I freeze.

From the hem of my shirt, they crawl farther up, against my lower stomach to right above my naval, the whole time his nails leave electric trails where they gently scraped against. "Should we make up for it?" he asks, breath tickling my ear.

I forget to breathe for a moment and exhale before an idea comes to mind. A grin tugs at my lips.

I shift my body slowly and deliberately on his lap, to which he responds by retrieving his hand in surprise. I make sure my hand presses against his thigh as I turn to face him, and his body stiffens under me. As soon as we're face to face, I glide my hands over his shoulders. He licks his lower lip.

"You mean now?" I say innocently as my fingers occupy themselves by caressing the nape of his neck.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Why? You have somewhere to be?"

I grin and lean forward until I'm close enough to tease in his ear, "Maybe. My time's limited tonight." I pull myself closer, my lips brushing against his cold skin. He stays still as if he's waiting for my next move.

Intense satisfaction courses through me–there's something gratifying in the way I can get him to shut up and stop dead like he's done me so many times before. "I'll have to make this quick."

He finally shifts back enough to where he gives me a look. I can't quite decipher his expression in the darkness, but I can sense an air of repressed exhilaration.

"Then make it easier for both of us. Quit being a tease and show me just how much you missed me," he growls.

"Hmm," I hum, tugging on his silky hair. "I thought you liked it when I teased."

I deliberately pull too hard. A hushed gasp escapes from his parted lips suddenly ever so slightly against the silence of the car. "Tonight's differen–"

"Too bad for you then. I don't want to get straight to it yet; it isn't as gratifying that way, don't you think?" 

He exhales, his eyes narrowing. Knowing that it won't be much longer until I push his final button, a thrilling high is kindled within me.

"I'm going to fucking ruin you," he threatens in a restrained grunt.

My thumbs stroke his cheek. The slightest hint of stubble scratches them. It's difficult to keep from trembling at the thought of what's going on in his mind, but that doesn't stop me from trying to hide it. "You don't want to do that, do you, Ronnie?"

Then it all happens in a blur. One moment, he's glowering up at me, tattooed fists clenched by his sides; the next, I'm pulled down to his level, his lips tugging mine with a fierce hunger I've never felt before. As much as I anticipated it, the abrupt force still takes me by surprise. The feeling dissipates soon enough though, and I part my lips enough to let him slip in.

His vigor feels stronger.

And I love it.

His full lips are sweet, yet tasteless as they demand more of mine. My breathing becomes labored, but I still manage to sigh against his skin as my hands depart from his neck and graze down his back, tracing every dip and curve. They slip underneath his shirt, causing me to shudder. Not because of his cold, naked skin, but because of the muscles that tense and relax, tense and relax, as if he's holding himself back.

There's something that makes this moment different than the last. It could be a mixture of finally letting my repressed emotions flow out onto him or the passion that's making him so rough, so demanding, yet so affectionate. I don't know what it is, but all I know is that greed makes me want him more.

I allow my tongue to graze his lower lip, stroking it along the edge. He meets me halfway, inviting me further in.

Digging my nails into Ronnie's back, I pull him closer to me, enough to where his chest is pressing tightly with mine. He hisses softly, drawing his shoulder blades together. I try not to smile as I give the tip of his tongue a gentle nibble to make up for it.

He straightens up in the seat, pinning me to the steering wheel. A sharp horn blares outside but Ronnie only releases the pressure, still keeping me in this position. I have no space to move when something crawls along my collarbone. My skin to breaks out in tingles when it snakes through my hair. It first starts out delicately, but then gradually strengthens to a pull, seeking vengeance from the teasing I gave him earlier. I bite back a gasp of pain–giving him that satisfaction is the last thing I want to do.

Then he barely separates from me, his nose rubbing against the side my cheek. His breath washes over my face as he pants hoarsely, "How quick did you say you need to make this?"

The second I take to think about my answer is too slow for him. He chuckles deviously before returning his lips to mine.

There's nothing that compares to how much I hate it when he uses my words against me.

Fine. Go there, Ronnie.

I run my hands to his lower stomach, which recoils from the touch. When they slip under the hem, I raise the soft cotton over his head, struggling a little at first.

That's when I feel something weighing my arms down.

I ignore it, tossing the shirt behind the driver's seat–whether it lands on the floor or the backseat I don't know–and feel him all over again, intense euphoria coursing through me.

Suddenly, a stabbing sensation shoots through my arms. This time I flinch, feeling them begin to ache.

No, no, no, don't do this now...

Then it spreads throughout my body. This dull pain remains on my limbs, and the weight makes my entire body heavy like stone. Please, not now, I plead with myself, willing for my energy to keep me going.

But even now my motivation is gradually dwindling.

I can feel my body giving up on me like a decreasing battery, nearly reaching the last of the juices to run on. I withdraw my hands from the owl's wings on his chest and pull away, out of breath.

"Don't even think about it," Ronnie rasps, grabbing my face and guiding it back to his.

But this time, I push away farther, waiting for my breath to catch up. When his smoky eyes snap open, he notices my expression, and his grip falters.

"What's wrong?" he asks, sounding dazed as if snapping out of a dream to face reality.

My gut involuntarily wrenches, like someone punched the the air out of it. I try not to let my exhaustion be detected under his embrace and muster a weak smile. "Nothing...I don't think I can last much longer."

He blinks. "But we barely got started..."

"I know, I'm sorry...I just didn't sleep well is all."

That response couldn't have been more unnatural if I tried.

He pauses, releasing the pressure against me. The pale light that shines through tree branches outside spills onto his face, illuminating his concerned eyes under knitted brows. I can imagine him processing this, mulling my answer over in his head.

This was stupid. Lying to him is no different than telling a confession.

He shifts until he's sitting up against the backrest with me still sitting on his lap. "What's going on, (Y/n)?" he murmurs again, reaching out to touch my cheek. "I can tell something's wrong."

I purse my lips, feeling obligated to look at his eyes but afraid of how I'll be moved to say what's on my mind. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine," I insist meekly. Not even a child would believe me.

He brushes away my bangs to get a better look at me. His slight frown gives away his hesitancy to find my words truthful. "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to hide anything...whatever it is, you can tell me."

I turn my head away. If it doesn't come out right, he'll never see me the same again.

Swallowing, I stammer, "Listen, it's not you, okay? I have a lot on my plate, that's all. It's stress."

You're pushing him away again.

His shoulders fall; he looks stumped, unsure of what to say. A few seconds pass, and the silence begins to roar. Biting my lip, I stare out into the woods and pretend to be preoccupied with the dark blue haze that settles over the tree trunks. The pangs in my body painfully throb.

A hand rests on mine. "You can try to convince me all you want, but I'll still believe my partner's a bad liar," he mutters half-jokingly.

I look down. What made me think he'd let this slide? I wanted to meet him tonight to escape these thoughts, and now I have to deal with them and involve him. Why couldn't tonight go as planned?

My fingers grasp onto his palm. It comforts me knowing they won't slip away.

"I'm so sick of the way I am," I abruptly blurt out. My voice sounds grating as if gravel obstructs my throat. 

I'm taken aback by how quickly it spills out, but it's short-lived as a lump forms in my throat. My eyes start to sting and I look away from him. "I hate being this...this hybrid. Why did I have to be a dhampir instead of being completely one or the other?"

He stares at me, lips parted slightly as if he wants to say something.

I swallow, ignoring its dull pain, and finish quietly. "I...want to be like you, Ronnie. I've been looking for solutions to become human and...there's nothing I can do," I whisper. Even my stomach drops at my verbal confirmation.

After a moment, he sucks the inside of his cheek, making his face appear narrow like a fox's. "There's nothing wrong with you being a dhampir, (Y/n). It's a beautiful thing to be."

"I know you think that, but I feel like a monster," I point out shakily. "I get these urges for blood and I don't have an excuse to have them. I don't have the teeth for it and I have to resort to animal blood to make these cravings stop. Humans aren't supposed to experience these things. It's not normal."

"But you're not completely human either," he presses quietly. My vision becomes more bleary by the second until I feel something warm glide down my cheek. A finger gently wipes it away. "Anyone would understand that–I do. What you're feeling isn't wrong at all, but you don't have to be ashamed about it, sweetness."

I sigh, blinking back the tears that keep wanting to spill. I pull away from him and bury my face in my wrists. "I'm sorry...I really shouldn't have brought this up," I apologize thickly.

"You have nothing to apologize for, (Y/n). I want you to share these things with me," he assures as he brings me in close for an embrace.

"I know, but we were meant to enjoy ourselves and I had to bring this up," I choke, feeling an impulse to break away and hide my face.

He rests his lips against the top of my head. "Shh...it's okay."

I hug him tightly, failing to control my body's convulsions as tears now escape and run down my cheeks uncontrollably. Ronnie leans back and strokes my back comfortingly.

Time passes by, seconds or minutes or hours...I can't remember. All I know is when my tears run out and my breathing slows is when I open my eyes again. I can barely see through the blurriness except for the moon gleaming in the middle of the sky outside.

A soft, ragged sigh escapes my throat as I bury my face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He kisses the top of my head in response, never stopping his caress.

"(Y/n)," Ronnie starts quietly. I lift my head and blink up at him. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

I sniffle. "For months now. It's all I've been thinking about."

He nods slowly. "Is...transitioning something you're ready to do?"

I pause for a moment. I know things are going to be different, but I've wanted this change for so long. If the cost is my whole life turning around, it's worth it.

I echo my thoughts aloud, staring into the woods before meeting his eyes again.

Despite the hesitation in his expression, he smiles gently. "...I just need to make sure you know how it's going to be from then on. A Dhampir has a lot of advantages compared to someone like me–you're going to lose a big part of your normal routine."

His words trigger in my mind a string of extra measures that will be taken after. Feeding monthly. Avoiding direct sunlight. Being supervised to make sure my transition is going smoothly.

I bite my lip, knowing how much this will impact my life. However, the fact that I won't feel the loneliness of being the rare few of my species convinces me.

"I know. I think I'll get used to it."

"Are you sure you're ready for living as one, (Y/n)? I need to know you're going to be okay."

"I've been wanting this change for months," I reply softly. "I don't want to continue living like this anymore."

He tilts his head. "Then I'll help you," he settles.

I snivel again, this time accompanied by a small smile. "Thank you, Ronnie."

He returns the gesture before bringing me in again. "Of course, I want you to be happy here."

I bury my face in his long, silky hair. "Is this something you're okay doing?" I whisper against his cheek. They rise as he grins.

"Of course. I haven't fed in a while anyway–I'm incredibly fucking hungry if you were wondering," he murmurs, a tinge of amusement laced in his tone. I laugh weakly–but genuinely–at his snide comment.

Then, for the third time tonight, something more serious in the atmosphere switches. 

He strokes my hair before gently tracing my face with his nose. It moves across from my temple to my bridge, slowly trailing until it grazes the tip of my nose. He rests his lips on mine for only a second, lingering even after releasing the pressure.

Goosebumps run down my arms as he moves lower, his breath stroking my skin every time he exhales. It teases me as it dances down my throat. All I can focus on are his lips against my skin–with every second that passes by is a small kiss he leaves behind.

It feels like the car's heater has been turned up a notch. Blushing is far from a regular occurrence since my blood rarely ever gets heated enough to function as a human's should. This time is a rare exception.

Then a pair of deathly sharp knives contrast his soft touch. They rub lovingly against the crook of my neck, waiting to sink in.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" he murmurs, each word accentuated on my neck.

I caress the roses on his shoulders, holding him in what is partially fear and anticipation. "Please," I whisper.

"I'll try to make this as painless as I can, but I can't guarantee–"

"Be as rough as you want," I insist in his ear.

He pauses before his chest rumbles in a deep sigh. I try not to make a sound when his breath kisses my skin again. "Sure. But let me know if it's too much," he murmurs.

He explores my skin more, never straying too far from my neck. The pressure of his fangs weighs down, searching for an area to pierce. They prickle me, perhaps even enough to draw blood.

I close my eyes, ignoring the spike of fear that's suddenly ignited. What if something goes–

A choked gasp escapes from my mouth. My vision suddenly turns black as a blinding pain shoots through my body. 

"Ronnie," I wince, fumbling for him in a panic. That's when I feel the acute throbbing in my neck, pulsing with my heartbeat.

"It's okay," he assures. The pair of stakes burrow further in my skin as he speaks. "Breathe for me."

Shock doesn't allow me to respond, so I heed his advice and drink in gulps of air to alleviate the pain. Slowly, but certainly, the silhouettes of trees highlighted by the moon again form, taking their shape. The ringing in my ears starts to fade away, but my heart still thumps in my chest, insisting that these foreign fangs don't belong in me.

Taking another frightened inhale, I push the fear-ridden thought away and run my trembling hands through his hair again.

Warm liquid travels down my collarbone, but Ronnie swiftly licks it before it can go down further. When he returns to the wound, he draws my blood with more care, taking his time kissing and sucking rather than biting. The tip of his ice-cold tongue swirls around the punctures, and the pain fades gradually until it's nothing more than tingling heat accompanied by his slow, purposeful movements.

Another slow exhale.

My eyes flutter close as I fall into a state of tranquility. My flight response is starting to shut down.

Another.

I wrap my legs around his torso, pinning our chests together.

Another.

My neck feels so damn sensitive right now...I can feel everything he's doing to me.

Just hearing how a vampire's bite is both uncomfortable and pleasurable doesn't do justice to how it actually feels.

And fuck, does it feel more than simply "pleasurable."

•••

{Ronnie's P.O.V.}

Pure ecstasy.

Pure fucking ecstasy.

Ronnie becomes intoxicated from this beautiful sensory overload.  Her warm body melts into his, which is now even colder from the thin sheen of sweat forming. She touches–no, explores him, like today was the last day they would ever see each other. 

He realizes he's never been needed in a way where nothing more was wanted than his affection, no strings attached. Greed for this feeling makes his stomach burn with desire.

He breathes in deeply, allowing her sweet, metallic taste to wash over his taste buds like creamy velvet. The radiating warmth from her blood is urging him to give her another bite. 

No. He'll hold back a little longer. She shouldn't feel that pain so soon yet.

Rather, he slowly sucks the wounds, feeling wave after wave glide into his mouth.

How many times has he drawn blood before? Every blood type has its differences, but...damn, never did it taste so good, like an elixir. Maybe a Dhampir's blood is different after all.

Whether this is his bias or not, he finds himself wanting more and more of her with each swallow.

Biting back a moan, he separates from the wounds and lets his fangs brush over to just right above her collarbone. He can't help it anymore. 

His eyes shift up, searching for his partner's approval. The second their gaze meets, her eyes blaze before she tilts her head skyward, leaving every possibility for him to delve in.

Trying to focus on one spot, he sinks into her, earning from her a sharp inhale before her ridged body rests. More blood seeps out until he's left feeling overwhelmed by a burning craving for her. 

It's so bad the pressure against his jeans makes the zipper slide down a little.

She chuckles, making him bob up and down slightly. "I didn't think you'd enjoy it this much, Ronnie..."

His head is feeling fuzzy now. "Be quiet," he growls.

"That's no way to talk to a friend," she retorts, her voice becoming fainter.

His feelings of titillation deepen. Knowing that it won't be long until the majority of her blood will be inside of him drives him wild. He quickens the pace, driving his teeth down to bite her gently.

He doesn't want to just taste her anymore–he longs to rub her blood all over his body, coating it in every inch of him...

Minutes pass by. Fantasy after fantasy plays through his mind the more of her he gets. He wants to focus on the moment, but he can't stop the thoughts from pouring in...

Then something clicks within him, and he jolts out of his trance. Immediately, he slows to a stop.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, he wipes at his wet chin with his fingers and licks off the blood, groaning with delight. Then he notices red stains trailing from the wound to her collarbone, then to her jaw.

Had I really gotten that messy?

Her pale skin matches his as she rests her head against his shoulder, barely conscious.

With a soft thud, her arms drop limply on his lap when he leans back, sinking into the driver's seat. Ronnie's core feels warm from the newly ingested blood, but alarm makes him aware of how quickly he needs to act. He knows the procedure by heart, but it startles him nonetheless to see her so delicate as if a light breeze can make her fall apart.

Hastily, he sinks a tooth into the palm of his hand and jerks it to make an incision. There's a slight stinging that shoots up his arm; however, it only lasts for a second.

He carefully parts her lips enough to let his hand press up against them. Knowing the chances of her hearing him are slim to none, he murmurs anyway, "You did so well."

•••

{Reader's P.O.V.}

My eyes flitter open. Darkness welcomes me until I accustom to a vague, white light splotching my vision. I try to clear it by blinking a few times before taking in my surroundings.

The view of the lake sits before me, the water still as it's always been. The trees sway to and fro, and I expect the wind to brush against me, but feel instead the stifling air of a small space.

I shift to finally feel the plush seat underneath and realize I'm in a car. A second epiphany dawns when the arm wrapped around my shoulders tightens. Ronnie's chest rises and falls slowly with each passing breath. He feels much warmer.

Then the third.

My hand shoots to my neck, and I search for the marks left by him. They're barely fresh. They're nothing more than two slightly pronounced impressions.

I let out a soft sigh and shift to a more comfortable position to get as close to the heat as possible. I'm freezing.

"Look who decided to wake up," a guttural voice sighs. I look up to see him peeking at me from half-closed lids. 

I smirk, reaching my hand to stroke his chin with my thumb. My outstretched arm aches–it's much weaker than it was earlier tonight, even after my strength decided to give out. "Did I tire you?" I purr, watching with now feigned innocent surprise as his mouth quirks.

"Not nearly as bad as I did you. You could barely keep up with me," Ronnie corrects with a pleased glint in his eyes.

I guide his face closer, leading him under his chin as my thumb strokes the small tuft of hair under his bottom lip. He leans his forehead against mine. "How are you feeling?" he checks more seriously.

I lift a shoulder. "I'm tired. My head...hurts," I finish right as a dull wave of pain passes by. I shrink back and rub my forehead with a groan. "Fuck."

"That's expected," he reassures, squeezing my hand. He peers more closely, inspecting me, and raises a brow.

"What?"

"Is that all?" he inquires.

"Yeah, yeah," I reply, reassuringly squeezing his hand. "Just really tired."

When he hugs me, I become aware of his heartbeat. "Dawn will be here in a few hours. I can stay at your place until tonight," he suggests softly. "Or you can stay at mine."

Using the last of my energy to jibe, I murmur, "Either way, I'd be honored."

Chapter Text

"Damnit," I mutter under my breath. I tap my foot impatiently by the foot of the couch as I reposition my fingers, awkwardly splaying them across the fingerboard.

He nods in approval. "Now try again."

My pick strums over all four strings.

And I still hear the buzzing. It doesn't even matter that my fingers are positioned correctly.

Sighing quietly, I purse my lips and allow the bass to lower down. "I'm sorry, Mikey, I don't think I can do this." It's hard not to let the frustration seep into my tone.

"Hey, it's no problem. Believe it or not, you're doing really well," he praises, flashing me a crooked grin.

My heart skips a beat, and I quickly avert my gaze to my black Fender.

"Bass isn't easy, you know," he continues. "I know a lot of people think it shouldn't be different from guitar, but they all have their little differences and own quirks...and pains-in-our-asses."

I shrug with a sigh, tracing the D string with my pick. The amp makes it sound like the intro to a metalcore song. "I guess. It feels like I should've been getting the hang of this since I picked it up though."

"But you've made a lot of progress since we started," he remarks. "Chords aren't usually played on bass very much either so it's gonna sound gross the first few times. Don't worry about it–you'll get used to it." He pats my shoulder reassuringly.

I look down to hide my flushing face as electricity shoots from the spot where his hand landed. Damnit, why does it have to happen every time?

"Thanks, Mikey," I mutter with a smile, even though he can't see it. "I really appreciate the free lessons."

"It's written in our contract that any opening musicians touring with us require free lessons from the bassist. I get paid the big bucks so I had to take it," he shrugs, lifting his brows. The corners of his lips twitch.

I roll my eyes playfully. "Whatever. It doesn't affect my life that you're not doing it from the cockles of your heart anyway. At least I get a free bass, and it goes amazingly hanging next to my guitar in my bus," I jab as I reach over to nudge his shoulder.

He dodges, smirking at me as I miss. "Aw, how cute, keeping it on display for all your band to see."

I scowl at him. "It's a nice model and it goes with our decor."

He snorts. "It's a starter bass. It's not that great, but whatever you say." Rolling his eyes, he leans to his other side to pick up his bass from the couch. 

That's when I grab one of the red throw pillows and fling it at him.

"W–the hell?" he squawks as it smacks him square on the shoulder.

My snickering doesn't last long as Mikey sets his bass carefully back where it was and leans forward. I back away, but can't escape as he suddenly reaches out to tickle me.

"Mikey, quit it!" I scream, smacking at him but to no prevail. He moves his arms out of the way and continues to dig his fingers into my ribs.

"What's wrong?" he titters, climbing on up the couch to get me better.

"You know damn well what's–ugh, get off of me!" I yell through huffs as my arms flail in vain.

This only causes him to tickle me harder, chuckling as he sees my helpless attempts to free myself. "Apologize."

"No, you deserved it, you douchebag!"

"Fine then. Don't."

Before he can continue, I push his shoulders back, causing him to lose his balance. I laugh in relief before I feel a firm clutch on my wrist.

We both plummet to the ground with a loud thud, but I land on his body rather than the hard floor. 

Even though my lungs scream for air, I instantly suck it in when I gape at Mikey, whose face is no more than a few inches away from mine.

He pants, breathily laughing in between. Behind the light brown strands of hair, I can't help but notice how much his eyes crinkle as he grins, a full one this time.

"Uh, Mikey," I stammer, unable to move.

His chest rises and falls under me, which makes my face flush. He finally opens his eyes again and freezes as it seems to dawn on him. "Oh...right..." he trails off. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, it's just..." I look for the right words but fail, feeling my face heat up by the second. I force myself to get up–carefully avoiding touching his arms. I offer to help him up, and he takes my hand in his, which is clammy.

He bites his lip, staring at me in worry. "I'm sorry, really," he says again, scratching the back of his neck before turning his attention to his bass. I watch him in chagrin as he hastily picks it up and sets it in its case lying a few feet away.

"We should finish up here," he finally states quietly, clicking the locks into place.

I bite my lip and pick up mine. It trembles a little in my hands. What the fuck is wrong with you? It was an accident, nothing more.

That's when I glance at him.

"...Mikey?" I suddenly blurt against everything I just told myself.

Panic makes my stomach flip over. What am I doing?

He looks over his shoulder and blinks at me. 

The words become stuck in my throat, taunting me of how foolish of a mistake I just made. No, I can't risk ruining our friendship because of a reason as stupid as this.

"What's up?" he asks. A worried look suddenly passes his face for a moment.

I fight the urge to curse at myself. "I just...uh—"

"Hey, you guys almost done in here?"

I jump, practically dropping my bass to the floor while Mikey's wide eyes flash to the narrow opening on the floor, leading to the first floor of the bus. His brother Gerard is halfway through, his gaze zipping between both of us. I can imagine how flustered we look.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you guys," he apologizes, a hint of hesitation detected in his tone.

Mikey and I share a glance.

"No, you're fine, Gee," he assures. I silently thank him for covering me. "I was just finishing teaching her something."

I clasp my bass in my hands and look for the black plastic case. I spot it slumped beside a small nightstand like a bag waiting for its cadaver.

"Okay then," his brother voices, not sounding completely convinced. Then he changes the subject, much to my relief. "I came up here to tell you guys that we're about five minutes away from Wellmont Theater. We're getting there later than planned so we should have everything ready to go."

"Yeah, okay. We'll be right down."

Gerard nods before disappearing below the floor, but not before glancing at both of us again.

Mikey slings the case over his shoulder. "We should get going if we wanna settle in quickly," he murmurs.

I rise from the floor, smoothing out the wrinkles of my jeans to distract myself from having to look at him. "Yeah. I should be getting to my bus when we stop anyway. Thanks for the, uh, lesson," I say, briskly walking to the steep latter Gerard just disappeared from. "I'll see you later."

I congratulate myself for keeping it bottled up. Followed right by regret.

•••

"This season has gone by way too fast," my bandmate Jenny Moore says, making a strange face as she packs on sooty eye shadow on her pale lids. "We've only been touring with them for what? almost a year? It seems like we just signed the contract yesterday..."

I partly pay attention to the chatty drummer's rambling as she continues. The only thing I can think about now is how this week will be the last we'll be touring with My Chemical Romance. It feels surreal that we've been with them since the beginning of The World Contamination Tour and it's now mid-October, the closing of the season. Yet, I don't feel very happy about it. It feels incomplete.

But it's not even about the entire band. It's Mikey.

"Uh-huh, you're right," I agree absentmindedly as I tease the crown of my hair with a thin comb.

Jenny turns to me, a blond eyebrow raised. "I said 'how do you feel about this tour ending?'"

"Oh...fulfilled, I guess," I lie with a shrug.

Maybe I should text Mikey instead of telling him.

What a shitty way to tell someone—I can't even tell him in person.

I sigh, setting down the comb and moving my bangs over until I can see from both eyes. I know it will flop right back over once we start playing, but it'll have to work for now. 

I kept urging myself since the middle of this season to tell Mikey how I've been feeling. The fact that I came even close to telling him earlier today gives me some consolation, but it's not going to change things.

And that's what I'm most afraid of.

If I tell Mikey my feelings for him, it could potentially ruin the friendship we've been building since we began touring. If I don't, I risk keeping it inside until it's too late. Is that something I'm really okay doing?

Of course it's not.

My head wants to bury itself in my hands, but I remind myself not to ruin the makeup it took me ten minutes to put on. Gosh, what is wrong with me?

"How did practice go with your boyfriend?" Jenny questions, darting me a bright, mischievous grin.

"He's not my boyfriend," I retort, throwing her a nasty glance. She smirks, hair-spraying her blonde bangs. "He's just been teaching me things."

"Oh, I'm sure 'things,'" she draws suggestively. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I know you guys do stuff in there."

The thought of that makes me blush. At the very least this proves that she knows nothing.

"'Stuff' is bass practice, Jenny. If you want to think otherwise, be my guest, but it's not like that."

"Okay, Mrs. Way," she replies, accentuating each word purposefully.

I roll my eyes as she giggles more. "You're so full of bullshit." Then I rise up from my chair, feeling a little nauseous. "I'm getting something to drink."

"Just don't get too drunk before we have to go on stage," she reminds me. "The last thing we need is our guitarist to end up like all the members from that one band...er, Attacking Alexandra, the British one. Or was it 'Asking?' I forget. It's been a while since we toured with them."

She's never been good with names, but in her defense, it has been a few years. They were a nice bunch, just drank too much and hooked up with every woman they could find.

"Whatever, I'll be right back."

When I exit the brightly lit dressing room and enter the hallway, void of any presence other than my own, my mind subconsciously drifts away.

This will be one of the last nights I'll get to enjoy opening for Chem and hearing the congratulatory remarks from all of them as we leave the stage. Frank was always the loudest among them all with his booming voice.

I pass the green room, where the silver double doors are closed. Laughter seeps from the cracks, masculine mixing with feminine. Jenny and I might be the only absent ones, but it won't be long until she joins them.

I think about the last time Mikey will ever teach me. What will he show me last? Will I forever be stuck learning that damn chord? I chuckle to myself inaudibly. I need to get over it immediately if that's the case.

Then I realize something.

I stop in my tracks. I'm at the end of the hallway now, looking up at the bright exit sign to my right. To my left, the hallway curves off, into what might be the rooms belonging to employees of the theater.

Did I leave my bass inside their bus?

I rack my memory, but can't find the one where I return it back to my bus or dressing room. It definitely wasn't there when I exited the drab gray dressing room.

My head drops while I let out a sigh.

Did I really not bring it with me?

Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone.

6:30.

We open for them at 7:00, so that might be enough time to retrieve it, at least bring it to my dressing room, and make it back to the stage...

Before I know what I'm doing, I yank open the exit door and walk outside. It's nippy, and I regret not wearing a longer-sleeved shirt.

It's an in-and-out thing–it'll be over before you know it.

I see My Chemical Romance's bus sitting with their name scrawled in white against the black background. The bus beside theirs has "Bewitching Season" written in neat cursive. Anyone seeing the name would think our band was a gothic cartoon show. Which may or may not be the reason my bandmates and I agreed on it.

I approach the other bus, listening to the gravel crunch under my boots. When it looms above me ominously, I reach for the door handle and push it down.

It only locks in its place. I try again with no luck.

You have to be kidding me.

I almost ask myself "why?" but why wouldn't it make sense? Criminals are a concern, but wild fans are an even bigger one. Nobody wants to risk that.

Nonetheless, I make a grunt of frustration when it doesn't give way. Jiggling it doesn't help, nor does pushing it down harder.

I groan, looking around for an alternative. I practically miss it in the evening light when my eyes skim over a cracked open window toward the back. It's worth a shot.

I carefully tread back to it and peer through the opening. Has someone already got in? I wonder, sucking in a breath.

A minute passes, but I don't hear anything. I let it out and push the screen upwards a little more. There's some resistance, but it eventually opens further with a quiet creak, and I grip the frame to lift myself in.

Why don't I just get it when we're finished with the show? I ask myself, feeling the pain in my palms worsen as I push myself further.

I'm already here anyway.

When I'm able to put an elbow on the frame, I feel something land on my shoulder.

It feels like a hand.

My hold suddenly tightens more for fear of falling even though I'm only a few feet above the ground. I clench my teeth, shutting my eyes and bracing for the worst.

"Get off me," I say through teeth. My voice wavers. "Right the fuck now."

"Hey, take it easy—it's me," a familiar voice says.

I open my eyes and fully turn my head around. My face grows warm as I stare at Mikey's bewildered expression. "Oh."

My hands beg for mercy, and I finally let go; I feel shaky as my feet hit the floor with a thud. A powerful surge of embarrassment overwhelms me, and it's hard to not avoid his gaze. "Sorry. I thought you'd be in the green room with everyone else," I mumble, rubbing the palm of my hand that had been in pain the longest.

The little light remaining from the evening sky glimmers through the sliver of trees behind me, slightly illuminating him with an orange glow. His brown eyes gleam in the darkness, almost like a flashlight blinking in a dark forest. I would've thought that the crimson and white leather jacket he wears is a uniform if I hadn't seen it earlier before entering my band's dressing room. It goes well with his black ripped jeans.

I hotter at the thought, so I quickly push it to the back of my mind.

"I was. I left something here," Mikey replies in the darkness.

I blink. How am I supposed to respond? That I left something here too? I wouldn't be lying, but it's a bizarre coincidence that both of us are here for more or less the same reason.

His concerned expression melts away, and on his face graces a slight smile.

Or is the dim evening light making me see things that aren't there?

"So is breaking into other people's buses your thing?"

My feelings of stupidity suddenly swell into a crescendo."No, I, uh, left my bass here. I didn't take it with me when we reached the theater," I state the obvious almost robotically. "The door wasn't open so I just..." I gesture awkwardly to the window.

"You could've asked."

"Yeah."

Then he shrugs it off, gesturing to the door. "Wanna get in the proper way?"

He probably thinks of you much more of an idiot than he did five seconds ago.

I swallow and nod. "Sure."

He guides me back to the front and unlocks the door with a big set of keys, the jingling sounding stifled as if we're in a recording studio, before entering.

In here, much like outside, it's only lit by the faint sun. A deep blue evening glow is cast by the shadows, but I can still clearly see. The rows of small "bunk beds" behind the driver's seat line the wall, six in total but only four occupied. We continue down and reach the stairs, just after the small lounge that holds a large flatscreen with multiple gaming consoles connected to it.

He ascends the stairway first before waiting for me at the top. When I climb the last rung and reach the second floor, he offers a hand and I take it, ignoring the tingles.

The familiar sight greets me. It's quite modern, but there's something about it that's welcoming. The red couch sitting to my left accompanied by the undersized table, the black beanbag sitting miserably in the far right corner, technical equipment shoved all the way in the back for convenience's sake, and the slightly dirtied gray rug sitting in the middle of it all remind me of this morning.

I hear shuffling and am brought back to reality. Mikey holds my black and white bass in front of me by the neck, raising it high. "Is this what you're looking for?" he asks, his voice seeming loud but is really only above a murmur.

I guess that's it. I swallow my disappointment down. "Yeah. Thanks, Mikey." I take it a little too quickly and stare at it.

Now's a better time than ever, that voice chirps.

I see him pause in my peripheral vision, observing me as though I'm doing something strange. 

Maybe I am. Maybe staring my bass' white pickguard isn't as normal as I thought.

"You have something on your mind?" he asks, a bit gentler than last time.

This is stupid. He's not going to feel the same, and I'm going to get hell if I tell him.

"Not really; it's just the nerves tonight," I reply, feigning a smile.

"You're gonna do fine," he assures. Now for sure I see the smile come back again. "You always do amazing on stage anyway."

My heart skips a beat. This is a compliment from a friend. He doesn't mean it the way you want to.

But to my surprise, he winces. "I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

My brows furrow and I shake my head. "No, it's...fine," I say slowly. There's something about his tone that sounds off, but it's not something I can decipher.

Mikey glances out of the two-story window, towards the theater. I bite my lip and follow his gaze, solely to look somewhere. If he wants to get back, why isn't he making the move?

And if you want to tell him, why aren't you speaking up?

I shut the sudden voice up in my head. It can't even leave me alone for five minutes.

I look back at Mikey, whose eyes are still set, and the thought comes back.

There isn't anyone to interrupt us. There's no one to judge me from the sidelines.

So what is it that keeps stopping me?

I sigh and set my bass down, which catches his attention.

"Can I ask you somethi–"

"Listen, I think you sh–"

We both speak up before freezing simultaneously. He gives me a chagrined smile, and I return it back.

"Sorry, go first," I invite quickly before he counters. "What I have to say can wait."

He seems reluctant at first but ultimately decides to accept my offer. "Well, I've been...thinking about something since this morning..."–he catches my puzzled expression–"Don't worry, it's nothing big," he assures with a meek smile. "It was something you said. You were about to tell me but...didn't finish, that's all."

My stomach drops. Thoughts begin racing through my head: excuses, explanations...anything that doesn't have to involve me voicing the thoughts that have been fronting in my mind all day.

I give him a nonchalant smile. "Really...? I don't remember," I lie, feeling pangs of guilt gnawing at me. "There's been a lot on my mind. Everything's jumbled up, you know?"

Mikey's gaze reverts to the ground. "Oh. Yeah, no, it's fine. I get it. Concert night," he chuckles, but the smile doesn't reach the rest of his face.

There's an urge to comfort him, but what would I be comforting him from?

He clears his throat and stares at me. "What was it that you wanted to tell me?"

"That whatever you want to tell me you can," I say, followed right by inward shock. It came out so easily. Too easily. "Is there...something else you wanted to say?"

Mikey bites his lip and runs a hand through his spiky brown hair. "I just..." He looks away again, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

"It's okay, you don't have to feel obligated–"

"Look, I like you, (Y/n)," he says in nothing more than a murmur.

A part of me is convinced that I didn't hear him right. After all, the way he mumbled the words made it difficult to hear properly.

"And not just as a friend."

Now there's no mistaking what I heard.

He looks like he's trying not to flinch as he waits for my reply. He's scared. Hopeful. Embarrassed.

A surge of emotions rushes through me, and I can pick up all but one: relief.

"I...like you too, Mikey," I whisper, and immediately something inside me melts. It doesn't fall short of a cliche depiction, but there's nothing that can compare to this comforting, fluttering feeling. It's almost like having a burden lifted off someone's chest, but completely different.

He purses his lips. "I've wanted to tell you for a while now, but...I didn't want you to look at me differently. Everything we have means...a lot to me."

I reach for his hand, and this time the tingles shoot up my entire arm. He squeezes mine. "You have no idea how long I've been thinking the same."

Mikey takes a careful step forward before wrapping me in his arms. It's half unexpected, but I react quickly, standing on my toes and hugging him closely. Something inside me feels so much lighter. I feel like I'm floating, barely touching the ground as I breathe softly against his chest.

"Why do you think I've been giving you lessons this whole time?" he whispers, making us sway slightly.

I smile. "Why do you think I've been showing up every time?"

"Maybe you could've really wanted to learn." Then he turns his head, and I feel his lips gently pressing against my cheek. I blush, relishing the way they feel against my skin. "I appreciate that. I appreciate you, (y/n)."

My heartstrings are tugged by his voice, and I bury my face in his neck to hide what he may think is a pained expression. It couldn't be farther. "That means a lot to me, Mikey."

Time passes. I don't know how much, but it feels like we should've stayed longer when we separate. When I open my eyes, the bus has gotten even darker.

Mikey grins that captivating crooked smile. "I don't want you to miss your opening–we should get back over there."

A protest forms, but he's right. It takes a lot of effort from me to pick up the bass that sits against the couch and let Mikey lead me outside. We walk to the backdoor in silence–it's one that could last forever and I wouldn't mind.

Tonight, I finally feel at peace with our closing season.

Chapter Text

Gentle waves of heat radiate against your skin like that of an oven. It tingles with restrained excitement as you ease your way up to the bed's brass headrest. The silky comforter caresses your skin, a cotton cloud slowly shifting below your body. It brushes against the black lace of your lingerie and occasionally pulls at your garters.

Your eyes flicker to the hulking figure laying on its side at the opposite end of the bed. From the sound of his deep, rumbling snores, you know he hasn’t so much as stirred. Not when you lit the candle from the nightstand or when you slid onto the bed, even despite its creaking. His broad back is turned to you–it rises and falls in a steady rhythm, lulling your gaze.

The memory of the last time you had spent in bed with Till resurfaces. You recall the welcoming sensation of cool blankets rubbing against your damp skin after Till had unfastened the bonds of rope and the session had come to its end. 

“How are you feeling?” he softly asked, tending to the bindings’ marks on your wrist. They didn’t dig in much that night, but he seemed concerned with the red snakes curling around your skin nonetheless.

“Better than ever.” You reached forward and grazed his bristly cheek. “What about you?”

After how badly he wanted you, binding you up to the bed and having his way with you–with barbarous passion, putting it mildly–this gesture made him look a little bashful, with a slight redness creeping up to his unshaven cheeks.

“Gut.” He faltered and peered closer at your wrist. A frown of concentration tilted his full lips down. “Are you sure you're okay? It might have been too tight. Fuck.”

Your laugh tinkled through the silence of the room. “It’s never been better.” When that didn’t seem to ease his concern, you go on more seriously, “If you ever tried switching, you’ll find more marks on you than you realize you didn’t even feel. Trust me.”

Till's eyes flickered to you, and his thick brows furrowed in confusion. "Switching?" It was almost like the idea was too alien for him to envision.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “You get tied up and play bottom for once.”

He chuckled, not derisively, but rather warmly. “No, I can’t see myself…no…”

You withdrew your hand, earning from him another confused look, and sit up. Your naked skin felt cold the moment the sheets slid down. “You should try it. It never hurts to try something new.”

“Nein, I am not meant to be tied up; you enjoy it.”

You lifted a brow. “What makes you think you wouldn’t? You can’t say that if you’ve never tried it.”

“That is a feat too big for me to reach, I think,” he argued back, amusement now beginning to leak into his voice. He affectionately lays a burly hand on your leg. "I think I should leave that to you."

“You know, you’re right.” You playfully shoved his muscular arm away. “You couldn’t handle it even if you wanted to.”

He paused completely and stared at you with a look that, admittedly, concerned you. It was not until he spoke you relaxed. “Are you challenging me, hase?”

You tried to conceal the smirk growing by the second, yet the attempt was futile. “Maybe.”

His lips tilted into a half-smile. “That is a mistake then.”

“You couldn’t handle it. It’s too much of a role for someone like you,” you repeated as you lay back down on the fluffy bed. You brought the covers up to your collarbone, and Till just watched with a look of amusement.

“You wouldn’t dare tie me up. You could not keep me down if you tried.”

“I could do it. Don’t tempt me, Till.”

“What, so you want to do it now?” he chuckled. “None of us have any vigor left enough for an ant.”

"I could always find a time to do it."

He cocked an eyebrow. “There would never be such time.”

“Till...” you sighed in mock exasperation. He stared back at you expectantly, his sly chartreuse eyes glinting in the light. You start over. “If I found a time, say...soon, would you oppose?”

“No, but you would not dare, that is what I’m saying,” he pointed out with a soft laugh. He leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on your cheek. “That is impossible.”

You reluctantly “agreed" to his ridiculously conclusive statement just to appease him for the night, but the idea has ceased to leave your mind ever since.

There’s nothing more exhilarating than proving him wrong. Especially with someone as headstrong as Till.

Now, you cautiously bolster his hand up and loop a thick cord around it, not too tight as to prevent it from digging too much into his skin and waking him up. If he catches you with your pants down, it'll be last the fatal error you make with him. He would go the extra mile to sleep with one eye open from then on.

Well, that would be after fucking you mercilessly, of course. No rebellion goes unseen.

You begin to move your fingers quickly to tie the cord around the brass headrest. Like a beacon, it gleams in the dim light of the single candle. It dances and flickers, casting a warm glow on your skin while your arm's shadow casts a dark shadow on Till's face. The more variables to disturbing his sleep you can take away the better.

Finally, with one last loop, you secure it. You lean to the other side and begin the same process on his opposite hand. By this time, the thrill of restraining your partner has caused slight trembles to course through your arms. They buzz as if they’re powered solely by electricity, waiting to shock the first thing to touch them. You hastily tie the other to the opposite side of the headrest, and your breathing becomes shallow. Your heart thumps like a bass drum in anticipation, and your hands quiver with excitement when they finally release the black rope. It’s so identical to his it’s like he tied it up himself.

You slowly get up from the bed and grab the candle from the nightstand to put it in a place less hazardous. After eagerly setting down the candlestick on the desk table, you grab the piece of silken cloth and return to the bed.

Till is too much of a heavy sleeper for his own good. However, tonight, it ultimately works in your favor.

You peel the covers off of him, revealing him in a plain black tank top and boxer briefs, inch by inch. You can barely wait anymore.

A smile grows steadily on your lips as you lay a hand on his stomach and run your nails up and down. The cotton of his shirt is fuzzy and warm against your fingertips. You add a little more pressure, just until you feel sure enough he could feel your touch.

Even with the rain pattering against the windowsill outside, you can hear his gentle breathing stiffening. The headrest clanks dully against the wall, accompanied by a deep grunt.

"Was zur Hölle?” his ragged whisper cuts through the silence like a knife.

You spectate in delight, drawing your knees up until you can rest an arm on them. It’s so damn satisfying seeing him struggle.

Another loud clank, and then a hiss.

You murmur lightly, "Are you comfortable, Till?" just loud enough to get his attention.

There’s a moment of pure silence from him until he exhales slowly through his teeth. Possibly with relief.

But probably with realization.

“What is this?” he questions softly. His husky voice has now materialized, becoming as sweet as caramel. It drips with a bribing affection you know better than to buy.

“Nothing,” you reply, grazing his calf. He turns his head to the side, brows furrowing in confusion. “Are you comfortable, though?”

“Well, I suppose,” he murmurs, his throaty German accent causing the ‘w’ to sound like a ‘v’ instead. “What concerns me is what you’re doing.”

You teasingly run a finger down his leg. The long hair shielding it from his bare skin tickles your fingertips. “I don’t know,” you answer, unable to stop the smile from creeping up to your lips and staying this time. “You tell me.”

In the dim light, you can see his eyes, now dark by the shadows of his dark overhanging hair, glinting like embers. A thick lock brushes against his stretched arms.

“Ah.” he looks around from side to side, glancing up at his hands. For a moment, the light hits his tawny face. Visibly etched on it is an exasperated expression; surrounded by just a hint of stubble, his curved lips part ever so slightly as if to let out a sigh, while his piercing eyes glare into the rope, hoping they might disintegrate under his gaze. His brows have into an inverted boomerang, making him appear angry.

“You find it amusing seeing me like this? So helpless? This is what you call 'switching?'” You can just barely see his burly jaw moving when he speaks.

You chuckle, earning from him a sharp glance back to you. “No.” Then you reach underneath the comforter and pull out the long piece of silk.

His eyes expand ever so slightly at the sight of it. You crawl over to him, making sure to graze his broad body slightly, just until he can feel you passing over. When you’re about an arm’s length away from him, you swing a leg over his chest.

“This is,” you correct, reaching to wrap the piece of silk around his head. The smoldering glare he gives you before his eyes are concealed by the crimson silk makes your pleasure snowball in intense gratification.

“Verdammt, what has gotten into you?” he wonders aloud, sounding flustered with each word he forms.

You lean forward, just enough to barely graze his lips. They’re soft against yours, but the prickly stubble just right above contrasts it so perfectly. It's like the tender petals of a rose guarded by thorns.

“I’ll make sure to make this as excruciating as I can, okay?” you tease, leaning forward to put a little more pressure.

“It is not too late to untie me still,” he attempts to bribe, desperation seeping into his purring voice. Bated breath flickers against your skin as he continues. “I promise not to discipline you for it tomorrow.”

“No. I don’t buy it,” you whisper with a smile before closing the gap. He heaves out a raspy sigh, casting a huff of warm air before greedily receiving you.

You don’t fully expect the amount of force driven behind his kiss, and a sound of surprise sound escapes from your throat. Without so much as an uttered word, he demands you as he ravenously sucks your upper lip. There's nothing but pure greed driving behind it.

You find yourself returning it, reaching forward to cup his whiskery face and brushing away the few strands of hair that have fallen in front of it. His full lips have a hint of the smoky vanilla from the Raumzeit he smoked earlier today. The sound of his fierce breathing and its hot sensation washing over your face makes you shudder.

You almost wish his hands were free.

Almost.

You can feel his teeth grazing your bottom lip gently. He doesn’t try to conceal his desperation from you; no, he's quite obvious about it. He groans and lowers his head back to the pillow, trying to pull you down with him, closer, deeper, into the kiss.

Not yet, a thought intrudes. It immediately makes you break away–with some effort–and peel your hands from his face.

“No, no,” he mutters, once again trying to break free of the bonds. He was unsuccessful before, and it’s no different now.

You sit back up, and still practically breathless of the kiss, you chuckle, "Is that desperation I hear, Till?”

He rests his tongue on the corner of his lips, breathing out unsteadily. “No. I just want you to make up your fucking mind.”

“Mmm,” you hum, tracing his cheekbone with a quivering finger. It’s tempting to give him what he wants, but…you’ve had your fair share of that this entire week.

“I want…stop that,” he rasps between his breath.

You continue lower and lower and lower. “What was that about me being too scared to try tying you up again?”

You feel his soft bottom lip and caress it back and forth. He sighs and presses its counterpart against your finger in a tiny kiss.

A small chuckle escapes from you. “See? You'll get used to it after a while.”

Till responds to this by opening just enough to let your finger slip inside and giving it a gentle nibble. Tingles erupt and travel up your arm from the distinction of his silky lips and pearly teeth occupying themselves on the tip of your finger. You close your eyes in quiet pleasure and venture farther in. His lips completely close around it, warm and wet. You feel his tongue start to stroke you, almost timidly at first, but once he realizes you’re not retreating, he eases up and lets it swirl around it.

Your heart slows to a narcotic thump as Till sucks your finger, every so often accompanied by a caress of his tongue. He'll periodically suck in deep; doing so so deeply the pressure becomes borderline unbearable–it’s then until he finally releases before starting again.

He pulls away just barely, yet his teeth still grate on your finger. “Give me another,” he breathes before lightly pressing his lips against it again.

You carefully pull it out, and he pauses to wait for the other. “Haven’t you told me that gluttony deserves punishment, Till?” you murmur after basking in his impatience.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Halt deinen Mund.”

“Or does it only apply to me?”

His chest rises and falls under you. It’s frantic.

And you fucking love it.

He suddenly jerks against the restraints, a sharp grunt escaping his throat. From the way his jaw stiffens and tautens, you can tell his teeth are clenched together tightly.

“You’re going to let me go this fucking instant!" Aggravation edges his voice like a sword. “Ich kann nicht glauben dass du das tust,” he growls under his breath.

Your stomach flips over with excitement; you're thrilled. You didn't think he'd snap so soon. “I thought you were enjoying this,” you mockingly gasp. "Oh, Till..."

“Scheiß-”

You grip his shoulders and bring yourself forward, dipping your head enough to brush your lips against his ear. “I thought you would enjoy it since you said you can do it no problem.”

“No. I do not enjoy this,” he spits in a harsh whisper. His voice seems dangerous up this close, as if you’ve wandered into the den of an enraged panther and you're one step closer to becoming its next meal.

You nuzzle the side of his neck. You can feel the muscles underneath stiffening. “Can you tolerate it until I’m finished?”

His teeth grind together. “Let me out. Jetzt!”

Suddenly, a twinge of guilt manifests inside your gut. You falter, loosening your grasp. “Till, if you’re not enjoying this, we can stop,” you say seriously.

His expression softens after a moment, and he shakes his head. “No, it is not that...I just want to have you," he tries to sigh steadily. It comes out in a waver instead.

Your shoulders slump in relief. As much fun as this is, you don’t want Till to despise the teasing and bondage. But his words console you, and you use his shoulders to push yourself back up again.

"See, this is what I mean," he snaps, lifting his head as far as it'll go. You lift yours out of his range, and it brings a small smile to play on your lips as you watch him struggle. "This is not amusing."

You reach for the nightstand to withdraw what you need from the top drawer. When you slam the drawer shut, he starts a little bit. Even under the blindfold, you can see just how vexed he is. The scissors tremble in your hands as you bring them to Till's neck. As soon as the cold metal brushes against his skin, he jumps away as if he’d been burned.

“What are you doing?”

You smile as you watch the blades pull down the neck of his shirt. “Don't worry about it, Till.”

You cut a small piece of his black t-shirt down the chest. Your heart jump-starts again as you see his hairy skin peeking from beneath the ripped cloth. Carefully returning the scissors to their place on the table, you tear the rest of his shirt apart. The ripping cuts through the air–it’s practically deafening against the silence, save for the rain. The combination of that and the sound of the pattering on the windowsill make this somehow much more...personal.

“What’s gotten into you?” he wonders aloud as you toss the shirt behind your back. You note how careful he is to not let that interest seep into his voice. “When did you get so...bold?” You take note of how evasive he is towards the word "dominant." It's like his ego is too big to let him admit that your positions really have changed for tonight.

Satisfaction courses through your veins as his body slightly jolts at the touch of your hand on his chest. Instead of his body unwinding as your might have done had the roles been reversed, it tenses up with each movement of your hand: your fingers as they scratch against his fuzzy skin, your palm as it gently caresses. It seems to expect the worst. 

You let your hand glide around–the thickets of hair feel like gentle clouds on your skin. They seem to draw it closer and closer, until your entire hand magnetizes to him.

He suddenly winces when your fingers skim his nipple.

You can’t help it when the smile already playing on your lips grows. You lightly squeeze, earning from him a low groan.

“Shit.”

“Do you like that?” you purr, running across his skin to go to the other. You glance at his partially-concealed face. His teeth are clenched together as they have been for the last few minutes, but what pleases you the most is the silken scarf; right by his forehead, it’s drenched in a deeper shade of red.

You feel his nipple graze your fingers and lightly scratch the very tip.

“You never told me you liked to be touched like this,” you breathe, putting down a little more pressure.

He murmurs something in response you don’t quite catch.

You decide to give him what he wants this one time and pinch it between your fingers. The restrained moan comes out as a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Damn, you've never heard him make sounds like these before.

You slide yourself down a little, using his chest to propel yourself back. His hairy skin glides across your thighs, and it’s felt through the thin lace of your lingerie. You can feel yourself begin to throb.

Fuck, this is better than I could have imagined…

The hem of his boxer briefs grazes you from behind, but you don’t stop until you can feel his bulge just barely touching you. The room suddenly gets a thousand degrees hotter.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” Till does a very poor job of concealing the desperation in his voice now. It’s gotten so much worse.

As you continue sliding down, you carefully maneuver yourself around him so that you don’t touch him there yet. Making him wait a little longer won’t kill him. Even if he sounds like he’s run a ten-hour-long marathon.

“You can only do this for so long.”

Your hand immediately gravitates to his inner thigh. He sucks in a breath.

“Shh,” you delicately hiss as your fingertips caress it.

His breath quickens through his teeth. “You do not tell me to be quiet,” he snarls through them. Once again, the banging of the headrest echoes, hollow, and the bed under you rocks as if it’s been caught in a hurricane.

You enjoy the ride for a few seconds before he comes to a tentative stop, completely out of breath. You didn’t realize how much bondage would have done to him; he’s transformed into a wild beast, mere inches away from wrapping his fingers around your neck and pulling you down. Only the cords save you from all the hell he's likely fantasizing about giving you. The thought puts you on cloud 9.

You continue your torture as if nothing had happened at all; you lean forward and press your lips right above the hem of his underwear. The natural, sweet, and musky smell of his warm skin draws you in for a kiss, and you fall into its embrace. With each one you plant, you notice a thin sheen of sweat blankets his abdomen, barely there, lingering like a ghost.

The room has fallen into a silent interlude. Only the pattering of rain against the windows replaces his sounds of both pleasure and irritation. He doesn't gasp nor furiously sigh when your lower lip skims the hem of his briefs. You glance up at him only to see his head leaning back, mouth slightly open as he breathes. He still looks troubled, yet enjoying himself.

You decide to take it up a notch.

Gliding your hands across the soft cotton of the only clothing keeping him from being completely naked, you lift your head. Then you begin caressing the area just below the hem. Not quite there but close.

The bomb begins ticking.

“Don’t you dare go there,” Till says in one panicked breath.

You let out a light chuckle. “You're really begging for it, aren't you?” Your fingers curl and extend, inching closer.

“You wouldn’t do that even if I gave you the opportunity,” he rapidly spits.

A scathing laugh. You can't help yourself from feeling the victory you've longed for for so long. "Look where that saying got you." Those six words bring more satisfaction than you thought they'd bring. 

“Tying me up is one thing, b-but teasing–” he trips over his words. He’s uncertain. “You don’t–”

You carefully slide the tips of your fingers lower down.

This shuts him up.

With every centimeter, every movement and curl, his breathing gets more and more ragged. It's unsteady and wavering.

“You are giving me an opportunity, Till. And I’m taking it.”

“Nicht…” he starts before being cut off by his own bated breath when your fingertips barely run over his bulge. An unexpected blush creeps up your cheeks as you feel how hard he is.

But your body aches for more.

So, with your face beginning to turn into a burning scarlet, you grab at the bands and carefully slide your fingers underneath. Contrary to his demanding earlier, he’s so much more desperate, lifting his hips without needing to be told.

“Take these off,” he orders in a debilitated gasp. ‘Take them off right fucking now.”

Everything in you wants to let him get his way, but the sudden obstinacy that has festered inside this past week overrides your desire for his control. He can wait a little longer, can’t he? the little devil in you chimes.

It responds: “That’s tempting, but I’m not taking orders from you tonight, Till–”

He pants out your name, jerking his hands against the restraints. “Don’t do this to me, damnit.”

You pause, humming as you "contemplate" it. "Well, Till...I'll consider if you beg for it,” you muse, swirling your finger right around it.

“No, no, I am not saying that,” he refuses, however sounding more weak with each movement of your finger. “That is bullshit.”

You slide it directly over, causing a sharp inhale from him. For the couple of seconds you skim it over, you can feel him throbbing.

Something is enticing about seeing him wanting you so terribly, feeling his muscles contract and pinch together under your touch and the involuntary jerking of his hips as you graze the most sensitive parts of him. It gives you an inkling of how much of a turn-on it is for him when he bounds you to the bed.

“I won’t stop until I hear you begging for it.”

“Damnit." His chest rises and falls with hysteria as he considers the offer. Either direction he takes, that’s something you’re willing to wait for.

Right outside, the rain’s cascade exacerbates, thudding heavily against the glass like tiny pieces of hail. You can even hear the hint of thunder outside the apartment complex, distant enough to not shake the building, but close enough to cut through the silence like a knife.

A better night couldn’t have been picked out for this. The tinkling of the rain and the accompanying gloomy atmosphere are somehow wondrously enchanting, hypnotizing even. You feel that tonight it makes you and Till completely isolated together, away from the world. Hidden in plain sight while a beast of nature rages in the sky.

Till sighs sharply–quite shakily too. “Please, take these off.”

You hum pitifully, “That doesn’t convince me.”

“Bitte, I need you to take these off!” he explodes, his deep voice piercing through even the thunder that’s getting nearer. If the soaked blindfold wasn’t covering his eyes, you would have seen how wide and beseeching they are. “Please, I need you right now, hase! You cannot just leave me like this!”

You never realized how gratifying it is to hear someone wanting you so badly, a slave to you. It’s making you want to keep going, but you’re not entirely sure how long you can keep withholding yourself from him either. Till has more self-restraint than you've ever had, tormenting you like this for hours at a time. He’s likely gotten so used to it by now it feels like mere minutes to him.

“That’ll suffice.”

Till’s tense shoulders go limp with relief.

Although, you don’t pull down his boxer briefs any further.

You crawl up a little, just until you're sitting right above his mound. The feeling of it throbbing against your pussy makes you wish you had taken his briefs off. But it's too late now.

You grip his sweaty sides, relying on it to steady yourself, and move your hips back and forth, a slow and gentle but constant rhythm. You let out a soft moan and shut your eyes as Till lifts his hips. Your lace underwear feels warm and moist with each grind, rubbing against you with every dip. He’s gotten you so fucking wet since the moment you tied his hands to the bedpost.

You move faster, deepening each dive. This deepens the friction of him against you and causes Till to groan louder this time. A string of profanity, both English and German, is muttered between his teeth.

The downpour outside intensifies, and the thunder grumbles closer, still gentle but looming closer and about to release its wrath soon.

“Deeper, Schatzi.”

“’ Please,’” you correct, lifting yourself by the knees to lessen the weight on him. It takes a heaping amount of effort, but you somehow manage to abstain. You ache for more of him, and you’re not sure if you can even wait for his answer.

But to your pleasure, he rasps, “Please.”

You catch your breath for a few seconds before lowering yourself on him once again and rubbing yourself against his warm briefs. You move back and forth, side to side, around. Till’s head leans back against the headrest with a dull thunk.

He moves with you, pulsing his hips up when you grind deeper, harder, and bucking them against the bed when you raised them, only the repeat the ritual again.

Your eyes close once more. You wonder how you feel on top of him; you wonder how much he enjoys the weight of your body moving in perfect rhythm with his, how tantalizing you feel grinding against him with only your undergarments keeping you from each other.

You wonder if he needs you as badly as you him.

Suddenly, you hear him shakily sigh, but there's something new this time. There's...something that sounds like a scoff hidden underneath, you believe. It's lurking so deeply you might have misheard, but your eyes snap open, and it's not until then you realize he's stopped moving. 

 You can't tell very well in the light but...

You think he's smiling. 

“You’re so beautiful, hase,” he breathes, almost nothing but just mouthing.

Your brows furrow in confusion, and you stop completely. You peel your hands away from his soaked abdomen. He was begging you to let him go no more than five seconds ago and now he’s...gushing about how “beautiful” you are.

Even though a bad feeling creeps into you, you decide to play along. He's just trying to bribe me, you convince yourself.

“I told you you’d get used to it,” you purr, running a hand along his stomach. His sweat has slicked down the hair so much that it lays completely flat.

“No, no…” His expression abruptly turns solemn. The sudden change makes you falter. “I did not want to point this out, but…” he trails off, drifting his eyes into space.

You raise a brow and wait for him to continue. You ignore the twinging in your stomach as the uneasiness builds like a tense crescendo. 

Slowly, a closed smirk creeps onto the bottom half of his face. “Nein, I should say nothing. I don’t want to give you that satisfaction…”

At this point, there's a drop of annoyance as you realize he's intriguing you. “It’d be helpful if I knew what to feel satisfied about, wouldn't it?”

A short huff of air escapes his nose. You just can't tell if it's a laugh or a scoff. “Komm her. I will explain.”

You titter, riding a hand up his furry thigh. “I’m not untying you, Till–”

“Shh. I will not ask anything of you. I only need to point something out.”

After studying his face for a moment–with, unsurprisingly, nothing much being revealed–you slowly slide yourself up. He tilts his head in your direction, a slight smirk tweaking the corners of his curved lips.

Once he feels you’re close enough to him, he lifts his face and brings his lips to yours again. Despite the frustration in the way his body tensed from before, you can feel it’s…calmer, in a way.

Your brows furrow, but you return it, careful to keep yourself at a distance to prevent it from going any further. You’re still not done with him yet.

He pulls away ever so slightly. “You are just…beautiful when you’re dominant,” he mutters against your lips. Your eyes involuntarily widen at his use of the word. “You wear it well.”

You chuckle, tilting your head so that your noses briefly rub one another. “I told you you’d warm up to the idea.”

“Yes, you did.”

Something brushes lovingly against the nape of your neck. You suddenly freeze on the spot.

And you realize why he brought you this close.

“But you should tie your knots better if you want it to last.”

A lot changes within a few seconds. You don’t know exactly what happened or how you got in this position, but before you know it, a pair of brawny hands are gripping your arms and you’ve switched sides with Till.

He’s grunting as he pins you down, fingers tightly locked around your wrists. His nails dig deep into your skin; they'll leave sunken crescent moons that you'll discover later.

Panic grips you in its deadly claws, and you try everything in your power to fight back, but your attempts fall short of his by one and a million. Though you don't realize this just yet, there is no way to break free from his lethal hold now.

Till quickly lowers himself onto you; the weight of his body is nearly crushing against yours. A hopeless pit grows in your stomach. 

You can only watch as he pants and rips the drenched blindfold from his face. His emerald eyes are wild. Even in the dim candlelight, they’re bright; they glint like those belonging to a wild beast preparing to eat its first meal in days. Behind Till’s eyes is a blazing fire that’s been prodded and fueled by your teasing, now ready to combust and scald you. It mocks you, it tells you that fighting back would be a futile mistake. It tells you why he never belonged to be tied up to a bedpost. It tells you why you should have never ordered him around like he's just some mere servant. 

Even if you don’t want to admit it.

The creases in his face from the effort reflect his fury. You flinch when he lunges forward and yanks one of your wrists up to the bedpost. The brass is freezing enough to where it feels like your skin is being burned.

“I know, I know,” his rumbling growl sounds above you as his hands roughly tie the knots. Correctly. “I’m the bad guy. But you brought this shit to yourself,” he snarls when he secures the last knot.

You try one last time as you huff with the effort of trying to squirm out of his grasp as hard as you possibly can, but the outcome hasn't changed. The moment he fully releases his entire weight on you, the realization sinks in, and you know he's overpowered you much more than you ever could him.

He grabs the other arm and bangs it against the headrest; the sound of hollow brass reverberates for a few seconds. “If you were going to tie me, you should have done it right. You should know how to tie a fucking knot before trying this, shouldn't you?” His hands work much faster as he secures your hand tightly yet not enough to hurt. “See?"

You’re too stubborn to see what he’s done.

“Look.”

You feel his thick fingers grasp your chin and turn your head to face your hands. The knot he tied looks identical, but after a few seconds of examining it, you realize what the difference is. The little loops on the bottom are pulled out, the ends jutting out.

“Try to break out of it,” Till commands.

You do as you're told, and, not much to your shock, it’s tight and secured, never to be broken until he wishes it.

“That’s how you tie a damn knot.”

He sits back to observe his work. His broad chest heaves; it glistens in the light, and beads of sweat make the hair on his chest curl and cling together. He uses both hands to wipe his face and his mouth. There’s a subtle sound of his stubble rubbing against his hand.

Thunder suddenly booms right overhead outside, loud enough to have almost shaken your third-story room. You startle at the noise, but Till is entirely unaffected by it.

He sighs sharply and begins rummaging through the blankets, shoving your legs out of the way. He mutters under his breath, “Wo zum Teufel ist das–”

He finally finds what he's looking for. When he snatches the blindfold from the tangled blankets, you expect him to wrap it around your face, but instead, he balls it up and tosses it to the other side of the room.

You muster what's left of your stubbornness to be a brat. “I didn’t think you’d go in soft tonight,” you comment under your breath.

You didn’t think it’d be loud enough to hear, but when he raises his head, you flinch.

“Nein,” he snarls, running his hand through his short chestnut hair to get it out of his face. “You are going to see everything and you are going to fucking love it. Do I make myself clear?”

You avoid his eyes. "Yes." You've already lost, but there's something within you that persists in letting his desires be prolonged as much as possible. 

“‘Yes,’ what?” His voice drops lower–dangerously lower.

You purse your lips together.

“Look at me.” Till reaches forward and turns your face toward him, his balmy hand resting against your cheek. “‘Yes,’ what?”

A few seconds pass by, and you’re still unwilling to let it slip out. His emerald eyes narrow.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You sigh through your nose, about to look away before remembering he'd deem that unacceptable. “Yes, mein Führer,” you whisper.

The usual gratified smile that appears when you say this doesn’t appear. You realize how much you’ve pushed him to the edge tonight.

“Good girl,” he says nonetheless.

Then you feel his hand running down your stomach, with only the lace keeping a thin barrier between you and his touch.

“I do not want to repeat myself more times than I should. Do I make myself clear, hase?”

“Yes, mein Führer,” you say, feeling a knot of a ball of nerves as you watch his hand trail your body.

“Gut.”

Suddenly, his other hand joins in and he grips at the lingerie’s lace underwear. This was the last thing you were expecting to happen tonight: watching things fall into place as they should and receiving the punishment you well deserve.

Although Till grunts roughly, he makes it look effortless when he rips apart your lace underwear down the middle.

“Lift your hips.”

At his mercy, you do as you’re told. You feel the lace severing down the middle as he continues where he left off. You feel it finally split apart right by your tailbone, and Till yanks both of the pieces down your legs.

“I don’t want to hear anything else from you tonight,” he snaps through his teeth. He balls it up in his hands, closing it in a tight fist before opening his hand back up again. You avert your gaze as he glowers at you, broad chest heaving with each ragged breath he takes. “Open your mouth."

You part your lips, hesitantly, but he speeds up the process when he grabs your chin and tugs down. His thick fingers stuff the lace underwear inside your mouth and you can immediately taste the saltiness of yourself.

As pleased as you might have thought he'd be, he looks as pissed as ever. “I don’t want to hear a fucking sound from you. Verstehst du?"'

You don't dare hum through his contrived gag, so you simply nod. 

Till shifts himself down until he sits between your legs. His hands grip your thighs and forcefully spreads them, fingers digging into them. Your assumption of Till being more gentle now vanishes as soon as he puts his face between your legs. He doesn’t start with his usual tender kisses; from your inner thigh and gradually making it upward, torturing you in his own way. No, instead, his tongue roughly slides between your lips, causing your hips to involuntarily jerk, and puts his mouth right up against you. You gasp sharply when you feel him opening and closing around you sloppily, wide and slow, contrasting the brisk rhythm of his tongue. You can feel his short stubble prickle and scratch at the delicate skin.

Tenderness courses through your nerves, and you let out a shaky sigh. It’s taking everything in you not to let it materialize into something more audible.

As his mouth continues working, Till’s blazing gaze burns holes into yours, irate and thirsty. They never close or avert. No matter how much you want to close your eyes or look away, you know the moment you do he’ll stop. You already understand that the torture you’ve done to him will worsen tenfold lest you exacerbate the man.

Till pushes himself in deeper, and you clench your teeth on your lacerated underwear when you feel the tip of his nose pushing against your clit. Tingles of pleasure run through your body like bolts of lightning, charging up with each movement from him.

You’ve almost forgotten how vulnerable you are being tied up, unable to do anything but obey Till’s commands–every single one of them. And you almost let your little escapade make you forget that.

Right now, you want more of him. You need him. You inhale unsteadily and lift your hips, much like he did just minutes before.

But he suddenly ceases, moving away little by little. He knows just how quickly he can take you to the edge, and he uses it to his advantage. He's stopped doing enough and balances you on his tightrope.

You realize your mistake a moment too late. A small, choked whine escapes from your throat.

Till immediately jerks his head up. The bottom half of his face is glossy, glistening in the dim candlelight. His eyes have grown wide with desire. He looks one more sound away from snapping. The cruel fire in his eyes ignites with victory.

“You’ve had a lot of trouble following orders tonight, haven't you?” he drones. His calm tone is enough to make even a serial killer shudder.

Even if you could speak clearly, you wouldn’t attempt to make another noise.

“And tying me up to the bed and fucking me over like that?” A thin smile tugs his lips, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have found a good way to piss me off, hmm?”

Then he tilts his head in your direction. There must be something in your expression because he sighs roughly.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Or he read your mind.

He snatches the underwear out of your mouth.

“Speak.”

You take a deep breath, relishing the cold air seeping into your mouth. “I’ll be good next time, I swear,” you whine, despair cinching your voice and making it small. You sound strangely choked. “Please, mein Führer.”

The moment he chuckles, you know you’ve fucked up beyond repair.

“Don’t you dare act so fucking innocent,” Till growls callously. You notice his stout fingers grasping at his waistband, right above the milky stain you left. “We both know you acted way out of pocket. And guess what? I'm getting impatient as all hell with you.”

“Till, I promise–”

Suddenly, a sharp sting stretches from your cheek where his hand made contact with it. The sound pierces through the silence like a crack of thunder. Yet, he's still more gentle than you know he'll get.

His punishments will only take a turn for the worst from here.

“It’s 'mein Führer,'” he snarls through his teeth–restrained wrath and passion lace each syllable, deadly and disposed to kill.

You barely have any time to answer before his lips meet yours for the third time tonight. His lips crash into yours with starvation you’ve never felt before. You feel half-hearted when you return it, meek and shy compared to his savage passion driven behind his kiss.

Till's tongue grazes your bottom lip before barging inside, as demanding as last time, but rougher than any other time you’ve kissed him. This new feeling of Till’s awakened hunger overwhelms you.

The is no synchronization or rhythm that he leads. There is no romantic exchange between you and Till. Only the ravaging need and an inexplicable madness from him you couldn’t use words to describe.

A rumbling, growling groan makes his chest vibrate against your body. Your eyes open and you see Till tossing his ebony briefs across the room, where it lands on the top corner of the desk.

He holds your head in his balmy hands to push you deeper into the kiss. You barely have to do anything except follow his lead. You’re never really sure where he might take this. All you can do is obey.

And you do it with gratefulness.

Tingles shoot through your body like lightning when you feel him edging inside you. It’s not quite gentle, nor is it rough either.

Till finds your hands–he hasn’t given you enough time to even move them–laces your fingers together and pushes them against the brass.

Then, he thrusts himself inside you with a stifled grunt. The weight of his sweaty body is so unbelievably fucking crushing.

Your breathing quickens and your fingers instinctively clench onto his. There are no amount of times he could fuck you that you won't be surprised by how big he is. More so, there are no words you could describe how right it feels like something so seemingly out of place fitting in so well.

With each grunt, as Till slowly thrusts his hips, fucking you as slowly as he can, you gradually allow your eyes to flutter close. 

The downpour outside has not yet subsided, however, having only reduced by a little. You can still hear the thunder in the distance, but the moans escaping from Till drown it out.

Feeling the same feeling of the excitement Till so rudely snuffed before, you return his greedy kiss. You only wish your hands were free, but, even in your clouded, drunk state of mind, you know he will never allow it.

Suddenly, a sharp pain travels like a bee sting through your bottom lip. You let out a muffled gasp, but the sensation only lasts a second the moment he realizes he bit too deep. Or maybe he knows it, but decided it was enough. After all the hell you put him through tonight, maybe he thought it’s the absolute least you deserve.

Till wrenches away from your face to gasp in a large breath of air right by your ear. A wave of hot air washes over your tingling skin. “Scheiße, ichkannnichtgenugvondirbekommen,” he gasps in one long string of words the moment he pulls away. 

You're certain that this cat-and-mouse game he plays won’t take much to push you over to the edge. Especially with how exhaustive and excruciatingly slow Till’s being right now.

You so desperately want this moment to last forever–you want to feel Till fucking you as slowly as he pleases, how harshly he sees fit for your punishment. Each drive from him makes the force of his body shake yours in a strange, but welcome, way.

Till’s panting becomes thicker, only stopping for the second he takes to swallow, and he continues at the same speed. You can hold it in no longer. A husky moan escapes your lips, in harmony with that of his. However, this receives no berating or withdrawal from him. Instead, he quickens his pace. The noises from him leave so much more to be desired. Each grunt turns into some kind of monstrous snarl the deeper he works himself into you.

It all feels complete. So fucking complete. You and Till can't get any closer to each other, your sweaty bodies pressed up against each other like melted wax, but you still scramble and push him closer as if there's some kind of way you can melt more into him. 

Then you begin to feel yourself being pushed closer to the edge. It's like you see it in the distance, a mere silhouette against the sun's blazing rays of its waking light. The apotheosis that has taken an entire night to complete. You feel it deep in your stomach, aching with pleasure, aching for him. You know he feels it too when his thrusts become sloppier.

Your only wish is that you could feel for him. Feel your nails digging into his back and dragging him down, caressing his hairy chest, hell, even just grazing his cheek will do. 

Having him subjecting to your punishments seems so distant now as if it never even happened.

But then, he quickly pulls himself out.

Your eyes snap open and you whimper in despair when you realize he's not coming back.

“No, no, please don’t stop–”

Till reaches forward with a heaving sigh. His furry chest has been shoved in front of your face, matted and glistening with perspiration. Your head feels stiff as you breathlessly watch him undo the ties around your wrists. You don't know how much you’re trembling until you feel your hand fall away. A question rises to your throat, but you manage to swallow it down.

It’s not long before the other falls to your side, but this freedom is quickly plundered when he straddles you and places himself right on top of your breasts.

Fuck, he's so heavy... If your head isn’t running with a million thoughts–half unintelligible–you’d wonder if he can feel your heart drumming wildly.

His chest rises and falls heavily as he looks down at you, emerald eyes drilling holes into yours. His bidding has already been silently spoken; there’s no need for any words to be exchanged or questions asked anymore.

You cautiously lower your hands from your head–whether or not any improper movement from you will earn them back to their previous position you’re not sure–until they graze his waist. His skin is hot and sticky.

As you might have anticipated, he doesn’t react, merely studies your face, waiting for you.

You lick your lips and crawl your fingers lower and to the center. His muscles stiffen and recoil before and right as your hands have reached their tender destination.

Like an obedient servant, you run your hands along his throbbing cock and guide the tip just until you feel it grazing your upper lip.

Till sighs heavily and runs a hand through your hair from the nape. When he reaches the top curvature of your head, he grips a fistful of hair and pulls gently. His fingernails dig deep into your scalp.

And that just turns you on even more.

You lick across the head, making sure the entire time to apply enough pressure to satisfy him. The slight saltiness of his precum tastes like absolute fucking elixir. Slurred words string from him above you, indistinguishable yet encouraging you to keep going. A strange, strangled moan pierces through the silence as you take it farther into your mouth.

You feel his head skimming directly over your tongue, and you push it against the roof of your mouth, earning a sharp gasp from above. You look up and see him pinching the bridge of his nose for a few seconds. Only when he regains control does he slightly elevate himself by his knees and begins thrusting into your mouth.

Exhilaration courses through your body like electricity with each thrust from him; he pushes himself deeper inside, and you welcome him, letting your tongue run along his shaft.

Till tugs on your hair, and when you look up, you see his head is thrown back–you’re only able to see the bottom of his sharp jaw.

Gratification takes you in its warm embrace. Seeing Till so satisfied leaves more to be desired. It makes you want to keep going until he demands you to stop.

You manage out a shaky sigh and run your hands along his thighs, digging in with your fingernails roughly this time. You notice the mats of short hair on his skin, and you gently pinch them between your fingers as you move. Each involuntary jerk from him causes him to drive in deeper.

You bob your head up and down, all the while swirling, pressing, pushing your tongue against him. When your hands finally reach his waist, you let them sit there for a second. A thought pops into your head, which you refuse at first, but after lingering on it for just a few seconds more, you give in. You peel your hands away, carefully as if he might easily notice, and travel them down your hips.

You crave the feeling of him in your mouth, getting deeper with every movement, every thrust. You crave the feeling of him moving to and fro on your breasts, and the little squeaks the bed makes under the weight of both of you. Yet, you want something more. Your fingers ache to touch your body. To finish what Till didn’t.

A soft sigh of pleasure comes from you the moment you graze your clit.

“What are you doing?”

You open your eyes and look up at him. His head is tilted, face masked by the shadows of the candlelight. Shame makes you look down.

Thick fingers wrap around your wrist and pull your hand away. “Nein, hase–keep your hands where I can feel them.”

You are given no other choice. You return your hand to his thigh and begin caressing it. This is enough to ease Till and he releases his grip.

Things fall back into place again.

Till pushes deeper inside you, and you bob your head gratefully. Side to side, your tongue works on his shaft and you begin using your teeth to gently graze him, barely using them at all.

The moment you do this, your throat begins to constrict and you can feel yourself getting to the edge of choking. A sense of primal alarm makes your eyes snap open.

Till is already glaring down at you. He murmurs breathlessly, “Keep doing that–don’t stop, verstehct du mich? Not until I tell you to.” He briefly wipes his drenched face, holding his breath for just a second before exploding back into pants.

You do as you’re told. You’re eyes close and you relish the sensation of Till inside you as you continue working your tongue around him; you breathe as slowly as you possibly can to ignore the persistent presence of choking. He lets out a beastly growl and pushes his hips into your face for the last time.

He fills inside you completely. You could taste him as he washes over your mouth. You barely have enough time for a moan before it’s drowned out by your swallowing. You glance up at him. He says nothing, but there is no need for words. There’s nothing more telling than his vulnerable, pinched expression of satisfaction as he throws his head back, emitting a low groan.

“Stop, hase. Fuck.”

You obey him, swallowing what’s left as he pulls out. He sits back and runs a hand through his hair. By now, it’s become slick with sweat and clumped together to form thick locks.

Both you and Till sit in the silence of the passing thunderstorm. The rain hasn't dissipated, but the grumbles of the sky have eased into nothing. 

You wait for him to continue, or at the very least say something. The droplet of selfishness you've felt since he guided your hands away from yourself spreads into a lake.

“What about me, mein Führer?” you ask, quiet and meek. You sound as helpless as you were with your hands tied.

He laughs breathlessly, his lip curling. “I’m far from fucking done with you, hase.”

You open your mouth, but Till grabs your chin.

“Anything you’ve ever wanted, everything I've denied you, is going to have to be begged for,” Till spits between his teeth.

Beads of sweat trickle down your neck as you gasp for air. “Please, mein Führer.”

“Louder.”

“Mein Führer, please,” you whimper; your voice comes out as choked up.

“I said louder.” He lifts your head higher. You part your lips. “I am not going to repeat myself.”

“Please! I need you!” you cry out, strained. With every word you can hear the desperation trickling more and more, and you know damn well this satisfies him more than any volume you could be capable of.

“Ja?” Till rasps. He brings your face closer; you can see every speckle of brown in his left eye, every soft line tracing half of his sharp face, every bead of sweat dribbling down his prickly jaw. You just want him inside you again. You want to feel him feeling you and fucking you with every ounce of effort he can muster. “Tell me just how badly you want it, hase.”

You gasp out what you know he wants to hear. “I need it, mein Führer. Please don’t take this away from me.”

He licks his soft pink lips. “Do you promise you will never try to treat me like a slave again?”

You swallow. “You have my word, mein Führer.”

He straightens up. Even in the shadows, you can see the glint of hunger burning in his gaze. It's never ceased since the moment he woke up.

“Ich besser.”