Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Well, Sigma, dear? Have you had enough?”

Fyodor's fingers curl gently against her scalp, and while she can't see their face, she's sure they're wearing that smug grin of theirs. Sigma leans a bit more into them, her cheek squishing against their thigh. The shift makes her legs tremble a bit as it has the plug pressing a bit deeper into her, her back arching just a bit where it rests against the bed.

“...You only just got back.” Sigma huffs, an irritated noise despite the heated tinge to her skin and the dampness sullying her lace.

A finger curls around one of the lilac strands framing her face, while Fyodor’s other hand travels south, toying with the intricate bow holding the upper part of her corset together. “Always so needy.” Fyodor's tongue clicks almost inaudibly above her, but their thighs close just slightly on either side of her head as they speak, “You'll have to stand up if you want it that badly, Дорогой.”

Sigma frowns, and lifts her head but is stopped from turning to look at them as they gently curl a finger under her chin, palm to the apple of her cheek. “Fyodor…” She sighs, and sits up on her knees–

She's sprawled on the floor before she can even attempt to get her feet under her, a mess of frills and hair and bows.

In all honesty, Sigma forgot about the ribbons, tied snug around her thighs, knees, and curling around her calves in sweeping ‘x's. Two final ribbons pulled her wrists and elbows together behind her back; All tied off with frilly bows, of course, at Fyodor's insistence. They always did love seeing Sigma in frills and the like.

Their footsteps are deep on the hardwood, and Sigma lifts her head to look at Fyodor as they stop, standing over her sorry form. The smile on their face is insufferable…

“Oh, that's too bad,” Fyodor hums, a slight laugh in their voice as they kneel beside Sigma, “Looks like you won't be getting anything today. Maybe next time?”

…’Next time’ would be nearly three months from now. Both of them would be entirely too busy to even meet up for a simple date, let alone–

Sigma's frown deepens, and she attempts to sit up but only succeeds in propping herself up awkwardly on her ribs before crashing back against the floor. Her whine is softened against the hardwood, but she's sure Fyodor still hears it, “Fyodor...”

Fyodor's fingers are running light circles over her thigh while they respond, a teasing tone to their voice that only ever reached Sigma's ears. A secret only she was privy to, “Yes, Sigma? What is it?”

“You're awful.” Sigma huffs, writhing a bit as their fingers skim further up her thigh, over the ribbons, stopping dipped beneath the band of her panties, “Awful.”

“Being rude won't get you what you want.” Fyodor chatises, yet they let their fingers slip further under the pale lace of her panties, edging closer to her rear, “My, you're already so wet, Дорогой. I haven't even touched you.”

Sigma tenses where she lays on the ground, as Fyodor's fingers brush dangerously close to– but she's left wanting as their hand pulls away from her entirely. She knocks her forehead against the cool hardwood floor once, irritated.

The grandfather clock in the room becomes painfully audible, in the silence. It grates on Sigma's ears…

‘tick’, ‘tock’, ‘tick’, ‘tock’, ‘tic’–

She gasps as she's suddenly picked up, an arm under her thighs and another supporting back. It's only for a few moments that Sigma is carried bridal style before she's unceremoniously tossed onto the bed with a small noise of surprise. She lands with her back on the bed, legs tipped to the side and she immediately takes advantage of being able to look at Fyodor as she glares at them.

“I thought you said that–”

“I say a lot of things.” Fyodor shrugs, letting their cape fall to the floor along with their dress shirt. They carefully remove their pushanka, resting it on the end table tucked under their window. They stop there, and Sigma can't help but feel pensive at how clothed they still are compared to her, even while reduced to their binder and pants.

The bed sinks when they join her, a hand planted next to her hip while the other rests on her knee to push her legs further to the side.

“Are we using traffic lights this time? Or fruits? The choice is yours.” Fyodor hums through their words, eyes skating over Sigma's form and lingering on the curve of her hips.

Sigma's skin warms a bit under their gaze and she shifts subconsciously, frills ruffling, “Traffic lights.”

Fyodor nods, then smiles just slightly, their thumb rubbing circles into Sigma's knee, “Alright, Дорогой.”

Their hands move quickly, and Sigma is flipped over onto her stomach before she can even breathe in. Her hips are squeezed gently as Fyodor pulls them up, forcing her knees to rush to support the change while her face is buried in the sheets. She breathes out a sigh as warm hands glide over the plush of her rear, then along the expanse of her thighs, but she only sinks into the soft sheets when a light kiss is placed on the back of her thigh, followed by three more.

“Being sweet today?” Sigma asks against the bedding, breathy as Fyodor's fingers curl around one of her thighs while they gently nip at the other.

A small snort, if it could even pass for that, leaves Fyodor in a warm brush of air across Sigma's skin. “I'm always sweet to you.”

“Once in a blue moon, maybe–” Sigma's breath hitches as fingers glide over her through her panties, pressing against her folds and stopping to apply gentle pressure on her clit through the lace.

Fyodor's hand still curled around her thigh squeezes, and their cheek rests against the back of it as they slowly begin to rub her through her panties, “You make me sound so cold, dear– You wound me, truly.”

Sigma's hips pitch back into their hand, but she's given no gratification as they pull their hand back and instead trail it over the small of her back. She frowns, turning her face a bit into the sheets, but doesn't say anything. Her skin tingles in wake of the hand sliding up, up, up her thigh, a finger tucking under the intricate dolly-pattern waistband of her panties.

A few kisses to her thigh is Sigma's only warning before the lace is tugged down as far as the ribbons constricting her thighs allow, the cool brush of air to her exposed bits makes a slight shiver run through her.

Fyodor makes a pleased sound, and without warning pulls out the plug Sigma had forgotten was still inside her with a wet sound. They toss the amethyst-jeweled plug away, but it lands on the bed just within Sigma's eyesight and her face warms at how… damp, it looked.

Sigma gasps and clenches her hands where they're bound at her tailbone as a finger sinks into her cunt and curls perfectly inside her. The hand not half-hilted inside her presses down just slightly on the small of her back.

“красивый,” Fyodor praises, a softness only afforded to the girl bound before them. “красивый.” Their finger slowly pushes in, then out, and is quickly joined by another as their glide is slick and Sigma's easily able to take them.

Sigma's breath comes out in a sigh, a delighted sound as she minutely presses back onto their fingers, swearing quietly as her legs tremble under Fyodor's ministrations.

“Fedya…” Sigma pants, twitching as their fingers brush her sweet spot just right. Her eyes close, lashes brushing over her cheeks as unnecessarily audible wet noises fill the air in time with each press into her.

“Have patience, Куколка,” Fyodor's hand presses a bit harder down onto the small of her back, the pressure forcing small hitched breaths through her as it only squeezes their fingers against her sweet spot. “Ah, should we have our dinner brought to us or would you like to dine out tonight, Sigma?”

Sigma's hips cant back onto their fingers, and she makes a quiet sound before she replies. Her words are breathy and light, chest near heaving against the bed, “W-We should… go out. When was the last time we ate out, anyway?”

A thoughtful hum is accompanied by a pointed rub to her clit that crumbles any of the steadiness Sigma had worked her voice into. Fyodor's lips brush against her rear, now, as they speak, “About seven months ago.”

Their tongue flicks at her heated skin, teasing over the plush flesh of her rear, but it's still jarring when that damp heat is laving between her folds around their fingers. They lap at her cunt, trailing over it until their tongue is pressing onto her clit and nearly worshiping it with how it lingers and relishes the taste of her.

Sigma finally moans, a quiet sound, with the combined efforts of Fyodor's fingers and their tongue. Her hands clench behind her back, and the ribbons despite their relative looseness feel entirely too constricting as she squirms. Her knees slide over the sheets slightly as she presses her pussy into their face.

A simmering heat boils inside her as their fingers and tongue work together to chip away at her, pushing inside and rubbing and moving– Sigma wasn't going to last much longer, her legs were trembling under her even as Fyodor's hand fell from her back to support one of her thighs.

Fyodor pulls back a bit, breath still fanning hotly over her pussy and fingers not pausing even for a moment, “You're doing so good, dear. Truly amazing, Sigma.” Their face is buried into her folds again not a second after the praises leave their lips, and it only ruins Sigma that much more.

“You… Fyo–” Sigma squeaks as she cums, abruptly, a shiver trilling up her spine and a dampness trailing between her thighs. Her chest feels light as she drags in heated breaths, eyes fluttering open a crack.

Fyodor's tongue leaves her, but their fingers continue to push in and out of her until she's twitching and writhing from the stimulation before pulling away, too. “Well, that's a new sound. How adorable.”

Sigma grumbles into the sheets, face warm with embarrassment, “I hate you. Fuck, I hate you.”

“Do you, now?” Fyodor hums mirthfully, their weight lifting from the bed and leaving Sigma a bit displaced on the sheets as they audibly rummage around in a drawer of one of the nightstands. “I never would've thought.”

Not deigning that with a response, Sigma sinks against the bed, feeling her high ebb away into nothing. Her thighs are still annoyingly wet and a sticky residue clings to her skin as she'd begun to sweat at some point, she'll have to take a shower…

A soft tap to her shoulder and a hand sweeping the lilac hair from her eyes has Sigma half-lifting her head from the sheets to meet Fyodor's gaze. They're partially sitting on the bed, leant forward on a knee and propositioning a fairly-sized toy in an open palm.

“Color?” Fyodor asks, gaze trailing over her face and she catches the briefest quirk of their lips before it returns to vague pleasantness.

Sigma takes a look at the toy. It's new, that's for sure, because she doesn't recognize it. It's black near the base, translucent further towards the head with a deep purple core, somewhat reminding her of jello with its shading and the texture of the colored core. She watches Fyodor's fingers nudge a switch at the base and– it glows. The innermost part of the dildo pulsing with a warm lilac light.

It was thicker around the base, and ridged just slightly up the sides…

“Green.” Sigma shifts, knees squeezing together. Maybe she was a bit needy… “Green.”

Fyodor breathes out a quiet laugh at her expense, lifting from the bed to turn and rummage around in the nightstand some more, “I heard you the first time, моя сладкая.”

This time they pull out the strap, and Sigma relishes in watching them shed their final few layers to put it on. She bites the inside of her cheek as they unclasp their binder, slowly, slowly, fingers dancing over it before the thick black fabric falls to the floor and exposes their chest. Sigma's eyes linger on the slight curve of their waist, the seldom seen arch of their ribs… They're unfairly attractive, it only makes Sigma's face heat and her knees squeeze together insistently.

Fyodor's hands fall to their belt, then, and Sigma's eyes follow the movement. They remove their belt in a faster fashion than they had their binder, and let their too-loose pants fall as soon as the belt is pulled from them.

It shouldn't have been much of a shock, but Sigma finds herself pleasantly surprised to see the black lace fit snugly around their hips, small bows framing the line of their hips– But, oh, those are being tugged down too. Past Fyodor's thighs and swiftly kicked away. Sigma barely steals a glance at them before they're putting the strap on. Looping the harness around their legs and tightening it, then attaching the toy. Fyodor always made it look so easy, Sigma always struggled to even get it halfway on by herself.

“Was that good enough for you, Sigma?” Fyodor muses, amusement in their eyes when Sigma lifts her gaze to meet theirs.

Sigma nods as best she can, still half-pressed into the bed, “Ah, yes…”

Fyodor smiles, pressing a hand onto the bed and leans down to press their lips to hers. It's quick, fleeting, and Sigma finds herself licking her lips after they pull back and position themself behind her again. She tastes a bit of herself, there.

Warm hands curl under her hips, and lightly adjust Sigma so she's laying on her side, legs bent to the side as well. She attempts to wriggle away from the hairs in her face but stops as thin fingers brush them away for her, stopping to tuck them behind her ear and lingering on her cheek.

Light hits their eyes just right at this angle, making Fyodor's eyes look garishly red instead of a maddening purple. The sight makes Sigma's heart squeeze, her teeth scraping along her lower lip.

Fyodor's fingers pinch her cheek gently before leaving her face, and they dutifully ignore the glare they earn with the teasing gesture. Their fingers skate down the slope of her neck, press against the dip of her collarbone, trail over the slope of her breasts over the satin corset she wore until they reach the bow there. At the same time, she feels the tip of the strap brush against her folds, and is a bit shocked to feel it's already lubed. Since when did Fyodor do that?

Sigma breathes out a sigh as the bow on her chest is undone, also unraveling a bit of her corset with it. Fyodor wastes no time in tugging the fabric down and cupping one of her breasts, swiping a thumb over the nipple to harden it and squeezing.

“They look a bit bigger,” Fyodor hums, a bit of humor in their eyes, “Ah, I've gotten you pregnant, it seems. What should we name it?”

Sigma glares at them, “Disease.”

“That's not a very good name for a baby, love.” Fyodor hums, idly squeezing her breast and rubbing circles into her hip with their other hand.

“Blame their other parent, then.” Sigma huffs, wiggling her hips a bit, hoping for a bit of friction from the strap still pressing against her but Fyodor's hand catches the movement and pins her hips to the sheets. She whines, head rolling onto the bed lazily, limbs instinctively. moving against the ribbons, “Fyodor.”

Fyodor huffs out a gruff sound, their hips moving forward just enough to press the head inside of Sigma but stopping there purposefully, “Would that make it a Junior, then? How wonderful. Maybe I should actually get you pregnant.”

A frustrated sound leaves Sigma, and she growls out her words, “Neither of us can get the other pregnant, we don't have dicks. Please, just fuck me already.”

“Hm, but I have one right now...”

“You make me want to murder people.”

It is then that Fyodor decides to sink fully into Sigma, hand roaming from her hip to her thigh and squeezing as their hips meet her rear. Sigma's head lifts, and she fixes them with a weighted stare that they return with a warm smile.

Their fingers move to her other breast, pinching her nipple between their fingers as they work themselves slowly out of her, then sink back in. The strap drags just right along Sigma's walls, creating a lovely friction with each push in and a heavenly glide out even with the slow pace.

But, as Fyodor's hips begin to snap faster, faster, she feels– not enough. They're squeezing and pressing and they're inside, but–

“Y-Yellow.” Sigma breathes, a lump sitting oddly in her stomach despite how well Fyodor's doing. They slow without a word, and she feels their heavy gaze as they remain with the strap pressed fully inside her. She frowns as she blinks blearily up at them, hands squeezing around nothing in their binds, “Fyodor, I–”

She's cut off with a kiss, Fyodor's hands cupping her cheeks and brushing away tears she hasn't even noticed had fallen. How weird of her, who cries during sex? She’s–

“Sigma.” And Fyodor's voice is so unraveled, trapped between their lips like this. Soft in a way wholly indescribable. They kiss her once, twice, before they speak again, “What do you need, Куколка?”

Sigma sighs, and is peppered in an array of kisses over her face as she replies through a voice shakier than it's been in a long while. She didn't understand why her body was acting like this… “I… I need you, Fedya. Please, just– hold me? I need, I need–”

Fyodor readjusts her without pulling back, lifting her legs by the back of her knees and pressing them against her shoulder easily with how flexible Sigma is, and they lower so they're somewhat chest-to-chest. Their hips press impossibly closer, the space between them so full and that odd lump that shook Sigma so melts away under the attention. She sighs blissfully as Fyodor continues to rub gentle circles into her cheek with the hand still cupping it.

She tips her head up to steal a kiss from Fyodor, enjoying the smear of lipstick that's made a mess of their lips, “Green.”

That one word has Fyodor moving again in less time than it takes Sigma to breathe, but in more of a grind than a thrust. Their hips never disconnect from her rear, pulling back just barely enough to push back in but the insistent pressing against her sweet spot and the sweltering heat the new position offered had Sigma mewling all the same.

Fyodor's lips smother her face in kisses until Sigma's memorized the feel of their lips, and she lets out a long breath as they trail their tongue down her throat. Sucking and licking and marking her skin, fingers raking light lines across her flesh and carding through her hair. Their mouth trails further, kissing the side of her breast and lapping their way towards her nipple before sucking. The mix of sensations has Sigma's mouth falling open and her back arching a bit.

A quiet ‘click’ is heard and that's the only warning Sigma gets as a trill of vibrations reverberates through her core and leaves her shaking. With each grind, each squeeze and suck and kiss, she's being gently undone. Her eyes flutter closed, her body so warm and light that she can't bring herself to keep them open.

“Fy–Fyodor…” Sigma gasps, as Fyodor pops off of her breast wetly with a few parting kisses and grinds into her a bit more insistently, “I–”

“You're doing so well, Sigma.” Fyodor kisses her collarbone, squeezes her breast gently, their fingers pin her knees down a bit further, “So lovely, so perfect. Бог благословил меня вашей любовью.”

Sigma's eyes blink open and she squirms a bit as the vibrating increases in intensity, “N– I… I love you.”

Fyodor's expression doesn't change, but she somehow feels that the air around them has as they lower themselves to touch noses with her, “And I, you, Sigma.” They kiss her again and that's what pushes her over the edge.

Sigma's a trembling mess before long, sweat sticking to her skin, cum dribbling from her pussy, saliva dampening her throat and chest. She melts into the sheets in her aftermath nonetheless, feeling Fyodor gently lower her legs to a normal position before feeling them lift from the bed again.

She hears shuffling and some metallic clicking before she's suddenly freed of the ribbons. Sigma moves to sit up but is quickly pushed back onto the mattress by a hand. She blinks up at Fyodor as they climb back onto the bed, no strap in sight, and tossing away a pair of scissors.

Only when they climb over her, thighs brushing her cheeks as they straddle her head does Sigma question them, “What are–”

“Color?” Fyodor interrupts, fingers brushing through her hairs and–

Gods, they must know they look right now. Sigma swallows as she takes them in from this angle. Hairs licking up their stomach in a happy trail, the bit of pudge there that she just wants to kiss, the visible dip in their hips, the ridges of their ribs visible under their skin. The way they were dripping onto her face with how wet they were…

Sigma didn't need to think about it twice, ”Green.” Her (now freed) hands curled under their thighs in preparation. “I said green, Fyodor. Green.”

Fyodor breathes out a laugh, running their nails along her scalp gently, “Yes, yes, I heard you all three times, dear.”

“Then sit–”

Sigma is silenced as they decide that is the best time to lower, her eyes widening as she quickly darts her tongue out, being caught off guard. Fyodor's eyes are full of mirth and she digs her nails into their thighs lightly, threateningly.

They don't move their hips at first, simply carding their fingers through Sigma's hair as she laps at their folds, nudging Fyodor's clit gently with her nose and burying her tongue inside them. It takes her carefully dragging her teeth over their clit for them to jerk, eyes fixing on her in focus. Sigma does it again, slowly, teasingly. Fyodor's brow pinches a bit as their hips jerk again, fingers curling into Sigma's hair and knuckles knocking against her scalp.

Sigma squeezes one of their thighs as they somewhat close around her head, her other hand gliding along the smooth skin of their thigh towards their core. She drinks in the way their eyes widen as she slowly drags a finger through their dampness before sinking it into them and curling it.

Fyodor's thighs tense under her finger and a rasping sound leaves them. Their hips grind down onto her face and she lets them, tongue staying still so they can ride it as they see fit. Sigma works another finger into them, though and nearly melts at the pleased keen and desperate rut to the nose it rewards her with.

Her scalp stings a bit as Fyodor's nails dig into it while they must be getting close, their throat clicking wetly as they gaze down at Sigma with a look of want. It is so easy for her to oblige, to press her face up just a bit and move her fingers that much deeper until Fyodor's quivering and panting and her face is entirely drenched in their fluids.

Fyodor doesn't lift off of her immediately, still sitting on her face as they rasp their knuckles gently over her temple, “Good girl, Sigma.”

Sigma glares at them for that, and the demon actually giggles before lifting off of her face and instead sitting beside her head.

“I'm not a dog, Fyodor.”

“But I just gave you quite the treat, no?”

Sigma frowns deeply at that, and reaches above her head for a pillow and throws it at them. She sighs as she sits up and stretches her arms over her head, glancing over at the dainty analog clock hung over their vanity. Only ten p.m.

She stands and cracks her back softly before turning to Fyodor, who was simply staring at her. “Come on, we can still eat at that fancy steak place if we shower now.”

Fyodor stands as well, and rounds the bed to join her, undoing the rest of her corset for her and letting it fall to the ground along with the rest of the ribbons they'd failed to reach before, “I want sushi, steak is better in the winter.”

“Of course you do.” Sigma rolls her eyes, a fond smile warming her face as she catches their fingers in hers and begins to lead them towards the bathroom, “Best two out of three?”

And Sigma can basically hear the smile in their voice even as they walk behind her. “Deal.”