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Lucien stares at his reflection in the mirror, grabbing a towel off the bar to pat his face dry. He’s been better about getting more sleep lately, but it still unsettles him, to be asleep when he could be doing so much more.
He follows the scent of food to the kitchen and she’s there, dressed for work and nearly finished with breakfast. He’s unsurprised to feel the twinge of disappointment; he’s always a bit greedy when it comes to her time, and he’s come to cherish eating breakfast with her every morning.
She looks up as he approaches the table, smiling around her toast, radiant in the early morning light. He’s got a few pictures of her like this but considers grabbing his camera to snap another.
“Early start?”
“We’ve got a shoot,” she confirms, taking another bite. “I’ll probably be home late, so don’t wait up and please, don’t forget to eat dinner!”
“I’ll try,” Lucien promises with a small smile, ignoring another stab of disappointment. He watches as she sighs, finishing the rest of her food, and gets up to make himself a plate.
She’s done eating when he sits back down, but doesn't make any move to get up. Instead, she glances at him before averting her eyes quickly. Bouncing leg, shoulders hunching slightly.
Hmm. He waits, digging into his food, his patience boundless when it comes to her. She wants something.
“So,” she says, tapping the side of her empty plate, and he gives her his full attention. “Before I go.”
He studies her, chewing quietly; her eyes are a little wide, a little too innocently, and the curious beast in him perks up. “Yes?”
“There was something I wanted to talk to you about.” Her words rush out as she pulls out her phone, and he puts his fork down.
Lucien tilts his head back, eyes shut under the steady spray of hot water. Her voice floats through his thoughts, reminding him not to turn the heat up so high. Completely hypocritical of her, since she gives in to the temptation of boiling hot showers quite often herself.
He dresses slowly—which might be a stretch, considering he sticks to cotton pj’s, bedroom slippers and nothing else. Choosing to towel dry his hair, he goes over his list once again.
He opens one of the drawers under the bathroom counter, finding what he needs in no time. He steps out, pausing briefly to listen for any sounds in the apartment.
It’s late, around 1 am. She had gotten home about two hours back, he had heard her come in but chose to stay in his study, finishing his reports for the day. He pads along the short hallway, heat beginning to pool low in his belly.
Lucien stops just outside the room she’s in, uncapping the bottle in his hand, listening carefully before turning the doorknob and peeking through the crack in the door, hand trembling where it rests on the door.
There she is. His heart beats against his chest, fighting to get near her.
She’s fast asleep, turned towards the only window in the room, her top leg curled in front of her and covers kicked to the side. The curtains were left undrawn, letting in plenty of moonlight for him to be able to see well enough. She looks beautiful, she always does, and the way she glows in the silvery light makes him want to drop to his knees.
He’s quiet in his approach, smiling tenderly at her soft snores; the smile strains when he sees she’s just in an oversized t-shirt he’s sure she got from his closet, the one that just barely comes down to the middle of her thighs, and plain blue cotton panties.
Lucien lets his eyes slide shut, taking in a deep breath. For fortitude. This girl.
He takes a seat on the side of the bed, letting his index finger rest on her hip, tracing the round curve leisurely. His mouth waters with the urge to kiss along every silver stripe etched in the plump flesh. He runs his hand up her soft thigh, breath beginning to pick up as she makes a low, sleepy noise.
He hooks two fingers over the edge of the waistband of her underwear, sliding them down as slowly as he can. It takes some effort. He has to watch her carefully the entire time, but he gets them off, mouth beginning to water as his goal is finally unveiled.
He can’t help it—tonight is all about indulging, and so he does. One hand on her thigh, pushing it up, he runs his tongue along her slit, the smallest of licks, breath punching out of him. He repeats the motion, dipping into her, flicking his tongue over her nub, feeling his length twitch at her soft sigh.
He could do this until dawn, keep his tongue buried in her cunt—but he did come in here with a different purpose. So it’s with some regret that he pulls away, sticking to the plan.
Reaching for the bottle, he pours the cool liquid over two fingers, coating them fully before keeping it aside and shuffling closer. There’s one thought in the back of his mind, and he’s framed it, keeping it there.
He works one long finger inside her, sucking in a breath at the feel of velvet heat, keeping the thrusts as light as he can. She stirs slightly, but doesn't do much more, so he slides another in; stifling his groan at the way she sucks him in, eager, he feels his own length swell.
Coming to sit just behind her, he pushes at her hips and she goes easily, with the smallest of groans, onto her back—he’s quick to slide a pillow under her hips. The edge of her t-shirt has ridden up to her waist, so he pushes it further up, palming one of her breasts as they’re revealed to him. She throws her head to one side, mumbling incoherently. Her skin is so warm, and he leans in, inhaling her subtle scent deeply—her favourite lotion. He can’t help but drag his tongue over a stiff nipple, teasing, tugging at it with his teeth. She squirms under him, and he kisses down her abdomen until he reaches the place where his fingers disappear into her, closing his lips over her bundle of nerves; she writhes, hips bucking up, and he pulls away with a small smile. So responsive even in slumber.
Her brows knit together just the slightest bit, mouth parting as he continues to stretch her open, rubbing along her walls gently. He wishes he could read minds, could dip into hers to know what was happening in there. She has no idea he’s in here, tasting her, fingering her while she sleeps. He knows it’s not right, his desire to burrow himself in every part of her, so he tries to curb it. But her body welcomes him, squeezing his fingers, and he revels in giving her what she needs. She’s so wet, a mix of the lube and her own natural slick, and he deems her ready for the next part.
Lucien is not so sure he’s ready, but then he never really is when it comes to her. She can be so unpredictable. He considers it one of her strongest charms, and one of his own most loved weaknesses. The only one who can catch him off guard and get away with it.
He kneels between her legs, pushing his pants down to his thighs. His cock is almost at full mast, head slick already with precome and he pours more lube over it, jacking it for a moment before he guides the head to her entrance, other hand holding her thigh to the side.
Steady breaths, one eye on her. He pushes in with a hiss he can’t suppress, the muscles of his stomach straining, and she shifts at the sound, moaning at the sudden feeling of firm intrusion. Both hands coming to hold her thighs apart, he rocks his hips in shallow thrusts that get him fully sheathed, and he has to pause: to regain his bearings, and to give her a moment to settle. Her brows furrow adorably, and she sighs softly; his heart squeezes at that.
But she hasn’t woken up, and he has his own suspicions as to why, eyeing the empty cup on her bedside table. It does give him a little more confidence to start driving his hips a little faster, a little harder. He shouldn’t get too reckless, but she has a way of tearing his prized self-control down.
Every single roll of his hips is deliberate, driving him deeper, urged on by the discontented shifting of her hips, the fluttering of her walls around him. Her fingers curl into the sheets, and his own dig into her skin. Soft, nonsensical murmurs draw his attention to her mouth; he’s overcome by the urge to lean in and steal a kiss, or fifty, and let her whisper into his mouth.
I’m here, sweetheart. I’m the one fucking you. I know you can feel it.
Her lashes flutter, her hips starting to meet his. His fingers slide up her skin, thumb coming to saw against her clit; he’s relentless, holding her in place until she gasps, walls clamping down tight as she comes around him. He’s half-expecting it when he hears it, but it still feels like his stomach caves in, her voice echoing through it.
“Lucien.” It’s barely a whisper, so soft he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been watching her so avidly. It’s just a word, just a name, but it’s everything. He keeps his gaze on her as he comes, spurting into her with a tormented moan, thrusting slowly to pump in as much as he can. Every drop belongs to her, he thinks, shoulders shaking with the strain of holding back. He thought he’d seen her eyes half-open, but she seems to have slipped back into sleep.
His skin feels heated as he pulls out, shuddering as he watches his come drip out of her overflowing sex. His fingers itch with the need to scoop it back in.
Possessive want courses through his veins, and he knows he can never have enough.
Lucien catches sight of her underwear on the floor, considering it for a moment before picking it up and reaching for her legs. Slipping it back on is much more difficult, but he’s determined to do it, and so he does. Pulling the covers over her now still form, he tucks a lock of hair away from her face, brushing his lips over her temple.
“Sleep well, darling.”
He slips back out just as quietly as he slipped in, nearly having to drag himself down the hallway and away from her. A glimpse of his reflection in the hallway mirror shows him flushed skin, violet eyes soft with the departure of a lust-filled storm. He stops by the bathroom to clean up before continuing to the room where he gets into bed and waits.
“-cien .”
He stirs awake, one eye cracking open and straining to see what had woken him up. He feels cold, in a way he hasn’t in a while, and it leaves him feeling oddly bereft.
“Lucien!” It’s her, standing beside his bed, leaning over him with one hand on his shoulder shaking him gently.
Oh.
When had he fallen asleep? It’s still dark out, so he couldn't have been out too long. He sits up, looking at her, and stills.
She looks—strained. Shifting from foot to foot, fiddling with the edge of her t-shirt, she looks at him pleadingly. The perfect picture of anguish, and he melts in the face of it.
“I-sorry, I didn’t want to wake you but—” she cuts herself off with a frustrated sigh.
“You don’t need to apologize, darling,” he murmurs. Something begins to build in his belly, and for a moment he can’t quite put a name to it, unfamiliar as it is— then it comes to him with a sharp intake of breath. Fear. Did she–did she not–Breathe. Wait. Do not make assumptions. “What is it?”
She looks at him, apologetic, which leaves him confused, still so very fearful—and she climbs onto the bed, right into his lap.
He blinks at her.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says, kissing him swiftly, banishing his fear in one strike. She pulls back, searching his face, and he slips a hand into her hair, yanking her back in. This kiss is not sweet; it’s deep and dirty, and she licks along his tongue like his own personal devil. Yes, his little darling never fails to surprise him. His lust comes roaring back, and he groans into her mouth, arms slipping around her, hand running down the length of her spine. “Is this okay?”
“More than okay,” he assures her, hips bucking up into hers, and he watches, breathless, the way her eyes darken with desire.
She reaches for the waistband of his pants, tugging at it impatiently. He catches on quickly and helps her; he’s half-hard and ready to jerk himself to fullness, so he isn’t quite expecting her to pull her underwear aside and guide the crown of his head in, sinking down with a soft whimper and little to no resistance.
His...thoughts aren’t quite coherent. There’s a silent ringing in his head, his breath frozen in his lungs; all he can focus on is the slick warmth of her, the realization that she didn’t need prep thanks to the remnants of his come from earlier. He sees it, dried trails of it on her inner thighs, and pleasure sinks in like a hammer to the base of his spine, leaving his jaw slack. It rushes down to his cock, and her breath stutters as she feels him swelling inside her.
“Fuck, Lucien,” she hisses, kissing him sloppily, grinding her hips in slow circles. “Do- ah , do you know how it felt to wake up sore, with your come in me?”
The words make them both shiver, and he blinks out of his daze, not quite succeeding as she begins to roll her hips faster. “Good, I hope?”
She laughs shakily, and it slips into a half-sob as he starts meeting her every move, digging his heels into the mattress.
“Good. So fucking good ,” she breathes out, pushing him back against the headboard, bouncing on his cock frantically. He cups her ass, fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, panting into the side of her neck. He pushes her shirt up to press his face to her breasts, sucking with eager purpose.
She swears loudly, something that never fails to amuse him, and never fails to fuel his want when she does it during sex. She reaches down between their bodies, rubbing at her clit urgently, and he strikes, biting hard, at her breast and the side of her neck, and drags his teeth up to her jaw as she shakes to pieces against him, keening into his shoulder.
“Not, not done,” she pants. He hums questioningly, kissing her cheek. “You’re still hard.”
“...I think–”
Her walls clamp down hard and the words fizzle out in his throat; he kisses her gently, holds her down and fucks up into her, rough and unforgiving, reminding her she wanted this when she cries.
She cries, but the blissful edge to it might just be what finally kills him. He doesn’t hold back—they have a safe word, but she only digs her nails into his shoulders. If only his enemies knew, how she can reduce him to this worshipful creature with one look.
She trembles when he comes, filling her for the second time tonight, and the possessive, satisfied look in her eyes makes him tremble too. He kisses her, holding her close, savouring her warmth.
Upon a mutual agreement to rest for at least ten minutes, they fall back onto the bed in a sweaty tangle of limbs. She remains quiet for about five, and he’s relieved. He could almost hear her thoughts buzzing with questions, and he wants her every thought on what happened.
“So you did sleep in here,” she says, referring to the guest bedroom. He caresses her back, her thighs, taking in his fill. There’s a sly look in her eyes. “Having to walk here helped me think, or I might’ve just pounced.”
“I did think it would add to it,” Lucien answers, smiling at the look she gives him. “I don’t enjoy sleeping alone, but to be fair, it hasn’t been that long. Also, I wouldn’t mind.”
She hums, snuggling in closer.
“I know you asked for this, but I hadn’t quite expected such an enthusiastic response.” They had gone through most of the plan, and he had imagined finding her in the morning, looking embarrassed but pleased. Instead, she had tracked him down and demanded his cock. “I love you,” he adds, unable to help it. “So very much.”
She laughs, planting a kiss on his shoulder, his neck. “I love you too, babe. And yeah, I–hadn’t expected to like it this much either.” She squirms a little, pressing her face into his chest in the way he knows she does when she’s aroused.
He feels himself twitch in response and firmly shuts that thought down. If he lets it continue, he really will die. Lucien hesitates then, craning his neck to watch her. “You’re sure it was alright?”
“It was fantastic! I promise. This is going to feature in some of my daydreams for a long time,” she admits, too honestly and he can’t help but sigh, the corners of his lips twitching up. “But what about you? You must’ve felt uncomfortable.”
“It felt wrong,” he allows. “I had to keep reminding myself that you wanted it, that you gave permission.”
“And I trust you,” she whispers, smiling softly. “Thank you.”
He shuffles in place until he’s facing her. She’s glowing, a little grin seemingly fixed in place. He kisses her, sweet and gentle.
“I cannot stress this enough: nothing makes me happier than fulfilling your wishes,” he murmurs, ardently. Menial or filthy, being relied upon pleases him more than she’ll ever know. “I know it won’t always be possible, so I will take the opportunity when it comes to me. And this? Darling, you never have to thank me for anything , most certainly not this .”
“You’re sure?”
Lucien takes a moment to think back, to quiet gasps in the dark. “I hadn’t expected to like it as much as I did either. It was a little odd, ” he admits, before raising a brow at her. “I hadn’t actually expected you to remain asleep.” He hadn’t quite believed her when she said she had something in mind.
“It was this tea…”
He looks at her in amusement, unbelievably fond at her sheepish smile. “I noticed. Did you not wake up at all? I thought I saw your eyes open at one point.”
“I’m not sure,” she says thoughtfully. “I don’t think I was fully awake at any point. Maybe a little?” She kisses him again. “Still, thank you. It was even better than I thought it would be.”
He taps her nose once. “As I said before, you don’t have to thank me.”
“Oh, I think I do,” she says a little dreamily, and it makes him laugh. “Happy Anniversary, my amazing husband.”
Warmth unfurls in his chest, overwhelming him for a second. It’s so silly, how much these words mean to him. But there was a time in his life when they had meant nothing, not without her attached to them, so he can’t help but cherish them now.
“Happy Anniversary,” he murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. “My little butterfly.”