Work Text:
Analytics is good, because it gives accurate honest results, and bad, because we’re all bad analysts. © A.M. Minarsky
When they sit at the kitchen table to eat, the freelancer asks him about the chorus, because apparently their study material has only dedicated one sentence to it, so instead of emptying his bag of food innuendoes Gavin has to give a lecture. Well, next time. If there is one, that is.
After one pizza is finished and his knowledge about d(a)emon governing is expiring, they stretch their arms above their head and suggest going back to studying.
“Such a dutiful student, aren’t you?” Gavin teases, getting up from his chair.
“Well, there’s at least one chapter left,” the freelancer smirks, perfectly matching his tone. He definitely has a special ache for them, he wasn’t exaggerating. Not much, at least.
They settle on the couch again in the same position. They hold the paper and straighten their shoulders, as if considering whether it is okay to lean back into him. Gavin stops their hesitation by wrapping his arms around them and drawing them close.
“Do I need to remind you of our learning method,” he lets his breath linger on their ear.
“Thanks, I think I remember,” they let out a small huff, barely turning their head to him.
“Alright, let’s go then,” he asks them something about the first reform of the covert, something concerning vampires, he isn’t paying much attention. They however are and after they answer correctly, he goes to rub their nipples, just a little for now. The freelancer doesn’t give him much of an audible reaction but their energy is speaking for them. So, for about half-a-dozen more questions he continues toying with them in a similar manner, coupling it with kisses and playful bites to their neck and ears. He tugs the hem of their hoodie and asks:
“Can I, deviant?”
After getting an affirmative answer – another right one this evening – he lets his hands roam their chest and stomach, soft skin being pliant under his fingers. A few more questions answered correctly and he moves lower, rubbing their thighs, enjoying feeling their muscles tense up and relax. When despite all his distractions awards the freelancer gives an elaborate answer explaining the core of one of the many council conflicts over humanborns, he puts his hand on the elastic of their sweatpants:
“And what about this?” another long warm breath right at the base of their neck.
“Yes, but before you do, I need you to know that it’s okay if you can’t make me come,” the freelancer’s voice is much more serious than while talking about magical history.
“Do you not want to come?” Gavin asks carefully. More carefully than he expected of himself. He has met a few people who don’t like the feeling of an orgasm, it’s fine, he can work with it.
“No, no, I do,” they scramble to answer, as if afraid that if they’re not fast enough, he won’t believe them.
“Can you not come?” he puts his hand back on their thigh, to show that he can wait for their explanation.
“No, I can,” the freelancer starts to sound exasperated.
Gavin keeps waiting for them to continue, not asking anything else or moving. He raises an eyebrow, but they can’t see it, since he’s still behind them.
“I’ll just probably take too long,” they say finally, before turning their full torso to look at him. “Listen, statistically it takes longer to come with a partner than on your own. Significantly longer, even in absolute numbers,” they make a stress on that sentence, “and it’s takes long enough as it is, believe me,” another huff, this time sarcastically bitter, “And you seem like a person,” the freelancer takes a breath searching for the fitting words, “who’d take that kind of thing as a personal offence and I don’t’ want you to, because it’s not,” they look into his eyes and he notices bits of panic in theirs. Are they afraid that he’ll make fun of him? Or hurt them? Or just leave? Gavin relaxes a bit.
“I see,” he rolls his next words on the tongue for a bit, “Do you want me to make you come?” he asks simply.
“What?” the freelancer’s voice sounds small, like it’s not a reaction they expected.
He repeats the question, still calm and straightforward, all teasing aside.
“Yes,” they’re still quiet, but more resolute.
“Good,” he thought so, “put the paper aside.” They obey. “Tell me how you like it,” he continues giving orders.
“Direct and intense, like ‘if you think it’s too much, it’s probably not enough’ intense - low sensitivity and all, I also prefer to couple inside and outside stimulation, keeping them in synch,” the freelancer gives him a dry and direct answer, they’re expression turns to wondering, curious what he will do next.
“Sit back,” he motions for them to return to their initial position, with their back to his chest. Once their arrangement is to his satisfaction, he leans close to their ear yet again:
“Don’t think about anything, just focus on me and how I make you feel.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, mindfulness and all that jazz,” he can practically feel them roll their eyes.
“The only things I want your mind to be full of now, are your sensations and directions to give me,” he puts the middle and index fingers of his right hand to their lips and they obediently suck on them. He’s going to conjure lube anyway, but Gavin likes the process and their energy yet again tells him they do too. He tugs on the elastics of their pants and underwear, slipping his hand in it. He kisses their neck simultaneously with his fingers finding their clit. He gives it a few gentle circular rubs through the hood.
“Direct and intense, remember?” their breath however quickens, just a bit.
He obeys, moving past the skin folds and applying more pressure.
“Harder,” their directions start sounding more like demands. He likes it, it’s a familiar territory, harder he can do. He also likes hearing their heavying breaths. Gavin repeats the procedure with his left hand, putting two fingers into their already open mouth. Second hand joins the right, quickly travelling lower. He lets his fingers linger at their entrance.
“Go on,” the freelancer hurries him, and he holds back a chuckle, biting the crook of their neck, and slowly putting the fingers inside. With the next motion outside he curls two knuckles up and feels them jerk their hips ever so slightly.
“Don’t hold back, deviant, make yourself feel good,” he murmurs, not letting his lips separate from their skin.
They arch their back, pressing their pelvis and shoulder blades against him. He continues encouraging them, reminding them how he enjoys their energy and their movements, and how well they’re doing, kissing and licking and biting their neck throughout the whole process.
“Faster,” their breath is becoming more and more ragged, but, what’s surprising him, they’re still quiet. Faster he can do too. Gavin doesn’t know how much time passes like this, not like he’s keeping score, when he feels both with his fingers and his demonic senses that the freelancer is getting closer. He lets more phrases like ‘let go’ and ‘come for me’ slip into his speech. They squeeze his forearms, if he was human, he’d probably have bruises later – good thing he’s a demon.
“I’m going to come,” they breathe out, throwing their head back into his shoulder. He quickens his motions a bit more, and in a bit feels the dam break - their relief washes over him like an ionic shower.
“Please, don’t stop,” so demands become pleas. He doesn’t. He doesn’t stop even when by his standards it’s already classifying as ‘post orgasm torture’.
“Enough,” another breath, he feels them finally relax in his arms, “Thank you,” they’re still leaning back into his shoulder and he can see them smile, “Thank you, so much,” for a second it looks like they’re about to cry but hold back. The freelancer turns their head, half-hiding their face in his neck, they let out a few more laughs, tickling him with their breath. “Give me a moment and I’ll return the favour. At least, do my best to.”
Were-creatures-focused reforms they have to revise during their morning commute to the Academy.