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At some point you had lost track of time.
The night had been a quiet one, what with the majority of the crew deciding to turn in for bed early. Despite the calm waves and Brant’s ever so rambunctious storytelling at dinner, a soothing quiet soon fell over the ship as the last candles were snuffed out for the night.
In the middle of tiptoeing to the kitchen to sneak another glass of mulled wine (a special treat, courtesy of Battier), you couldn’t help but notice the dim light still peeking out of the Captain’s Quarters.
Was he still awake?
You considered the troupe’s schedule as of late. Was there anything of importance that required such late consideration? Nothing came to mind.
While in the kitchen, you grabbed an extra glass than previously planned.
“Ah, come in!”
You poked your head into the room after knocking on the door, cocking your head quizzically to one side as you considered Brant. He was in his nightwear as well, soft pants and a smooth white shirt with a draped open center that covered, really , nothing at all.
A smile bloomed across his face as he noticed you, the softness in his eyes threatening to flush your cheeks pink (or maybe they already were, after all the wine).
“Just attempting to decode this map we found with the Rover the other day. Care to take a look?” He stood and mimicked the tilt of your head, and you hummed in agreement as you slid through the door and slowly pushed the door shut, careful not to make too much noise.
His gaze returns to the parchment spread across the wide desk as you stride into the room, gingerly placing one of the wine glasses near his hand on the desk. You push one of the spare chairs towards his side, sidling up close to the edge to get a look at the map in question.
He smiles as he notices the wine, taking the stem in his hand and swishing around the warm liquid in its gold-tinged container. “ Aha! My dear, swiping some of Battier’s prized stash already?”
A smile curls at the edge of your lips as you take a long sip from your own glass, tilting your head to lean it against his shoulder. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Brant lets out a laugh of appreciation, tipping his head against yours in response. “Well, I’m afraid you’ve found a particularly interested comrade.”
You hum in approval, closing your eyes for a second to savor the sensation of his soft hair tickling your forehead as the vibrations from his laughter echoed throughout your own body. It had been some time since the two of you had gotten a quiet moment together, and though you understood completely the joy of being surrounded by the entire crew with cheers and laughter aplenty, it made you treasure the smaller moments so much more.
(Not that you would admit that. Not right now, at least. It felt a little childish, being so possessive of the ship’s Captain at times like this.)
A sudden lurch jolts your eyes open, your wine and Brant’s suddenly spilling over the edge of the glass as a particularly strong wave rocks the vessel.
“Ah!” A noise of surprise escapes your mouth as the liquid splashes, and your jaw drops as Battier’s hard-earned drink ends up spilled over the front of both your shirts.
What a waste…!
You and Brant lock eyes in shock, jaws agape as the vessel steadies itself among the waves. Soon, the two of you erupted into laughter as what’s barely left of the wine settles at the bottom of your glass.
“Let me get something to clean up,” you muse, leaving the warmth of his side to reach for a discarded cloth on the wall.
Brant only sighs in response, placing down his now-empty glass. “You’d think that after so many years at sea, such accidents wouldn’t happen.”
“It happens to the best of us, dear Captain.” You laugh fondly, patting the front of your shirt dry before returning to his side to do the same for him. The wine has dripped far down his chest at this point, dark red now staining the upper edges of his pants from where the spill began near his tacet mark.
You gently place the cloth at the bottom of his torso (pretending not to notice the way he inhales oh-so-sharply) before coaxing the towel upwards towards his neck while making small circles around his tacet mark. Content with having served your daily dose of mischief, you turn around to hang the towel back up before you feel the harsh tug of Brant’s hand around your wrist, pulling you directly onto his lap.
“You missed a spot,” he teases, a familiar lilt in his voice as his eyebrows slant, looking up at you expectantly.
“Did I, now?” You keep your voice measured, glancing away from his prying, jeweled eyes to feign a sudden interest in his chest. Your fingers make tender strokes directly at his tacet mark, and it delights you to feel the way he shudders at your touch.
But two can play that game, because Brant’s hand that was gripping your wrist is still there–now content to lift up your hand as his lips ghost over the tacet mark that lines your own forearm, stretching across with peaks that reach towards your wrist. You, too, shudder at the sensation–a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by the way you feel his lips spread into a smile across the black lines.
You expect this dance to end here, just gentle caresses and playful teasing for such a quiet night. And so when you move to untangle yourself from his lap, your soft laughter is cut short when his arm tightens to keep you snug against his chest. “And where do you think you’re going?”
His tongue peeks out between chapped lips (courtesy of the strong winds from earlier in the day) and laves over the peaks and valleys of your mark. A gasp sneaks out of your mouth as your other hand scrambles to steady yourself, palm flat against his chest as your eyes wander around his face. You never know where to put your hands… and so they begin to crumple the soft linen of his stained shirt as the tip of his tongue traces soft white scars that were etched into the skin even before they were overlaid by black crosses.
(Your mind wanders to the day they found you on Penitent’s End, a shattered mirror of your former self. You had stared at the troupe members who had found you in eerie silence, eyes deep and hollow as scars littered your skin and clothing hung over your body in tatters.)
(You didn’t use to be a Resonator. But days at sea and Tacet Discords on the island had forced it out of you, the element of Spectro gracing you with the protective abilities of rays of light to shield yourself from the dragon that haunted the island.)
(You didn’t speak for a long time, your memories from before setting sail remaining inside a deep chasm. But you do remember the first day you greeted the troupe with “Good morning”. And how could you not? After all, Tina cried with joy for so long you feared she would collapse from dehydration. And Brant…)
“Distracted already?”
You snap your focus back to the man you are–at this point– straddling , small breaths ghosting over your lips as you realize that his hands are now content to squeeze at your waist, having ghosted under your nightshirt to rub circles in the sensitive skin.
“Mmm…” You help him tug the shirt over your head, tossing it to the side to be found tomorrow morning and shivering as the air hits your bare skin. “Just thinking that you’re so…” You press your lips to his nose, cradling the sides of his face in your hands as you hum in content.
“So…?” His hands wander around your bare skin, groping at your breasts and rolling a pebbled nipple with his fingers. You hesitate, fighting the cloudy pleasure that threatens to take your words away.
“So… enchanting.” The word leaves your lips like a whisper, and your lips glide away to press open-mouthed kisses across his cheekbone, over his eyelids, to the center of his forehead. Your thumbs massage circles into his cheeks as your fingers creep their way to cord through his hair, rubbing against his scalp in pure, unadulterated affection. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”
Large, calloused hands slide up to your hair, bringing your lips to his just as you grind deep against his lap, whining into his mouth at the hardness in front of your entrance. Your fingers rake through his fluffy blue locks in an effort to ground yourself, distracted by how his tongue is intertwined with yours and threatening to swallow you whole while his swelling cock is grinding against the sensitive nub of your clit.
He pulls away, and you gasp for air.
“Then don’t,” he says, voice rough and hoarse. His eyes are bright like stars, shining with an intensity that can’t help but keep you entranced. “Keep your eyes on me. Now, and forever.” And his lips take yours again.
You’re getting desperate, the wetness from your folds enough to make a dark patch on his pants. Your hands scramble to untie the knots that keep his nightshirt together, clumsily yanking on strings in all the wrong places. He has the absolute gall to chuckle at that, pulling away to help you with the unfortunately difficult task.
You stumble off of him and do what you can with the rest of your clothes, grateful for the desk behind you as you take a second to breathe and lean against the edge with your head lolled weakly to the side. When you look back up, Brant is looking down at you with such a kind smile in his lips and eyes that you can’t help but melt into the hand that now rests on the side of your cheek, letting his arm wrap around your waist to pull you once again into a tight kiss.
“Let me be your light,” he serenades you, romantic poetry flowing out as if it is second nature (it is). He pushes you down onto the desk, licking at the drool that’s escaped from the side of your lips before allowing his teeth to graze down across your jaw, over your pulse.
“If you are my moon, let me be your sun. All you have to do…” A high pitched moan escapes you as his fingers find their place at your entrance, coating itself with the dewy wetness and spreading it across your folds. “...is shine that light back to me.”
Your hands jolt up to cover your mouth as Brant braces a hand on the bottom of your thigh, lifting it up to spread your legs as a finger finally breaches your entrance. You keen at the sensation, hips stuttering into his hands as you let out a desperate cry into your own.
He adds another finger, and you flush at the lewd sound of it squelching as his fingers join together and scissor open, curling up at the peak in a beckoning motion. You’re dripping by the sound of it, and the bastard responsible for it is looking at you with such reverence in his gaze that you feel too embarrassed to look his way.
You’re tempted to look away, honestly , but even as his thumb begins to roll steady circles on your clit and tears prick the edges of your eyes with overwhelming need , you keep your eyes locked onto his.
An even wider smile spreads across his handsome face as you lower your hands from your mouth, allowing little gasps and moans to echo freely throughout the room. “Please, Captain. I need you.” The words stutter out a little less concrete than you would have liked, but with the way you’re clenching around his fingers and bucking up into his palm, it’s the last thing on your mind.
“‘Captain’?” He coos, pressing a kiss to your temple as he removes his fingers and wipes the slick along your belly. “Why the sudden formality, my light?”
You sigh in impatience as you spread your thighs wider and finally, finally , feel the head of his cock slide along your weeping folds. “Surely you’ve fantasized about having your way with me on this desk before.”
He lets out a chuckle in consideration, leaning forward but just so that the tip of his cock glides over your engorged clit. The sensation merely adds to the frustration building up deep in your stomach, your teeth going to chew at your bottom lip as another wanton cry threatens to leak out. “Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy unraveling you until you’ve soaked my sheets,” he muses.
You groan, grabbing onto his shoulders as he leans over you. Your nails dig crescents into his back, a small glimmer of satisfaction flitting through you as his eyes defocus and he lets out a strangled moan. “You’re a teasing sap.”
“And you’re the finest treasure I’ve ever found–better than what any map could lead me to.” He swipes the head of his cock over your drenched folds and finally presses in, slowly but surely stretching you to your widest. Strangled gasps and moans threaten to escape once more but you stubbornly fight against it, teeth burying itself against your bottom lip as your body threatens to push away. His length always makes you feel so wonderfully full , stretching you in all the right places and filling you so perfectly that your pussy can’t help but flutter around him.
So busy are you with spreading your legs and interlocking your ankles around Brant’s waist to let him fill you that you forget the very thing you’re laying on . But right when you want to comment on the poor treasure map the Rover had retrieved, you hear him let out a beautiful moan as he finally bottoms out inside you, and you can’t help but whine in response.
You wrap your arms around him, pulling Brant close for a kiss as he stays there deep inside you, heavy and full. The sensation feels warm and comforting, and you can’t help but savor the hints of nutmeg and cinnamon as your tongues swipe around each other’s mouths. The leftovers from the mulled wine are intoxicating, remnants long discarded and forgotten, leaving only a sticky residue that dots your chest and his.
When you pull away panting, there’s a string of saliva stretching between your lips. You follow its pull up to his mouth, above his nose, towards unfocused eyes that are burning into your soul. His eyes flick down your face as your tongue darts out to break the wet strand and lick your lips, savoring his taste before swallowing heavily.
“Beautiful,” Brant murmurs, removing one of your hands from his back to take it in his own, bringing it up to his nose and taking a deep breath. “My moon. My light.”
He’s waxing poetry again, and all you can do is be his most captivated audience. You’re stuck here, splayed across his desk in awe and rapture as one of his hands spreads across your lower stomach, thumb almost but not quite inching towards the nub you so desperately want him to pleasure.
“Brant.” You whine again, the hand not in his grasp scratching lines down his bicep. “The… the map. ”
His eyes blink in confusion for a second before he lets out a quiet laugh, hands taking both of yours to intertwine fingers and press you completely against the rough parchment on the desk. A guilty whine escapes your mouth as you struggle to hold back your sounds any longer, the heat in your stomach radiating ever so strongly as your back arches up to meet him. Even though you do care about the map, a portion of it is likely so thoroughly soaked with your own juices that you don’t know if you could ever look the Rover in the eye again.
“The map?” He asks with a teasing hint in his voice, mouth running over the racing pulse in your neck before biting down on the skin just below it. “Here I am, trying my best to hold myself back for my sweetheart, only to find that she’s been thinking about the map she’s been soaking through all night.”
Your head is muddled at this point, confusion wrought in your eyes as you struggle to respond. The logical part of your brain chastises that there are better places to do this than on the desk, but at the same time you can’t help but keep thrusting your hips on Brant’s cock, desperate for him to lose the control he’s been claiming to hold on to. It’s a fight between reason and pleasure in your head, and the only noise that escapes your clouded mind is a noise of confusion.
“Words, my dear.” His voice comes out in a low murmur, fingers tightening, intertwined digits pressing ever so strongly against yours.
Your head thrashes away from his searching lips, and the words finally come tumbling out in a sob of pure need. “Brant, just fuck me already.”
His cock finally drags out, deep and steady before it presses in again, even slower than it was before and a cry makes its way out of your throat as tears threaten to spill over.
“Fuck me hard, please.”
“Good girl.” Thumbs rub soothing circles into the back of your hands as he finally relents to your pleading, thrusts delving deep into your core and causing you to see stars. You let the moans spill from your mouth without a care, no longer worrying about the way your cries mix with Brant’s moans to echo off the walls of the dimly lit room.
The sound of your coupling is loud , terribly so, with the sound of his thrusts so wet and clear that you can barely hear your own voice anymore. It threatens to push you over the edge, and amongst the cacophony of moans and panting you dimly hear your own voice, high-pitched with need as you call out Brant’s name over and over.
The pleasure in your core winds up and up without abandon, your toes curling as he keeps going.
“‘m close–” you gasp out, and he responds in turn with a slow thrust that drags along your walls before returning to his previous pace.
“Come for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”
His thrusts are knocking you against the desk so roughly you swear you hear the clatter of something falling to the ground – but all of those sounds seem so far away now, especially when Brant’s voice is the center of your world that is guiding you to release. All you can do is cry in response, words and syllables a blur in your head as the coil in your stomach finally snaps and pleasure blossoms from behind your eyes to the tips of your toes.
You come down from your ecstasy, clenching relentlessly against the thick cock that still throbs within you. You fight the drowsiness to keep your eyes from fluttering shut, gazing dreamily at the ruined Brant in front of you.
Sweat drips down his neck as his jaw clenches tightly, pants escaping his lips. The weight of his exertion is clear with the way his biceps are tight and his neck is strained.
“Brant.” You call his name and it comes out sweeter than you expected, dripping with an unbelievable amount of affection and love. You unravel a hand from his to wipe away at the sweat that drips down from his neck.
Crash!
You jump at the sound that interrupts your thoughts, turning to the side to see a stray bottle of ink spilled all over the ground in a messy splatter.
Reason pierces through your drowsy mind, and your hand changes trajectory to place a steady palm against Brant’s chest as you glance at the ruined floor. “That was the last bottle of ink. Roccia mentioned that it might be a while before the next batch…”
Your sudden consideration is all for naught, as Brant lets out a loud groan and unsheathes himself from your dripping core. Your breath hitches at the sudden feeling of emptiness, only to yelp when he turns you around so that your hands are on the desk and your ass is up in the air.
A large hand places itself between your shoulder blades, pushing you down into the desk until the side of your face is flat against the surface. A new gasp escapes your mouth when you feel hands groping and spreading at your ass cheeks, heat flushing back through your body as you feel a familiar hardness once again at your soaked entrance.
“I have to work harder, it seems.” Brant angles his cock at your folds, pushing the tip in only to leave just as quickly. “My sweetheart keeps on getting distracted when she’s with me.”
“Ah, Brant, that’s not what I–” You place a hand against his chest again, trying to balance yourself as you go on your tippy toes to match the angle of his throbbing length. “-meant!”
What you didn’t expect was for him to take charge of your plight, grabbing your hips with a bruising strength that dangled your feet and lifted your ass up to take him perfectly. You collapse onto your chest, arms giving out as you sob at the angle at which he’s taking you.
It’s much deeper than before, and rougher than you’ve ever taken him – but it gives you a sick sense of delight to finally see him chase after his own pleasure with such relentless abandon.
Your feet scramble for balance once again, toes now perched on the tips of his shoes as you strain to raise your hips high enough for him. Your back strains with an arched effort, but it’s a feeling you can’t admit to hate.
Grunts and moans fall from his mouth like a choir, your name amongst a litany of sounds that you respond to with similar gasps of your own. Your cheek feels raw as it rubs against the surface of the desk further, and through the corner of your eyes you admire the sight of the famed “Flaming Returned” i ndulging in your wet heat. His lips are parted ever so slightly, eyes glazed and blue strands of hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
“I love you.” The words spill out of your mouth before you can even process them, an admission of heartfelt emotion that you can’t help but repeat. “Ah– I love you, I love you…”
Brant’s body curls over yours, his chest pressing warmly against your back as a hand helps to bring your lips to his. “I love you,” he repeats over and over in return, in between kisses that entangle your mind and permeate your senses.
And when his other hand starts to make slow circles around your clit, a harsh contrast to the rough pace he’s setting with his thrusts, a sob interrupts your cries as you bury your face into the surface. “I can’t,” you beg, yet his finger begins to speed up and rub more roughly at your nub.
“Breathe for me.” He buries his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses onto the flushed skin as the pleasure in your stomach tightens, and tightens, and tightens–
“Relax, my dear, and take a deep breath–”
You do as he says and sob as the coil in your stomach snaps again, but this time with much more force than before. Wetness gushes out of your pussy as you take him in deep, your legs trembling with exertion as the sensation tingles throughout your body. Brant lets out a loud moan as he tightens his fingers around your waist and slams your ass against him, releasing his thick cum inside of you for what feels like ages.
You can’t help but whimper as his cock swells as he cums, the feeling of warm seed releasing in spurts inside of you making the both of you sigh in unison at the release.
Pleasant silence and soft panting fills the room, both of you content to stay still in the glowing aftermath. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and sex like a damp heat that feels similar to the haziness inside your head.
Taking a deep breath, Brant moves first–slowly unsheathing himself from your core and stuttering as he watches your pussy clench and unclench around nothing. The combined mixture of your juices and his cum slowly leaks out onto the floor forming a puddle between your shaking legs. You whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness and cold air, wiggling your hips at the sensation only for more of his cum to spill out, joining a wet splatter on the ground.
The sight makes his body flush with need, and he has to fight the urge to push you down again onto the desk and slam his growing cock back into your wanting pussy.
Instead, he clears his throat and pulls you back onto his lap to sit down. He cradles his arms around your waist, licking and sucking soothingly over the red splotches left on the side of your neck. A knee spreads your legs open as he uses the old cloth to clean up the mess of fluid between your soft thighs.
You’re too tired to say anything more, only mustering a sigh of content at the sensation of soft fabric on your ruined pussy. But despite the exhaustion, your hands rest comfortably over his arms around your waist, head lolling back against his shoulder to gaze up at him lovingly – and he knows by the look in your eyes what you want to say regardless.
You smile, eyes twinkling at him and he smiles back.