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“Shura, wait for me!”
You trail behind him, combining quick and long strides to catch up to the man –but the bastard’s agile proficiency is apparent, and it takes a while and a good intake of breath before you reach his shoulder. However, with a swift whirl of your body you’re now in front on him, feet solidly planted on the ground and hands anchored on your hips as you glare up at the taller man. The said individual stops in his tracks, countering your leering expression with an unfathomable one. The sharp click of his tongue against his gritted teeth however suggests annoyance –not that it would foil your intentions.
“Please. Shura, let me keep you company, at least.”
The man growls in his throat, obviously disapproving of the idea, scowl darkening his lightly creased eyes.
“Lady Corrin, I doubt you understand the consequences that could stem from such simple actions,” his eyes dart constantly around, scanning the hallway for any potential newcomer.
You wave your arms dismissively, “None of that!” your sour demeanor softens, “you already know how I feel about this, and if you would just give the others –give yourself- a chance, you’d see the world is –”
The words die in your throat, Shura’s gloved hand seizing your wrist roughly as he tugs on it. Seconds later you’re welcomed with a stuffy, suffocating pitch black darkness, and before you can protest or verbalize your surprise, his leather-clad hand is now tightly clasped over your mouth. As you make out your surroundings –task soon completed considering you’re enclosed in a storage closet- you make out the muffled steps of someone passing by the closet door –and you realize just what Shura attempted. When finally the footsteps recede in the distance, Shura’s stiff countenance relaxes, his hand releasing your mouth as he sighs silently. His breath tickles your face.
“Shura! Don’t you think that’s going overboard?!”still, despite your angry words, you whisper.
Again you feel his frame petrifying against yours, his muscles taut and hard through his clothed layers.
The warm flow of his breathing returns to your face, “I won’t let your reputation be ruined because of some lowlife like me.”
Although you know full well he cannot see your provocative expression, you arch your brow challengingly, assuming your words will undoubtedly convey the intended taunt, “Oh? Then surely the two of us exiting this storage together won’t spread salacious rumors..?”
Paydirt.
Shura grunts as he realises the compromising situation he weaved for the both of you, the hands splayed on the wall on your sides fisting the air aimlessly –but he regains his composure instantly.
“Then we’ll leave each at a time: the second one will have to wait at least an hour before following suit. You may go first, Lady Corrin.”
“What?! I refuse. There’s no way in hell I’ll make you wait in this stifling room alone for an hour,” if you had space to spare, you’d cross your arms.
Shura groans at your hard-headedness, “Then I’ll –”
“No. No way. I’m not waiting here alone either,” you decide to add a bit of spice to cement things, “you wouldn’t let your commander wait alone in such a hostile place, would you?”
Shura swears he can make out the glint of mischief flashing in your eyes amidst the shadows.
But he won’t budge either.
His voice is decisive, defiant, “As you wish, lady Corrin. Then we both wait till night.”
Great. Hello comfort. You huff dejectedly, knowing all too well you couldn’t manage to muster enough strength to sway Shura’s burly body. At least you’d finally get to spend time with him…
… Or so you thought. It’s barely been half an hour –Gods, it seems like it’s been several- and the silent nurtured between the both of you is as nearly heavy as the air. Sweat gathers on your forehead as you try to shift slightly to relieve the strain on your body forced in the same, steady position: back pressed to the wall, Shura’s body weighing you down further onto it. However, the motions are awkward and restrained by the unmovable mass of Shura’s frame. The heat radiating from his body only adds to the unbearable fever plaguing you and his intermittent and regular breaths still drift downward on the side of you neck; why is it that you shudder in this immense and stagnant pressure?
At last you find some relief while you adjust your lower body, hips gently bumping into Shura’s as you lean back on the wall, shoulders pinned there just below his flat hands. Did his breathing just grow hoarse? You chase the thought away –no wonder he’d struggle into this oppressing closet. You lie back, vainly attempting to loosen up. Eyes closed to amplify the lounging darkness, you invest yourself into your remaining senses. Yet the place smells only of dust and of the sweat of your overwhelmed bodies. Only the soft grazing of Shura’s gloves titillate the skin of your shoulders under your cloak, his forearms inevitably pressing back on them –were his arms always so large and firm? Eerh, you mean- the robust bulk of his thighs trap yours unyieldingly –wait, no. His chest hovers dangerously close to yours, and you’re convinced that if you just extend your fingers you could feel the hard and generous swells of the crests of his abdominal muscles under the fabric of – argh!
There’s no escaping it: a different kind of heat settles in your abdomen. Suddenly your mind wanders on the exact details of those hypothetical salacious rumors –it’s now your breathing that’s ragged and irregular. Oh, and how thankful you are now for the obscurity shadowing the flushed complexion of your face. You clear your throat in hope it might do the same with your mind; but to no avail. In the persisting darkness, you can only sense the consistent buzzing of your brushing bodies setting the narrow space between them alight with tension –or maybe it is just you.
However, when you accidentally buck your hips against his –alright, it is more of a selfless experiment than a simple coincidence-, you distinctly feel the slightest jolt of his pelvis reciprocating, and the definite swelling of something hard pressing back on your covered mound. You bite your lower lip to stifle a wanton sigh; there’s no way you’d resist the temptation until nighttime. You might as well go for the kill –after all, there was another reason you wanted to spend more time with Shura.
Tactfully swaying your hips forward, you whisper huskily, “Shura… There’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while…” your pelvis undulates suggestively against his, “Since we’re alone… Like this… Wouldn’t it be the perfect occasion?”
Shura growls lowly –this time, you know it’s not from annoyance.
“L-lady Corrin, this is highly inappropriate! Even more so than being seen together.”
Your hips continue to lean onto him, “But there’s no one to see us in here… Or are you not confident that you can remain silent?” you lock your arms around his neck, pushing yourself up to meet the shell of his ear as you murmur lewdly, “Unless… Am I too big of a catch for the thief in you to handle..?” another roll of your hips against him.
You barely register his mouth engulfing yours in a heated kiss, and even less his arms skillfully hoisting your legs around his waist. All you know –and all you care about- is that his groin is roughly grinding against yours and that his tongue is unabashedly seeking your own in a wet and desperate exploration. Heat intensifies and crushes you as the squirming muscle leaves your mouth to flick along the thin and receptive skin under your jaw, suckling gently until it stings –for one who preferred subtlety, the traces of his mouth would be sure to linger there.
“I doubt you realise what you are asking for, lady Corrin,” an affirmation, unequivocal although provocative.
“Oh, but I know just what I want; and who I want it from,” you press your covered sex against his hardening erection to emphasize your point.
You feel him grin against the skin of your neck in answer.
“You are still naïve. You know near to nothing of the ways of the world…”
There’s shuffling in the darkness, a fleeting moment where Shura’s hands fondles somewhere in the uncertainty of the void.
“…Let me teach you.”
Then there’s the dryness of cloth in your mouth, the tightness of knotted fabric behind your head, and Shura’s assault resumes with rekindled passion. His gloved hands pry open the rows of buttons on your coat, proceeding in the same fashion with your undershirt, your breasts springing loose from their confines. Shura’s fingers compensate for his lack of vision, running wild around your breasts to touch every inch of skin. They brush and caress your tips, hands groping while his mouth maps the outlines of your body in the darkness.
It’s then you realise just why Shura muzzled you –despite your earlier taunts, you know you’d be the one crying and begging right now. You bury your hands in his hair, cradling the back of his head to keep him close to your chest, and that’s about all you can do the resist the imminent urge to rip off his scarf from your mouth and order him to take you right there and now. Instead Shura is the one to lead while your calves grip at his back desperately, your inner core eager for any kind of friction.
As your arms move to hook around his neck, settling on the hard ridges of his shoulder muscles, his own snake downwards, hands clawing at the flesh of you bum, digits digging in the fabric of your pants. Your own fingers latch onto the folds of his clothes, tugging as best they can to intimate him to just get on with it.
The motion seems to encourage him, as seconds later you are floundering aimlessly into the muddled and sombre space of the closet, just before meddling hands shrug off the open fabric of your garments off your shoulders, unbuttoning the obstructing textile of your pants. The later moments are a clumsy and impatient makeshift display of a cat and mouse pursuit as your hands grope at each other, seeking the hot and naked flesh of the other while they hurry in discarding the burdensome layers of cotton and the leathery husks suffocating your bodies.
When once again your bodies connect, joining at the centre of your budding and fervent need, the action is carnal, animalistic. Shura’s throbbing erection splits the wetness of your folds, delving the full length of his cock into your needful cunt until you are stuffed and drooling under the muzzle of his scarf. You both remain motionless for a fraction of an instant, the tip of Shura’s shaft pulsing wildly within you, his breath raspy in your ears as you still your hips against his in an effort to feel and memorise every ridge and bump of it pressing to your clenching walls.
When you readjust your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and further into your blistering core, his body shudders ever so slightly against yours, his hands tightening their hold on your behind. It’s then he starts moving, slowly and patiently as his girth stretches your insides with delectable pressure, the weight of your own body dragging you downward on his cock with the combined motion of his hips rolling into yours.
Already the pleasure is immeasurable, the lack of air smothering you into blissful oblivion, your fingernails charting paths of crimson rapture on Shura’s back as he picks up the pace, his engorged shaft pummeling you into the closet wall. There’s the racket of objects falling and dispersing on the floor, but it’s all somewhere else, resonating like distant bells under the swelling magnitude of your combined sighs and groans –and at that point the possibility that someone might hear you while passing by is a preoccupation for another realm.
The scarf in your mouth is now drenched with slobber, doing little to abate your lusty cries, slurred scraps of Shura’s name fleeing from your mouth as you bounce relentlessly on his cock. His hands lead and adjust the motions as they forcefully grip your ass cheeks, ensuring that his shaft is wholly swallowed in your demanding womanhood, his swollen balls slapping away furiously at your behind.
You have to tighten your hold both around his neck and his waist when he heaves you up higher against the wall, only to fuck you in rough, savage thrusts, the hard planes of his pelvis crashing to the back of your thighs as the broad pectorals of his chest crushes the breath out of you.
Bliss roots itself in the coiling knot of muscles contracting in your lower abdomen. The friction of Shura’s dick pushing your outer lips outward and against your bulging and receptive nub is just nearly enough to send you reeling into the swirling expanse of ecstasy –nearly. You attempt to add pressure, just the slightest little force that would allow you your sweet release; to no avail.
You whimper lowly into Shura’s ear, hoping he would take the hint –and thank the Gods he does. A large, powerful hand hastily rips the scarf hanging loosely from your mouth, gliding to your pulsing bundle of nerves between your legs as his other arm wraps around your frame to keep you steady.
“Ah- Shura! I’m so close, please-”
Further words are left unspoken –and unneeded- as his mouth settles over yours, drinking in your short, breathless sighs, as well as your final cry of pleasure: the tightness then in your limbs burns your nerves into heavenly numbness, your teeth biting down lightly on Shura’s lower lip to stifle your moans. His own muscles grow hard and tense against your skin, his hips bucking irregularly into yours, the vigorous shudders of orgasm wracking his frame as he fills you to the brim with his cum.
The ache deriving from your straining position soon makes itself apparent, and Shura moves away from you half-heartedly, handing you the wrinkled lump of his scarf to clean yourself. Silence is restored as you regain your breath and awkwardly try to dry the pooling wetness on your inner thighs, careful not to hit Shura as you wipe it off.
As you finish your arduous task, you feel him shuffling in the darkness, obviously looking around for the discarded pieces of your outfits: but his thoughtful attention takes more from endeavor as only acute clattering welcomes his probing hands, and with a strangled laugh you recall the fall of various objects during your heated session.
Shura emits a distinct grunt of annoyance at your audible enjoyment. You snicker even more.
“Well? Maybe next time we should take it to bed, instead of puling me in the closet… You could have just asked, you know.”
A second, louder groan.
“Look who’s talking… I recall you were the one writhing and begging under me, lady Corrin.”
You huff in mock offense.
“In any case, now we’re definitely stuck in here until night. No way I’d tempt chance in this state. So… We have just enough time to… debate your statement,” you succeed in catching his wrist in the darkness, and it is now your turn to tug him towards you.
Shura’s third grunt is a caricatural one, “I did say I had plenty to teach…”
Silence is whole once more as his tongue spares no time into finding yours, heat flaring anew in the closet –you’re convinced you’ll need a good bath once you’re freed from this confined space. Maybe this time you’ll be able to convince Shura to join you.