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Flins traced a fingertip along the condensation-streaked windowpane, watching raindrops distort the streetlights below into watery smears of gold. His breath fogged the glass in uneven patches as he tugged absently at the oversized hoodie swallowing his frame, the fabric smelling faintly of lavender detergent and loneliness. Downstairs, the empty house echoed with every creak of settling timber, a hollow soundtrack to the restless energy coiling low in his belly. He shifted against the windowsill, thighs pressing together beneath soft cotton sweatpants.
A shuddering sigh escaped him as his fingers slipped beneath the elastic waistband, cool air hitting heated skin. His eyes drifted shut—not picturing anyone, not really, just chasing the sharp, sweet relief of friction against his neglected clit. The first tentative circles drew a gasp, hips lifting off the sill as he bit his lip hard enough to sting. It was clumsy, desperate, the rhythm faltering as his thoughts fragmented—too quiet, too empty, too much space in his own head.
The sudden scrape of a boot heel on hardwood froze him mid-stroke. Flins whirled, heart hammering against his ribs, to find Rerir leaning against the doorframe. Bandages obscured the lower half of his face, but the predatory gleam in those violet eyes was unmistakable. "Touching yourself?" Rerir’s voice was silk over gravel, dripping with amusement as he stepped fully into the room. "How utterly filthy… and predictable."
Flins scrambled backward, sweatpants tangled around his ankles, panic clawing up his throat. "Get out!" he choked out, voice trembling despite the clipped, aristocratic cadence he usually clung to. "You have no right—" Rerir closed the distance in two strides, fingers like iron manacles clamping around Flins' wrist. "Liar," he purred, thumb grinding into the delicate bones. "You’re dripping for it." With brutal efficiency, he shoved Flins face-first against the cold glass, the world outside blurring into meaningless color as Rerir’s knee forced his legs apart. "Let’s see how eager this greedy little clit really is."
He spun Flins around, shoving him hard onto the worn rug. Before Flins could scramble away, Rerir was on him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand while the other ripped the sweatpants down past trembling thighs. "Look at you," Rerir sneered, bandaged face inches away, violet eyes burning with possessive hunger. "Playing with this pathetic clit like it’s enough." His calloused thumb circled it roughly, drawing a choked gasp. "You need me to ruin you properly."
Flins bucked, a futile struggle against the immovable weight. "Stop— please!" The plea sounded hollow, even to himself. Rerir merely laughed, low and cruel. "Begging already? Pathetic." He released Flins' wrists only to grip his hips, hauling them up. The thick weight of his fingers entering his hole.
The stretch burned, sharp and invasive. Flins cried out, tears blurring the ceiling. Rerir worked him open with brutal efficiency, fingers curling, scissoring—no tenderness, just possession. "So wet, so tight. it’s like your body was craving me." he murmured, almost admiringly, before withdrawing. The sound of his zipper was obscenely loud. "Time to claim what's mine."
He shoved Flins' thighs apart wider, pinning him down. The blunt pressure against his entrance stole Flins' breath. "No—" he gasped, but it was too late. "Quiet," Rerir commanded, voice thick with hunger. He shoved forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Flins screamed, the sound muffled against the glass, vision blurring as pain and shocking fullness ripped through him. Rerir didn’t pause, didn’t gentle—just set a punishing rhythm, hips slamming Flins into the cold window with every snap forward. "Look at you," he hissed, one bandaged hand fisting in Flins' purple hair, yanking his head back. "Taking it like a bitch in heat. This swollen little clit throbbing?" His thumb found Flins' oversensitive nub, grinding hard. "Filthy slut." Flins tried to pull away, tried to stop the filth Rerir was doing, and yet his body craved it.
He fucked him relentlessly, the wet slap of skin echoing in the hollow room. Degradation poured from Rerir’s lips between sharp breaths: "Ruined toy," "Pathetic hole," "Begging for it." Each word landed like a blow. Flins choked on tears, humiliation scalding his cheeks hotter than the friction inside him. Yet beneath the shame, a treacherous coil tightened—his traitorous clit pulsed under Rerir’s cruel thumb, his hips jerked back onto the invading length. "See?" Rerir snarled triumphantly, feeling the involuntary clench around him. "You want this." Flins whimpered, denying it even as his body betrayed him, arching into the thrusts.
Rerir shifted his grip, hauling Flins upright against his chest. Bandages rasped against Flins’ neck as Rerir whispered directly into his ear, voice dripping venomous sweetness. "Such a pretty boy," he murmured, fingers digging into Flins’ hips to emphasize each punishing drive deeper. "Look how your little clit leaks." He forced Flins’ own hand down again, slick fingers pressing hard against the swollen nub. "Feel that? Filthy. Needy." Flins trembled, a sob catching in his throat as pleasure ripped through him despite the violation. He was unraveling, resistance crumbling under the dual assault of sensation and shame. Rerir ripped his shirt off, realising what was hiding beneath it.
The sudden exposure made Flins flinch—his binder, damp with sweat, stark against his skin. Rerir’s laugh was a dark rumble against his spine. "Still hiding?" His bandaged hand slid up, fingers tracing the edge of the fabric with mocking precision. "Pathetic." With a sharp tug, he ripped the binder open, the sound loud in the stillness. Cool air hit Flins’ chest, followed instantly by the cruel scrape of Rerir’s palm. "Soft," he sneered, squeezing roughly. "Like a slut." Flins choked, humiliation burning hotter than the friction inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling over. Rerir momentarily pulled out to flip him over, giving him easier access to Flins chest.
Rerir pinned him flat, knees forcing Flins’ thighs wide apart. His violet eyes raked over Flins’ exposed chest, lingering on the small, tender swell. "Look at these," he murmured, thumb circling a nipple until it stiffened painfully. "Begging for attention." He leaned down, breath hot and damp against Flins’ skin. "Just like this greedy clit." His fingers found it again, pinching hard enough to make Flins cry out. "Say it," Rerir demanded, thrusting back into him without warning, deep and punishing. "Say you’re my filthy fae." Flins shook his head wildly, gasping as the stretch burned. Rerir slammed harder, hips pistoning. "Say it!" His hand closed around Flins’ throat, not choking, just claiming.
Flins arched, trapped between the agony of denial and the brutal pleasure coiling tighter with every thrust. He felt the vibration of Flins’s whimper beneath his bandaged touch. "No?" Rerir breathed, devoid of humor. "Liar." He released Flins’ throat only to grip his hips, lifting him roughly to change the angle. The next thrust punched the air from Flins’ lungs, hitting a spot that sent white sparks behind his eyelids. His traitorous clit throbbed, slick against Rerir’s abdomen. "See?" Rerir hissed, grinding deep. "Your body screams it." He dragged Flins’ hand down, forcing his fingers to rub his own oversensitive nub. "Filthy little fae, coming on my cock." The other hand fins his chest, playing with a tit before sucking it. Making Flins moans loudly.
Rerir dragged him to the bed next, throwing Flins onto rumpled sheets. He pinned Flins' wrists above his head, bandaged face inches away. "Look at me," he demanded, thrusting deeper, slower now, deliberate. Flins’ golden eyes were glazed, unfocused. "Say it," Rerir growled, tightening his grip. "Say you’re my filthy little cunt." Flins whimpered, shaking his head. Rerir slammed harder, grinding against that swollen bundle of nerves until Flins gasped out the words, voice ragged and broken. "Y-yours… filthy…" Rerir smirked, satisfied, and fucked him through another shuddering climax, watching Flins arch and writhe beneath him.
He rolled Flins onto his stomach next, pulling him up onto his knees. Flins trembled, oversensitive and slick between his thighs. Rerir gripped his hips, fingers digging bruises into pale skin as he pushed back in. "Still dripping," he hissed, snapping his hips hard. "Can’t get enough, can you?" He leaned down, biting Flins' shoulder blade. "This ruined clit’s begging for more." Flins sobbed into the pillow, muffled cries escaping as Rerir pounded into him relentlessly, the bedframe creaking under their weight.
Rerir finally stilled, buried deep, and laughed low in his throat—a dark, satisfied sound. He withdrew slowly, watching Flins collapse onto the sheets, trembling and swollen. "Look at you," he murmured, tracing a bandaged finger down Flins' spine. "All wrecked and wet." He stood, adjusting his clothes with chilling calm. Flins curled into himself, golden eyes vacant, thighs sticky with come and slick. Rerir admired the sight, realising how badly he wants Flins. An all consuming need to break him.
He leaned down, gripping Flins' chin. "That clit's throbbing, isn't it?" His thumb brushed the oversensitive nub, drawing a whimper. "Remember this ache." Rerir straightened, licking Flins tears away. The grip on his chin tightened, getting dragged into a desperate kiss. Flins realised, Rerir wanted more, another round to ruin him. To mark him, to break him into a perfect toy.
Flins flinched as Rerir's fingers slid between his thighs again, probing the swollen mess he'd made. "Still pulsing," Rerir murmured, almost admiringly. "Begging to be stretched." He pushed two fingers back in, slow and cruel, twisting them as Flins choked on a sob. "Such a greedy hole. Already ruined, still clenching." He withdrew, smearing slick across Flins' trembling thigh. "I'll ruin it deeper, make the ache worse. Make sure your cunt remembers me for days."
He flipped Flins onto his back, pinning his wrists above his head. The bandages scratched Flins' skin as Rerir loomed over him, violet eyes burning. "Watch," Rerir commanded, spreading Flins' legs wide. He thrust back in without warning, deep and punishing. Flins cried out, back arching off the bed. "See how you swallow me?" Rerir snarled, grinding against Flins' oversensitive clit. "Filthy. Desperate. Mine." He leaned down, biting Flins' collarbone hard enough to bruise. "Scream for me."
Flins sobbed as Rerir pounded into him relentlessly. The bedframe slammed against the wall. Rerir's fingers dug into Flins' hips, leaving dark marks. "Your cunt's pulsing," he hissed, thumb circling Flins' swollen clit. "Begging to break." Flins trembled violently, climax tearing through him untouched—a raw, shuddering surrender that left him gasping. Rerir laughed, low and dark. "Again," he demanded, thrusts turning brutal. Flins' vision blurred. He couldn't stop.
Rerir flipped him onto his stomach, pinning Flins' face into the pillow. Bandages scraped Flins' back as Rerir mounted him again. "Deeper," Rerir growled, sinking his teeth into Flins' shoulder. Flins screamed into the fabric. Rerir's hand slid beneath Flins' belly, fingers finding his throbbing clit. "Filthy little slut," he whispered. "Dripping just for me." He rubbed harsh circles until Flins convulsed, slick soaking the sheets beneath them. Rerir didn't slow. He drove harder.
Flins' vision swam. He felt stretched raw, every thrust scraping oversensitive nerves. Rerir wrapped a hand around Flins' throat, cutting off his air. "Look at you," Rerir hissed. "Ruined toy." Flins' golden eyes rolled back. Rerir released his throat just as Flins shattered again, a silent scream tearing from him. Rerir followed, burying himself deep with a guttural groan. He collapsed onto Flins' trembling back. Kissing his neck, leaving marks for the other to remember.
Rerir rolled off. Flins lay motionless, slick pooling beneath him. His thighs trembled. Rerir dressed slowly, watching Flins curl into a ball. "Pathetic," Rerir murmured. He traced a bandaged finger down Flins' spine. "Still throbbing?" Flins flinched. Rerir chuckled. "Remember this ache." He leaned close, breath hot on Flins' ear. "I'll be back." Flins shuddered. Rerir straightened. "To ruin you deeper, to make you need me every day. Even if it disgusts you."
Silence swallowed the room. Flins uncurled slowly. Golden eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. His clit pulsed. The ache was unbearable. He touched himself. A whimper escaped. He stopped. Rerir's threat echoed. Flins rolled onto his side. Pain shot through him. He pulled a blanket over his nakedness. The scent of sex lingered. He buried his face in the pillow. It smelled like Rerir's bandages. Medicinal. Cold. Flins closed his eyes. He didn't cry. He just breathed. Blaming himself for what Rerir did to him, he felt violated in every-way.
The shower hissed. Scalding water hit Flins' skin. He scrubbed hard. His thighs were sticky. Bruises bloomed on his hips. Finger-shaped. His clit throbbed under the spray. He flinched. Touching it felt wrong. Necessary. He cleaned himself mechanically. The water ran pink. Blood mixed with slick. He leaned his forehead against the cold tile. Shaking. The heat didn't warm him. He felt cold inside. He stayed under the water until it ran cold.
He stumbled out. Towel wrapped tight. He avoided the mirror. He didn't need to see his face. He knew. Red-rimmed eyes. Puffy lips. He pulled on baggy sweats. Comfort clothes. Shield. The soft fabric scraped his tender skin. He limped to the kitchen. Empty. Quiet. He poured water. His hands shook. Glass clattered. He drank. Gulped. The water tasted like nothing. He stared at the knife block. Briefly. He looked away. He sank onto a chair. The wood felt hard. Uncomfortable. He curled his legs up. Hugging knees. The ache pulsed between his thighs. A reminder. Rerir's voice echoed. Ruined toy. Flins pressed his face into his knees. Silence stretched. The clock ticked. Too loud. He squeezed his eyes shut. His throat tightened. "Yes," he whispered. Hoarse. Broken. The word tasted bitter. Like surrender. Like truth. He didn't look up. Didn't move. The admission hung heavy. Humiliating. Real. He felt raw. Exposed. Even alone.
Flins lifted his head. Golden eyes stared blankly at the falling water. Streaks blurred the glass. Like tears. He didn't cry. His chest felt hollow. Empty. Where Rerir had carved out a piece long ago. The storm inside him raged silent. Unseen. He traced a fingertip over a bruise on his wrist. Dark. Distinct. A brand. He pulled his sleeve down. Deciding he needed to sleep.
The bed smelled like Rerir. Medicinal bandages. Sex. Salt. Flins stripped the sheets. He balled them. Threw them in the hamper. He found fresh ones. Rough cotton. Clean. He crawled beneath the blanket. Curled tight. Knees to chest. Protecting his tender core. The pillow smelled like his own shampoo. Mint. Sharp. Safe. He breathed it deep. Eyes closed. Sleep didn't come. Only the phantom press of fingers. Teeth. The ghost of Rerir’s weight pinning him. Flins shuddered. Pulled the blanket over his head. Darkness didn’t help. The ache between his legs throbbed. Insistent. A pulse echoing Rerir’s cruel promise. I'll be back.