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Rafayel is always so careful with you. His hands, his lips, his teeth—all held in gentle repose even though his body begs him to fold himself over you again and again until the seam that separates you dissolves. He wants you all to himself—selfishly, desperately—but he forces his fingers to open when he feels you tug away, even if he knows he could keep you forever if he tried.
You feel it in the second of hesitation when you try to step away from a hug, see it in the wet glint of his eyes when you roll out of bed before he's ready to let you go. You hear it when his jaw pops while he has you pressed against the sun-hot rocks of Whitesand Bay, audibly working the tension from his mandible to keep from gnashing your bruised lips with teeth sharp enough to rend.
He's especially careful with his words. What he says, how he says it—tone and intention carefully plotted out so as to always give you options. Even if he wants nothing more than to make for you the choice you have already made—to devote yourself to Him, mind, body, soul—he will still leave room for 'no'. It gives you the chance to choose him again and again, a delight Rafayel will indulge in every time despite his deep need to deny you the choice.
And you know that he could. You've seen the slackened jaws and glazed eyes of those caught in his song, noticed the subtle shift of timbre that precedes total submission. You weren't meant to see it, weren't meant to play audience to the siren who could make humans drink poison like wine and walk into the sea singing songs exulting His name. But you did, and past the chill of fear laid a thrill that startled you.
You know, at least a little, of how scary Rafayel can be. And there is a part of you that wants to feel it too. The loss of control, the complete surrender. To feel the caress of his voice against your ear, against your will, and know there can be no resistance. The thought has made you shake apart during nights you slept in your own bed, fingers of one hand buried deep while the other presses against your chest, neck, mouth in a facsimile of his touch.
How would he take you, if he could have all of you with no defiance? Would he have you dance—make you bend your body in inhuman positions to show devotion through movement? Please him with your hands and tongue—fill your mouth with Him while prayers and drool run down your chin? Would he make you stay still—take His love into your body until it pours from you in holy rivers while He finally digs His teeth through your skin?
You want it all, cumming with flickering pictures of falling to His feet at His command, body moving in its own need to comply.
But Rafayel is so careful with you, and you feel a wash of guilt each time the pleasure fades. You worry that you would cross a line, ask of him something dangerous and forbidden. You shouldn't even know that he has the power to control the way he does, let alone fantasize about it. You will never ask, keeping the fantasy to yourself. A private indulgence that he will never know.
Except, Rafayel does know. His chest burns on nights you are away, the molten light of your bond shining against the glass ceiling of his bedroom while he thrashes in the sheets. You call out to him in your pleasure, pulling the cord in his stomach so taut that he cannot breathe. He can't hear your words, but he can feel your wants, knows that you are begging him for something that shames you.
He wraps his fist tight around himself on those nights, lost in the rapture of you clawing at the bond, in the feeling of you drowning in your devotion. One day, he will prise from you exactly what you want. Make you tell him exactly what you crave. He cums with a whimper as he feels your orgasm crest, manic smile cracking his bitten lips.
Rafayel knows he's being unfair. He's been holding you on the edge of an orgasm since lunch, the sun now dipping below the waves outside his window. The burning orange glints off the sweat dappling your skin, deepening the flush of your cheeks and the iridescence of your release dripping between your thighs.
He sighs, dragging his long middle finger up from your fluttering entrance, swirling once around your throbbing clit, then back down, pushing inside up to his first knuckle. You groan, hips straining against the grip of his other hand, fingers digging deep in the underside of your thigh to hold you open for his aimless exploring. His lips press against your trembling leg, the exhausted fluttering of a muscle in your inner thigh tickling his cheek.
"Rafa-yel," you whine, heel kicking down against his spine in frustration, "Let me cum!" He hums, mouth opening so that his tongue can roll out in a languid stripe from your inner thigh to the crease of your hip.
"Tell me what you want, cutie," he breathes hotly against your sex, sliding his finger deeper with a squelch before pulling out completely. Your hands find his hair again, locks already ruffled from your hours of tugging and releasing. He lets himself be pulled until his nose is pressed against your neglected clit, relishing in your relieved sigh.
"You know what I want! I want to cum!" Rafayel shakes his head, still pressed against your clit, and you groan deep in your throat from the stimulation. You're panting above him, fingers shaking from how tight you grip his hair. There's a tremble rolling through your whole body, a vicious energy that Rafayel has poured into you through his hours of teasing pets and soft licks.
You are nearly deranged by your fury, unhelped by Rafayel's insistence that there was something you were hiding from him. Of course, you were hiding something from him, but your causal questioning at lunch should have told him nothing of your fantasies, only of your curiosity about his nature.
So… Can Lemurians like, hypnotize people with their singing? Ya know, like sirens? in no way translated to The thought of you forcing your way into my mind until I can't even think thoughts without your permission makes me so deliriously horny I might die. And yet, it was like you had spoken in a language you barely understood, and he, a native speaker, heard every euphemism you didn't intend. His infuriating smile, the sparkle of a secret he knew that you didn't, the profound pleasure he takes in teasing you. It was all there, morphing his face like a whip crack. A warning you should have heeded, lest you end up exactly where you are now.
Body bow-taut, toes still barely brushing the cliff's edge as Rafayel dangles you by your shoulders over the chasm you desperately want to fall into. You groan again as he slips from your loosened fingers, pulling away from you throbbing clit and laughing. You kick at his back again, furious in equal measure to his mirth.
The sun disappears completely, lighting your skin with one final gasp of orange before the night sighs through the room. You hope that maybe it will remind Rafayel of just how long he's held you there, trapped under his large hands and heaving. But he doesn't stop, just touches you again with lazy, unsatisfying strokes, one finger at a time.
"I know you want that too," he finally says, teasing lilt gone from his voice. You shiver, not from the briny air carrying salt and chill as it flutters the curtains, but from the deep register his sweet voice falls into. You've heard it before, and you shiver again as you remember.
"But there's something else. Something you're scared to ask me." He pushes up from his prone position between you legs, letting the one he held open fall to the bed with a thump. Crawling up your body, he drops his face to brush his nose against yours. You can smell yourself on his breath, and it should embarrass you. It doesn't.
"I'm not letting you out of this bed until you tell me," Rafayel says, and you know he means it, "And I'm not going to let you cum either. Tell me." You twitch and gasp, something sliding through your chest like fingertips. Your eyes open wide, an unfamiliar feeling pulling at your throat, like words with their own will. Clamping your lips tight doesn't stop the noise, a humming coming from your throat that sounds suspiciously like a confession.
When he pulls back, you see the smile on Rafayel's face and your fingertips go cold. He knows you repeat in your head, he knows he knows heknowsheknowshe—
"One more chance. I know there's something you want. Ask nicely and I might just give it to you." His soft eyes harden then, head tilted back as he looks down the gentle slope of his nose at you. Something in his eyes catches your attention, like the glimmer of moonlight off the crests of a turbulent sea. Blue flashes that sink away as he blinks.
"But if you refuse," he lowers his mouth back to yours to whisper against it, "Well, then what use do I have for a devotee too scared to ask something of her God?" You gasp his name, body trembling in full waves as you go from hot to cold to burning hot again. Perhaps you are just oversensitive from how long he's held you on the edge, but everywhere his skin presses against yours is sparking, his heat sinking into you and forcing you to melt like liquid into his sheets.
"Rafayel," you breathe again, losing the fight against better judgment, "I—You… Your voice…" You can't get the words right in your head, hoping that maybe he can fill the gaps your shame leaves. He just looks at you, blinking slow and expectant. Your hands come up to grip at the lapels of his open shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of the thin linen against your sweating palms.
"Your voice… It can make people do things, right? I've—I've seen it. Seen you sing people to death." You're trembling still, but it's not fear. He knows you're not afraid; knows that fear looks like stupid bravery on you, not this mess that's shaking below him in quakes strong enough to knock your teeth together. No, he knows that you're so full of want that it's tearing your body to pieces.
He feels it too, felt it every time you dug your nails into the bond until it glowed, bloody and bright, on his chest. It's glowing now, a subtle halo under-lighting your face and catching on the dew sprinkled over your eyelashes. Rafayel's neck muscles flex as he swallows.
He wants to live in your bloodstream forever.
"Yes," Rafayel admits, voice steadier than it has any right to be with how his chest burns, "Yes, it can. I have. Does that scare you?" He knows the answer. Still breathes a small sigh when you shake your head fervently, nos dropping from your lips like an apology. Your fingers curl tighter in the fabric of his shirt.
"I want…" you lick your lips, his eyes tracking the movement like a predator, "Could you… Fuck. Could you do that to me?" Rafayel quirks his head to the side, and suddenly words are pouring from you. "Not—not kill me! I mean, make me do things? I trust you, trust you with everything. T-trust you so much that I want you to have all of me, however you want. Anything you wa—"
"Quiet." You voice dies just as suddenly, killed like a blade had dragged across your throat and spilled it all over the duvet. The sensation of fingers in your chest rises again, foreign but comforting. Like it is petting your heart from the inside, soothing the throb of it. Your lips move even after the noise stops, stilling only when your ears catch the silence. You look up at Rafayel, trying to say his name, but only a rush of air answers you. He looks calm, but his cheeks are so red you catch the color even in the dim light.
"This is what you want, yeah? Nod, cutie." You do, the action of your own will. You can feel the difference in the tone, not just hear it. His regular voice, low but sweet, that familiar breathy tease that has you relaxing fractionally.
"This is what you want?" he asks again, voice the same but layered, as if he were speaking over himself. It's a quiet, nearly imperceptible change audibly, but those fingers in your chest return, gripping your heart as if they, and only they, controlled the beat. A groan rolls up your throat, silent but visible as you writhe. Rafayel rises completely from your body, standing from his bed and leaving you exposed, skin chilling from the ocean's cold breeze.
"Speak. Tell me this is what you want. You cannot lie to me."
"Yes!" It comes from you in a rush, like it was pushed from you by the words that tumble after it, "Yes, please!"
Rafayel looms over you. He is lost in the shadows of the room, only a silhouette and small flashes of blue where you know his eyes would be. For a moment you think you should be scared, but there's something saccharine on the back of your tongue, like a mass of salted taffy keeping you calm. Fabric shifts, and suddenly his fingers brush between your breasts, gliding up until the pads of them press hard against your sternum.
"You're mine. All of you," he says, nails digging in, little dots of pain. You nod, hair slipping from where it sticks to your sweating temples. Your hands, heavy and shaking, reach for the shadow above you.
"I'm yours," you croak, swallowing to dry your throat. It clicks, and you swallow again. Your throat is parched but you're wet beyond belief.
"I am the only thing that matters to you. Nothing else. No one else. Say it." Unbidden, at least by you, the words fall:
"You're the only thing that matters to me. Nothing else. No one else." Your voice is strong as you say it, like it is an unrivaled truth. The sun rises, the tide falls, and there is nothing more important that Rafayel. You shiver again. It's like hearing your voice through a recording.
Your hands wrap around Rafayel's wrist, holding onto him tightly, as if you're worried that he would dissolve into the shadows and leave you. That salted, sugary taste spreads over your tongue, down your throat, coating your mouth and heating your stomach. That heat spreads through your already heavy limbs, settling hot in your hands where they wrap around Rafayel.
He leans down, pulling his wrist from your weak grip to instead grab yours, hauling you from the bed. You stand on unsteady feet, waving like seagrass until Rafayel tugs you against his chest. His arms come around you, one palm resting atop your head fondly while the other smooths down your sweating back. His cheek presses against your temple, and you can feel him murmuring into your hair.
"My precious Follower," he says, curling your hair around his fingers, "You'll do anything to please me, won't you?" You nod, so boneless in his grasp that you're surprised you can will yourself to move at all. He chuckles and it vibrates your whole body.
"Even without my influence, you would still do whatever I asked." It's not a question but you nod again. He tilts your head back by your hair, forcing your hazy eyes to catch his. Blue sparks through them still, small flames catching in his irises and you cannot look away. You lean heavier against him, held up solely by his arm around your waist. Rafayel's nose brushes against yours, lips light against your mouth as he speaks.
"But you want this," his pointer finger taps the temple he was just pressed against, "You want me in your head until there's nothing else but me, huh?" You smile, head lolling back into his open palm so that he's cradling you. Distantly, you imagine yourself dissolving into seafoam, slipping through Rafayel's fingers and down his throat so that you can live inside of him until time crumbles around the two of you.
"Yes, please," you whisper, letting your weight fall deeper into his hands, "I'm so empty, Rafayel—" he shudders at the way you say his name— "Please, fill me." Sticky wetness drips between your thighs as he sets you on your knees, his fingers trailing over your body the whole way, until they hook under your jaw on either side of you face to hold you close to where he strains against the cotton of his pants. You say nothing about the way those fingers tremble.
"Tell me that you love me." It's a command you don't have to be compelled to follow, but the words flow from you at his prompting. He smiles and speaks, "Again. Do not stop."
"I love you, I love you, I lo—" your words are muffled by his cock as he presses your face against it through the fabric. He holds you under your ears, fingers dug deep behind the curve of your jaw, and grinds slow and hard against your moving mouth. You do not stop—cannot stop—even when one hand releases you to pop open his pants, shoving them down just far enough for his cock to slip out, still pressed tight against his lower abdomen by your lips.
You can taste him with the tip of your tongue every time you say 'love', and he hisses as your teeth unintentionally catch his skin, but he just grinds harder, spurred on by the pain of it. The words come out as thick pants, breath condensing on his heated skin and making the glide of your face slick and messy.
After a few more hard grinds, he yanks your head away, and your voice hits the room again, rough and ragged. One of his hands wraps tight around your hair while the other lines his length up with your moving mouth. He takes one deep, settling breath before he shoves past your lips, you teeth, your writhing tongue, all in one deep thrust that has his head breaching your throat. You gag hard, but he—He—didn't give you permission to yield; not to vomit, not to suffocation.
You must speak, for He commands it.
Your lips continue to move, throat working around his cockhead, tongue pushing up against the pulsing shaft. Tears spring to your eyes from the gagging, falling in fat drops on your chest where they cool your hot skin. He is heavy in your mouth, weighing your words down, but you persist. When He pulls back, just enough to open your throat, your voice reaches the air again. Muffled and slurred, but He can hear you. His groan is long and relieved, and that salty sweetness explodes within you, like your whole body can taste it.
The joy of pleasing Him spreads through you like liquor; you have never felt more complete. You are at His feet, sharing in the rapture of devotion.
His thrusts are hard, hitting your throat on each push in, dragging against your tongue on each pull out. When His cock bottoms out, you are silenced, voice only returning when He frees you. Rafayel's body arches over you, both hands now wrapped around the back of your head and fucking your mouth with abandon. Saliva flows freely down your chin, mixing with the tears that smatter your chest, and you can feel your neglected pussy dripping onto the floor.
"Take it," Rafayel's voice tears through his throat, just as rough as your own, whimpering and snarling in a way you've never heard him do before. "Do not stop. Tell me you love me and take it all." He cums with a yell of your name, voice upon voice upon voice overlapping, each slightly off-timed so that your name echos thrice through the space. He presses deep, cum spilling down your throat and you fight to swallow it all even though you continue speaking.
Cum bubbles at the corners of your mouth, joining the drool on your chin. Rafayel pulls himself from you with a wet pop, and you cough so hard that you gag again, held up only by His hands still gripping your hair.
"I—I lo… I love you," you gasp, heaving, barely getting a breath in before you are compelled to speak again. You are limp in His hands, chest falling forward, arms loose and useless on your legs. Your scalp stings from supporting the weight of your upper body. Rafayel, in all His mercy, slides his arms under yours and lifts you to your feet, holding you tight against His chest so that you can feel the desperate fluttering of His heart. Your lips move against His skin, voice thick and exhausted.
"Quiet," he whispers, another mercy, "Let me fill you again." He guides you back to the bed, letting your legs hang off the edge, where He stands between them. He grips your ankles in His hands, holding your tired legs apart in a position you normally shrink in, arms usually flying down to cover yourself from His open appraising. "You are perfect."
Now, you are lax, a doll in His hands, happy to be played with. There are no insecurities—you are only what He makes you, and He makes you perfect—and so you smile up at him. Love, devotion, surrender, all pour from your eyes along the dried tear tracks.
He is hard again—or still hard even after his orgasm—and pressing insistently against your slick entrance. Small rolls of His hips have His tip breaching you, only to slip right back out. The sound is lecherous, slick pops pulling more and more of your wetness out and onto the sheets. You do not whine or writhe, only smile and accept what He gives you.
The blue flashes of His eyes are consistent now, flickering like a candle's flame and mixing with the red glow of the bond. The room is cast in His colors, red and blue swirling around you, over you, and merging into a brilliant plum where the light overlaps. You are no longer scared you are going to lose Him in the shadows—there are no shadows here that can touch Him when you so openly give Him your love.
He thrusts into you slowly, putting all of His weight behind his hips, until you are flush. There is no separation between you and Him. He wraps your legs around his waist so that He can lean over you, draping you with His body. Connected like this, you are whole, no air left in your lungs that He did not breathe into them.
"Stay like this," He murmurs against your wet cheek. He slides in and out shallowly, as if He cannot bare to leave you. Eventually, His thrusts are nothing but deep, reaching rolls of His hips, pelvis grinding hard against your clit. The sensations pool deep in your stomach—the grinding, His breath against your face, the phantom pressure of fingers in your chest holding you down at His bidding—and you feel close to snapping.
But something is stopping you from reaching that crest. You realize blearily that it is because you have not been told that you can, but you have no recourse to ask for it—you must stay quiet. Rafayel, as if buried deep within your mind, kisses your cheek and speaks again.
"Beg me. I will let you if you beg me." Like a tapped spring, words flood from you.
"Please, Rafayel! My love, my love, please let me cum," you gasp heavily between each sentence, hands flying to His shoulders to hold Him tighter against you. "It's yours—I'm yours! I want—" another deep gasp, "I want to give it to you!" He nods, holding you just as tight, lips against your ear.
"It is already mine. Give it to me." Your body locks, every muscle pulled tight and bowing you under him. Air leaves you in a rush, then drags harsh against your throat when it returns. With it comes your shattering, body so overwhelmingly full of love and Him that there is no room for anything else. All others—friends, family, peers—flee from your mind, chased away by the euphoria of submission to Him, to Rafayel, to your God.
You don't realize you're screaming until you choke on it, thrashing against His hold. You give one more feeble kick before you are limp again, nothing but derelict treasure sunken to the ocean floor, sine spes recuperandi. Burning under His weight as he finally spills deep within you, you can only lay there, taking and taking and taking. He has carved a space for himself within you, and He fills it perfectly.
You both lay there for a long while, bodies trembling and stuck together by sweat and cum and tears. At some point, that thick flavor coating you mouth dissipates, slipping from your body along with the fingers in your chest. You feel released, light, even as Rafayel crushes you with his body.
"Be more careful, cutie," he finally mumbles, face buried against your neck. You make a curious sound, fingers stroking over his spine. He huffs and rolls off of you, splaying his body across the sheets in an exhausted heap. "You shouldn't let me do that to you."
"Why not?" you ask, with barely enough energy to turn your head. His hand slides over your chest, and it feels so similar to how the phantom fingers felt over your heart earlier that you suck in a small breath.
"Because next time, I won't let you go."