Chapter Text
The last few days have been odd, to say the least.
First, the strange goings-on around town had put a lot of people on edge. People reported flashes of light. Lots of people were getting inexplicably sick, and people had gone missing. It wasn't a safe time to be out and about alone.
But alone you were, wandering the streets of Fuyuki at night.
You grew up in the city, so you knew where was relatively safe. The sun had gone down. Retailers had closed, and bars had opened. But you weren't going to the bar. You decided instead to investigate those flashing lights. Every time over the last few weeks you caught a glimpse of these phenomena, you found the aftermath of what must have been some horrendous car crash, or stampede.
But it was the air in the area that drew you time and again. Though you found nothing, the air still crackled with a power you were not familiar with. At first, it was like static electricity, maybe a bit of ozone. But soon, you began to feel the thickness of the air, especially in areas where there was destruction.
The park always felt this way. You heard there was once a suburb in the area, but there was no trace of that there now. Only the hardiest plant life broke through that cracked soil.
Today brought you to the high school. Everyone had long since gone, but there was a huge crater in the asphalt in the parking lot. Caution tape had been set up, likely to warn the staff not to park here. The last thing anyone needed was a bent frame or a busted axle.
You inhale the night air, filling your lungs and nostrils with the scent of that lingering something that you couldn't quite put your finger on. You crouch at the edge of the gigantic pot hole (which at this point could qualify as a sink hole) and reach out with your hand to touch the ground.
Sparks fly when you touch the crater's edge. At least, they would, if you could see what was going on. Something unseen surged when you examined the crumbling asphalt.
Yes. This was just like the rest of the sites. There were plenty of poor road conditions in Fuyuki, but the ones affiliated with the light shows were the ones that had this weird presence about them. You withdraw your hand and stay crouched, looking into the ruined pavement as though it could tell you something. Your brain worked to formulate an answer. Lightning strikes? No. The nights were clear most of the time. They were too numerous and too close to the ground to be that. Maybe a prank? No. There was a randomness about the locations that didn't fit that theory. What could possibly cause this?
Footsteps crunch the gravel behind you. The air crackles around you, and without thinking, you wrench your body sideways and narrowly avoid being skewered. From behind an beside you, that same crackling energy is concentrated and thick, almost suffocating.
Reflexively, you glance at where you once were and a large, red, pointed weapon hovered in the air. Your eyes dart back and forth, then land on your would-be attacker.
You scramble to your feet and face the man in deep blue-green, armor painted with strange patterns. His cold, red eyes stare back at you, his expression set in a stern, joyless scowl. Though he looked at you emotionlessly, he paused, frozen for a brief moment, his weapon lingering in the air where you once crouched, as though he were considering something. You take a defensive stance, training your eyes on the man who tried to kill you. You're startled, but your brain hasn't caught up to the fact that you should probably feel afraid.
He slowly stands up straight, relaxing his attack and withdrawing his weapon. His expression doesn't change as he sizes you up. His eyes narrow at your stance, gaze boring through you as if to say, 'Really?' He rests the butt of his lance on the ground and holds it like a walking stick, his free hand on his hip. "You sure don't know how to keep out of trouble, do you?"
You blink. "Huh? Hey! You tried to stab me, remember?" You snapped at him. Your anger flares, the rush of adrenaline from his initial attack feeding your courage.
The man's face slackened, eyes widened and brows raised in surprise. He stared in disbelief at your brazenness. Then, he grinned, an expression that mocked your bravery. "Are you joking? You're joking, right? You're a mage?" He started to laugh, covered his eyes with his hand, apparently getting a laugh riot out of whatever it was he meant by that.
"What are you talking about?!" You knew what mages were, but you never dreamt they were real. Magic users? Summoners? Witchy people? "Excuse me. I'm talking to you!" You leave your defensive posture in favor of a more direct confrontation, feeling suddenly deeply confused, and even more insecure. "Are you nuts?"
When you take a step forward, the spear appears, its tip pointed at your throat, in a motion so quick that you missed it when you blinked. You hold your breath, stopping before impaling yourself in your fit of rage. Your brain starts to catch up with you, and you raise your hands in a nonthreatening way. The man chuckled, though now he eyed you with criticism. "The one reason I haven't eliminated you is because you have some talent for magic, so you will, at some point, be a mage." He stared directly into your eyes, touched the tip of his spear against your exposed throat. "The fact that you even saw me today means I should kill you. But," he withdrew his weapon again, "you are a magus, even if you don't know it. Loopholes are great, aren't they?" He gave a big, amiable smile, as if he didn't just try to murder you, twice.
You lower your hands slowly. You're convinced simply dropping them would lead him to attack you again. He definitely changed his tune when he found a way that he apparently didn't 'have to' kill you. Fully caught up now, and scared out of your mind, your hypervigilance took in your surroundings and the man in front of you. The disaster that was this parking lot. The thickness in the air. The strange armor the man wore. The ease with which he switched between cold-blooded killer and friendly face. He's a sociopath, your brain fills in the blank for you. That's the only explanation I can think of.
Drawing a breath, and steadying your voice to the best of your ability, you speak. "Who are you?"
At that question, he inclined his head and smirked at you. "Just call me Lancer," he said without hesitation.
"Lancer?" Your tone was nasal and flat, full of disbelief. "That can't be your real name."
"It's not," he confirmed, coming close to cutting you off. "Giving you my True Name would be a problem."
Your suspicion grew. "Uh-huh. Then I guess you won't need my name, either," you cross your arms over your chest, annoyed with his evasiveness.
He leveled a stare your way. "Fine with me." He rubbed his chin, as if in thought. "Odd that a mage wouldn't want to know my name, though." He leaned forward, scowling. "What kind of mage are you, anyway?"
Your annoyance starts to overcome your ebbing fear. "I am not a mage!" You ball your fists up. "I can't even shuffle cards right. You think I know magic? Mages aren't even real! Magic isn't real!" You didn't honestly believe that magic wasn't real. You were out here investigating strange goings on. Magic wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Still, you had no proof one way or the other, and this weird rando in the middle of a high school parking lot wasn't going to convince you that's what this was, anyway.
He sighed, disappointed. "Look. If I show you something that might be magic-related, would you believe me then?"
You cross your arms again and hold your head high, wordlessly accepting his offer and impatiently waiting for him to show you this supposed magic-related whatever-it-was.
He shook his head and sighed again. He lifted his spear, held horizontally in front of him. Before your eyes, it faded away to nothing, small, blue wisps rising and fading from where it used to be. You stared, still reluctant to accept his evidence, until he switched hands and recalled the spear, the weapon fading back into existence, a rush of that energy moving past you like a breeze.
Okay. So maybe there's something to what he's saying.
"Then, what did you mean by 'keeping out of trouble'? You have something against me looking around?" You were still wary, but you started to relax. Clearly, he could have killed you if he wanted to. Now that the panic had abated, you looked on him in earnest and not just as if he was a threat.
He hesitated and regarded you thoughtfully. "A fight happened here a few days ago. The official line is that this is a sink hole that appeared overnight, but it was a battle." He bumped the butt of his spear on the ground near the edge of the crater. "Another hero and I had a fight here. Bastard held me off real good, too." He rotated his shoulder as if remembering some strain.
"Another hero?" You sighed. "I'm beginning to think I'm in over my head, here."
"And that," he cut in, "is the smartest thing you've said or done all day," he confirmed. "Trust me, girl, you don't want any part of this conflict."
Glossing over the idea of a conflict, you quirk your brow when he says 'all day.' "Have you been watching me or something?" You attempt to sound disinterested, but the heightened pitch of your tone makes you come across as scandalized.
"Yep!" He smiled proudly. "Three days, now." He pointed at you. "You didn't even notice? Man, it's a good thing you're so bad at hiding your power."
The vein in your temple throbs as your anger rises. "Hey! I didn't even know I had power, smartass!"
"Maybe I followed you to, oh, I don't know, protect you?" He shrugged. "I am a hero, after all. Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"
You snort at his response. "Then why did you try to stab me?"
He shrugged. "I gave you plenty of warning. If you didn't dodge my attack, then my protection would be wasted on you."
"And why do you think I need protecting?"
"I have orders," he stated matter-of-factly. "And that's all I'll tell you."
"Great. Then we're done here?" You're more annoyed than ever. The entire point of your investigations was to get answers, and this guy shows up, performing impossible feats, and then shuts you down before you can get answers. You're left with more questions.
He clearly picks up on your irritation and flashes you another winning smile. You pause. Now that you're not about to die, you notice that this person is quite attractive. "If you want to be," he crouches, using his spear to lean. "Be a shame to waste all that time and not at least get to know a pretty lady."
What? You narrow your eyes at Lancer and place your hands on your hips, as if scolding him. "What do you mean?" You draw the question out slowly. This guy is all over the damn place. But the way he looks up at you makes your face heat up. He rises from his crouched position, somehow much closer to you than when he squatted down. Did he move forward, or did I? His sudden proximity made it more difficult to breathe. In just moments, this guy went from murderous, to mocking, to flirty.
You couldn't tell if you were terrified or if this was really doing it for you. He leaned down to be eye level with you, his intense, red eyes bright with mirth. "I think it's pretty self-explanatory," he said in a slightly lower tone, a smirk playing at his lips as he let the statement hang in the air between you. "I'll walk you home, if you like."
You sigh. "You must know where I live already, if you've been following me for days," you muse. "Fine. Come on." You resign yourself to having his crazy ass follow you. At least, that's what you tell yourself.
There's no doubt, this man is out of his mind. But something about him has drawn you to him. Maybe spending a little more time with him will put the last few minutes into perspective. Maybe he'll tell you more about what's going on if you're both relaxed.
Maybe he'll try to touch you.
Heh. You must be hard up for attention if that's where your brain goes. Even so, the idea is intriguing. "Um," you hear from behind you, "your home is that way?" He pointed in a direction different from the way you walked. You had just been trying to put distance between you and Lancer. The confusing air around him made you a little flustered.
"Right. I know that." You turned on a heel and went the direction he pointed, pretending that your mistake just didn't happen. As you pass, you can see Lancer shaking his head, a wry smile on his face. You shut your eyes briefly once you pass, setting your jaw and shoving your hands into your coat pockets before he falls into step with you.
Minutes pass. Your gaze is focused to the ground several feet in front of you. Now that you've left the high school, the sensations of the air had quieted. However, Lancer's presence still created a sense of uneasiness, not because he was unreadable and unpredictable, but because something in you instinctively knew he shouldn't be here. Your mind wandered all over the place, distracting you to the point that you didn't hear Lancer's footsteps next to you any longer. You freeze in place and look around.
Sure enough, he'd gone. Oddly, your disquiet still remained, like he was still nearby.
"Why'd you stop?" Lancer's voice was impossibly close, as if he was in your head. You jump, startled, unable to locate the source of Lancer's voice. You hear chuckling that sounded apologetic. "Oh. Sorry. I'm still here. You just can't see me."
You remember the spear disappearing, then reappearing. You relax a little bit, but still, your eyes search for the man in blue. "What did you do that for? Why can't I see you?"
"Hmmm," you hear in your head, "The streets have people in them," he explained, as if that answered your question.
You adopt a look of doubt. You start walking again. "So? What does that matter?"
A scoff. "Well, if you'll recall, I nearly had to kill you just for seeing me," he reminded you. Your face reddens, and you duck your head down in embarrassment at the obvious oversight.
"I see," you say, as if you didn't just forget a huge piece of information. Rather than embarrass yourself further, you keep quiet and keep moving. Home wasn't far away. You begin to recognize the space around you, and your throat constricts a little bit. The end to your trip home. What will happen next? Is he going to leave? Did he even exist in the first place?
You make it to the door and look around. Nobody was there. None of your neighbors were walking their dogs or taking their trash out at this time of night. Sometimes, living just outside of town had its benefits.
Benefits. Huh. What a way to think about being left alone with someone you don't know, who had been stalking you-, sorry, protecting you for days, with no one around to see who you were with or what you were doing. Benefit was an odd choice of words. What is with your brain today?
The air pressure changed slightly behind you. For a moment, you refuse to look. Looking would admit you wanted to see him. Looking would prove you hoped he stayed.
So you peeked over your shoulder.
Damn it!
There he stood, brightened eyes on you, studying you. He had lost those bulky pauldrons he'd been wearing, leaving him in his patterned blue-green outfit. Here, in the darkened doorway to your home, you couldn't do much to read his expression, but you know you heard your own breath catch in your throat. You turn broadside to him, clearing your throat, fidgeting with your keys. "Um, yeah. This is me," you lamely explain. You look down at your hands, and notice they shook a little bit. Your guts feel like they've twisted in knots, uncertainty cutting through your rational thought processes.
A warm hand covers yours, a gentle gesture that throws you off your guard. You can't hide the lost expression on your face when you look up at him. The contact was welcome. You liked the way his hand felt on yours. Your uncertainty started to unravel, especially now, looking up at Lancer. He smiles kindly, able to read your expression clearly. He saw what you wanted, and what you were afraid of. He saw that you wanted to invite him in, and that you wanted more contact. But he also saw the worry and concern. His hand squeezed yours in an attempt at reassurance.
Your hand moves without your permission, moving to cover his hand with your free one, silently giving him consent. Your worry begins to erode, and when you turn to face Lancer fully, he shifts to stand even closer to you, only a handful of centimeters between you. Next to him, you feel small, his height, build and proximity all working to make you feel dwarfed. His free hand reaches out and rests on the door behind you. He leans down, his kind smile morphing to a teasing smirk. He lifts your hand and touches his lips to it, his eyes never breaking contact with yours.
A thrill rushes through you. His lips were soft and warm, and that look in his eyes gave promise. You shiver from head to toe, your body betraying you. Your better judgment is obliterated. You know you want this man to follow you inside. Your depraved mind already sent you mental images of the things he could be doing to you, right now, if only your hands would do what you told them and got that door open. But you froze in place. You watched as Lancer brushed his lips from the back of your hand, down to the wrist, turning your palm up so he could touch the delicate skin there.
The pressure in the air felt like it crackled, though nothing around you happened. This unfamiliar surge felt like arousal, but it was stronger. Not that you wanted him more, but that the power of that response was more potent.
You watch as he pulls back, a half-smirk and narrowed eyes meeting you. He removed his hand from the door and pulled away. "Welcome home," he said, his voice impossibly smooth. "Have a good night, now," his tone was light and teasing.
When he turned to leave, you reacted without thought, reaching out to him. "Hang on!" A cold bolt of self-rebuke shot down your spine at your outburst, but he stopped and looked back to you, a brow lifted in question. You clenched your jaw, your rationality making a half-attempted comeback. It tried to tell you he was nuts. It tried to tell you this was a terrible idea.
"Do you want to come in?" Damn it! You invited him in. You didn't offer him tea or coffee. You didn't add anything. Luckily, your voice didn't seem panicked to your ears.
Lancer's expression flashed briefly with what you swear was a look of triumph. When his lips pulled back in a smile, you could see sharp canines peeking through. He turned back to you and chuckled. "I do," he affirmed, his voice hinting at roughness.
"Good," you said, voice barely above a whisper. Your hands finally move, expertly finding the key you need to unlock the door and open it. You step into the dim doorway, toeing off your shoes and leaving them by the door. You hang up your coat and move to flip the light on.
Your hand is intercepted, fingers lacing through yours, Lancer's palm to the back of your hand, moving it to the wall beside the switch. You feel him lean into you, his free hand holding your other wrist down at your side. You can hear him breathe next to your ear, a soft, shaky sound that you recognize as mounting lust. "I need you," he pauses for a half beat, "to tell me if you can handle it rough." His voice was oddly calm, like he was forcing it to sound even.
Your heart leaps into your throat. His chest pressed against your back, but not enough to crush you to the wall. He caged you between his arms, though the way he held your hand and wrist was careful, gentle, and his hesitation was entirely respectful. That dichotomy of the earlier gentle kisses and respectful touches, paired with the promise of hair-pulling, bone-crushing sex awakened something inside of you, and you heard yourself scoff, as if he said something funny. "Oh, please," your voice took on a teasing tone. You try to look up at him, but his cheek is pressed to your temple, preventing your look. You chuckle and feel your fingers curling in his grip against the wall. "I'm more durable than I look."
Lancer takes in a deep breath, his expanding chest pressing you against the wall, and when he exhales again, he leans further against you, keeping you pinned there. When he spoke, you felt his teeth graze against your ear. "Good to know." He pulled you off the wall, spun you around and slammed you back against the wall, one of your hands pinned to the wall and a pressure on your chest, just below your throat. Lancer glared down at you, appraising your reaction.
You grunt on impact, air forced from your lungs. You manage to keep one eye open and glare right back at him, a taunting smirk on your lips. Your free hand reaches up and touches his shoulder, tracing a line down his biceps, to his wrist, where you place your hand over his. You open your other eye, seeing that his expression darkened, his glare softening as though puzzling out your reaction. Your hand curls around his wrist and pulls his hand up to your throat, your defiant stare daring him to keep going.
Lancer's expression went from puzzled, to surprise, to a small, insolent smirk. He squeezed gently, pressure on the sides of your throat, but not the front, to test the veracity of your dare. The pressure slowly increases, your stare never wavering. Your airway constricts, and you gulp, the muscles in your throat flexing against his hold. "This is boring," you hiss at him, though your voice is barely audible.
He blinked first. His grip faltered when he saw the bright look in your eyes. The matching expression of defiance on his face begins to tear at your patience. You take in a breath, a biting remark on your tongue, but he redoubles his grip, briefly cutting your airway entirely. He leaned down, his eyes shaded, his composure slipping. Seconds pass, and you feel your adrenaline surge, your nerves on edge and your brain screaming incomprehensibly at you to do something. Your fight or flight instinct starts to kick in. Against your will, you begin to struggle, but Lancer's grip on your hand is too strong, and your attempts to fend him off with your other hand are largely ignored. Still, as your eyes begin to squeeze shut with the effort to stay conscious, he relaxes his hold and moves in.
His lips are so close to yours, you can feel his breath. He hovered just out of reach, teasing you with his proximity. Your eyes widen, a white-hot frustration cutting through your resolve. Once you realize his hands are relaxed, merely resting on your throat and wrist, you snarl at him, push him off of you and grabbing him to throw him back against that same wall. While he is clearly strong and could resist if inclined, he allowed himself to be handled roughly. You splay your hand on his chest, staring up at him with a stern glare, your free hand rubbing your throat. A slight smirk betrays what you were trying for. You see his expression go from a dark, somewhat subdued look, to one of dawning amusement. His eyes brighten up and a brilliant grin graces his features.
It was the micro-expressions you picked up on. Yes, he was smiling. Yes, he was amused. But it wasn't because he was mocking you. He saw your challenge and answered it. You replied in kind, and his grin was one of excitement. This was a grin of anticipation. He grasped the hand you held on his chest and pulled you tightly against him, his arm wound around your waist. You went willingly, thrilled to feel his firm body held to yours, meeting his anticipating grin with one of your own.
He chuckled, then pulled you into a long, slow kiss, a deceptively gentle act given the opening gambit. You lean up into him, feeling his chest vibrate as he groans, his hands traveling down to rest against the curve of your butt. That same intense feeling crackles in the air, the static without the spark, the lust that felt a bit too intense for how little you've done so far. He seemed to be feeling it, too, his hands kneading your soft flesh. You answer his groan with a whimper, each sound and movement driving you. You feel him move against you, flexing and writhing in a slight, but noticeable rhythm. You could tell he felt just as impatient as you did, but unlike you, he seemed to revel in it. He felt your fervent attempts at getting more contact, at your squirming against him, and began to laugh, a soft, quiet, breathless sound. He broke off your kiss and looked directly into your eyes as you scowled, readjusting his grip on your ass and grinding against you.
Your scowl disappears and your face flushes pink. You sigh from the contact, moving in time with him, not that you had much choice in the matter. He didn't line up properly with you, but you definitely feel his eagerness, the hard bulge in his pants rutting against your lower belly thrilling you all the same at the thought of him sliding that into you. You clutch at his shoulders, your eyebrows knit together, but still, you refuse to break eye contact entirely, as if doing so would admit some kind of defeat.
His expression must have matched yours. His jaw was slack, his breath coming in gentle puffs, his brows also bunched at the middle and his eye contact stubborn to not break with you. A particularly skillful mix of his movements and his grip earned him an unexpected, needy moan from you, which surprised you as much as it surprised him. Something in him seemed to snap, and his expression darkened. He looked up and around to find a suitable spot to take you. He settled on the open space on the floor in the main living area.
He zeroes in on you again, and a renewed look of hunger comes over him, his glance sharp. He curls his arms around you and presses a hand to the spot between your shoulder blades, the other splaying down over your ass, his hand somehow covering both cheeks, his fingertips finding purchase in the crease under your butt. He moves in quickly and with new desperation, claiming your mouth in a kiss that made your last one feel like a test. His arms pull you against him, hard, as though to lift you, though your feet stay on the floor. He steps forward, pushing you along, his hands rooted on you to keep you from falling as he guides you to his chosen spot.
You answer his fervent pace with your own, matching his assault with a counter-attack. Though you attempt to focus on keeping up with that desperate, feverish kiss, you can't ignore the sounds coming from him, nor the ones being pulled from you. The panting, the growling, the groaning. It sounded like some kind of fight. You return to your senses, though hazy, finding your hands in his hair, your back to the floor, and your thighs cradling his body. You come alive, tearing away from the kiss and let out a sharp outcry, lifting your hips and widening the space between your knees. You thirst for this man. You want to feel so much more of him than this.
The smug grin that he gives to you does nothing to deter you. In fact, your deep scowl seems to spur him on, his features lighting up mischievously. He dips his head down and runs his tongue up from your chin, across your jawline, to your earlobe, nipping playfully at the flesh there. His voice is a taunting, sing-song tone, though low and rough. "So far, so good, love." His warm breath tickles your neck and you shiver from head to toe. You grit your teeth, but he continues, chuckling lightly. "So, what do you think? Quick and dirty?" He rests his palms on the floor and rolls his body against yours, grinding into you again, making you writhe and whine under him. He allows himself to breathe raggedly as he moves, but then stops entirely and regains some of his composure. "Or," he drew out the word, nibbling and sucking on your pulse point, "a nice, long, drawn-out torture session?" At that, he shifted to the side, removing his body from your core, replacing that full contact with the tips of his fingers, gently massaging and rubbing your cunt through your jeans.
You quake under his touch, each and every one of your nerves sensitive and on fire from every single time he touches you. You try to glare up at him as he smirks down at you, his fingers still being gentle, which would feel so much better if you weren't still covered in cloth barriers. All you can manage is a look of distress, your glare a flash of an expression before your reactions to him caught up with you. He licked his lips and hummed, seeing your inner war at the decision you had to make. This energy between you has been unlike anything you've experienced in your life so far. What would barely be a warmup in most situations like this one, this time had you craving more, more contact, more teasing, that promise of blissful brutality. You need it, and he knows it. You attempt to tilt your hips so the pressure from his hand would increase, but he would not let you, simply removing his hand entirely and tsk-ing you for trying. "Unless," he drawls out, his gaze moving down along your body, his fingertips now drawing lazy circles on your hip, "you want me to call," he looked up at you from under his eyebrows, "all the shots?"
UGH! Your brain shouted your frustration. You take a chance. You lunge from your supine position in a miniature crunch, moving to bite his collar bone. You were tired of his composure when you were already so close to collapse. You didn't want to go out like that. You wanted to have some semblance of control, even if only for a moment.
Your teeth find their mark, your hand flying up to hold the side of his neck. He loosed a short, but heavy moan, a guttural sound that vibrated the air around you. You squeeze your thighs together, whimpering as you adjust your grip on him, lavishing him with your tongue. "Nnngh," you hear him try to speak through his spiked lust. He tries again. "Good," he huffs out, "it's better if you fight back." He leaned his head away from you so you had unfettered access to him, but it didn't last. He saw you squirming while you held him. His eyes flashed dark, his wicked smirk returning to his lips. He reached up and found the wrist where you held the side of his neck.
You grunt painfully when he forces you back to the ground holding your wrists and pinning you to the floor, this time jockeying his knees to either side of your hips. His grin was near-manic, elation running through him. He took stock of you, your expression, your disheveled appearance, your bruised lips, and the insolent look you gave him. "Ohhh," he purred to you, "I am going to enjoy this." He leaned his head a little forward, the rattail he wore his hair in brushing against your forearm. He continued. "I'm going to bring you to the edge, again, and again. I'm going to make you," he leaned down to speak into your ear, without touching his body to yours, "beg me for release." You wriggle under him, and he chuckles deeply. "That's the spirit."
You can't form a full sentence, your thoughts pulled in a hundred new directions. You try to speak with body language by squirming against him. He leans down, still pinning you by the wrists, his head moving down to nuzzle his nose against your breasts. His appreciative hum shoots right to your groin, making you whimper again, the atmosphere around you alive with your shared lust. Your hips gyrate uselessly, his body too far away to alleviate the pressure between your thighs. You jerk and yelp, feeling his teeth sink into your breast through your clothes. He holds you there, his grip vicelike, making you writhe and struggle, a second, more drawn-out cry torn from you before he releases you. He moves away, and you feel the pain bloom out from the spot he bit you, fueling your adrenaline. He then latches his teeth against your hip, the hold there still tight, but not nearly as painful. You whine helplessly, your limbs taking on lives of their own in their struggle to feel more.
He lets go and looks up at you, his eyes hooded, lips parted as he breathed. He unbuttoned your pants, undid your zip, then seized your jeans and tore them off of you. He immediately pressed two fingers deep inside you, balancing himself on his free hand as he watched your expression.
"Uunnngh!" Your demeanor changes, your fight leaving you when he pierces you with his digits. His strokes were slow, languid, but powerful, his fingers lazily curled into you, as if he was trying to rub your clit from inside of you. In a moment of clarity, you realized you didn't even put up a fight when he stripped you bare from the waist down. Before you could give it any real thought, a fresh jolt of pleasure burst through you, his thumb pad nudging your clit. You suck in a breath through grit teeth. Your thighs begin to quake. Your fingers claw at the ground beneath you.
Then, he removes himself from you, just before you tip over the edge.
Your ears are ringing. You're panting shamelessly, your body convulsing as if it were trying to orgasm on its own. You're vaguely aware of a smug chuckle in the air around you. You begin to calm down, your haze of lust giving way to frustration at being so close, yet denied. Your eyes focus and zero in on Lancer, who watched you with that maddeningly confident smile. He mimed a scissoring motion with his fingers, the two that were in you, then winked. "That's one."
Your ire begins to rise again at his cocky attitude. Despite your distaste for his confidence, you are beginning to see that he earns his smugness. In a way, you were drawn to him, even if he did piss you off. You notice that his top had gone missing entirely, and saw that the lines in his armor were not manufactured. He may as well have been wearing a skin tight suit.
He smirked anew, catching you ogling him. He let you feast your eyes for a moment before he shifted and began to crawl over to you. His eyes were riveted to you. You push yourself up to a sitting position before he gets to you, which stops him in his tracks, long enough for you to pull your top up and off. Part of you was worried he'd simply tear through your clothes, and you didn't feel like ruining your favorite shirt.
This time, it was he that openly stared. You caught him gawking at your naked form. You grin at him, in part from newfound confidence, in part from mania brought on by the edging you've just received. You lower your head and level a stare at him from under your eyelashes, the angle giving you a deceptively meek appearance. "If you think that's enough to make me beg, you have a long way to go," you run your tongue over the edge of your teeth, pulling his name from your lips with intended provocation, "Lancer."
He snapped out of his trance and blinked at you. He bared his teeth in a grin, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "I'd be disappointed if that's all it took, missy." He taunted you with a pet name, since you stubbornly refused to give him your name. You toss your head up, pointing your chin at him, your gaze still fixed on him, as though in a challenge. That shadow passed over his eyes again, the brightness of his brilliant red eyes signaling he understood your intent. He resumed crawling to you, his hands soon on the floor behind and beside you, caging you once more. He sealed his lips over yours, distracting you enough with that to push you back down to the ground, his chest pressed to yours. You don't care that he got control of the situation again. The feeling of his bare chest on yours assaulted your sensibility, and it was as if you finally recognized that you were completely naked under a man who had, not an hour ago, tried to stab you through the back with a questionably-veiny spear.
Rather than terrify you, the thought thrilled you to your core. Energy surged around you, as if every inch of skin-on-skin contact you shared supercharged the particles in the air. Your hands found his sides and back, roaming over the skin and feeling his toned musculature flex under your touch. He hummed against your lips, and you knew you weren't alone in the overwhelming feeling around you. There was something going on besides typical arousal. You made a note to ask about it later, but for now, your body insisted that you worry about the details later. With that thought, your rational brain checked out for the rest of the encounter.
Surrendered to this new feeling, you broke the kiss with Lancer, slightly breathless. You chuckle smugly, waiting for him to look at you. "What else you got? You're gonna make me beg, right?" You dig your fingernails into the skin of his back to emphasize your point, your expression sharpening when he hisses at that. You speak through another laugh. "I want to see you try."
His expression darkened. Something about your tone, or maybe your piercing his back with your fingernails snapped something in Lancer, something he had tried to conceal up to this point. The cocky, self-assured bastard from before was still there, for sure, but now? Now, he's been challenged. By you. He hadn't finished covering your body with his, his knees still both on one side, so you were free to squeeze your thighs together, which made you bite your lip and whimper, a quiet, desperate sound.
Lancer's growl was feral, and he pushed up again, manhandling you until you were on your hands and knees next to him. He stood up on his knees, looking down at you a vicious smile on his face. "As the lady wishes," he says without a trace of mockery. You felt his eyes rake over you, then felt as his fingertips traced down your spine, from the nape of your neck, gliding slowly down to the curve of your tailbone. You will yourself not to shiver at the contact, but only partly succeed, the hitch of your breath giving Lancer what he wants. He licks his lips, then hums again, as if in thought. "Hmm. Almost." He reached over and guided you to bend your elbows, so you were resting on knees and elbows, your ass pushed up into the air. "Mmm. Much better," he nods appreciatively.
You watch him carefully as best you can, noticing his attention was no longer on your face to see your reactions. He was focused on your skin. His fingers brushed, feather-light over your spine, traced your ribs, traveled the lines of your shoulder blades. It was pleasant, and you discovered a few hidden places you didn't realize could feel quite so nice, given the right type of touch. You decide to be patient with him. He has proven how capable he is to bring you to the edge. Besides, stretching your back out like this felt good, in a way. Your eyes drift closed, lulled to comfort with his touch. You shift a little, to rest your head on your folded forearms.
You hear him exhale softly, as if it was a laugh just stifled. Even so, his touch never paused. He continued his slow, methodical exploration of your back, his reach expanding down your sides and outer thighs. His fingertips trace the outside of your breasts, the sensation cracking through your calm. You hold your breath for a half second, a jolt going down your arms into your fingertips. As if you'd been reminded the situation you're in, and the promises made to you, you feel him brush his fingers down the back of your thighs, then across the crease just below your ass, lingering at the cleft between your butt cheeks. "Mmm. Look at that. So needy. So juicy." He doesn't clarify what he means with words, but actions. Your eyes had been squeezed shut, so you didn't see exactly where he was. You feel something warm and wet press between your folds, prodding your cunt, massaging your slit with long, powerful strokes.
You bury your face in your forearms, muffling your strangled outcry. His gentle touches from before made you forget about how sensitive you had been moments before, when he denied you the first time. Everything rushed back at once, and you felt like you'd been caught in an electrical storm, shocks running rampant through your limbs and core. You widened the space between your knees, which lowered your form just slightly, attempting to give him better access to you, but instead of diving in deeper, he ducks his head down, the tip of his tongue pressing firmly against your clit and dragging along your slit, past your dripping core, all the way up, over your asshole and ending in a playful, but hard bite against your ass cheek.
You yelp and jump when his tongue finds your ring. What the fuck! You weren't sure if you were disgusted or incredibly turned on. When he bites your ass, you jump again, this time crying out in that sweet spot mix of pain and pleasure. You're shocked, stunned, and so ready for more. His hands move to grab your hips, his fingers curling around your curves, and you feel him moving to press against you. When he pushes his body to yours and pulls your hips back against him, you feel his flesh, hot and hard, cradled by your split. He's naked now, too! Your mouth falls open in a silent moan at the feeling of him pressed to you. You lift yourself up a little to look over your shoulder at him, wanting to get a peek.
His eyes were hooded with lust, his jaw set and clenched in effort. It was apparent, he quite badly wanted to fuck you senseless. He rocked against you, sliding his thick cock against you. You moan shamelessly and arch your back, tilting your hips trying to get him to press against your cunt, to get him to push into you, even if it's only for a moment. He grunts, seeing your movements, watching as your exposed lips spread wide for him. His grip bruises your hips, and his growl makes the air shudder around you. "Woman," he warns you, leaning forward and rutting against you. His chest presses against your back, and you feel one of his hands on your breast, his palm rolling it. He groans into your ear. "If I didn't know better, I'd say your body is betraying you." His tone was low, rough. He gave you a few open-mouthed kisses and bites on your shoulder, making you whine and squirm against him more. He exhaled, his breath hot against your skin. "Much like mine is threatening to betray me." You feel his hips pull back, though his chest stayed firmly against your back. He then pushed forward again, his cock slipping slightly into you, though only the first few centimeters.
You both moan heatedly, you squirming and pressing back against him to get him to shove his whole length into you, him shaking and keeping himself in enough control not to let you have that. "Fuck," you hear him hiss behind you. "Maybe it's me that's going to beg today." He rests his forehead against the back of your shoulder blades, his hands stroking up and down your sides, attempting to distract himself from the pleasure that was blinding to you.
He held you there, at the point of entrance, that exquisite stretching sensation filling you with a deep-seated need. For all your writhing and struggling, you could not get him to move, or to let you move. You breathe deeply, then stop moving entirely. You concentrate, manually contracting the muscles in your cunt around him. You feel his fingers curl as if balling into fists, but your flesh prevents him from doing that. You set a rhythm, squeezing him while he sits, not halfway inside of you. You feel his cock pulse. You hear him curse under his breath. The mix of everything around you makes your body quake. You're so close. Just a little more.
You shout in rage when he pulls out and away from you. His ragged puffs of breath signal he's equally frustrated by his decision, having sided with his stubbornness over his pleasure. You glare at each other, and he's the first to smirk, though it was a half-hearted one. He raised two fingers, making that cutting motion again. "Two," he says, a wicked glint in his eye.
"Fuck you!" You spat at him, your nerves searing from the second denial.
His smirk bloomed to full, an X shadow over his eyes. "Remember? I'm going to make you beg before I do that." His chest spasmed in that silent laughter, enjoying this side of you.
You round on him, a death-glare on your face. "Like I give a shit about that." You move quickly, push him to the floor, pin him by his shoulders and straddle his abdomen. "I will fuck your abs if I have to." You make your point by sliding against him, the ridges of his sculpted muscles making you keen lewdly from the sensation.
That manic, joyous grin returns to Lancer's face at your proclamation and demonstration. He laughs heartily, which makes you uneasy. You stop moving, looking down at him suspiciously. That gives him the opening he needs to reverse on you, and you find yourself once again supine on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Lancer settled between your thighs, making a point to press those abs against your core. "Fuck my abs, huh?" His wicked smile offered a little mockery this time. "You're so close to begging me, you don't even know it yet." He uses his leverage to rub his body against you, this time flexing against you while he slides those muscles against you, destroying any comeback you might've thought of.
You hate yourself a little bit, but you move in time with Lancer's flex. It felt surprisingly good, though the idea was in no way a serious one. Soon, he shifted, his body sliding up, keeping contact with your core, until he presses ne of his powerful thighs where his body used to be. He grinds it against you mercilessly, his eyes riveted to your face. You squeal under him, the sound wrenched from you in a mix of a moan and a shout. You hear his question through the pounding in your ears. "What is it you want?"
You growl at his intrusion into your thoughts. "Nngh..."
He pressed harder against your core, angling his leg so it rubs against the hard nub at the apex of your folds. "Sorry, I didn't quite hear that." He talks over your whining, watching your expression carefully. "Care to speak up?"
"Not... begging.,.. you...!" You manage to say this, but he was right. Your body was betraying you. You began to shake again, near the edge, that torrent of impending pleasure just out of reach.
He huffed, then pulled back from you again. "Have it your way." He sighed. "And, three."
You went to glare at him defiantly, but finally took a second to look at his naked form. Your brain fails to engage, and that glare died before it could fully form. His eyes were narrowed in thought as he considered you. He sat on his knees, his hands on his thighs in resting position. Between them, his cock pulsed with his heart beat. Your abdomen clenches and you bite your tongue, pressing your thighs together once more to give yourself that little bit of friction. You begin to consider that, maybe, begging this man to make you cum wouldn't be so bad.
He runs his tongue over the edge of his teeth in a feral grin. "Oh, no. Not this time." He pries your knees apart, not that you give him any resistance. "No getting out of our deal by doing it yourself, missy," he scolds you.
You pout, your body practically vibrating from need and anticipation. You close your eyes and sigh. "Fine," you concede. "Please, can you?" You gesture between you in a feeble attempt at asking him to pay attention to you.
Lancer's chest expands as he takes a deep breath, poking his tongue out from between his teeth. "Oh, now, that won't do. That's hardly begging." He guides you to lie back again, but this time, instead of putting his body between your thighs, he lies between them, hoisting your legs up and resting them on each of his shoulders. "Don't worry. You'll get there." He looks you in the eye as he turns his head and latches his mouth to the inside of your thigh, sucking harshly, pinching your skin between his teeth.
You yelp from the contact, your hips jerking from his vicious bite. He closed his eyes as he lingered there, drawing a mewl from you, the pain of the bite melting into pleasure as he relaxes the hold from his teeth in favor of the suction he caused, darkening the skin there. He released you and ran his tongue over the spot tenderly, as though he was an animal nursing a wound. You look down to watch him, just in time to see his eye crack open again, his mouth open and tongue still gliding over your skin.
The sight of it alone nearly made you cum.
You furrow your brow, capturing that image in your brain to keep. Fuck, that's hot! You chew the corner of your lips, struggling with the words. "Come on," you whimper, dying to feel that tongue on you again.
Lancer smirked, then blew a thin wisp of breath over your sex, fanning your flames. "Getting there," he smiled cruelly, "But not yet." He moved his head up to close his teeth against the bone jutting out at your hip, giving that same punishing, bruising hickey there, the unexpected, overwhelming sensations causing you to thrash and flail under him, your body twisting and wrenching in a strange mix of wanting both much more of that treatment, and wanting him to stop because it was so overwhelming. A stream of colorful curses spilled from your lips, bypassing your brain entirely.
When he finally did let go of your hip, you felt him run his tongue over that spot, too. How good that would feel on your clit. How good it did feel before, brief though it was. You wanted that. You needed more of that.
Lancer's eyes brightened again. "Four."
"Eat me."
"Hmm?"
You look down at him, your defiance beginning to crumble away as the thought of him sliding his tongue over you again and again begins to dominate your mind. Instead, now, your eyes are pleading. Your pride is replaced by curiosity and need. "I want you to eat me."
Lancer chuckled. "Almost there-..."
You cut him off with another string of curse words, most of them aimed at yourself. "Fuck, please, damn it, gods, I need you to fucking lick me, Lancer, please." Your words were far from perfect begging, but your tone, expression, and body language all do the proper talking for you, and appear to appease Lancer.
"Mmmm. Much better," he purrs at you, dipping his head down again. You can no longer see his eyes over his hair, but it didn't matter. His hands moved to hold your hips, and to adjust his angle on you. That hot, wet tongue of his pressed firmly to your slit, his open mouth sealed around your lips.
You wail and buck under him, your overly sensitive nerves forcing control from you. His grip on your hips keep you from thrusting too hard upwards, but his pace was relentless. With each full stroke, he sucked your clit, earning a new cry from you every time. Your hands were rooted in his hair, holding on for dear life as his skilled tongue did its work.
It didn't take long at all. After several denials, you were more than ready to cum. Your body twists and convulses violently, wave after wave of exquisite pleasure crashing through you. Lancer latched onto your clit and rolled his tongue over it in a concentrated, suctioning motion, prolonging your release until it hurt. Your blissful moans quickly turn to cries of mixed pain, the oversensitive nub Lancer sucked on becoming overstimulated.
He stayed for a moment too long before letting you go. You begin to relax, your entire body flooded with relief on two different fronts. Your eyes struggle not to stay slid shut as you pant to catch your breath. You watch as Lancer rises from the floor, smirking proudly, wiping his mouth and chin with his hand. "Time to turn over, girl," he informed you. "I want you back on your knees and elbows, with that beautiful ass up in the air for me."
You were sluggish to move, your limbs not wanting to obey your commands. Lancer chuckled, but waited patiently as you indulged his order. When you finally made it to your position, you looked up at him, smiling, the tip of your tongue flirtatiously poked out at him. You give your ass a little wiggle, inviting him to have his way with you. After proving he could make you beg him, you were well more than happy to let him.
Lancers eyes became hooded. "Good girl," he praised you just before he positioned himself comfortably behind you. You tilted your hips and parted your knees as best you could, opening yourself up to him. You feel one hand on your hip to steady you, then feel the tip of his cock press to your entrance, the same spot it had been earlier. Lancer's groan echoed through your home. The feeling of him pressing to you felt different since you've already cum once, the soft, sensitive, overused flesh yielding to him much more easily than before. {You push back against him, and he settles his other hand on your other hip, pulling you against him and sliding easily into your core.
Lancer curses out loud at the eagerness with which your cunt accepted his cock. Lewd, high-pitched moans issue from your throat as he begins to pound you from behind. You look over your shoulder to see his head tilted back, eyes closed and mouth open, tongue hanging out of his mouth. The sight causes your breath to hitch, and just then he hits a particularly good spot, making you cry out his title in a heated, needy outcry.
In response, Lancer leans forward, laving his tongue up your spine, one hand sliding up your body, from your hip, over your waist, under you and around your middle, pulling you to sit up on your knees, leaning back against him. He never slowed his pace, pistoning himself into you like a man possessed. His hand that pulled you up rested on your breast, squeezing and rubbing it absentmindedly. He sloppily ran his tongue from the crook of your neck up the back of your ear, enclosing the edge of your ear between his teeth, his hot breath coming in ragged puffs. One of your hands moves to the side of Lancer's head, while the other covers the hand that gropes your breast. This new angle forced his cock against your spongy walls where your G-spot is. You choke as the wind is knocked from you, his thrusts becoming more forceful and more erratic. He pulled you roughly to him, growling into your ear, "I'm gonna cum in you, woman," he declared. You nod fervently, desperate to feel him come unraveled as you did.
The moment you nod, his teeth catch hold of your shoulder, holding you in place as he thrust powerfully into you, grunting harshly with each impact. The final few thrusts were quick, until the last one, where he slammed into you, hard, grinding his cock into you with a guttural growl that reverberated your entire being.
Feeling and hearing Lancer come undone, the way he ground into you, the way he clutched at you, even the feeling of his teeth in your flesh again sent you forcefully into orgasm once more, and as he growls in release, you throw your head back against his shoulder and pant helplessly, your breaths laced with cries of pleasure.
The very air around you thundered. The atmosphere was thick with power, unmistakable. The entire ordeal leaves you completely exhausted, in a way you haven't experienced, even in the most involved of sexual activities.
Still, you start to come down, the air around you beginning to calm. You're drowsy, but not knocked out. You and Lancer separate, and though you're shaky, you manage to stand. You can imagine Lancer is worse for wear, too, as hard as he was going at you.
But when you look at him, he seems to be even more energetic. You narrow your bleary eyes at him, mistrustful, searching your vocabulary for the word. "I-, Incubus?" You name a demon that feeds on the sexual energy of their prey.
Lancer chuckles. "No. That was a mana transfer."
You shake your head. You didn't know what that was.
Lancer sighs. "You'll feel better after you rest," he reassures you. "Do yourself a favor. When you wake up, go to the Clock Tower in London. They can teach you about your magecraft. And," he smiled wryly, "a couple of them may even be able to tell you about what just happened."
You blink slowly. "Huh? You're leaving, and you won't even tell me?" Your bones were weary. Sure enough, you did need rest.
"Basically," he says, "I got some of your mana in our little encounter." He raised his hands defensively. "Just a little of it. I wasn't injured or anything. I didn't need your mana. I merely," he considered which word to use, "sampled it."
You sigh tiredly. "Okay. I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Clock Tower in London, right? You can see yourself out?" You wave him off, struggling to fight the oncoming sleep.
Lancer smirks. "Yeah. I'll be seeing you." He winked, all cocky confidence again.
You smirk back, though not as widely. "I can't wait."