Work Text:
—𓆩♡𓆪—
The sound of the latch clicking into place on the front door as you left for work was quickly becoming one of Caleb’s favourite sounds.
He felt bad about it. Awful really. That the sound of you leaving him alone in your apartment while you were out excited him. But there was also only so much a man could take.
It had started a few weeks ago. He’d pulled some serious strings at the fleet so he could take a whole month off, a chance to properly reconnect with you. It felt like his own little slice of heaven, especially that first week. You’d used some of your own holiday hours to take the week off to be with him, but you were too needed by the association for any longer than that.
You’d spent the entire week practically glued to each other. Ordering takeaways and ignoring the films playing in the background as he blissfully listened to you talk about every little thing that he’d missed in the year he was gone.
The only downside to the constant proximity was that he’d forgotten how intoxicating it was to be around you. Or maybe the time apart had weakened the restraint he had learned over the years. He found himself clinging on to a pillow one too many times to try and hide the way his cock had stiffened in his trousers as you bent over in front of him, or wandered through the apartment wearing nothing but a towel. After just a week of having your warmth back in his arms, your soft voice in his ears, all it took was for you to look at him a certain way and he felt blood rushing to his groin.
And your smell.
It was inebriating and all consuming and it was everywhere. The fabric softener on the sheets he woke up in each morning. The lingering steam in the bathroom after you showered, and the shampoo he borrowed and lathered into his own skin, a prideful, possessive feeling in his gut as he covered himself in your scent.
Even now you were back at work it surrounded him at all times. He didn’t see any reason to leave your apartment other than to pick you up after your shift each day, or to tag along with you to stock up on groceries and anywhere else you dragged him along to. He was more than happy to spend all day hidden away in a cocoon of your warmth, like a loyal dog left home to guard against any intruders.
He was also more than happy to help out with your chores while you weren’t there. It kept him busy and he lived to make your life easier, even without the secret, selfish, incentive that he would get more of your undivided your attention once you were home.
It had been this desire to help that had got him into this situation; an underlying sense of guilt working its way through his body as he eagerly watched you prepare to leave for work.
You had only been back at the association a few days when he’d noticed your laundry piling up and decided to get it done for you, itching to do something other than mope around and miss your presence. His intentions were entirely innocent, no ulterior motives in mind as he had loaded the machine with your unwashed t-shirts and socks. And it was with a soft, doting feeling fluttering in his chest that he nuzzled his face into your favourite sweater before loading it, inhaling the smell of you.
Then he’d spotted your underwear, lying at the bottom of the hamper. They were plain and comfy looking, white with a dainty pink bow on the front, and the sight of them made his cock twitch in his pants.
His fingers flexed, itching to reach for them but hesitating. Why was he hesitating? He wasn’t doing anything wrong… just putting your clothes in the wash to save you the effort. At least, that was what he had told himself as he gripped the soft cotton between his fingertips and lifted your underwear from the hamper.
He didn’t expect the musky fragrance to wash over him so heavily. Didn’t expect the way his entire body seemed to respond, heat rushing through him and a tent growing in his pants as he stared at the light stain in the centre of the material. Before he could even process his own actions he was bringing the underwear to his face, nosing against it and inhaling deeply, a low groan escaping him as he rubbed the scent of your cunt over his face.
That was as far as it went the first time. Shame had taken over as he hurriedly finished loading your laundry into the machine, an unexplained blush spreading over his face when he’d welcomed you home from work that same evening.
But his restraint was already crumbling from the moment he’d pressed start on the washing machine. Spending the next few days waking up rock hard and desperately fisting himself to release in the shower, silently insisting to himself that it was not the scent of your shampoo that helped him get off so quickly.
So it didn’t take much for him to break.
Just a peek of the red, lacy material you were wearing under your pyjama shorts one night as you stretched your arms above your head tiredly and he was done for. His nose buried in the same scarlet material as he came over his hand the very next day.
The laundry hamper hadn’t even been full, but you didn’t question it, only assuming the best from your helpful gege. Your faith in him so pure it sent nauseating waves of guilt through him as you wrapped your arms around him in thanks. But it wasn’t enough to stop him from wrapping his own arms around you in response, his face buried in your hair as he breathed in your scent. And it wasn’t enough to stop him from wrapping that original pair of white panties around his cock a few days later, a tremor running through him when he saw how the small, pink bow matched the flushed colour of his leaking tip.
It became a habit. An addiction. Waiting until you were at work to dig through your laundry, searching for the right pair of panties to get off to.
He still yearned to be with you at all hours of the day. But there was no stopping the twisted, exhilarated feeling that pooled hot and heavy within him as he watched you leave. Or the anticipation that fizzled under his skin when he noticed you adding more clothes to the laundry basket.
Mostly he wasn’t too fussed what they looked like. He just preferred whichever pair was freshest, the lingering scent of you stronger. But today was different. He was leaving tomorrow - back to Skyhaven and the fleet and the cold, emptiness of his own home.
Caleb wanted to take a pair back with him. Sequester them away like illegal contraband, his own, deliciously addictive drug. And he knew exactly what pair he wanted.
He’d thought it over already, deliberating between the collection of lace and silk and cotton that was permanently engraved in his mind from the last few weeks. He’d decided you wouldn’t notice a pair was missing. Or, even if you did, there was no way for you to ever guess why.
The pair he had in mind he’d only seen once before. One night two weeks ago when you’d crept into the guest room to see him, claiming you couldn’t sleep after a bad dream. He’d let you crawl in under the duvet with him of course, a habitual thing for the two of you. What wasn’t normal was your choice of sleepwear. A loose white top just barely covering the delicate maroon lace that had him turning his back to you in bed, not daring to face you again until he was sure you wouldn’t feel how hard he’d gotten.
It was only when he’d gone searching for them the next day that Caleb had discovered they were not only adorned with tiny mesh apples, but they were still soaked. His heart had stopped and he nearly came from the sight alone. Heat burning through him at the idea of you wearing them on purpose, just for him. His mind filling with the thought that you somehow knew what he’d been doing, and could secretly be just as aroused by it as he was.
The notion died quickly when he hadn’t caught even a hint of that sinfully tempting maroon again since.
Until the other day, at least.
The sole item lying at the bottom of the newly emptied hamper had caught his eye as he walked past. It was as if you’d waited to put them in there just to tempt him, an unspoken parting gift.
As much as Caleb had wanted to snatch them there and then, stuff them into his pocket for later, he held back. It would be too obvious if they went missing that soon, no messy pile of clothes to blame the misplacement on. So he’d waited until it was fuller. Less chance of his crime being noticed.
Which is how Caleb found himself today, his feet carrying him into the small room where your washing machine lived, barely an hour after you’d walked out the door.
It was like an out of body experience, Caleb’s limbs moving almost robotically as he loaded the machine with dirty laundry. Sorting through your unwashed clothes piece by piece so that he could be sure he wouldn’t miss that flash of maroon. Doubt started to creep in the longer it took to find them, the nagging fear that it had been wishful thinking and he’d imagined seeing them in there starting to take over. And then there they were.
Laid out perfectly at the very bottom of the basket. The intricately sewn apples glaring up at him like little red warning signs.
Caleb lifted his head, instinctively looking around as if in fear he might get caught while pocketing them, an exhilarated tremor shaking his hands as he sets the rest of the clothes in the machine to wash.
The walk back to his room feels like an eternity to Caleb. Unconsciously reaching into his pocket to fist the silky material that he can feel burning a hole in his jeans.
He freezes when he finally reaches his room, leaning back against the door as it shuts behind him, his heart hammering in his chest. He pulls the underwear from his pocket carefully, running his thumb over the lace trim as he holds them up to inspect them. His eyes dart to the open suitcase lying open in wait on his bed to hide the contraband. The plan had been to pack them immediately. A pathetic gift to keep for himself when he felt alone later, inevitably missing you by his side.
But there was nothing wrong with just checking them first. He would hate to get all the way back to Skyhaven just to find something awry.
It’s with this justification in mind that Caleb lightly grips the material between his fingertips so he can properly inspect his bounty. A deep, maroon red that matches the burning within him, delicate lace running along the edges, and those apples. Sewn in mesh, so that he would be able to see the contrast of the intricately designed fruits against your skin if you were wearing them.
Heat pools in his gut as he turns the material over in his hands, inspecting it further, and sees the milky stain down the centre.
Unspeakable thoughts of you getting off while wearing them flood his mind. Fuzzy images of you touching yourself below the apple covered material floating in his vision.
He has to be sure he’s not imagining things. His hands instinctively lifting the underwear to his face so he can nose against them, inhaling the scent hungrily.
Caleb was already half hard from the sight alone but the slightly salty smell that fills his nostrils has blood rushing through him, his cock stiffening instantly at the unmistakable smell of cum.
A groan rumbles from his throat as he presses his face further into the material, tongue darting out to taste your essence. His eyes squeeze shut as reaches down to palm his aching length through his jeans, feeling dizzy as he wonders when you’d touched yourself, knowing he must have only been metres away from you at the time.
His legs feel weak as he pictures you, one hand in your pants and the other covering your mouth to stifle your moans while he was in the next room. He can’t help but wonder, yet again, if you knew about his dirty little secret. If you’d gotten yourself off to the thought of it, and had done so in these god forsaken panties with the little apples because you knew just how much it would rile him up.
Caleb inhales deeply again, his face still buried in your scent, and your name falls from his lips in a soft moan. Unbuttoning his jeans he frees himself, his hard cock springing loose from the confining material.
All pretence of waiting for later has left his mind as his grips himself at the base, pumping once, twice, all while pressing your panties so hard against his face he’s sure it’ll leave marks. Collecting the pre-cum beading at his tip with his thumb, he spreads it along his cock, coating it with slickness as he starts to stroke himself, his head empty of anything but you and your scent.
His tongue flicks out in kitten licks as he rubs the stained material over his face, desperate to be covered in your smell, pretending it’s your cunt grinding on his face as he fucks into his own fist. Caleb’s knees buckle slightly as his hips rut frantically, the door behind him the only thing holding him up as he loses all sense of control.
He’s like a dog in heat, sucking the crotch of your panties into his mouth to get a better taste, picturing it being your clit that he swirls his tongue around. His cock is pulsing in his hand as he strokes himself, and he knows he won’t last long, not with how delicious you taste. He can’t even imagine how divine it would be to have the real thing. To lose himself between your slick folds, your juices on his tongue.
Caleb feels the muscles in his gut tightening, heat coiling thicker within him as he pictures it, your cunt hovering tantalisingly over his face before he tugs you down to sit on him. Inhaling deeply once more, he moves the underwear away from his face to wrap around his cock instead. A guttural, needy sound echoes through the room as he looks down and notices how he can see the way his cock slides against the material through the little mesh apples.
Rubbing the soft material over his tip, he wraps the material tighter around his length, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud as he pretends it’s your warmth he’s burying himself in. Eyes squeezing shut and his breaths coming out hot and heavy as he tries to imagine it’s your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock as his hips stutter.
“Fuck…” The harsh curse escapes Caleb amidst breathy moans as he feels his orgasm building, his hips jerking shakily into his hand. He pulls the panties away from his leaking tip as he feels his gut tighten, just in time to save them from being defiled by the hot ropes of cum he spurts as he falls apart.
Your name falls from his lips like a mantra while he works himself through his orgasm, his strokes becoming lazier as his mind clouds over from the pleasure.
It’s only when he’s sure he’s given everything he has to give, his legs like jelly and his cock flushed and sensitive, that he peels the stolen panties from his length. Running them through the fingers of his clean hand comfortingly as if to ground himself in the moment.
After a moment, Caleb’s mind clears from the haze of pleasure enough for a sense of satisfaction to settle within him as he checks his forbidden fruits. Pleased he managed to keep from ruining the panties with his recklessness, he allows himself one last sniff of your illicit scent before folding them neatly. He’ll still be able to stow them away and revisit them later despite his impatience, his greed, nearly ruining his plans.
Caleb’s mind clears further as he tucks himself back into his jeans, and the all too familiar feeling of guilt begins to sneak up on him. It’s something that he’s used to by now, a fact in itself that sends a fresh wave of shame through his depleted body. And yet he’s insatiable. Momentarily crippled with guilt every time but he still keeps coming back for more, unable to resist the small piece of you he’s inexcusably stolen for himself in secret.
At least this was the last time he’d have to do the stealing part. For a while, anyway.
He knows he’ll be back for more. He could never stay away from you for long.
—𓆩♡𓆪—